Testing the Gate

Dropped from the sill onto the timber desk with a flat clack of boots. Right beside a stack of field notes lay a heavy matte-black carabiner. Utilitarian gear, cold to the touch. I stepped in close, braced my left boot against the thick outer spine, and caught the swinging latch with my hook. Leaned my weight back. The spring fought back, stubborn and stiff, before snapping open with a sharp metallic clink against the pine boards. Released it, and it slapped shut clean. No rattle, no give. That is solid iron. It will hold weight when a hauling line is needed.