A couple of days ago, sick as a dog but unable to rest, I made the ridiculous decision to bike (because I didn’t have the energy to walk that far) over to Stanley Park and re-shoot the Nine O’clock Gun firing. After dragging myself there and still arriving too early, I stopped by the Lady in the Wetsuit for a few pictures then biked around the point to the gun, where I setup my tripod on the rocks and started playing with the light.

After a few minutes, I glanced at the bike to make sure it was still there and then mentally checked the rest of my gear. Tripod: in front of me. Camera: on the tripod. Brain: probably left at home next to the Tylenol. Camera backpack: … Camera backpack? My next thought was worded out via a word ending with the same letter as the suddenly missing backpack, which I realized I had dropped on a bench behind me at my prior stop to grab the neutral density filter – and had left it there.

I instantly gave up on the upcoming blast, hopped on the Seawall and furiously biked back towards the scene of the crime, camera hanging around my neck and fully extended tripod under an arm. I got there no more than 15 minutes after leaving. The bench was empty, desert. My dear Lowepro bag was gone, along with a cheap lens, 1 GB in memory cards, a spare battery, the charger, two polarizing filters, various lens cleaning accessories, a USB cord, a box of Tic-Tacs, and my pride.

Some bastard made a good deal. I should’ve stayed in bed.