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Frost river bushcraft backpack loaded with a spare rainsuit as well as the one he’s wearing, 3 stoves, a full wooden cutlery set, probably some prebought logs prepacked, full-size mayonnaise and ketchup bottles, either a fuckoff huge canvas tent or the heaviest rubberised lavvu type thing, like 2 kuuksas, the most expensive pair of winter meindls in the height of summer a gas lantern etc as well as all the highest quality fully functioned camping basics
“Just like they did in the past, sonny” as he unfolds his cast iron burger griddle and lights his mini propane grill while looking out at the trees knowingly “if my years in touch with nature have taught me anything, looks like there’s gonna be a storm tonight” as if he’s quoting Silvester Stallone. He accidentally dips his Native American dream catcher pendant in the burger oil, dribbling hot all all over his XL winter jacket and sleeping bag. “And now it’s time to get some shut eye after a hard day in the bush” as the sound of the freeway a quarter of a mile away rushes past
