The Disillusionists cont'd...

All was not well. It appeared now that we had achieved a level of unpreparedness that would amaze a trained monkey. Camera batteries were not charged. Editing programs crashed and sandwiches went uneaten. Early in the day we had returned to the shore and captured many stunning vistas. The ocean behaved magnificently - sending huge boiling reef-break onto the rocks with spiritual regularity. Salt spray however became an issue and the camera took a beating. As well, the breeze shifted offshore and the waves were not standing up as they did in the morning. They were masses of foam and dense black undertow... Impossible to match up with the earlier shots. Nobody had bothered to bring a tide table.

By mid-afternoon the fold-up picnic table had been located and we were ready for a hot lunch. Mike went over the rest of the day's schedule and then shattered an axe handle in a fit of rage over the discovery that no-one had bothered to supply me with a costume. Instead of a Cowboy, I became a Regular Guy with a rope. I think Mike came close to crying. May found some work gloves and a trucker hat but that just seemed to date the look. I practiced walking bow-legged. I overheard a comment between Jay and Alexis that, "...this plan was fucked", while they sat in the camper trying to make a coffee filter out of toilet paper.

We went down to the water for a third time and blocked out my emergence from the surf. The original idea was to have just my hat appear behind a low ridge of rock and have it seemingly bounce along on the surface of the water until the rest of me was revealed. I tripped a few times, trying to keep my head level. Finally we put the hat on a stick and I bobbed it along until Mike said he could fix it in editing. The wet version of the scene was eliminated due to the risk of hypothermia and we moved on to my trek scene through the forest.

Although it looked dry and easily transitted, the forest floor was like a treacherous plate of murderous spaghetti. Wading through the Salal involved dropping suddenly and with shin skinning regularity into pits, chasms, dry creek beds and massive collapsed remnants of mutant ant hills. Logs blocked every possible route and were slippery with moss. One became known as "the emasculator". Thorny vines of wild rose made escape impossible and tiny pore-boring insects added to the pain. The rope caught on everything.

Mike insisted on the realism of the struggle and adopted many different angles to convey this. He lay on his back and insisted I climb over him. From a tree limb he shot my struggle for creation as I twisted my body free from the invisible hands of the undergrowth. We kept as a souvenir something that looked to be the mandible of an ancient giant killer beetle.

Alexis and May faired pretty well as they were back at the campsite mixing drinks.

"Phew," purred Alexis, "pretty hot hey?"

"Yeah," said May, the sweat glinting sofltly on her chest.

"Another daiquiri?"

"Uh-huh."

May held out her glass for Alexis who took it and then pulled herself up out of her lawnchair. She went over to the generator and pulled the cord and it sputtered to life. Alexis filled a blender with mix, ice and whatever booze was handy, hit the button and watched the pretty way it twisted into an minature abyss and then added another shot or two of rum. After a bit she poured out the fresh batch into the glasses and switched off the generator. She handed one to May and then lay back down in the sun.

"What's keeping those guys?" asked May.

"Fuck 'em." said Alexis. It was the twenty-fifth day in a row she had been either drunk or stoned or both. She thought she was getting immune.

Happy just to get away, they covered the guy's problems quickly and then moved on to food and vacation ideas. Food should be a pleasurable experience and should definitely be taken in the country of origin. Clothing too, should be combined with travel. May seemed resigned to dream but Alexis knew that anything was possible. She began to develop elaborate fantasies about killing May. She looked at her through the orange tint of her sunglasses and let her mind wander.

They tried to set up the computer inside a cardboard box to shade the screen so they could watch a DVD. The generator, which was loud and a pain in the ass was low on fuel or clogged or something and was starting to sputter. Alexis didn't want to run the batteries down on the laptop because she knew what kind of tirade that would inspire. They needed the fuel for the blender so they switched everything off and just lay there listening to the insects...