Tall Tree Festival 2015
Let me disclaim that I am not a seasoned festival-goer, though I like to think I could be. My Pinterest boards serve to inspire this fantasized festie-lifestyle, a collection of layered skirts, gemstone crowns and beach waves to-die-for.
When I found out my husband and I would be joining Daniel and Meg of West Coast Live for this year's Tall Tree Music Festival atop Brown's Mountain in rugged Port Renfrew, my excitement was quickly tailed by a private nervousness: this was the chance to turn my pinings into reality.
Time to make it count. No big deal, right?
The two days off work leading to our departure were spent luxuriating in gleeful anticipation writing lists of items I didn't want to forget and obviously wouldn't (water, sunscreen, alcohol). I epilated three days in a row, which should you be familiar with this medieval style of punishment, you know is some serious dedication. I even dismantled the contents of my closet hoping to magically uncover the layered skirts and gemstone crowns of my Pinterest fantasia, settling instead on what would keep me the coolest and most comfortable amid the weekend's forecasted 30 degrees.
Add to all this the fact that I'd be photographing the weekend as one of the "crew," and it's no surprise I was ready to crack a cider almost as soon as we'd arrived and shut off the ignition. (I'm not saying it's cool to kill nerves with liquor or anything, only that one must take advantage when the timing is right and one perhaps feels out of her depth).
I've absorbed others' perspectives of Tall Tree over the past few years, mainly from my husband, whose opinion includes statements like "so much fun" and "best time ever." Part of my pre-festival homework was spent poring fanatically over albums of year’s prior, trying to place myself amid the festivities.
In spite of this, nothing could have possibly prepared me for the breathtaking majesty that makes up the festival grounds. True to its title, we were surrounded by a natural amphitheater of tall trees, looking out towards a panorama of wild, pacific ocean. The memory of this scene gives me goosebumps; I simply cannot imagine a more spectacular setting.
I couldn't believe the distance covered by the festival, with the main Tall Tree Stage a convenient stroll from base camp, the smaller Valley Stage a reasonable saunter down the hill, and the faraway Spirit Tree Stage (featuring DJs spinning into the wee hours) out of hearing range of our camper van HQ.
Having received a crew badge certainly had a small part in my enjoyment of the experience. I'm trying to downplay this factor to be cool about it, but frankly, it was fucking awesome to circumvent lines, be fed hot meals twice a day and separate a sweaty crowd on "official business." Still, there was the whole matter of actually needing to take pictures, causing my introverted, overly-analytical self considerable anxiety and prompting several pep talks before tentatively taking my first few shots. (The ciders also helped a great deal, and it became a fine science over the weekend of drinking enough to ride the creative buzz, but not so much that the pictures you thought were so awesome are in fact a sloppy blur.)
We did so much walking over the three days that our feet were caked in an impenetrable layer of filth and, even when I thought the heat was stealing my appetite, I realized once eating that I was as ravenous as if I had been fasting for days. I'd learned from my previous festival experiences the hazards of overdoing greasy food truck fare ("I'll just try to button these shorts over my bloated belly, NOT!"), and so was grateful for the culinary offerings of Coast Lunchbox, particularly the Sesame Crusted Pacific Albacore Tuna Wrap, which I ate no fewer than three times during the span of the weekend and which I'm still daydreaming about to this minute. (Also, for the record, Ryan and I did in fact decimate a helping of butter chicken poutine during the Fireball-haze of our last night, about which I have no regrets.)
With Ryan, Daniel and Meg dedicated to capturing video of the weekend's events, I had little choice but to release my hesitations and give it my most valiant effort. And dare I say it wasn't long before I found my groove and realized just how euphoric it was to stand with my elbows propped at the edge of the stage and feel the bass vibrate my being as I waited with my eye pressed to the viewfinder for the perfect shot. Suddenly I discovered what can only be the best. Job. Ever.
We moseyed back to our campsite between sets, revelling in the exhilaration of Day 1. It's impossible, I quickly discovered, to pump the brakes this first day, and I expect it's only because of diligent hydration and regular meals that my husband didn't force me to retire the camera for the night on account of disorderliness, an occurrence not uncommon for such debauchery. I give the Tall Tree folks serious props for making hydration a priority for festival-goers, with plentiful water all around the grounds and signs throughout reminding us to drink up.
The unfortunate side effect of drinking plenty of water, of course (and cider, for that matter), is more frequent use of the bathroom facilities. I know from my few previous festival experiences that the port-o-potties are just as foul as you fear they'll be, and I was quick to develop a system to help minimize the trauma: 1) always ensure a back-up wad of T.P. is stuffed in your bra or pocket; 2) whenever possible, arm yourself with a Wet-Nap for the seat and, if without, use hand sanitizer and toilet paper to the same end; 3) if you are lucky, find and use the "secret potty" and revere its sacred holiness ; 4) never, ever examine your surroundings (sure, look closely enough to ensure your general safety and cleanliness, then stop thinking about it immediately and get the fuck out as fast as you can).
We were blessed over the course of the weekend with outstanding weather, a vast improvement, I've heard, on previous years spent seeking cover and slogging through mud. And though there were moments of such extreme heat I thought I would literally evaporate into nothingness, the sunshine lent a golden cast to the weekend, making it feel like a surreal sort of dreamland. This was amplified by the kaleidoscope of colours and costumes saturating the landscape, and I enjoyed capturing the people of Tall Tree almost as much as the bands themselves.
The freedom and creativity that abounds at the festival is awe-inspiring, a community where each person embodies their most vibrant, authentic self in the spirit of togetherness. As a self-proclaimed introvert, I'm always a little nervous about unfamiliar social situations, and I'd fretted pre-festival about how to handle this discomfort. Thing is, Tall Tree never even gave my fears a chance to grow, because right from the get-go I felt a part of the community. Our neighbour, a visitor from Chile, marvelled over the incredible camaraderie shared by festival-goers, and I think in this observation he nailed the true magic of Tall Tree Festival: we're all friends.
I wish I could report Day 2 was infused with as much enthusiasm as the day prior, but I think there must be a sort of acclimatization process that comes with the festival experience, so that the early part of it was spent in a kind of sedate daze. Fortunately, this affliction can be cured by a little old-fashioned hair o' the dog, and by late afternoon we were revived into our former, jubilant selves.
All weekend offered solid performances by bands I knew, and bands I was glad to learn about, with Delhi 2 Dublin's performance on Saturday night turning out to be one of my favourite of the weekend. The layering of Bollywood beats with the snappiness of the Irish fiddle was almost enough to make me float, and I stood amongst the masses of sticky, sweaty people captivated behind the lens of my camera. I was so dazzled by the show, in fact, that I'd cashed in the day's remaining energy on its enjoyment and was ready to crash out hard by the time we'd ventured back to the van.
Day 3: the final leg. All around us people declared their intentions to "take it easy today", though the afternoon proved these assertions questionable at best, likely an attempt to soothe the guilt over the previous night's indulgence.
By the time we finished breakfast on Sunday, clouds had settled over the mountain, and we welcomed relief from the oppressive heat. As with the day before, the early part of the afternoon was infused by a contented mellowness, this time tinged by the wistfulness of it being our last day to celebrate. And how better to overcome this melancholy than by resuming the drinking of ciders, the boisterousness kicking in the same time as the rain began to fall. Suddenly it had cooled down enough to warrant drinking the Fireball brought by Meg, and so we huddled close beneath the canopy and laughed and joked as we swigged the stuff of teenage girls' delinquent doings.
The four of us eventually paraded with our equipment to the main stage before later meeting at the scissor lift for our scheduled bird's eye view of the festivities. Just when I thought my Tall Tree experience couldn't get anymore epic, I found myself standing on a platform high above the festival grounds at the cusp of twilight, soaking in a picturesque sweep of mountains and sea. Paradise Found.
And sadly, Paradise Lost, because the drawback to drinking whisky (if there is anything but) is one's potential to lean headfirst into the realm of the irrational.
To be clear, I don't happen to be much of a binge-drinker, nor can I remember the last time I drank whisky, and I am especially not accustomed to quaffing said whisky straight from the bottle - but, when in Rome.
What went down on Sunday night after Ryan and I attacked the butter chicken poutine with fervour is that we returned to the van shortly after, and I began to question my innocent husband on the logistics of artful photography. This coaxed my dear husband to begin scrolling through my weekend's captures, highlighting areas for improvement, while anything representing praise or near to it fell on my deaf ears. And so to me, clearly exhausted by the weekend's events and under the influence of cinnamon-flavoured whiskey, proceeded to cry out mournful tears and scold myself for even entertaining the notion that I could take a half-decent picture. I refused my husband's insisting that I return with him to the main stage to shoot the final show, and instead curled up on the bed and wept as I watched the moon from my tear soaked pillow.
Do understand that this small digression is in no way representative of my Tall Tree experience, for as soon as I'd cried out all the whisky I promptly passed out, only to awake later at the same time as Ryan - who had somehow ended up asleep next to me and atop his camera - before very responsibly deciding to fulfil the proper pre-bedtime ritual of brushing my teeth and changing out of the day’s dirty clothes. And I can't help but laugh now over this perfectly executed instance of #whitegirlwasted.
Yes, Tall Tree Festival - I came, and I conquered, with other mentionable accomplishments of the weekend including:
1) The fact I did not drop or in any way damage my rented $2,000 camera. This was seriously one of my biggest and most rationale fears about the weekend.
2) Managing to take some pictures I really love!
3) Actually brushing my teeth every night, 'cause normalcy is kind of comforting when you're getting ready to go to sleep on a mattress vibrating with basslines.
4) And on that note, remembering (and using) my ear plugs! Ringing ears be damned!
5) And most importantly, spending an unforgettable weekend alongside my husband and the amazing powerhouse team of West Coast Live surrounded by incredible music and the wild utopia of this amazing island.
Finally I understand the meaning of Tall Tree-withdrawal - understood it as soon as we descended the mountain and re-merged, tired and filthy, with real life.
"Will anything ever be the same?," joked Meg, reflecting on the weekend's fun.
It's a rare and magical thing to be part of something so beautiful, and I can't help wonder the same, and to be reassured that amid the routine and disconnect of our busy lives, we still know how to come together.
And that we know how to do it well.