I love the smell of my camping gear. Not that virginal smell of synthetics just purchased from MEC, but the scent of a tent, tarp, and pack after years of being buffeted by wind, soaked with rain, and baked dry in the sun. It’s the smell of strain and rest, worry and calm, hunger and satiation, cold and warmth, risk and reward. The endless cycles of trial and triumph that define the wilderness experience polarize, and therefore maximize, these sensations. The smell of my camping gear is the smell of being alive.
… until something crawls in the pack and dies when it’s stashed it in the basement for the season.