By Josh Mahan

Though we’ve combed our hair and made ourselves more presentable to sit at the dinner table, fear not brave reader, our socks still don’t match.

This past week has been hectic here at Lowbagger. The news staff was sweet enough to jump in and help with the redesign. It still took most of the week. And nobody got anything else done.

Back at Lowbagger University the journalism professors would lament to the old days of cutting and pasting using pocket-knife scissors and duct tape. The end product tended to run a little ragged. But they got the job done. We really are quite fortunate to be publishing in the computer age. Except for the fact we have to sit inside all the time.

First, let’s talk apparel.

Yesterday was a great day at the local ski hill. I had just bombed down Mission Magic on my way to the summit chair when Lowbagger Outdoors Editor John Fothergill came cruising up behind me.

“How can you tell a Lowbagger from behind on the ski hill,” I heard as he approached on my six.

“He’s the one missing chunks of edge out of his snowboard,” I offered in reply.

“He’s the one with the duct tape on his ass.”

I thought the duct tape on the back of my leg was barely noticeable. It was less than two percent of the snow pant’s total surface area. Years past have easily seen 30 percent duct-tape coverage.

I swiped back with another Lowbagger joke as we approached the lift.

“You know the difference between a Lowbagger and a mutual fund?” I asked him.

“Most phony Lowbaggers have a mutual fund,” he quipped.

“No, eventually a mutual fund will mature and make money.”

Both have been known to use duct tape. Though, a mutual fund with duct tape on it is usually a bad sign.

Duct tape has long held a mythical presence in Lowbagger circles. The old adage is:
If you can’t duct it, fuck it. Leave it where it lies. I’ve used duct tape to strap an emergency ski tip onto a pair of Lowbagger skis deep in the backcountry. I’ve limped a pair of river sandals through the rest of a season with the grey sheen of good duct tape. And a busted pack frame miles from a road isn’t a problem for a few passes of the sticky substance dispensed from a home-made mini roll.

Invented for military use in the Second Double-W, civilians got their hands on it during peace time for use in air-conditioning and heating ducts. Hence the name duct-tape. Some people contend, though, that soldiers called it duck tape for its veracity in wet conditions.

It has only been once that I’ve seen duct tape fail its mission.

When I was a kid we lived for a time in a yurt on the edge of a wild and wooly Montana wilderness. My daily routine consisted of obtaining the daily drinking water from a nearby creek, earning me the nickname of Running Water.

As I remember, it was an especially chilly night when the stovepipe in that yurt decided to suddenly fall apart. When in doubt, duct it. The theory seemed to work until the temperature of the stove pipe reached 362 degrees Fahrenheit: The temperature at which duct tape turns from a solid to a gas. Later as we sought shelter in the cold and black of the wood shed it seemed that in this particular case maybe duct tape had indeed worsened the situation.

You don’t hear many stories like that, though. Mostly because duct tape users are some of the most advanced consumers and know enough not apply it to hot objects. The overwhelming trust in the consumer is apparent by the dearth of warning labels on the product.

Anyway, hope you enjoy the duct-taped and redesigned January edition of Lowbagger as it grows throughout the month. We look forward to your thoughts during the next year.

Josh Mahan edits Lowbagger.org and uses duct tape.