Chapel Rock just before sunset.

I cooked dinner as the sun set into the Lake Superior shore. And as the stars came out, I made my tea perched on a flat rock. The waves crashed below. The last rays of sunlight faded west.

“It is still daylight in Canada,” I said, looking north. Dim, narrow bands of light glowed; wildfires stretched along the horizon.

“Is that Canada, those lights?” I thought.

My tea cooled slowly. I waited, taking small sips, burning my tongue at first.

I waited. It was warmer tonight than last, and clearer. There are so many stars. I lay back — my back against the rock — and looked up at the stars.

I listed all that I had seen that day: a snake, a frog, two freighters, a park ranger with a gun. I found a quarter dropped on the trail.

And now all these stars, there were more than I was used to.

I sat up and tried my tea, still too hot. I held it between my hands and dangled my feet over the ledge. The water faded from a deep blue to empty black, matching the sky. I looked at nothing. The bands of fire had fizzled.

“Maybe that wasn’t Canada,” I thought.

The shoreline’s details became finer as my eyes adjusted to the darkness: the dollhouse-size steps cut into the cliff’s sandstone face, blackened by algae or fungus or sediment, the outline of a stranded log pushed by waves onto the beach, footprints left in the sand.

“If I could stay out here long enough, I would not need this light in my pocket,” I thought.

“I’d be like a wolf,” I said, out loud.

Or like a deer, or cat. How do animals see at night? What do they see? Do they see?

More stars now, but I don’t know who they are. I look to the southwest and see what could be a galaxy — the Milky Way — or a cloud, illuminated by starlight. I want to know so much: constellations and what they mean, the names of plants and trees.

What kind of snake was it I saw today? Where were the freighters going? Where is that blinking star above me, with wings, flying, and who is onboard?

I wish I knew about rocks. I saw an opaque one that looked brand new and a grey stone that looked old.

And fish, how to catch, clean and cook them? Does Lake Superior have tides? Where is the moon tonight? How far north does the North Star still work?

I wish I knew about rip currents. If I knew more about rip currents, I might not be so afraid of them, and I would have swam longer today in the crisp water. It felt so clean.

I took a big gulp of tea. It felt like I spilled something warm down the front of my shirt.

Tanner Curtis interned at the Kalamazoo Gazette as a photographer while I worked there as an intern reporter. We never collaborated on a project, but the shooter did some good work.

I just checked out his blog, Focus, and ran across this post from back in November, Regulars.

Check it out, show him some love and maybe we can get him to post a few more.

No one likes a camera four inches from their face, but the Lomography Fisheye begs to go lens-to-nose.

I rocked my new toy while friends rang in the new year at Harvey’s On the Mall, the State Theater and Papa Pete’s in Kalamazoo.

Learned a few things that night:

1) Do not hold the camera so close. The flash will blow people’s faces out.
2) Do not leave your coat in your friend’s car. You won’t see it for the rest of the night.
3) You can fit into a size small black hoodie you find on the ground. It will be a bit tight but you’ll look great.

Happy 2010 kids.

JUST KIDDING. Don’t drink methanol kids. Scientist Dave Aupperlee says it makes you go blind, and they make you drink ethanol to get rid of it.

Gross

Stick 2 PBR/Sparks.