I have an old Angling Trade hat that's dirty and falling apart, and my wife wants to throw it out in the worst way. But I won't let her, because that lid has been with me to Argentina, Iceland, New Zealand, Russia…to Alaska, the Bahamas, Bolivia, and Guyana. It stinks. Sometimes, I think it might crawl away. But I love that thing. It isn't so much that I think it's lucky (though, I assume it is). Instead, I think that ripe old hat dares anyone who might want to knock it off (or pick a bone with me about the stuff I write) to come take a swipe. It shows, very clearly, all the river miles I've rolled.