Family Photo Op
The Alaskan guide life had many perks: incredible vistas, kayaking all day, and free whale watching (the sea faring whales and the cruise faring ones.) But one perk was hands down the perkiest. It’s hard to describe in one brief phrase, so allow me to paint a picture for you. There I was: sweaty, eyebrows furrowed, cross-eyed with concentration, and appearing generally unfit to be wielding a paddle. My mouth was agape as I was describing, in vivid detail, facts about the landscape that were more or less true. Suddenly, without so much as a “Say Cheese,” someone would flip around and snap a photo of me. The more underprepared I was, the better, it seemed. I found myself being photographed at a rate similar to, if not exceeding, that of Tyra Banks. Makes sense. We have similar physical features and an understated yet fierce ‘smeyes.”
The sudden flashing lights were proof to me that I am incredibly good looking and also a sentimental part of people’s family vacations. The pictures quickly turned into the best part of the guide job. Six months is sufficient time to really up the number of strangers’ photo albums that I appeared in, a goal that has always been at the forefront of my mind. I’m practically familial with everyone in America and some Australians at this point. Six degrees of separation? Make it three. That’s how close I am to your family.
What it all boils down to is that I got addicted to being in strangers’ photo albums. Once you pop, you can’t stop. And it was truly terrible timing because I was about to embark on a road trip that included not 1 but 11 National Parks. Are you aware of how many families with cameras go to those sorts of things? I’d do the math for you right here if I was capable but I left my calculator at home. Needless to say the new hobby gave me something to do while I was romping about in the wifi-less “nature” — if you can even call it that.
Really the best reason to go to National Parks is to people watch, anyways. Most of the time I felt underdressed in my discounted athletic gear. My practical hiking shoes were no match for the flirty spring footwear tramping on the paved walkways. My sensible sun shirt didn’t hold a candle to the floral crop tops that surrounded me like trees. My husband’s long arm looked like a cheap, do-it-yourself alternative to a selfie stick. At some point my lack of preparation was just dangerous- I shouldn’t be going to a National Park underprepared if I wasn’t ready to ride a helicopter out.
In order to distract myself from my embarrassing lack of preparedness, I tried to jump into more family pictures than usual. But this proves difficult at a National Park family vacation. I’d sit a few feet away on the bench — poised to jump in as soon as I saw hint of a camera. But then the mom would snap at the dad. The heat was getting to them. The kids saw their window and began complaining loudly about being out of cell phone service. Because, not to be dramatic, but they would rather light themselves on fire than not be able to converse over the Internet with their friends.
The more sprawling the family, the more poignant and passive-aggressive the fighting became, and the quicker the photo opportunities disappeared. Eventually I had no choice but to infiltrate the families. It was easy to gain their trust. All I had to do was sensibly offer an alternative to outdoor activities.
“Maybe a café that serves alcohol would help us beat the heat this afternoon?” I would suggest at just the right time.
“There’s a hike here that only takes five minutes- round trip, no hills.” I would remind them.
“Down the road there is an incredible souvenir shop. We should stop in; you can’t buy a hat that says BANFF just anywhere!”
Each family would accept the offers with a sigh of relief, and off we’d go. We’d sit in a bar or find a nice cut out to all stick our faces in and bad-a-bing — photo opportunities were showing up right and left… and then right again. They’d start to get clingy from there. I had gotten my picture and managed to avoid the outdoors already, I didn’t need to keep hanging out. So, with regret, I would be forced to casually bring up old wounds from earlier in the day.
“Blake, remember what grandma said this morning? The nerve…”
The fights would resurface, and if I did my job right, worsen. And while the passive aggressiveness began to boil anew, I would retreat to my tent while they disintegrated into factions.
If I learned anything from my experiences of leading families on a lake or following families into canyons, it’s that family vacations are not for the faint of heart, and neither is infiltrating their pictures for that matter.
