The campground for the Sasquatch! Music Festival is
sprawling: tents and tarps as far as the eye can see. There’s
hardly any music, mostly just the sound of yelling, distant and near,
coming from all directions. This place is beyond Thunderdome.
Walking through the mess of tents in the dark, I try to follow my ears
to the parties. The campground doesn’t necessarily feel unsafe, but
it’s definitely volatile. Perhaps what makes the excursion most
frightening is the fact that there are no fires allowed at the Gorge.
Presumably enforced for the safety of the drunkards, it results in
thousands of people getting drunk in the dark, which is much
creepier. There’s a group of people playing invisible volleyball, and
one guy is demanding that a girl start drinking. “But she has a
concussion!” another girl pleas. “She tried to work out and blood
came out of her ear!” The man is unfazed: “Well she better be drunk
when I get back….”
My ears lead me to the far fringes of the campground but can
find no more party than a handful of bros here or there playing beer
pong or tippy cup. Some mongoloid rent-a-cops accost me for
carrying a bottle of Olde English. They yell, I walk away ignoring
them, and they don’t care enough to follow. I meet two guys from
Edmonton, also wandering around, listening for parties. They’ve had no
luck either. By dawn we decide there simply are no parties at the
Gorge. No real ones, anyway—just a couple thousand drunks,
listening to techno on their car stereos, screaming into the
night.
Want to give The Stranger a 40 of malt liquor they’ll
seriously regret drinking the next morning? E-mail the date, place,
time, and party details to partycrasher@thestranger.com.