Sasquatch 2006 - Day 1: Livin' the Dream
http://www.phetasy.com/articles/59/1/Sasquatch-2006---Day-1-Livin-the-Dream/Page1.html
By Bridget Phetasy
Published on 05.25.06
I don’t know how many of you have ever attended a large, multiple-day festival and camped on the grounds, but if you haven’t, it’s an experience you should definitely have at least once in your lifetime. If not just to see it, but to push your patience, your sanity and your hygiene to the limits in ways that you never thought possible.
Sasquatch 2006 - Day 1: Livin' the Dream
I don’t know how many of you have ever attended a large, multiple-day festival and camped on the grounds, but if you haven’t, it’s an experience you should definitely have at least once in your lifetime. If not just to see it, but to push your patience, your sanity and your hygiene to the limits in ways that you never thought possible.
After yet another long day of driving, me, Sean and his friend (and our generous host in Seattle), Alix, all arrived at the Sasquatch Music Festival on Friday evening. We hung out and got to know our neighbors on the campgrounds while we all pitched our tents and set up for the night. Known forever to us as The Montana Boys, they were avid NIN fans and had come not only get as close to the stage as they could and rock, but to drink Trent Reznor’s urine and bathe in his sweat if the opportunity arose.
The Montana Boys: pioneers of "sleep rocking"
New friends rule.
Pirates are in this year. It sucks for people who always loved pirates.
After exploring the campgrounds for a while, we watched the NIN show from atop the hill overlooking the Gorge. This venue has got to be one of the sickest venues ever. The view is absolutely stunning. The only thing that ruined it was when some jackass punched his girlfriend in the jaw. Rock –n- roll dude. After the show we headed back to the camp where I tried to pass out. It was nearly impossible due to the fact that we had pitched our tent on what appeared to be bedrock.
Well there was that and the fact that people were screaming all night long on the campgrounds. Screaming like they were being slaughtered. Oh yeah and of course there was the drum circle. I swear the same 10 people just never stopped playing all night long. And I can’t forget the guy on acid running around yelling “Bob! Where are you!” This didn’t stop even when the rain came.
And boy did it come. The rain came at 2 am. And it came in buckets. All the screaming (aside from the guy searching for Bob) abruptly stopped. We heard a commotion coming from the Montana boy’s side. Apparently they did not assemble their tent correctly and it was flooded. They retreated to the inside of their car where they proceeded to pioneer what Sean and I have dubbed, “sleep rocking.” Blasting NIN all night long, they slept in the car and bobbed their heads in their sleep. The music sounded like it was coming from inside my head it was so loud. I laughed and laughed as I listened to them search for missing necessities that were now soaking wet and un-smoke-able.
Note the proper sleep rocking attire and posture. And bow down to the man in those pants. They are epic.
Finally, their car battery died and I closed my eyes for an hour’s worth of peace. Please don’t mistake these statements for complaints. The first thing you accept when you attend a festival like this is that you are not going to sleep--and I laughed myself to sleep for the solid hour that I did get. Just as I was really starting to doze, the neighbors woke up and put on the only music that makes me want to commit suicide: Jack Johnson.
“Wow, hell is a lot more beautiful than I expected,” I said looking around at the soaked and silent campgrounds and laughing. Sean, knowing my disgust and rage for J.J. thought the whole thing was hilarious. “And colder,” he said.
The mornings are the hardest when you are constantly roughing it and on the road. I know, I know, there is something romantic about the idea of brushing your teeth in an overflowing sink by the port-o-potties. But you truly haven’t lived until you ask a young couple with a baby if they have any milk for your coffee and they reply, “The natural kind.”
All this and we hadn’t even been there 12 hours.
After yet another long day of driving, me, Sean and his friend (and our generous host in Seattle), Alix, all arrived at the Sasquatch Music Festival on Friday evening. We hung out and got to know our neighbors on the campgrounds while we all pitched our tents and set up for the night. Known forever to us as The Montana Boys, they were avid NIN fans and had come not only get as close to the stage as they could and rock, but to drink Trent Reznor’s urine and bathe in his sweat if the opportunity arose.
The Montana Boys: pioneers of "sleep rocking"
New friends rule.
Pirates are in this year. It sucks for people who always loved pirates.
After exploring the campgrounds for a while, we watched the NIN show from atop the hill overlooking the Gorge. This venue has got to be one of the sickest venues ever. The view is absolutely stunning. The only thing that ruined it was when some jackass punched his girlfriend in the jaw. Rock –n- roll dude. After the show we headed back to the camp where I tried to pass out. It was nearly impossible due to the fact that we had pitched our tent on what appeared to be bedrock.
Well there was that and the fact that people were screaming all night long on the campgrounds. Screaming like they were being slaughtered. Oh yeah and of course there was the drum circle. I swear the same 10 people just never stopped playing all night long. And I can’t forget the guy on acid running around yelling “Bob! Where are you!” This didn’t stop even when the rain came.
And boy did it come. The rain came at 2 am. And it came in buckets. All the screaming (aside from the guy searching for Bob) abruptly stopped. We heard a commotion coming from the Montana boy’s side. Apparently they did not assemble their tent correctly and it was flooded. They retreated to the inside of their car where they proceeded to pioneer what Sean and I have dubbed, “sleep rocking.” Blasting NIN all night long, they slept in the car and bobbed their heads in their sleep. The music sounded like it was coming from inside my head it was so loud. I laughed and laughed as I listened to them search for missing necessities that were now soaking wet and un-smoke-able.
Note the proper sleep rocking attire and posture. And bow down to the man in those pants. They are epic.
Finally, their car battery died and I closed my eyes for an hour’s worth of peace. Please don’t mistake these statements for complaints. The first thing you accept when you attend a festival like this is that you are not going to sleep--and I laughed myself to sleep for the solid hour that I did get. Just as I was really starting to doze, the neighbors woke up and put on the only music that makes me want to commit suicide: Jack Johnson.
“Wow, hell is a lot more beautiful than I expected,” I said looking around at the soaked and silent campgrounds and laughing. Sean, knowing my disgust and rage for J.J. thought the whole thing was hilarious. “And colder,” he said.
The mornings are the hardest when you are constantly roughing it and on the road. I know, I know, there is something romantic about the idea of brushing your teeth in an overflowing sink by the port-o-potties. But you truly haven’t lived until you ask a young couple with a baby if they have any milk for your coffee and they reply, “The natural kind.”
All this and we hadn’t even been there 12 hours.