The compliance guy with too much gear — owns the closet, the voice, and the publish button.
Outkitted started in an overstuffed closet. By day Kevin works in compliance — the person who reads the whole thing and notices when the numbers don’t add up. Pointed at a gear closet, that habit produced one honest question: what do I actually own, what does it weigh, and what does it cost me every time it leaves the house?
The answer became the Outkitted app — one local-first closet, every pursuit, a loadout for every trip — and then the writing that goes with it. Every post carries a transparency label that says exactly how its claims were earned, and no post may claim field use that hasn’t happened. As trips get logged, pieces graduate: a Trip Plan becomes a Field Report, and the label changes with it.
Kevin reviews and publishes everything that runs on Outkitted. Questions, corrections, or a shakedown request: hello@outkitted.com.
Less gear that does more. One closet feeds every pursuit, every ounce and dollar gets counted, and cost-per-use decides what stays. The most dangerous gear isn't the stuff you never touch — it's the stuff you'd touch just enough to justify carrying it forever.
The body is the first item in every loadout — the one piece of gear on every single trip. Preparation here means training in service of the pursuits: carrying the pack, wading the current, recovering for tomorrow. Capability, not competition.
Credentials: No fitness, medical, or coaching credentials. Everything training-related under this byline is personal experience and careful homework, labeled as exactly that — and reviewed against the editorial standards before it runs.
Disclosure: Every gear link on Outkitted is a plain manufacturer link — no affiliate codes, no commissions, no sponsorships. If that ever changes, this disclosure changes first, loudly, on the same day.
Seven miles in to the valley below the Three Forks of the Conejos, four days of brookies and rainbows, three nights of weather — and the eight-and-a-half-foot glass rod that made the nine-footer dead weight.
Texas Hill Country fly fishing in July — where to wade, what to throw, when to beat the tubers, and the stripped-down kit that rides in a hip bag on a wader belt.
The smallest kit I own is the one I use every day. Item by item — knife, light, wallet, watch — and why each earns its pocket.
A pre-trip shakedown on the living-room floor — the near-misses in my backpacking loadout, what the scale said about each one, and the insurance-versus-fear test.
A camp-and-overland loadout built for a Hill Country creek weekend — where car camping stops being a compromise and starts being the point.
I ran the dollars-per-ounce math on every fly rod and reel I own. The results are funny, a little painful, and weirdly useful.