Solitary Photo Shoot

Today I did a couple things I never did before. I took my tiny tripod with me to take shots of the water (and of myself in front of the water), where I became my own little fashion show, both photographer and pouty model. Also, I took my beloved (sometimes troubled) laptop with me, which I’m sure will dismay Beau greatly as he’ll be coming home from work any second and will find his source of Civ IV vanished (I did leave a note on the TV, I’m not totally heartless).

I set off on my now-favorite jaunt – go to the “scary” undertow beach and walk along it until it starts to curve around toward our beach. This is a mild hike over lava rocks and depending on the tide its level of difficulty varies from not bad to somewhat heart-pumping. The tide is amazing. You can see it actually moving in (it always seems to be moving in to me) as you’re walking along the rocks which always gives me a sort of paranoia that I’m going to end up stranded out there on some tall lava rock and no one will know where the hell I am since I’m completely out of sight. That’s the other thing, my favorite tramping area is almost completely out of sight of land, which I like, because in any small community (and this is teensy tiny) you have that feeling of living in a fish bowl, and being the “foreigners” of the place, that is magnified. I like to be out of the way to do things that may make me look somewhat foolish to the locals, like hiking on their lava rocks and scrambling up the sides of cliffs that tend to shift from an unnerving 45 degree angle to a heart-in-the-throat fearful 65 degrees.

And I am not such a complete idiot that I don’t recognize that a fall from these cliffs is fairly dangerous, not so much from the height which is not great, but from the loving solid arms of only lava rock below, and also not only due to the fact that being out of sight to save one’s dignity also makes one out of sight to be saved from one’s such foolishness. But most of all, due to the fact that there is only one single person in the universe who would think to look for me, Beau, and he would a) not do so immediately, we are not the Corsican Brothers, despite our closeness, and b) would take quite some time to find me. My problem is that I like seclusion, “special places,” nooks and crannies, which is rather chancy at times for a woman, who always has that “rape/murder” thing somewhere in the back of her mind.

The other day I was climbing up the side of the cliff, and it just felt really good. I haven’t been active hardly at all in the past couple years, particularly since I left NYC where I walked miles every day just by circumstance, and I have been packing on the pounds. I am not yet fat, but I’m certainly in the far end of Bridget Jonesville. I find that I get tired easily when Beau and I go walking around cities, and I’m not very good at exerting myself anymore.

So anyway, I had almost totally encircled this beach, where I was out only facing the ocean and nothing else around, and I saw these gorgeous pink wildflowers growing right off the side of the cliff in this thick, straw-like grass. And I got this crazy notion that I’d take a picture of them from the ground, then climb right up to them and take a picture. I don’t know why I got that into my head. It seemed kind of fun at the time. So, I started scrambling up to the flowers, with my book between my teeth, and both arms and legs in use as I monkeyed it upwards. I reached the flowers and had this overwhelming sense of happiness and accomplishment, though it had been pretty easy. I took my photo and kind of sat there, living the moment. Then I looked up and saw the top of the cliff wasn’t that far and I wondered what was up there. The top of the cliff is not large, and I knew it was no big mystery, but there’s something weird about it in that it’s never the same thing twice when you get up there. The first time Beau and I climbed up one part, we came upon a Maori cemetery, right there at the top of this cliff (with the dog Bear following us the whole way). It kinda creeped Beau out, but I thought it was pretty fantastic, and coming out on the opposite side of the cemetery found us on an easy slope off the cliff to the ground (and the other side of it, on our house side). Of course, as we made our descent, we saw a large sign which absolutely forbid dogs in the place, and there we were in full view of the entire village, Bear happily trotting along beside us. Great. Way to make it good with the locals.

So again, ANYWAY, I continued my ascent up the cliff, feeling really good about it, finding the thick grass easy to grasp as I went higher. Just near the top, I saw that the cliff kind of jutted out, which would have meant I would have kind of been climbing upside down in a sense to reach the top. I paused.

Hmmm..


Now, I’m really close to the top, but I am also just using hands and feet (and starting to slobber on my book), and somehow the thought of having my head and back parallel to the ground as I climbed those last few feet seemed just…fucking stupid. Then I did something else just as stupid…

I looked down.

I know I know, they always say, “Don’t look down!” Well, duh, I had to since I had to figure out how to get down. It wasn’t like I was climbing down the rungs of a ladder. Suddenly, the grass I’d grasped on my way up, did not seem to be such handy foot supports for the descent. So there I was, 90% up a cliff, clinging on to the side of it like a marsupial on its mother’s back, and wondering what the fuck was I going to do. I had to go down, and I started to, only to find my foot somewhat slipping and not finding any kind of foothold. Great. I’m going to die right here. I’m going to be an entry in the Darwin Awards. Dumbass.

So, very slowly I did climb down. And all was fine. And no one would know of my silly adventure. Well, except for anyone who is reading this, and we all know I have like four readers worldwide.

*cough*

And yet, the other day I was startled when Beau said I was a rather reckless person.

“My mother calls it fearless!”
“I don’t call walking the full length of Harlem at 1am in the morning fearless.”

Now, Harlem is a very awesome place, well, some parts of it. Harlem is like anywhere else in NYC, you can be on one street and it will be charming, cute, and secure. The very next block can look like Lebanon. It’s true, I did walk for a very long time, very late at night along the streets of Harlem one night (to feed a friend’s cat), and I will admit to being somewhat nervous at certain corners and blocks, but I lived.

I don’t see myself as reckless though, nor do I even consider myself fearless. As mentioned previously in my blog, that comment from my mother surprised me as much as Beau’s. I think when you’re a person who lives alone for a long time, who supports oneself and makes all these decisions and plans toute seule, well, you just do things. They’re not given over to intense analysis. Besides, also being a single woman for an extended period of time, you develop a sense about you, a sense of your surroundings (particularly creepy-looking men). You develop a way of walking (full-on confidence, speed, and the pepper spray cocked and ready). I think I am much more aware of what’s going on around me then I’m given credit for. Which is probably why every couple minutes when I hear a blade of grass stir near me I crane my neck around trying to see if anyone’s near.

For, I have found my little spot. After circling the scary beach and climbing over much rock, with the wind whipping up a mess of white water around me (both beautiful and somewhat annoying), I scaled the little cliff again – in a much safer, easier spot, and it was a tiny little patch of nothing at the top. I walked toward the other end of the cliff, the one that faces my home, and I saw that below there was a tiny little ledge area. Well, the ledge area itself was actually a pretty good size, but it was completely covered with nice grass, not that harsh straw stuff, and a wall of trees shielded it from view of the shore. Awesome. So, I climbed down to where I am now and have been sitting here happily in my hidden sport where I feel I can see all and not be seen. I’ve even typed out a bunch of stuff (mostly this blog), and have taken even more pictures of both surroundings and myself (every single one of me has a Jay Leno chin, goddammit).

I’ve been here awhile now and my fingers are starting to get cold. I gotta figure out now how to get back.

And hope the tide hasn’t come in too much.