Bull-Dozer
Newly Enlightened
- Joined
- Sep 1, 2020
- Messages
- 92
Summer is arrogant. Comes on strong, pretends to be liked. Makes me hate the thermal retention properties of asphalt and cement along with the blinding glares of every man made surface. Worst of all, the true crime in all of this, is how I have to cling to sunglasses and hats rather than flashlights.
Sure, there is the late night fishing trip requiring the occasional headlamp function to dislodge a hook, tie a knot and/or take account of gear. The ever useful red light while setting up to star gaze without losing too much night vision. The handheld turned up just enough to prevent a broken ankle or low hanging branch to the eye coming back down a trail with canopy standing guard overhead as if refusing moonlight were its duty.
Yes, there are some short uses but even they have a price. The first being the natural love any and all flying, buzzing, stinging, blood gulping insects have for illumination. There is not much I like in becoming nature's meat flavored milkshake when my headlamp runs more than 30 seconds. Seriously, how did tiny winged creatures with needles for faces ever come to be? I digress, point being the insect world becomes a curse on flashlights in the thick of the season.
My second tearful complaint is that, due to an abundance of heat, I cannot enjoy the typical rise in temperature of some of my more favored lights. I have written before about enjoying the feel of a heatsink in the amber months. Bad enough having to chew and swallow the dense humidity of Summer air on top of illumination being of no comfort in hand.
If there is one saving grace to the ugly middle child of Spring and Fall it is that often it drives me to mankind's original refusal to go down with the sun, the first unnatural and intentional flashings of light that is the timeless and mesmerizing campfire. I cannot peer endlessly into an LED and get lost in thought as I can with flames. Nor do any of my flashlights have a potent sound and smell that immediately takes me back. There is performance and favor but no soul in the push-button technologies of today.
I take fire to be the great granddaddy of our sweet flashoholic obsessions. To gaze upon a good campfire is to touch an ancestral shared experience as comforting and familiar as the thought that every soul in your bloodline stared at the same silent moon. I admit I do love the feeling when the heat of a Summer day breaks in late evening and the fine art of stacking rough wood like some odd Lincoln Logs ritual begins. I love the woosh of ignition as the smell of lighter fluid turns to smoke. Soon following the marshmallows are impaled to be burned at the stake.
Treasure and carry your prized gadgets of light as I most certainly will too but for what it's worth I'd suggest returning to the original now and then. Seems no better time than Summer months. Besides, insects hate smoke and I love that fact.
Sure, there is the late night fishing trip requiring the occasional headlamp function to dislodge a hook, tie a knot and/or take account of gear. The ever useful red light while setting up to star gaze without losing too much night vision. The handheld turned up just enough to prevent a broken ankle or low hanging branch to the eye coming back down a trail with canopy standing guard overhead as if refusing moonlight were its duty.
Yes, there are some short uses but even they have a price. The first being the natural love any and all flying, buzzing, stinging, blood gulping insects have for illumination. There is not much I like in becoming nature's meat flavored milkshake when my headlamp runs more than 30 seconds. Seriously, how did tiny winged creatures with needles for faces ever come to be? I digress, point being the insect world becomes a curse on flashlights in the thick of the season.
My second tearful complaint is that, due to an abundance of heat, I cannot enjoy the typical rise in temperature of some of my more favored lights. I have written before about enjoying the feel of a heatsink in the amber months. Bad enough having to chew and swallow the dense humidity of Summer air on top of illumination being of no comfort in hand.
If there is one saving grace to the ugly middle child of Spring and Fall it is that often it drives me to mankind's original refusal to go down with the sun, the first unnatural and intentional flashings of light that is the timeless and mesmerizing campfire. I cannot peer endlessly into an LED and get lost in thought as I can with flames. Nor do any of my flashlights have a potent sound and smell that immediately takes me back. There is performance and favor but no soul in the push-button technologies of today.
I take fire to be the great granddaddy of our sweet flashoholic obsessions. To gaze upon a good campfire is to touch an ancestral shared experience as comforting and familiar as the thought that every soul in your bloodline stared at the same silent moon. I admit I do love the feeling when the heat of a Summer day breaks in late evening and the fine art of stacking rough wood like some odd Lincoln Logs ritual begins. I love the woosh of ignition as the smell of lighter fluid turns to smoke. Soon following the marshmallows are impaled to be burned at the stake.
Treasure and carry your prized gadgets of light as I most certainly will too but for what it's worth I'd suggest returning to the original now and then. Seems no better time than Summer months. Besides, insects hate smoke and I love that fact.
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