It’s the call of the wild
The thunder of migrating wildebeest
The splash of trout in a secret stream
Or the snap of an open fire and the stories of old mates.
When I head into the wild, I don’t travel heavy;
A trusty hat
A rod and reel
A dented flask
And, of course, old faithful
My WILD Cooler.
It’s crafted by men who grew up in the bush
Grandfathers who told stories around blackened coffee pots
Fathers who froze our memories on film
Uncles who lived and died with elephants
And sons, who reeled in their first sailfish at nine.
It’s built to last
A cooler handed from father to son
Along with fly-tying
And exploring nature with respect and ease
Because the call of the wild will come
And it should never, ever be ignored.