If you give a guy a few drinks, a crayon, some tablet paper, and ask him to draw an outline of the contiguous forty-eight states, two things will happen. First, he'll ask you what contiguous means, then you'll get something that looks like a crude rectangle with four corners (don't ask me how I know this). Those four corners would represent Maine, Florida, California, and Washington. My camera and I have had the good fortune to explore a bit of Maine with its fishing villages, lighthouses, and majestic shore line. Florida with its abundance of beautiful birds was another outstanding photo destination. Washington! Wow! Rain forests, mountains, sea stacks, tidal pools, it's all there. California? Nope. Not been there. Well, boot camp in San Diego, but that doesn't count. Besides, I don't think the Navy allowed cameras back then. Probably a security thing.

So, when the airline in charge of my award miles announced they would possibly be filing for bankruptcy, I felt some urgency to use those miles and the great state of California seemed the logical choice. It was also an appropriate choice as we Okies have a history of migrating to California. Drought and the Great Depression in the 30's motivated hundreds of thousands of Oklahomans to make the trip. Now, I wasn't actually all that depressed but we were having a dry spell so I felt a certain kinship; a call of the West to the Land of Plenty. It was time to visit... The Last Corner.

The original plan was to fly into San Francisco and stay a few days (this was a non-negotiable condition of the Mrs.) before heading out with the camera Then north on Highway 1 for sunsets on the beach, continue up the coast to Redwoods National Park, maybe even jump up to Oregon for Crater Lake, hit Lassen Volcanic Park on the other side of the loop, and finally, my dream spot, Yosemite, before heading back to S.F. However, when I hit the total miles button on the trip planning software, it added up to a little over 1500 miles. With the time restraints-about 12 days-and meager cash allotment, a large part of which included the boarding of the wife's cats, Kiki, Miss Blue, and the Al-Quaida cat at Camille's Cat House, the trip looked to be a tad ambitious.

A more reasonable plan seemed to be a southern route; S.F. to Monterey to San Simeon and the Hearst Castle (another non-negotiable stop), over to Sequoia/King's Canyon park, then Yosemite and back. The Mrs. approved. Well, approved as long as she got to see Fisherman's Wharf, the Golden Gate, Chinatown, Ghirardelli Square, the Coit Tower, Lombard Street, the Mission District, North Beach, the Presidio, Union Square, and ride on a cable car. "Not a problem," says I.

Now, every good photographer knows that preparation is the key when planning photo trips. Knowing where to be at the right time of day, the off-the-beaten-path locations, and having the right equipment-cleaned, tested, and ready to go-is crucial to successful images. Knowing this and having one's spouse along on the trip is another matter entirely. I tried-really I did. From the movie Vacation, I chose Clark Griswold and his meticulous planning skills as my role model. I gathered material from the library, the Internet, magazines, route planners, brochures, and travel guides. I printed reams of instructions, photo tips, and maps. I used Google, Streets and Trips, Map Quest, and Microsoft Virtual Earth; everything short of a GPS unit to ensure the efficiency of my trip and guarantee that there was no way I could get lost or even make so much as a wrong turn. Manila folders, color coded and numbered, were neatly filed in my imitation leather briefcase for immediate access. I was ready, baby!

Twelve days later:

Readers of my past adventures have guessed by now that there was a problem or two and a few things didn't work out exactly as planned. I will not go into agonizing detail here except to say that all in all, it was quite an experience. However, I do feel a certain duty to my fellow photographers to pass on a few things I learned about the Golden State.

Just as nature abhors a vacuum, Californians hate spaces between automobiles. Such gaps (no bigger than a surf board) are filled with great speed and abandon. Motorcycles have there own lanes; between the cars. They have little tolerance for Okies who drive like they're still in Oklahoma. I kept expecting to see signs reading "Okies Go Home" as were common back in the 40's.

I learned there are a lot of people in California. I found no place; beach, park, restaurant, hotel, street, highway, or path where there are not a lot of people. There are no off-the-beaten-path photo locations.

I learned (but actually already knew) that arriving at a planned sunset spot at a precise moment in time to catch the perfect light, sun sinking into the ocean casting gold and reds across the horizon - coincides exactly with the time your spouse wishes to arrive at a nice restaurant to eat outlandishly expensive seafood (Captain D's being my comparator).

I learned that Yosemite is worth the effort, no matter the size of the crowds.

I learned that despite the efforts of Google, Streets & Trips, Map Quest, and other such technological marvels-when you're traveling at 75 miles per hour in sixteen lanes of traffic and your navigator bride softly says "I think you should have turned back there," you realize those programs are pretty much worthless. This as your tears mix with the sweat on the steering wheel.

I learned that if you promise your wife a ride on a cable car and do not come through, the flight home is noticeably longer than the flight out.

But perhaps the most enlightening and satisfying moment came at the end of the trip, when I learned that my southern itinerary was indeed much shorter than the proposed 1500 mile northern route. It totaled up to a mere 1430 miles. You see, all those computer programs did pay off. Somewhere, Clark Griswold is smiling.

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