The other articles in this book are about
everything but ME. Now I'll endeavor to give you the inside (and
outside) story of a pack's life.
Of my coming into being I know little ; it
wasn't a hard trial, so that is all that mattered. For two or three
days I sat on the floor of a certain shop along with several of my
fellows. Then a woman came for me. I was overjoyed to be in the
hands of the fair sex. Little did I know of what five feet nothing
of woman was capable? She didn't seem proud of me then. She had me
wrapped in paper for a start! I was parked under the tram seat;
then, I've discovered since, she took me home via the darkest
streets.
On arrival home, off came the paper and on her
back I went. She turned this way and that before the mirror. My, was
I all new and bright! A voice sounded in the doorway, "What's that
damn thing?" "I've joined a bushwalking club, and this is a Rucksack
in which I carry my gear," said she. "Tut, tut !" said the voice and
went out mumbling.
The first day was exciting for both of us. I
had a light load with plenty of space, so things slipped and banged
in my inside. All eyes were on me, and everybody in the party looked
in me and over me and mauled me and tried me on, and hoped I'd soon
get dirty. It was a beautiful walk, but I felt sore with the bumping
around inside ; but those cushiony hips and shoulders were more sore
than I was. When we arrived home she looked in the mirror again. I
didn't look much different, but SHE—heavens ! I didn't think she'd
take me again.
MY FIRST WEEK-END.
Then came the first week-end. I didn't think I
could live through what that woman did to me. Her gear consisted of
complete house and furniture apart from food. Well, she waged a war
on every part of me. Things were pushed here and there and, if
something wouldn't go in, out came the whole lot and the pushing and
cramming started all over again. My objections were waived till I
thought I'd burst. At last she was ready, and it took all she knew
to lift me.
The camp was beside a beautiful river, and
when the tent was up the remainder of my inside was outside, and
peace reigned till morning, when the horrors of packing started
again. That day I was bumped and banged over rocks, through bushes
and nettles, and then some bushfire stuff. One moment I was earth
and sky, then east and west, north and west, and east and south, and
neast and sorth, then—oh, what does it matter! My only revenge was
to slither this way and that on those fleshy hips. After all that
she put rubber pads on the shoulder straps, said she was going
again—and she has!
In the three years of my experience I've
suffered nobody knows what. There was the day she dropped me over a
cliff and then found an easier way down for herself, so by the time
she had lunch I'd broken her new mug and plate ! There is the
uncertainty of never knowing when some fool will bring out a rope—to
lower Rucksacks only. There are times innumerable when she slithers
over rocks and down hills, and I just slither after. Now she has to
get the holes in me covered with leather. Once when she fell down I
sat on her head till somebody lifted me off! May be I have treated
myself to a large dose of self-pity!
However, I've never yet had to carry myself
up-hill, or wade through ice cold water. I saw one of my fellow
creatures hurtle down into a creek with a body attached to it, and
when they got it out water poured from its pockets. I've never been
gnawed by a rat, nor had tomatoes, persimmons or bananas squashed
inside of me! I have been used as a stepping-stone by a short-legged
beauty in getting over a fence, and often as a pillow. Of course,
she didn't take me away every week-end like some do, although I did
get some fairly rough times on one-day trips.
So now my growls must end, and I should be
thankful for the few blessings which have been mine. But, I'll let
you in on something. Judging by the puffing, panting and creaking of
a certain She, I can safely settle down to a fair amount of ease in
my advanced age, even if she does do one or two "tough ones," as she
calls them.
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