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Thursday, October 4, 2012

Of Mustaches, Mountainmen, and Mammoth


The Mammoth pilgrimage had been a long time coming. Normally a multi-annual trip, it had been nixed for over a year's time. Financial burdens, personal problems, not being able to assemble any sort of proper crew all at the same time without scheduling conflicts. Obviously a bunch of weak-ass excuses for NOT going.
The Excuse.
High Desert Scrub.
The Reason.
Heckler's Cove North.


"If you save your breath, I feel a man like you could manage it." Jake pushing across the desert.
  
We decided to drag young Jake Reuter into the wilderness to break him in on the finer aspects of angling, marksmanship, camping out, and if nothing else, bear bait. His reward for suffering the great outdoors came in the form of adventure and back-breaking labor. Somebody's got to train these kids how to survive the coming apocalypse. By the end of the weekend, he was ready to be dumped in the back country and stay alive with a few simple tools.

Trout country.

 
Devil's Postpile.

Ah... Crystals!


seatbelt smith.


Jo Jo back smith at altitude.




thug life.


Rat Face spracking.


Slow day's catch.

guerrilla arts.

Chris Henderson hurricane fakie.


Jake getting high.

The Volcom/Brothers Mammoth Skatepark is someplace you have to go at least once in your life. Do yourself a favor and camp, staying in hotels is not only expensive up there, but it's pretty much for pussies. Just remember to use the bear box. Really.

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