To me there is something magical in a small campfire surrounded by a few friends under a star filled sky. Oh how many times I have pitched grand plans into a group of friends who excitedly made pacts and commitments, yet cancel by Monday. Is it me, do I over plan, do I push for too many miles? Perhaps it’s the two hour free style harmonica solo’s? Is it bad breath, or poor camping hygiene, I assumed it was normal to wear a single pair of underwear for a week of back-country hiking. Joking, sort of. Most of our friends want to experience a great adventure, yet many in some form have explained they are afraid of the unknown, afraid of the potential for failure. Some were afraid they couldn’t give up comforts long enough to enjoy the rewards. Others didn’t feel their work / family-life would allow time for such “adventurous” activities. There is also the ever present fear of pooping in the woods, as if a perverted Bear follows hikers around waiting for them to drop trou . It was these confessions and realizations which occupied by mind as Lauren and I sat close to our campfire at Pedernales Falls. An odd movement, a shadow, the resemblance of a small swamp creature, or big foot drew my eye to a Juniper grove near our campsite. A group of boy scouts were so deeply involved in a competitive match of hide and seek there stood a boy wearing a head to toe ghillie suit. This odd sight caused me to glance from campfire to campfire, from a kid in a ghillie suit to an old woman with a walker here was the gambit of those who loved the outdoors . Earlier that day we had visited the falls, so filled with cameras snapping shots with the machine gun clatter of shutters it was as if the river was a red carpet upon which Elvis, and Marilyn Monroe were walking with Abraham Lincoln. Digital cameras locked in auto blasted away at the rock faces like an Gatling gun . When printed one could likely flip through theses pictures and watch people walk .Adding to the chaos a college kid was attempting to extreme unicycle the rock basin, emphasis on “attempt”. The following morning Lauren and I returned to the falls; as the sun crested upon the ridge line we were alone in the cold. I took my shots with patience and planning. Not so skilled at this craft I do not rush, an old 35mm is not so forgiving in the hands of a novice. With each shutter grew a feeling of pride and entitlement as I recalled the crowd from the day before. Where was the machine gun auto camera crowd on this freezing morning during the golden hour? This since of pride was quickly quailed by the many voices of my friends relaying their fears of camping , and feelings of insecurity. Note to self stop being so judgmental, we all enjoy life in different ways. I mean someone out there is intensely watching golf. To each their own.