Because David and Moi were determined to wade in the ‘Roo at dusk and because aimlessly wandering around the wooded area between the lake and the campground in the midst of a clear and calm late-summer evening was event enough, and because Greg took his time scavenging for quasi-legal firewood, dinner got off to a late and somewhat disorganized start. Nevertheless, as the day faded and the stars came out, amid the occasional creak and slam of a pit toilet door at the restroom just down the way, the squeak and splash of the nearest spigot run through it’s evening ablution paces, the odd kid-shriek in response to a dropped and/or flaming marshmallow, Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Sweet Home Alabama turned down real low and real nice—Campsite #14 you know who you are, holla!—and the high-pitched vacuum whine of what musta been one hell of a Luxury Inflatable Mattress inflating somewhere off in the not-distant-enough distance, we made a fire and commenced operation Everything Must Go—EMG. Tonight was the last night of our four day cooler-sharing Mythical State of Jefferson trip together so it made sense to eat everything possible if it was possible, which it turns out it was, mostly.
The focus or “crux” of EMG was a very large quantity of hormone-free sausages which we grilled over the course of a three hour conversation—in part, one has to assume, because Greg, Moi and David had been steadily eating psilocybin mushrooms since breakfast—about the differences between the Lemurians, descendants from the lost land of Lemuria who use their ability to produce powerful, inaudible harmonics to dig tunnels through Mt. Shasta, and the Yoctavians who produce powerful harmonics with bells and instruments.
In regards to the sausages heretofore doggy-paddling around the bottom of a not-so-cold cooler for the last 36 hours, there were, depending on how you looked at it: 5 packages, or 20 individual sausages, or 5 sausages per person, or 1.25 packages of sausages per person. Anyway, we grilled and consumed the sausages package-batch-style so that each of us was able to sample one of each style and type; Chicken Apple, Cajun Style Andouille Lean Pork, Mango Smoked Chicken and Chorizo Smoked Chicken. We also needed to consume a brand new jar of apricot jam (which some of us used as sausage condiment), five slices of artisanal sourdough bread, one warm can of RC Cola and 27 (Domestic!) beers. And one 70% Green and Blacks chocolate bar which bar had, in the heat of the last three days, transitioned from solid to liquid and back to solid several times over, and which bar we bought/brought to give to the residents of Big Bear Ranch, a commune founded in 1968 “by a group of people who wanted to go back to the land,” but we didn’t because we gave them nails and bags of flour instead. And a brand new Family or Party-sized bag of Mexican Restaurant-Style Yellow Corn Tortilla Chips, and the rest of the mushrooms.
We should have cleaned up our campsite in particular the picnic table area (PTA) still covered in food waste and post Campfire Party flotsam and jetsam—you know, put the trash in a designated trash bag, burn everything else in what’s left of the fire, load and close-up the cooler, etc—but we were tired or high or drunk, or tired-and-high-and-drunk, and besides the only actual food left was a handful of yellow crunchy dust in the bottom of giant chip bag which was then currently lying on the table between a half-empty can of RC Cola and a Gränsfors Bruks Wildlife Hatchet. And double-besides the deer, which deer had been coming into our area and lurking and cruising and vibing on us, and coming sometimes to within like five feet of us, didn’t look Magical or Terroristic.
The night was warm-enough and bug-free so we decided to cowboy camp (i.e. deciding to forgo our shelters and sleep en plein air, underneath the stars.) There were two flat spots in our campground; Moi and I slept next to each other in one (FS-1), David and Greg slept next to each other in the other (FS-2). FS-1 and FS-2 were separated by a six or seven foot patch of grass and rocks and lumpy dirt. As coordinates plotted on a map or on the back of napkin in the form of a “napkin drawing;” FS-1, FS-2 and the PTA formed a rough isosceles triangle. The distance between FS-1 and the PTA was less than five feet. The distance between FS-2 and the PTA was no more than eight feet. Visibility between FS-1, FS-2 and the PTA was 100+%. And it should be noted: even after our fire was all the way out it wasn’t completely dark. It was a clear night and the sky was full of an estimated 8,456 stars.