"What?"
Sean checks his equipment at Crater Lake. Nothing could be worse than taking scenic pictures with your lens cap on.
We said goodbye to the lake, the trees, and 50,000 of Ryan's now frozen braincells.
Ryan takes a break to adjust his shorts, dry his hair, and watch some squirrels have sex on the shore.
Ryan documents his right foot. Just in case he should lose it somewhere along the way.
Apparently southern Oregon is full of trees. Which are probably full of squirrels. Which are likely full of hatred. It's a dangerous place.
"Oh god oh god oh god oh god."
I help Ryan scope out the perfect skipping rock.
It's rather blue, if you hadn't noticed.
Ryan finally makes some ripples.
Pretty.
Near the end of his swim, Ryan was so cold and numb he started to believe he could warm up by pretending to be an otter.
Oh, thank god. It's just a chipmunk. I'm pretty sure they're not full of hatred, just ennui.
Sean's hatred of stillness culminated in the use of his grenade launcher against the mighty waters of Crater Lake.
