519 - Castro Point
Today I did the impossible. I broke my Chacos.
You may be wondering how this is physically possible. Chacos, the premier sandal of the outdoor world, are known for their brute, animalistic strength. But somehow, I found a way.
Let me start from the beginning. I was on my way to the beach to film the final segment of my photography course. A nice, relaxing conclusion to put the cherry on top of a 9 month long project.
I pulled into the parking lot of Point Molante in Richmond, California and took a deep breath. This is it. Everything I’ve worked for has led up to this moment. Let’s finish it up with no distractions, eh?
I gathered my gear and walked out into the sand. Where should I film? I scanned the horizon, looking for a spot away from the crowd of feasting Americans. I began walking towards a quiet corner.
Then, a glimmer in the distance caught my eye.
Oh, no.... Oh, God no.
As my eyes focused on the distant metal, pure horror began to drip down my spine. A shipwreck. Just chilling about a half mile down the shoreline.
I got out my Google Maps to take a closer look. No information. Nothing.
Another chill went down my back, as my body automatically began walking towards it. I looked at the rugged coastline, and I nervously shifted the 30lbs of gear in my hands. I couldn’t stop. I was possessed.
Let me lay out the coastline for you, to give you a little insight about what this “little half mile” walk to the wreck involved:
✓ Slippery, Moss Covered Rocks
✓ Mud Pits Fit for Mammoths
✓ A Segment of Rotting Bark Spikes
✓ Vicious Chunks of Rusty Metal
It was fun. Very fun.
I arrived on the scene somehow unscathed and began to unload my camera gear. Luckily, time was on my side. The sun wasn’t setting for another hour.
My plan was this- I’d film the conclusion of my course with the last bit of light, then when the clouds changed color, I’d switch into photography mode and shoot the ship. Until then, I’d relax and enjoy the view. It was a solid plan.
Almost like I’ve done this before.
I breathed in the fresh ocean air, and took in the scene. Seagulls hopped across the shipwreck, water gently overlapped the pier, and a hint of salty air came came into my nose. I suddenly became overwhelmed with emotion. So much time and energy had gone into creating this course, and now I was at the crux.
I always knew this point would come eventually, but for so long it felt so distant. A lone tear dripped down my face and splashed into the murky mud below.
I pulled myself together and began looking for a composition. I tried a few different angles, but nothing was hitting quite right. Sometimes a scene is so epic you just want to look at it, not compose a shot.
My alarm suddenly went off. It was time to film.
I filmed.
Then I went right back to shooting.
The light started hitting, and the colors began to emerge. My heart began to race as I knew this was the moment. I needed something now.
A twisted sheet of metal captured my eye- but the only problem was that it was in the mud pits. Who knew what laid below in the depths of that wet earth.
But… I’m fearless. Or so I think. I took a step in the mud, my sandal sunk about a foot deep, and I freaked out.
I pulled with all my strength, and my foot wouldn’t budge an inch. This wasn’t good.
My mind immediately went to the Cook Inlet Mudflats in Alaska. A gruesome urban legend, these harmless looking mudflats were known to trap curious explorers, much like quicksand. And then slowly over the next couple hours, as the person struggled to break free, the tide would begin to rise…
Several lives have been claimed there in the past decade alone.
I snapped out of it. PULL, MOTHER FUCKER. PULL.
I set my camera gear down on the solid bank two feet to the right of me and yanked as hard as I could. My foot suddenly plopped out with a disgusting FLUUP sound.
I promised myself I’d never skip leg day again. And believe it or not, my Chaco was somehow still on my foot. Like nothing happened. These things were miracle workers.
But I didn’t have time to process it. The sun was setting fast. I scanned the boat looking for a new composition. Hopefully one that didn’t involve some type of sickening dance with death.
This boat was a monster. It had bitten into me and tried to pull me in.
The frame began to form into teeth. The rusty bow, into a scaly body. The pelicans, into some type of fly buzzing unknowingly around its host.
And my composition emerged.
“Teeth of the Wreck”
Taken with Sony a7rIII + Tamron 17-28mm f/2.8
[ISO 1000 ~ 17mm ~ f/8 ~ 1/160s]
(Want a Print? Get one here.)
I snagged that shot and packed up quickly. Darkness had begun to fall. I now had to walk back along the treacherous shoreline.
And after about 50 feet, I realized the boat hadn’t let me off so easily.
My Chacos were covered in mud- and it like some type of grotesque poison. I couldn’t get a grip on any rock, my foot would just slip inside the belts. After about 10 minutes of struggle, the sandals finally gave out. The belt snapped, and my foot slid neatly into the sharp bark below.
I howled with pain as I looked down the long shoreline ahead. This had just turned into a nightmare. And I was now guided solely by the light from the phone in already occupied hands.
I walked for a few more feet, hopping across patches of old tire, soft brush, and mossy rock. In between were rocks, rotting bark, trash, and god knows what else.
Then I slowly realized I’d been training my whole childhood for this moment. This was hot lava. For adults. Or dumbasses. Depends on how you look at it.
Needless to say, I switched my mind into some type of crazy survival mode and got out of there. To this day, I’m not sure how.
As I stepped back onto the pavement of the parking lot, I looked back into that muddy darkness, knowing that monster was out there watching. A demon of the seas.
The final trial of this course was complete.
I’m on a mission to explore as much as humanely possible.
Want to see my progress? Check out the Adventure Map.
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