Mr. Camera's Wild Ride

“I just wrote this for my column for one of our papers this week. Thought you MIGHT enjoy (then again.... IT'S LOOOOOOOOOONG. LOL!)

MR. CAMERA'S WILD RIDE

I hope you’ll sit back and get ready to be entertained by this “Journey vs. Destination” col-umn. It’s a tale from the road… One that will make you shriek in horror and smile at the humor.

If you’ve been to a Disney re-sort, you’ve probably heard of “Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride,” although from what I’ve read on the Internet, it appears it’s now closed.

Rest assured, all adventure in the world has not been lost. Come with me, if you will, for “Mr. Camera’s Wild Ride.”

It all started on a March 2000 trip to South Dakota’s Badlands and Black Hills. It was an area I’d never visited in my oh-so-many years of life on this earth. With beautiful, unseasonable March weather – and a few days off over a weekend – I decided it was time to head west.

After spending one night at an Interstate highway rest stop (Shhh! Don’t tell anyone!) and my first night in the “Hills” camped out; I decided it was time to join the “High Pointers Club” – not to be confused with the infamous “Mile High Club.”

You can claim a “high point” when you climb to the highest elevation in any given state. I mean, state in the United States. Not euphoria, delusional, etc.
(For more information: http://highpointers.org/guide.shtml It appears I first became a “High Pointer” upon reaching Clingman’s Dome in Great Smokey Mountain National Park in May of 1998. It’s a strange observation tower resembling a UFO. A hike of 330 feet on a sidewalk to 6,643 feet. You really should see it: http://americasroof.com/tn.shtml)

In South Dakota, I decided to hike to the former Civilian Con-servation Corps fire tower, con-structed of rocks, at the top of Harney Peak. It’s almost a 6-mile roundtrip hike, gaining 1,500 feet in elevation.

I chose to start the hike from beautiful Sylvan Lake. It was cov-ered with ice that morning. I re-gret I didn’t pull out Mr. Camera to get a shot of the soft, early morning, yellowish sunshine tones.

But, no. I had a hike to do… spectacular views to see… a peak to conquer. The backpack I strapped on included food, water, extra layers of clothing… and of course, Mr. Camera and Ms. Tripod.

Off I headed up, up, up. At an early break in the forest, I could see my destination. There was the fire tower atop a grouping of gran-ite spires.

Soon enough the trail turned icy. The snow had thawed, been walked on, and was repacked down into ice. It was a good chance to try out my trekking poles.

They’re similar to ski poles and can be used to give additional support in hiking, while helping save leg joints from stress. They saved my butt more than once.

Climbing the final stretch to the tower, I actually had to use my arms to pull myself up the thor-oughly iced steps, which included no flat surfaces for even remotely steady footing.

Reaching the top was a superb feeling, although the wind was almost blowing me away. I set up Ms. Tripod and adjusted Mr. Camera on it, taking a ton of photos. Then I went into the tower, braved the winds whisking through it (the window coverings are long gone), sat down and ate a snack.

No one came while I was on/in the peak/tower. I had the top of South Dakota’s world to myself, a neat experience, because I understand in the warmer months people flock to and almost love poor Harney to death.

Alrighty. It was time to head back down. As I neared the parking lot, I was getting pretty tired. Unpacking my gear at the Jeep, I set many things in the back of it.

Thinking I still wanted to take pictures of Sylvan Lake – now just an ordinary shot, minus the ethe-real glow – I set Mr. Camera on top of the Jeep.

Yes, on top.

I said to myself, “Lisa, remember that camera is on the roof. Grab it for a picture of the lake.”

Thus began Mr. Camera’s Wild Ride. No more photos were taken that day. There was no stopping before the town of Hot Springs, a southern Black Hills town located a good hour from Sylvan Lake.

I continued my drive through Custer State Park, taking a few odd roads just to see what was around the next corner. Some gravel roads. Some bumpy roads.

Also, the trek took me through Wind Cave National Park, basi-cally an extension of Custer. Wind Cave features a lot more than just what’s underground. It’s a huge park, which contains a lot of woodlands and rolling prairie hills. Both parks have bison. In Wind Cave I also saw prairie dogs, elk, a coyote and more.

Finally, I hit the main highway and cruised along doing 55 (at least) to Hot Springs. Finding a place to eat, I settled in the booth and asked the waitress for a recommendation on a place to stay. It had to be semi-nice and low priced. The Bison Motel it would be, right on the main drag.

I checked in and hauled in gear, bags and maps from the Jeep. Watching some television, tired-ness soon overcame me and I fell asleep.

The next day dawned with sun-shine. I was ready and rearing for more adventure. I grabbed my film canisters and accounted for rolls of slide film used.

Then… I went to switch lenses on Mr. Camera, a handsome, 35-millimeter, Canon EOS Elan II model.

Almost instantaneously, my brain replayed the vision of Mr. Camera sitting on top of the Jeep in full, wide-screen, Technicolor.

“Oh no!” I literally screamed. You have never seen a person storm through a motel door so fast.

I looked at the roof of the Jeep…

There, awaiting my arrival (like there was nothing better to do) was Mr. Camera. I gasped and quickly grabbed him from his perch.

It would appear Mr. Camera stoically held to the roof through the aid of the roof racks. He was sitting in a corner intersection of both the Jeep’s roof rack and the extra Thule roof rack (which most often holds a mountain bike).

Mr. Camera (and I) also lucked out in two other ways. The motel sat on an oddly angled street. I had to park parallel to the room and street, not the usual perpendicular-style parking. Mr. Camera sat on the side of the Jeep facing the room. People passing by on the sidewalk could not readily see him.

Also, by some luck, the good weather continued. Mr. Camera was not subject to rain, snow or dew.

Needless to say, Mr. Camera and I had a joyful reunion. (Just don’t ask him about a later jog on a gravel road in Yellow River State Forest… where he fell from the backpack to the rocks below. I have come to the conclusion Mr. Camera is the most durable friend I know.)

I came home, took my slides to be developed and four of the seven rolls were fried by the proc-essor. At first I was fairly upset. I lost my “High Pointer” shots from Harney Peak. But then I speculated more…

It seemed to me the fried film was a sort of an ironic trade-off for keeping Mr. Camera safe and warm. Then I felt better about it all. It was a small price to pay for being a dolt.

To share a laugh at the expense of the columnist, e-mail: lbrainard@republican-leader.com”

“mind if I read that tomorrow? I've got blisters on my brain (and eyeballs).”

“too funny, I've lost a couple of coffees that way. Too bad about the film, though. The processors usually replace the film as if that replaces the shots.”

“Great story Lizs. I went up Harney Peak about 2 1/2 years ago and the view is spectacular. Thanks for bringing back the memories.”