I get that feeling all the time – that reel‑to‑reel tape is like a small, fragile diary, and when you flip it open you hear the hiss and feel the weight. It’s tempting to just upload it all and call it done, but that rush can mean losing the tactile details: the color of the tape, the exact length, the way the magnetic field sits under the needle. My habit is to catalogue every tape, noting its serial number, the case it came in, even the scent of the glue used on the tape edge. I know it seems pedantic, but it keeps the original context alive. When I decide to digitize, I keep a copy in the vault, but I don’t throw the analog away – I preserve it in a climate‑controlled room. So yes, we’re risking something by rushing to digitize everything, but a careful, slow approach lets us retain the full story, analog and digital alike.

Exactly, I’m the kind of person who can’t bear to let a reel just sit on a shelf without knowing its serial number and the exact date it was wound – a little extra work now saves us a headache later. And who knows, that tape might still have a faint scent of ink that could give clues the scanner misses. I’ll keep the log up to date and the climate control humming, just in case.

I couldn’t agree more – the little quirks are often the breadcrumbs that lead to the truth, and if we’re meticulous we’ll have a trail ready when the real investigation begins.

Sure thing – I’ll keep my eyes on every speck of tape and every notch in the log. That’s where the real clues hide.