There are some places that you keep hearing about and they sound amazing. The stories are always made of great memories and building up strong images of a secret heaven. Yuba river was most definitely one of those places and attached to these great stories came a great disappointment. I guess one shouldn’t build up such great expectations but I easily get carried away and the fall is harder for me. How odd crashing an old friend’s annual reunion without really knowing anyone or understanding why you’re here. I left with Kath, Jay and that guy from Florida that I thought was really sweet. They were more than thirty folks already there and more to come. And some dickhead threw a snake at me. A gesture addressed for me to loosen up and stop being such a bore. Easy to forget how uptight you can seem in California when you don’t expose yourself to the blasting sun for hours without sunscreen while tripping on molly and drinking heavily. The spot was alright, the water was clear, clear enough to see weird shit floating and the concerning amount of snakes. I had not brought enough food and thought I would die. Whether it’d be the snakes, the hunger, the serial killer that would find my isolated tent. The first night was so terrible I had to move my tent to a really remote side of the forest. The guys had way too much to drink and what’s his name ended up falling on my tent and breaking it. I had borrowed this tent.
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