Day 10

by lukemccreadie

Monterey is like another theme park, full of queueing, spending clunks and gugs. A bit too well painted, so as to be uncannily of now and of history simultaneously but the indecisions are abundant. Point Lobos, nature at its closest to wild in front of the viewing eyes of human bungs, walking the paths. We come on Saturday, bad. Like a movie you can walk round, and people are, lots. I have this thing with nature sometimes where, no matter how hard I look, it does not impress me, impress upon me, make me, move me or alter me. It is image, pure image and it is chaos. The kind of chaos that makes you indifferent. But the sea otters, the eagles, the pelicans, the dolphins and porpoises surfacing just off shore, the sea lions and the seals, bathing, the cormorants, the fish, the kelp forests and the landscape housing this, have combined near enough to our existence that we can come to see, and whilst the seals choose to bath in the sun, we choose to come in numbers, to migrate, to see them. How this must look to them, and all this in the knowledge that when they re-enter the water, the Great Whites are waiting. I look in goggles, under the blanket of the water surface, face plunged in freezing pacific ocean, I see a seal and a feeling of wrong, wraps my shoulders, I get out, we move on swiftly. Filming on the flats by the crabs and the sea lions and yet people are still most interested in our masks and watch on almost in horror as we go about filming in this environment. Then they pose for their own photograph.
Long drive. Arrow straight road, not a corner to navigate for 100 miles, cruise control. Desperate for piss stop, we take exit for reservoir which turns out to be more like a lake the size of a small county, with a view over the whole lake and a huge hilltop to ourselves I take most scenic piss every, imagining what is coming out is making the lake ahead of me. I feel 100 miles tall. More driving through more straights roads and tall corn, and several miles of broccoli and strawberries and cherries and grapes and wine and fields and fields, we arrive at Merced, dusty, nothing, Traveldoge, mexican food, $26 room, motel. We sleep like two balls of string, unravelling and knotting as the night proceeds.