Fire weed
in the Bow River Valley. Again, the mountains are washed out
with light. This photograph sucks.
Now the dying.
There was a ten by ten ledge that stuck out a little over the
canyon. It had been undercut by the force of the water and offered a
great view. I was walking out on the ledge and doing what no one
should ever do, even in their own living room, let alone a the edge
of a cliff where there is drowning and death and being bashed about
and (if you’re lucky) surviving with only lifelong crippling
injuries to deal with. I was looking through the lens of my camera
and walking.
This is how people get nominated for the Darwin Awards. How stupid
can you get? There was a lip in the rock and my toe came to a abrupt
stop as my body continued forward. I jerked the camera away (because
I wanted to see the plunge to my death in proportion) and hung there
with most of my body over the drop. Slowly, as my heart rate dropped
below 200 and my ass unclenched enough for me to move, I pulled
myself back and got back up on to solid ground. Cursing my stupidity
and thanking what ever deity that was listening.
About ten minutes later I was up on the bridge, and I stood there in
total amazement as I watched Dave do the exact same thing, in the
exact same place. It’s not that I wanted Dave to do it, I couldn’t
believe that it would happen to us both. We should’ve went to Vegas
right then.
We made the steep hike back to the car and by the time we got up to
the road we could actually laugh about it. We made a sandwich from
the cooler and headed on north to the final destination of the day.
