Stuck in Ghost Town

Evening of September 27. The night of the full moon. I leave Bannack and venture into Nevada City. As soon as it gets dark, I start shooting away.

At some point I feel really eerie (I don’t want to elaborate on details, but I am not a super human and I do tend to get scared in the dark sometimes). I also feel cold and I don’t feel well; I need to take a rest. I return to X-Terra. The turn of the ignition key renders nothing but silence, and it feels like a joke. I let it go and crank it again, this time really paying attention – but nothing. I look at the watch – it's around midnight. Oh, well, I think, just take your rest and go back to shooting, the road assistance is one call away. That is, if the cellular phone is within the range and apprehensive squint of the eyes proves it is not.

I took my rest anyway, tried to relax and drift away from the onset of pain that was pestering me, and then forced myself out of the vehicle back into the night; but I couldn’t not let my worries about the car go and concentrate on what I am doing. I had to return to the car and to start some troubleshooting. I turned the beam on and it seemed the battery was alive. I started playing with the key again, and the sound feedback indicated that mostly likely the starter was gone.

This was quite unpleasant. I stopped buying cars years ago and I now lease them, as I don’t want to bother with the cars that are getting older. While I am technically inclined and was never afraid to mess with my motorcycle engines and boosted a couple of engines on my old cars, the absence of parts in the mountains only aggravates the weight of the technical knowledge.
I was sitting and wondering why on earth it had to happen to my reliable car in the middle of nowhere, when I am not even in Canada, and nowhere near civilization and out of mobile network range. Why did it have to happen here? And that’s when the moon is ripe and I got to shoot away.

Then I remembered that I am on the site of George Ives’ hanging. All of shelves with the ghost stories books I saw on every gas station in the area started creeping inside of my brain. Stop it! It did, but next came the vision of all of the pictures that Tom collected throughout the years when photographers found “interesting things and people” when they developed film after returning from Bannack.

I cursed and thought that while fantasies are great for setting the mood for photography and I would certainly incorporate any ghost idea into my light painting, these stuff doesn’t have place in my real life, where I am cold and helpless at the moment. I remembered previous night in the mountains when the temperature dropped below 30s all of a sudden and my equipment and the car got covered with a thick layer of frost in just minutes. That drove all ghost thoughts away and I grabbed one of my latest acquired Manfrottoe that was supposed to be heavy enough to hold RB 67, hoisted it on the shoulder and hit the road. I don’t think I was planning on taking many pictures in my quest to find civilization, but I probably thought I’d look more significant carrying Manfrottoe in bears’ eyes. Surprisingly, it didn’t take me long to find civilization. Right at the end of the road there was a small lodge.

That’s how I met John. At that point when we didn’t know each other yet, John was sound asleep. I kept banging on that door knowing that’s my only chance in this valley where even this lodge was a great find. Not that I was rude, but it’s just first few polite knocks didn’t wake John up. I progressed to magnificent cresczhendo and finally the door came wide open and there was a man staring at me.

G-d bless Montana’s hospitality. I continued looking at him wondering why conversation still doesn’t take place, and I was perusing a man in front of me. I think he was interested in studying me as well. So, I conjured my persona as seen by John: Well after midnight. Snowmobile suit was hiding all of the gender’s attributes, so John was sizing up “it”, or somebody who walked into his house, in the middle of nowhere at night, without the car. Somebody wearing black baklava and the flash light on the forehead. I am sure John saw tripod before in his life, but in the moonlight, tilt/pan head of black Manfrottoe might’ve looked slightly suspicious. A huge Spanish knife hanging off the stranger belt didn’t look obscure. It was obvious and I guess that was the only object that made sense.

“Oh, com’n in, what’s happening?” Again, Montana's people never stopped to amaze me. For the 8 days I was there, I was literally showered in kindness.

And it’s not only that John wasn't suspiscious of me. He gave me his truck after all. He knew me for slightly 30 minutes – just enough time to jump in his truck, get to my car and check few things he thought he should check before agreeing with my “starter theory”. We didn’t talk much during those minutes. The only few things he learned from me were that I am a Russian stuck in Calgary and I am here in US to take pictures. In the dark.

John's Truck

I could have all road assistance plan I wanted, but the local guy that lived in the valley 13 miles up the road didn’t come to work until 8 a.m. John said I will be ok and there is nobody in the valley here. We drove back to the lodge as I left the tripod inside. He handed me the keys from the truck and said it would be better if I have a vehicle nearby when I am out there. He also showed me a room and left the door opened in case I feel tired and just need a warm place to stay.

I got back to my jollies there and had a productive shooting session.

Once in a while, I had to return to my car as my light sources were dying and I had to replace them. Upon each return I would methodically kick the tire of the wheel that got in the way first, and try to start the car. Then I would fetch the equipment I needed, throw it into John’s car and to take off. With the first light the car started.

John could not believe it in the morning. I couldn’t either. But as I said, I don’t believe in miracles. At least not when it comes to technology. So, I didn’t stop the car until I brought it back to town, which is one hour of drive away. I turned it off only in the garage where it died for good and I “enjoyed” (NOT!) a huge rental Suburban while the starter was being shipped.

John's Truck again