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I'm pretty sure I was confused in the womb. Apparently I managed to wrap the cord around my neck and started to pull on it, and if not for my mother having a "strange feeling" and going to the hospital for no apparent reason I wouldn't be here today. (I'm sure a few of you are thinking... "if only!!!!"). With such an auspicious start, I suppose I shouldn't be surprised when I wander aimlessly in the wrong direction, but even by my standards, this trip took a few random turns. It started going the wrong direction down the wrong road. Thanks a lot, internet. After finally arriving at the parking lot, my main squeeze Ryan Dyar and I mounted our packs (wait... that doesn't sound right.....) on our backs (nope... not any better - enjoy the visual) and headed uphill. Quickly we came to a fork in the trail, and the first of many debates about where we were going ensued. Luckily we had a clear visual on our destination, so we continued our assault undeterred by the confusing as hell directions we received from each retreating hiker. The trail kept going right, and we kept the cauldron we were going to shoot off to our left, waiting for the inevitable shift in direction which we knew would happen at any time, but never did. It wasn't until we ended up on a completely different side of the mountain that we realize that the trail wasn't coming back. Ever. Oh.... So now our destination became a mystery, because we found ourselves on an entirely different side of the mountain than we thought we were going to end up on. No matter. The light looked like it was going to be pretty darned good, and there appeared to be more than ample areas to scout and hopefully find something decent to shoot. After pausing for some appropriately rugged photos for any number of online dating profiles that I will be clearly be needing to look in to at some point, we made camp and prepared for the evening. My one man solo tent looked smaller than I remembered it looking when I set it up the only other time I used it; particularly next to the Donald Trump Towers tent that Ryan erected. The evening shoot went ok. GOOD light, difficult comp choices, stunning mountain scenery, and one of my favorite people in the world. After a solid dinner of gas-inspiring chili mac, we turned in under a nearly full moon. My tent, it turns out is PERFECT for hikers 6'1" tall. Unfortunately, I'm 6'5". Ryan's comment was "It looked like a clown car in there when you were trying to get your jacket off". Many sleepless hours ensued, and by 3am I just gave up and tried to make enough noise outside the tent to wake up my camp mate to keep me company. Unfortunately, the Ryan Dyar Philharmonic Snoring Orchestra indicated that I would be on my own until dawn. Another EXCELLENT display of light the following morning, which Ryan CRUSHED (see his latest post) and it was time to break camp and head to another side of the mountain. As I was deconstructing my child-sized tent, I noticed my sleeping bag rolling down the hill towards the lake, and mounted a furious charge to save it in an uncoordinated attempt to look graceful and dignified. My hope that this maneuver wasn't seen was dashed with a glance back up the hill at Ryan holding his iPhone in video mode giving me a thumbs up and a casual "Got it". Stay tuned next week (or month or year or whenever I find time to actually post again) for the rest of the story.

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