You know this reminds me of the time I invented the first tent specially designed for rock climbers. 189 years ago, when the blood still ran hot through my veins and before the wispy fingers of father time haunted my bones, I was camped out beneath my what you little rock-spawn now call a "proj." Back in those days you couldn't just send the darn thing, you had to spend lots of time and patience waiting there under the rock, until finally, one day, when the rosy fingers of dawn tickled the landscape and the day's first eagle soared heavenward, you knew that your persistence had payed off, and the route was ready to be climbed. I had a colleague, a little axehandle of a man, by the name of Karl, who when the wind blew my intentions to endeavor accross the plains, would come to offer moral support to my not uncommonly lonely pennance. Now Karl always said that the way to convince a man that he was wrong was to tell him all the ways he was right. Well sometimes you win all your battles, and other times all of the ones you can win just run away. Back in those days a horse never looked you in the eye twice unless he meant to get on your good side, and a fencepost was the next best thing to your best friend. Getting along to my point, Karl would always complain about the rain, which if you'll believe it was wetter back then, and so I said to him that I had an idea for the first tent designed especially for rugged rock climbers like ourselves. I told Karl to lie real still, and before long I had enough rocks piled on top of him, that he couldn't feel the rain anymore. And best of all, my new tent wasn't going anywhere on account of any weather. After I helped Karl out of the tent I had the idea that we could bring the tent along with us, and so we divided it up into our packs on the way to the next destination. It then I reckoned that the tent was notably lighter than bringing out all the wood to build a cabin, so my vagabond companion and I realized then that this would be the future of wildcountry nomadry!