So, the web I am going to spin for you today is a story about passion, resilience, music, exploration and the human spirit.
As it goes, festivals generally have a lifespan of several days. In the case of Sasquatch, there were three of them in 2008. Our party did not possess the stuff of admittance to the second day, leaving us with an entire day of smoking pot and drinking beer at the campground... however, one can only consume so much substance before boredom sets in.
My younger brother Hugh decided that he was not going to let the man keep him from the festival; he was determined to sneak in. Sarah, my older brother Ned, and myself did not feel the same conviction to jump the fence for Death Cab and the Cure.... So we formed alternate plans to find beer, and hopefully a swimming hole (I am proud to say that the weekend was an earthy experience in that none of our group members showered).
Thecampground was packed bumper to bumper, and our vehicle was completely "parked in" to the middle of a field of grass... Somehow, when the time came that we were heading out a vacancy opened up in such a way that we were able to squeak out of the campground between pitched tents.We ventured out for our quest of beer, and victoriously acquired our bounty. Ninety cans of shitty beer + six drop top ambers to ease the pain of the macrobrews.... We also found a local who pointed us to a nearby fishing pond, where we were able to jump in to some ice-cold water. Usually I consider myself to be a "polar bear" of sorts in that I can and do oftentimes swim in extremely cold water... My body was not having it at this Ssaquatchian Fishing Pond. I was in the water for a matter of seconds, however it was long enough to be refreshed!
From here, our adventure brought us home to Honeybucket 6 (when you have 10,000 people camping in about 40 acres of grass field.... it is VERY disorienting. So they number the Honeybuckets [porto-crappers] as landmarks so you can find your way home. Ours was just north of Honeybucket 6... hope that clears things up)
We returned to camp to find Hugh fiddling with his tent poles and a 15 x 30 tarp that served as his ground cloth. "I got tackled two times trying to sneak in" he says to us. He tried to jump over the fence and then also just run through the front gate, both times resulted with his face in the dirt. So it seems his mission was altered from sticking it to the man by sneaking into the fest, to sticking it to nature by creating a rainproof outdoor shelter that McGuyver would appreciate. We were able to help him erect this structure when we returned with the van, using its lifted tailgate as the backbone for the shelter. It was a badass shelter, here are a couple pics.
So, the shelter was a complete success... After a while of removing ourselves from the sun under Hugh's new shelter, we decided we wanted to explore the campground. Hugh opted out, so Ned Sarah and I embarked on our journey brandishing my Cool Keys Keytar, the Strumstick and for percussion my Glockenspiel. We started a band called The Sticks (completely different from Mr Roboto or the river of the dead according to the Greeks.... Anyway, five minutes after forming the band we headed out on our first tour. Let me say, I have been in my fair share of bands... Metallicaholix, Bo-Job, Samuel and the Semites, Los Zombis, and Bo.Monro... and I have NEVER seen a band get their shit together so quickly as to go on tour five minutes after formation... that is simply attributed to our will and passion to bring music into the hearts and minds of our inebriated fellow campers.
We walked and we walked... One of the first groups of people we ran into shouted from a distance, "That's a StrumStick!" he proceeded to tell me that he never thought he would see another one... BUT HE WAS WRONG!
Generally how the tour went was, we would walk around until we found people, then we would join their group and pass around our instruments to them so they could make some music. I don't think that I have been told "You made my day!" so many times in such a short period of time. Everyone we encountered was extremely nice, although there was one Colombian who had transplanted to Seattle who was trying to convince me that the war on Iraq was necessary, and that Bush and McCain had a grandeoise plan for the world that would allow our economic prosperity to flourish... I had to hold myself back from interrupting / shouting at him exposing all of the flaws to this grand plan that he spoke of, but we quickly moved on to the next group who were completely into the idea of trying our instruments and clapping along.
One of our audiences was getting an update from his friend who was in the festival on his cellular telephone and he told his friend "Sorry, I need to go, I have my own concert here... The Sticks are performing for us." Ha, he was definitely drunk, and definitely into our music.
The tour continued for a total of some two or three hours, do not really know because time does not matter when you are camping. At the end of our tour, Sarah had gone ahead while Ned and I dropped our drawers and Honeybucketed it up. As Ned and I rounded the bend nearing Honeybucket 6, I was strumming away to my hearts content filling the air with some twangy bluesy Strumstick action as six individuals wearing yellow festival staff shirts approached.
As we were walking by, one of the staffers (who was not really sure of himself...) broke formation and asked me to put away my instrument because saying, "It causes people to gather, You must either put it back in your campsite, or I will take it." This really steamed me up... I wanted to come back at him and tell him cramming 10,000 people into 40 acres of field is actually what forces folks to gather, but I held my tongue.
The Sticks were strummed out... as we were walking back to Honeybucket Six a couple of Joes who were tripping on shrooms joined us, and we all went and sat under Hugh's shelter returning to the indulgence of substances.
I kids you not, even though we were not participating in the festivity itself, it was a remarkable day.
We walked and we walked... One of the first groups of people we ran into shouted from a distance, "That's a StrumStick!" he proceeded to tell me that he never thought he would see another one... BUT HE WAS WRONG!
Generally how the tour went was, we would walk around until we found people, then we would join their group and pass around our instruments to them so they could make some music. I don't think that I have been told "You made my day!" so many times in such a short period of time. Everyone we encountered was extremely nice, although there was one Colombian who had transplanted to Seattle who was trying to convince me that the war on Iraq was necessary, and that Bush and McCain had a grandeoise plan for the world that would allow our economic prosperity to flourish... I had to hold myself back from interrupting / shouting at him exposing all of the flaws to this grand plan that he spoke of, but we quickly moved on to the next group who were completely into the idea of trying our instruments and clapping along.
One of our audiences was getting an update from his friend who was in the festival on his cellular telephone and he told his friend "Sorry, I need to go, I have my own concert here... The Sticks are performing for us." Ha, he was definitely drunk, and definitely into our music.
The tour continued for a total of some two or three hours, do not really know because time does not matter when you are camping. At the end of our tour, Sarah had gone ahead while Ned and I dropped our drawers and Honeybucketed it up. As Ned and I rounded the bend nearing Honeybucket 6, I was strumming away to my hearts content filling the air with some twangy bluesy Strumstick action as six individuals wearing yellow festival staff shirts approached.
As we were walking by, one of the staffers (who was not really sure of himself...) broke formation and asked me to put away my instrument because saying, "It causes people to gather, You must either put it back in your campsite, or I will take it." This really steamed me up... I wanted to come back at him and tell him cramming 10,000 people into 40 acres of field is actually what forces folks to gather, but I held my tongue.
The Sticks were strummed out... as we were walking back to Honeybucket Six a couple of Joes who were tripping on shrooms joined us, and we all went and sat under Hugh's shelter returning to the indulgence of substances.
I kids you not, even though we were not participating in the festivity itself, it was a remarkable day.
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