Not sharks. Cows invaded our camp at night and left lots of "land mines" for us to step in.
When Sesto tried to shove his way through a bunch of cows in the road a bull became agitated and came up to the driver's side window to snort his disapproval. Setso rolled up the window and backed up and we just had to wait. We didn't get a picture of the bull since the flash might have upset him.
We found this spot but we couldn't cast out far enough to get to the channel where all the sharks are. Next year we'll get a boat and go earlier in the year when the weather is better. That, or we'll take pictures of us holding our arms out and photoshop sharks into our hands.
These people wore galoshes and walked out on this sand bar that is exposed at low tide, where they sank up to their knees in the mud and fought the wind and rain but were able to reach the channel. They didn't catch squat, either.
Brad can find the silver lining in any cloud, and here he is reading his favorite unintentionally dirty Psalm.
Not shark. Making some camp food for lunch and/or dinner.
Bubble, bubble, toil and trouble.
Next time we cook camp food, we'll split it into two pots: one Setso's allowed to muck with and one he's not allowed to muck with.
This is various kinds of sausage and bratwurst with cabbage, saur kraut, and bacon grease, plus paprika, salt, and whatever else Setso snuck in there. It was pretty damn good. Setso's wife found out what he ate and then put him on a detox diet for a week (nothing but herbal tea and rice cakes).
Not a shark. Max is half beagle/half German shepherd, and also a pure bread chow hound.
Not a shark. Paul doing what Paul does best: Chiiiiiiiillin'.
Not a shark. I'm glad Setso took a picture of himself since he usually brings the camera and takes the pictures so that there are no pictures of him.
My brother-in-law's family has an annual Dillon Beach tradition of terrorizing other campers with their kites. Passing cars, power lines, and other people's camp sites make a good obstacle course.
This is pretty good picture of my brother-in-law's dad, Bob, and his grandson Aaron. Shortly after this was snapped the wind blew Paul's chair into the fire. It didn't interrupt Paul's chillin', though.
Not sharks. These are deer that hang out by the entrance to the campground sometimes. I think they're lawn ornaments on union wages since they're there for eight hours a day and they don't seem to work much.