Uncle Rico did a quick back-of-the-napkin calculation. "144 beers." he mumbled, "assuming we each drink 12 beers a day". "I assume bringing water would be entirely out of the question?" I broached. But he just looked at me as if I were entirely crazy. I didn't know about Kip for sure, but I was having a hard time fitting the concept of 12 beers a day into a low carbohydrate eating routine. I was also having a hard time fitting 48 beers into my kayak. In an act of unparalleled beneficence, Uncle Rico stacked my ice chest on the towering pile of gear extruding from the cockpit of his stable fishing platform/drilling rig/aquapod, relieving me of my ill conceived plan to tow it in a leaking rubber raft. We set off around the sheltered south side of Long Island on water so smooth you wouldn't even think it was Willapa Bay , where 9% of all oysters in the United States are grown (thank you Wikipedia entry on Willapa Bay ).
a photographer's take on ART, SCIENCE & THEOLOGY in the Pacific Northwest