Friday, September 17, 2004
The Rock Thrower
Bigfoot, the latest film I worked on, just wrapped. We were out in the woods shooting a particularly gory moment involving a severed leg when I started musing about the rock thrower.
Back when I lived in the Pacific Northwest and went camping more frequently than I do now, my roommate and I would head out to the Olympic Penninsula to a gorgeous, if remote, little spot by a river. Every once in a while, we'd notice an odd scent in the air, or we'd get a little freaked out by the sudden dead silence that sometimes fell upon the area. Once in a while we'd hear strange sounds, usually at night, and other friends of ours who also camped in the area told of weird stuff happening-- rocks falling out of nowhere or wood gathered for the fire getting scattered during the night.
One evening we were sitting around the campfire and Vlad got up to get a cold drink of orange juice out of the river where we'd lashed it (no sense hauling ice when you have an ice cold stream as refrigeration). I was zoning out by the fire when I heard a huge splash, followed by a loud, "Very funny!"
I yelled back, "What?"
He came back into view. "You could have clocked me with that thing. "
"What thing?"
"That boulder you lobbed at my head, wise-ass." (Here is where my exact dialogue memory becomes clouded by time, but the jist of the conversation is the same, and the events are exact.)
"I did no such lobbing, my fellow wise-ass."
"Come here." Vlad is a big guy, make that an enormous guy, of 6'5" and 300 or so pounds, and when he said "come here", my shrimpy 5'7", 140-lb. self did so. He led me off to the edge of the water and pointed down into the darkness. I could just barely make out a large rock, about the size of Vlad's head.
"Jeez, Faf," (I called him Faf after the "Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser" character) "I doubt I could have lifted that thing, let alone pegged it at you, not that I would have done such a thing."
He looked at me dubiously. "Well, it was aimed at me. It missed me by about this much." He held his index finger and thumb apart about four inches.
"I didn't throw it, man, I swear. Besides, you would have heard me. I was just sitting up by the fire. "
At about this point, and nearly simultaneously, we both got that "Oh, shit" feeling. We stared at each other, eyes widening, then slowly turned back to back, each facing out into the dark.
Aside from the water, there was no sound. Not a cricket, not a cicada, not a rustling leaf.
Straining my eyesight for any hint of movement, I tensed for several excruciatingly long minutes, scarcely daring to blink. I could hear Vlad trying not to breathe. After the longest four minute interval in the history of the world, insect noise began, and we relaxed. Just, however, as we both turned to go back to the fire, another rock landed with a splash about two feet away from where I was standing.
"Let's get the hell out of here."
We did.
We doused the fire, grabbed the car keys, the maglights, the axe and the machete, and hiked out in the pitch darkness, tripping over roots, crashing into branches, and leaping out of our skins at anything unrecognizable in shape or sound. I was pretty much exhausted by the time we finally staggered back to the car, and fell into a fitful, shivering sleep in the passenger seat. I don't know if Vlad slept at all.
Even so, we hiked all the way back the next day to get our stuff. Funny how the soft, lush green comfort of day eases your mind. I'd still camp there, if I lived in the area...but I'd consider investing in a construction helmet.
Back when I lived in the Pacific Northwest and went camping more frequently than I do now, my roommate and I would head out to the Olympic Penninsula to a gorgeous, if remote, little spot by a river. Every once in a while, we'd notice an odd scent in the air, or we'd get a little freaked out by the sudden dead silence that sometimes fell upon the area. Once in a while we'd hear strange sounds, usually at night, and other friends of ours who also camped in the area told of weird stuff happening-- rocks falling out of nowhere or wood gathered for the fire getting scattered during the night.
One evening we were sitting around the campfire and Vlad got up to get a cold drink of orange juice out of the river where we'd lashed it (no sense hauling ice when you have an ice cold stream as refrigeration). I was zoning out by the fire when I heard a huge splash, followed by a loud, "Very funny!"
I yelled back, "What?"
He came back into view. "You could have clocked me with that thing. "
"What thing?"
"That boulder you lobbed at my head, wise-ass." (Here is where my exact dialogue memory becomes clouded by time, but the jist of the conversation is the same, and the events are exact.)
"I did no such lobbing, my fellow wise-ass."
"Come here." Vlad is a big guy, make that an enormous guy, of 6'5" and 300 or so pounds, and when he said "come here", my shrimpy 5'7", 140-lb. self did so. He led me off to the edge of the water and pointed down into the darkness. I could just barely make out a large rock, about the size of Vlad's head.
"Jeez, Faf," (I called him Faf after the "Fafhrd and the Grey Mouser" character) "I doubt I could have lifted that thing, let alone pegged it at you, not that I would have done such a thing."
He looked at me dubiously. "Well, it was aimed at me. It missed me by about this much." He held his index finger and thumb apart about four inches.
"I didn't throw it, man, I swear. Besides, you would have heard me. I was just sitting up by the fire. "
At about this point, and nearly simultaneously, we both got that "Oh, shit" feeling. We stared at each other, eyes widening, then slowly turned back to back, each facing out into the dark.
Aside from the water, there was no sound. Not a cricket, not a cicada, not a rustling leaf.
Straining my eyesight for any hint of movement, I tensed for several excruciatingly long minutes, scarcely daring to blink. I could hear Vlad trying not to breathe. After the longest four minute interval in the history of the world, insect noise began, and we relaxed. Just, however, as we both turned to go back to the fire, another rock landed with a splash about two feet away from where I was standing.
"Let's get the hell out of here."
We did.
We doused the fire, grabbed the car keys, the maglights, the axe and the machete, and hiked out in the pitch darkness, tripping over roots, crashing into branches, and leaping out of our skins at anything unrecognizable in shape or sound. I was pretty much exhausted by the time we finally staggered back to the car, and fell into a fitful, shivering sleep in the passenger seat. I don't know if Vlad slept at all.
Even so, we hiked all the way back the next day to get our stuff. Funny how the soft, lush green comfort of day eases your mind. I'd still camp there, if I lived in the area...but I'd consider investing in a construction helmet.
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