There was one time I was really pissed off at myself. As I had done many times before on wildflowerly March days, I went down the deep canyon behind my former ranch and took the steep uphill hike with my 8X10 camera pack to the vertical cliff portion, and then took my "secret ledge" to the flat summit, where I intended to take pictures. While I was shooting, three teenage boys showed up, who evidently themselves knew about that ledge. Turns out it was Senior Ditch Day at the High School, and this is how they were taking it off. But they were horribly thirsty, so I handed them my canteen. Two were white, and the third Indian. He looked very similar to someone I had grown up with, and when I asked, it turned out he was a nephew. Very polite kids. But the Indian teenager had a feather tattooed across his cheek, and, although certainly not an aboriginal custom, would have made a fascinating portrait; and I even had the ideal sheet film along. But I was so interested in who they were, and asking about one of my old childhood friends, and was having such a nice conversation with them, that I totally forgot to about taking their picture. And then they descended back down the ledge. Too late.
