Smoking and Drinking is cool kids!


Image by Mozzer502
I don’t normally do this but it’s been a heck of a 36 hours. If I had a blog I’d write this.

Deanna is away for the weekend so I’ve decided to take the camera out for a spin. There’s a place called Grandview Campground, it doesn’t look that far and it’s reported to be the darkest place in California. How could I resist?

Arise at 6am, play with the dog and do errands, pack the Jeep and leave the house at 9:30.
The packing is easy, just some camping stuff and some camera stuff.
The camping stuff is just a tent, a bed roll, a sleeping bag, food and lots of water (there is none at the site), a stove, and change of underwear and a toothbrush. Nothing more. I’m traveling light.
The camera is a bit more complicated. I have the D300 body, 4 lenses of various magnificence, 3 shutter release cables (wired, wireless and programmable), flash, gels, 2 tripods, various masks, a bag of pyrotechnics, a bag of lights (gadgets plus 5 flash flights), various spinning ropes, sticks, and "things", 3 camera batteries + car charger, lots and lots of AA and AAA batteries, masking tape, duct tape, electrical tape, a power drill, and assorted other needed stuff. I actually spent last night fastening 3 cold-cathode lights to a spinning thing in the hope that it will look like a Captain America shield in the dark. I’ve angled the lights back from the handle to create the shield look. I’m going to have to remember to be careful, it spins REALLY close to my head. The power drill is for spinning some of the stuff really fast. The duct tape is because you should never leave home with it. In fact, when I’m king of the world (coming soon people), I’ll make it a capital offense to engage in wild adventures and not be carrying more than half your body weight in duct tape.

The drive is a nightmare. I was wrong about it being close. It’s 9 1/2 hours away.

I arrive tired, sore and feel slightly let down by the campsite. It looks like nothing much. I can’t see the views they’re on about, and there’s not a soul around. I’m the only camper this weekend. Screw it says I, engaging the 4WD and heading for the top of the nearest mountain. Off-roading is fun.

It seems that some nice ranger figured the top of the hill to be the perfect grand view, and has kindly provided a picnic table. Sod the camping rules, I’m pitching here tonight.

I’ve not seen a car or a person since I pulled out of Big Pine 20 miles back. I think this might be the most alone I’ve ever been. My watch tells me it’s a 115F and 8400ft above the sea. It’s not exactly ‘In To The Wild’, but it’s the closest I’ve ever come.

I sit on a rock, drinking wine and watch the sun go down.

Out of nowhere a French couple appear on the rock next to me. I’d like to tell you we advanced the course of international relations by breaking bread, but when you put this much effort in to it, sunset is a solo affair.

I wander around looking for good views and drop GloSticks to mark the spots for after the sun finally goes down. Sunsets are funny things. When you’re trapped indoors, or belting down a freeway, they can be magnificent, point a camera at them and they mostly just don’t try. This one didn’t even bother to try not bothering. It just got dark. Still, that’s a good thing; it’s the dark I’m here for. The French have gone as mysteriously as they arrived and I’m alone again. Just me and all of nature’s things that would like to kill me. So I put the Arctic Monkeys on as loud as I can to scare away the timid, and open some wine. Dinner is served shortly and I realize I’m drunk. This is not good. This is in fact very bad. I’m here to stay awake all night and to prat about with lights.

I try really really hard to sober up and to the surprise of everyone watching, it works. The sun is now down: I can’t play with all the fireworks and flame stuff I packed because I don’t want to be responsible for burning down the ancient Bristlecone forest, so that leaves all the flash lights, funky gear and of course, the shield. It hits me on the head so hard that one of the cathodes smashes. I’m now in pain but definitely bruised into sobriety.

I play for several hours and finally tire. I program the camera to take pictures while I sleep and hit the sack. Nothing is going to stop me sleeping

It’s midnight. Sweet dreams.
It’s 1am and I’m awake.
It’s 2am and I’m awake.
It’s 3am and I’m awake.
It’s 4am and really freaking tired and I’m awake. For some reason, I think I should be sleeping but every hour, there I am just wishing. I decide to call it quits and come home. By 4:30 all the gear is in the Jeep and I’m heading for Yosemite.

At five my watch beeps to let me know the hour has changed. Stupid. Stupid Stupid. In my stupor I must have knocked my watch in to beeping on the hour. Well that’s that mystery solved. (I’m really annoyed about this.) Still, there’s something magical to being the only one on the road, racing against snow capped mountains as the rising sun paints them fiery orange, Mozart blaring from the CD player.

I catch sight of myself in the rear-view. I look slept-in. Well, at least the irony faeries are still working.

I’m heading to Tenaya Lake in Yosemite for the morning sun. It’s all a bit surreal, trudging through packed snow after a night where the temperature hardly dropped to 80F. I make a few snaps and head off. There are signs everywhere saying "speed kills bears". Seems a little dramatic but… Oh crap. Two foot slam in to the peddles. There’s a huge bear just lollygagging in the middle of the road. Huge you say? How huge? House huge. Maybe bigger. He looks at me like I hardly register, but I have a feeling he’s thinking that it’s a good job I stopped otherwise he’d have had to hurt me.

An hour later, I’m out of the park and almost falling in to the gas station. I spill coffee everywhere and make new friends. I really need to sleep now. In an attempt to stay awake I decide to drive like the possessed, Mumford and Sons blaring only slightly less loud then my accompaniment (I don’t have the Deliverance sound track but this is close). The adrenaline will help me focus and the cops are all at home polishing their buttons for church. It works too, though it was scary in places and had Deanna been with me, she’d have been grateful I installed the "oh shit handles" in the Jeep. My white knuckles only turn back to hands briefly to signal solidarity to on coming Jeep owners (two door only, no one likes a 4 door Jeep).

It lasts an hour and then it’s just coffee shop after coffee shop as I crawl behind enormous mobile homes driven by 80 year-olds who have no right to be on the road.

Eventually it’s over. 7 1/2 hours of driving. I guess the route there was a bit busier.

36 hours. 780 new miles on the clock. Too much coffee and only 1 real photo to show for it. Just to be awkward, here I present 5. Let’s do it again next weekend!

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