FROM A WOODEN CANOE

Few sports can boast as many old-fangled pleasures as camping and its related activities, and Dennis (The River Home: An Angler’s Explorations, 1998, etc.) beckoningly delineates many of them in these light, silky essays. In 31 short pieces, Dennis sings the praises of outdoor equipment (and to a degree the whole outdoor experience) that will never go out of style, that are both useful and beautiful, products of integrity and passion and attention to detail. What he has in mind are red-and-black checked wool hunting jackets, canvas tents (“the fabric equivalent of oak”), the sheer witchery of duct tape, a canoe paddle shaped by drawknife and spokeshave as opposed to a molded plank of space-age, bullet-proof Kevlar. Dennis sees these items as distillations, centuries in the tinkering, which allow us to reach back to a time when tools didn’t simply get the job done, but were a pleasure to use. He turns the thermos or Coleman lantern or portaging pack lovingly in his mind’s eye, points out its practical merits and its less tangible ones, those heart-gladdening aspects that give soul to any good tool. Dennis can also conjure the elemental sensation of being alone in the far north, and why making that one last hellacious portage may make all the difference in the world. He is less successful when he goes general rather than specific about his outdoor experiences: yes, bugs are pesky; yes, a hat is sometimes useful; yes, maps can be misleading. But he has nothing much else to offer. Dennis admires the fine old goods, but it’s the remote landscapes that clearly have their claws in him. He brings a bright, childlike eagerness to these days on the stream or in the field and forest, burnishing their memory with thoughtfulness and elegance. (illustrations, not seen)