The story of the Tuna Guys camp is Burning Man legend.
As many of you know, Capt. Jim Peterson, founder of the camp, was lost at sea last year. He went down with his ship, but kept her steady so the other two crew where able to be rescued.
The Tuna Guys camp is making a memorial boat to Capt. Jim to be burned at Burning Man this year. You can become involved at http://www.kickstarter.com/projects/605 ... n?ref=live
and can keep in touch as the memorial is built on the Facebook page. And of course, if you are on the playa, share your memories at the memorial burn!
From Jessica Bruder, author of Burning Book: A Visual History of Burning Man, from http://www.smithmag.net/2007/08/21/an-i ... ning-book/
"But my favorite Burning Man story is a quieter one.
It began in 1998, when an Oregon fisherman showed up in the desert with 1,300 pounds of tuna loins. That was a bad year for fishermen in the Pacific Northwest; a global glut made tuna all but worthless. So 63-year-old “Cap’n” Jim Peterson from Coos Bay packed his entire catch in a U-Haul with ice and drove it out to Nevada. He figured he’d sell it to the revelers at Burning Man.
Jim had seen some pictures from the festival the year before. These were wild scenes, folks slathered from head to toe in mud, cavorting gleefully as if they’d never been in the middle of such a delightful mess. He figured all that running around must work up an appetite. Even mud-people have to eat. Maybe they would buy his tuna?
Jim drove 450 miles to Burning Man, only to learn that vending is against the rules there (and bad etiquette, too). So he started a marathon barbecue session. He served his tuna to everyone in sight. He ended up giving it all away.
Now, every year at Burning Man, Jim and his friends—nicknamed “The Tuna Guys”—bring hundreds of pounds of fish to cook and share with everyone. And it’s not easy for them; they’ve had their share of misadventures. Their rattletrap pickups and Volkswagens always seem to break down on the long drive to the festival. And the Nevada health department has hounded them so much, their camp has practically become a seafood speakeasy.
I love his story, because it offers insight about the kind of dedication and generosity the festival seems to bring out in some people. These days, the mere mention of Burning Man conjures up visions of tech-savvy hipsters baying at the moon and gyrating around the desert in hot pink fake-fur loincloths. That stuff bores me. And that’s why I love the Tuna Guys’ story—it’s less about the Burning Man stereotype, more about the potluck style of participation that makes the event so fascinating."