Matt

Marin was the always prepared one.

First aid kit, water filters, extra headlamps.

I was the one who recorded everything.

Not because I'm brave, but because I'm anxious.

Documentation makes me feel like I can control things.

If I write it down, if I capture audio, if I can explain it later, maybe it won't eat me alive.

the one thing that made this trip possible was that marin had connections not the i once took a class kind her mom's side had family ties out there and she'd grown up visiting she didn't present it like we were going to meet a tribe which is the gross tourist way people talk

She said we were going to visit her aunt and uncle, help out around the property, eat too much food, and get out in the open country for a few days because we'd all been burned out.

We drove from Albuquerque up through familiar highways, then west.

You know that feeling when the city drops away and the sky gets bigger every mile?

That was the vibe at first.

We stopped in Gallup for supplies.

We bought too much water, more ice than we needed.

and a stupid amount of batteries because i'd read enough desert rescue stories to know better we filled up the tank filled two jerry cans grabbed a cheap tarp and extra propane we had cell service in town then it started to thin out like a radio station fading when you're driving away from the tower

Marin's aunt and uncle lived outside one of those towns where the map shows a dot and a name, but the reality is wide distances and scattered homes.

The house was modest, but cared for.

A couple of outbuildings, a wind-worn fence line, a few animals, a truck that looked like it had been alive longer than some of us.

The kind of place where you can tell who you are by whether you pull up and start taking pictures, or whether you get out and ask where you can help.

Her aunt hugged her like she was returning from war.

Her uncle shook our hands and looked at our gear with that polite expression adults have when someone shows them a hobby they don't understand.