Sk-amping

I'm not sure how I could possibly be lucky enough to have spent a weekend doing things I like very much with 9 other people I like very much. It all started as a plan in my neural pathways but became a skateboarding/camping trip of kinda epic proportions. As the first mision of the summer, there was nothing to compare it to, but I can just  hope that any subsequential trips (of which there'll be many?) will measure up.

First stop, Hood River skatepark; second stop, the Hood River (brrrr); third stop, 76 gas station for ice cream and chips; fourth stop, The Dalles skatepark; fifth stop, the patch of shade beside The Dalles skatepark; sixth stop, our campsite along the Deschutes River. We made camp under the watchful eye of the ranger, who didn't cut us any fucking slack on our perimeter even though we had seven tents to fit. That's okay—it was cozy. Then dusk fell, and so came one of the best parts of any camping trip—sitting around the firepit sharing snacks and sips and stories.

After dark, the wind carried the smell of night and sage brush. The moon, I need to report, was an orange crescent that had risen slowly over our roasting hotdogs, and then a few hours later—as we lounged on a dark hillside neath the stars—plunged back below the horizon impossibly fast. Jesse played the guitar. We all watched it go.

Tight quarters.

Hood River secret spot.

Last light on the Deschutes. No reason why you wouldn't want to stay right there, right then, for, like, ever.

Camp cooks.

Almost as many dogs as humans—at any given moment at least one of them barking.

Morning light, dogs and dudes everywhere.