Last weekend Molly and I went to the North Shore (of Minnesota, not Oahu, unfortunately) to experience some pretty, pretty dying leaves. Mother Nature obviously didn't get the memo that enjoying the scenery requires an unobstructed view , because when we peaked the hill overlooking Duluth, we were met with a thick blanket of fog. That sadistic bitch.
That made it tough to see anything from the many scenic overlooks on the drive. Instead, I just closed my eyes and pretended I was staring over beautifully massive Lake Superior, while Molly closed her and made-believe that I was Emil Hirsch.
Whatever.
Even with the damp weather, I was determined to go hiking. Sunday was, by far, the best day for hiking, but it wasn't pouring on Saturday when we arrived at the resort, so of course we donned the clothes that absorbed the most moisture, and started the short hike to Poplar Falls.
The picture doesn't really do justice to the massive amounts of water going over the falls, nor does it detail the number of feet that it actually dropped, but suffice it to say, had Molly pushed me in like I'm sure she wanted to, the force of the water would've pushed me to the UP, and I would've screamed "Weeeee! Here I come, Michigan!" Either that or I would've hit my head on a rock and drowned before I hit calmer waters. It was 50/50.
Me: Hi, I'm the Smug Hiker! Her: Tell me when you're going to take...[click]
What does this picture say about me? I think I'm Ansel-fucking-Adams. You can never have too much black and white photography.
Things I learned this weekend--
--Baby salamanders love the comfort of a warm hotel room just as much as we do. I tried to take a photograph of the little bugger, but I was drunk, and have a tough enough time operating cameras when I'm sober. And I suck at photography.
--Even if the hotel room has a whirlpool bathtub doesn't mean that a man should take a bath in it . Things float in a completely unnatural and wholly unattractive way. No pictures, you're just going to have to trust me on this one.
--Large amounts of rainfall means many, many waterfalls due to the terrain, and waterfalls are pretty. That is, until they're flowing over the road and we don't notice until we should've slowed down 15 seconds ago. And there is nothing more embarrassing than telling people you were blindsided by a waterfall.
That made it tough to see anything from the many scenic overlooks on the drive. Instead, I just closed my eyes and pretended I was staring over beautifully massive Lake Superior, while Molly closed her and made-believe that I was Emil Hirsch.
Whatever.
Even with the damp weather, I was determined to go hiking. Sunday was, by far, the best day for hiking, but it wasn't pouring on Saturday when we arrived at the resort, so of course we donned the clothes that absorbed the most moisture, and started the short hike to Poplar Falls.
The picture doesn't really do justice to the massive amounts of water going over the falls, nor does it detail the number of feet that it actually dropped, but suffice it to say, had Molly pushed me in like I'm sure she wanted to, the force of the water would've pushed me to the UP, and I would've screamed "Weeeee! Here I come, Michigan!" Either that or I would've hit my head on a rock and drowned before I hit calmer waters. It was 50/50.
What does this picture say about me? I think I'm Ansel-fucking-Adams. You can never have too much black and white photography.
Things I learned this weekend--
--Baby salamanders love the comfort of a warm hotel room just as much as we do. I tried to take a photograph of the little bugger, but I was drunk, and have a tough enough time operating cameras when I'm sober. And I suck at photography.
--Even if the hotel room has a whirlpool bathtub doesn't mean that a man should take a bath in it . Things float in a completely unnatural and wholly unattractive way. No pictures, you're just going to have to trust me on this one.
--Large amounts of rainfall means many, many waterfalls due to the terrain, and waterfalls are pretty. That is, until they're flowing over the road and we don't notice until we should've slowed down 15 seconds ago. And there is nothing more embarrassing than telling people you were blindsided by a waterfall.
posted by Irritable Male Syndrome @ 8:28 AM
5 Comments:
Jesus christ. Is it 1969? Get a haircut, hippie.
Hey, I resent that.
Joe: I wouldn't know what 1969 was like; can you enlighten me?
Molly: Which part?
Joe's jab at long hair of course.
You should have at least tried the whirlpool bathtubs with your girl. You'll definitely enjoy the experience.
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