The rules were clear. Men were not to display their knees. These scofflaws were endangering us all by baring their knobby genoux, and doing it in such a public place. We tried to ignore them. We stared at those phallic skyscrapers and photographed them in the failing light, as if they were more interesting than the naked leg elbows right behind us...so close, you could smell them. Let me cut to the chase: my loving hound survived the drone sniper, despite her prominent perch. But I lost several friends that evening. Please, boys, remember. Keep your knees to yourself.
The photography club arrived at the lookout early morning before sunrise. They set up their cameras pointed in the direction of Tiger Mountain and waited. The sun rose in the early haze to reveal the photography club had been misdirected: instead of viewing Tiger Mountain, they found themselves sitting on Tiger Mountain. Bummer.
"Look! Look! You can see Poo Poo Point from here!"
Eric looked down at the wooden slats, his face turned gray. "I don't ever want to see it," he said. "My father..."
"No, I knew about the paragliding... but I had no idea..."
Eric burst into tears, "he was a great man, fearless, he died the way he wanted to, but of all places... Poo," he sputtered, "Poo," he spit out disgustedly, "Point..."
People came by this day to enjoy the goings on at Tiger Mountain, on the side with the vista... here's a photo. The sky is awesome, so colorful.... and please notice the dog on the ledge. His name is Carl. Anyway, there is a story about an adventure here long ago that includes intrigue, adventure, snowy landscapes and.... a missing dog. Just maybe...
My anxiety levels are raised by this - and what a fascinating image. The dog on the barrier, the two individuals happily sitting on the same barrier with an apparent hug e drop to the other side; the photographers with a whole gamut of cameras. Excellent.
Tiger Mountain
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