By Michael Tsai
Advertiser Staff Writer

Oh, we're a crafty, self-reliant gender, aren't we?

Give us a paper clip, a shoelace, maybe a big, flat rock, and there isn't anything we can't get done. It may not look pretty — let the wheels of our ingenuity be visible, right? — but it'll keep ya, it'll get you from Point A to Point B, it'll take care of bidness.

The point is, we make do with what's at hand. We're men, after all, and we don't need no K-mart-shilling Martha Stewart to tell us what for.

Why reupholster when you can duct-tape? Why break out the needle and thread when you can reattach that shirt button with a common staple? (Try this. Really, it works.) Fifty-nine different uses for caulk? A good thing, every one.

So how is it, then, chromosomal compatriots, that we collect so much stuff? If we so prefer riggery to widgetry, why are so many of our closets overflowing with obsolete technology, dusty outdoors gear and special bonus attachments to who-remembers-what?

I admit, I'm particularly vulnerable to these polar pulls. I want to think that I can survive on a desert island with a roll of dental floss and a flathead screwdriver, but, given the proper amount of available credit, I'd just as soon bring the entire Sears hardware department with me.

On my periodic trekking trips, I pride myself on keeping a lean, mean pack. Just about everything I take is multi-use, from first-aid supplies to eating utensils to underwear. (OK, admittedly, if it gets to the point where my underwear has more than one use, it's time to turn around.)

And yet, what often draws me in to these trips is the opportunity — the excuse, that is — to get gear-goofy. Ask any trekker: There is nothing more narcotic than a Campmor catalog. Powder Edge? It's like Sephora for boys.

Even if you know how to make a cooking pot out of a bamboo stalk, or start a bow-and-drill fire, or build an Eskimo hand drill, there's always some cool little totally unnecessary thing that will possess you.

When I was getting ready to go to Africa a few years ago, it was my postman who had to do all the training, lugging huge REI boxes laden with Nalgene bottles, balaclavas, rain pants and freeze-dried dinners uphill to my doorstep. I experimented with everything; I brought almost none of it.

Before a trek in Russia last year, my buddy Mark and I spent an inordinate amount of time discussing the relative merits of various Gore-Tex gloves, halogen/LED headlamps and carbon crampons. The climb itself? You go up, you come down, what's more to say?

It's like this with everything I do. I love the no-frills nature of distance running, yet my house is littered with PowerGels and Cool-Max singlets and little bottles of buffered salt tablets. I like a simple cup of coffee in the morning, but does my kitchen have to be a museum of coffee makers, percolators, presses and stove-top espresso drips?

I'm not sure what to make of all this. Should I just accept the fact that our capitalist, consumer society has an insider ally in the dark recesses of my psychological being? Or should I renounce all modern gadgetry and embrace my inner Unabomber? Maybe build myself a nice shack in the hills out of twigs and twine.

Hey, now that sounds fun! Wonder what kind of twine REI carries?

Reach Michael Tsai at 535-2461 or mtsai@honoluluadvertiser.com.