The 40-Year-Old Burn-gin
- 1 day ago
- 14 min read
Yeah, you read that right. Last summer I experienced my first Burning Man at the age of -- well -- 41. I know I lied about my age, but the 40-Year-Old Burn-gin just sounded right. It has been some time, not only since Burning Man, but also since my last blog post. Life and its challenges have kept me busy. But I finally got to editing all my photos, and I am beyond excited to share them and my story of this adventure. It is somewhat of a long read, but totally worth it.
Getting the Invite
Burning Man has always been on my radar. Hearing the stories of everyone's adventures and experiences left me feeling like I was missing out on something special. Then, about mid-summer, Heather and Darcie, the Shins of Empire Fire Collective (EFC), reached out in need of a documentarian for their Burning Man performance. Short notice? Absolutely. Did I hesitate? Not for a second.
I jumped in and got organized fast -- researching, reaching out to experienced Burners and documentarians, trying to absorb as much as I could. But as I would soon learn, no amount of preparation really readies you for what the Playa has to offer. I was honored to be joining as EFC's documentarian and to camp with Vulcan Empire. They were incredibly organized -- Zoom calls, campsite breakdowns, expectations laid out clearly. As someone new to the scene, I did not just want to show up with a camera. I wanted to earn my place in the community and honor the Burning Man Principles.
Arriving on the Playa
Being someone who overprepares, I decided to arrive the Saturday before Opening Day to help with camp construction. In hindsight, that decision has a certain good news/bad news energy depending on how you look at it. The easiest way for a first-timer is the Burner Bus from Reno -- scenic drive, great views, and you skip the miles-long line of cars into the entrance. Once I arrived at my campsite, my fellow campers greeted me warmly and helped me get settled. I honestly could not remember the last time I had set up a tent, but my cheap Amazon special held up just fine. Shoutout to whoever taught me how to anchor it down properly -- you saved me.
Shortly after getting set up, the Playa formally introduced itself. In the form of a sandstorm.
I grabbed a mask and goggles -- did I mention I forgot to buy my own goggles, and a generous campmate lent me theirs? Rookie move, I know -- and we all got to work securing the campsite. Sandstorms at Burning Man are nothing new. From what I had been told, they typically last twenty minutes or so. But this being my first year, of course it was not a typical sandstorm. We are talking 70+ mph winds that raged for over two hours. Fun! Everyone jumped into action without hesitation -- locking down the shade tarps, securing the kitchen, protecting the generator and fuel. That energy was contagious. I felt it pull me in, and I helped wherever I could. As a first-timer, you might expect me to have been scared or rattled. Honestly? I cannot say for certain. What I can say is that the calm, collective action of the people around me kept me grounded.
Once the campsite was as secure as we could make it, some bunked in a trailer, others -- including me -- in an RV. We made the best of it while the storm passed. When it finally calmed, we went out to assess. A few tents were destroyed, the Love Cafe took a beating, but spare tents appeared, rebuilding began, and the camp came back to life. My tent held up and kept my gear safe in a heavy-duty dust-proof case. Small victories.
The little cell service I had let me catch some chatter on social media: all was lost, the Orgy Dome was done, Burning Man was doomed. You know the type of posts. The answer? Everything was fine. More than fine. Yes, many camps had damage, but from what I witnessed, they all rebuilt. Leave it to social media to find a way to make survival feel like failure.
What a welcome to Burning Man.
But wait -- there is more.
Mud, Rain, & the Art of Rebuilding
I was genuinely concerned about how I would sleep my first night on the Playa after all that chaos, but the exhaustion from setting up, holding down the fort, and cleaning up knocked me out cold. I had a decent night's rest. The next day, however, was no picnic -- I got introduced to mud man. It rained most of Sunday and into Monday, if I recall correctly. Some of the EFC crew and other campers still in the entrance line had to spend the night in their cars. The mud the Playa rain creates is not regular mud. It is more like clay -- sticks to your boots, gets heavy with every step. But once the sun comes out, it dries fast and practically falls right off.
While the rough start was real, the rumors spreading across social media were far worse than the reality on the ground. People calling it a disaster, saying it was doomed. I can personally attest: it was not. Things got delayed and damaged -- that is expected when you build a city in days. We rebuilt, adjusted, and made the best of it. By Tuesday, everything was rolling. I had my bike and the whole Playa in front of me.
Losing My Phone -- and Finding My Focus
Wednesday night was EFC's first performance, and they delivered in the biggest way. Kostum Kult's campsite was massive, with a beautiful staging area ready for the show. We headed out in groups while the performers had their final meeting. I biked over just before sunset, and as I arrived, I reached into my pocket for my phone.
It was gone.
I panicked. Then I took a breath and accepted it. I had been hearing that the Playa provides, and something in me chose to believe this was meant to happen. Honestly, there is a reason losing that phone hit differently than it would have back home.
My younger brother has a mental illness. He can function -- he even holds down a job -- but if he is not kept on top of, he can spiral into his own head. With me gone for two weeks, managing that from a distance had been weighing on me more than I wanted to admit. I was struggling to truly disconnect. Losing my phone was the Playa's way of forcing the issue. Let go, Jamie. Trust. Be here.
So I let go.
Back to the performance. It only took minutes for a crowd to form, the anticipation building in the desert air. This was what I was brought here for -- to document this moment and share it with all of you. EFC had spent months rehearsing, pouring everything into their choreography, and I had the privilege of capturing them in their element. Watching them come out with fire blazing was joyful in a way I had not anticipated. The audience was transfixed. Each performer had an important role, each brought a unique style, and every one of them showed up fully.
Taking Flight -- Twice
The next morning, I needed something to redirect my mind after losing the phone. So I woke up around 6 AM and headed to the Black Rock City Airport. If you are patient enough -- very patient -- you can get a free scenic flight over the Playa. I checked in around 6:30 AM, thinking it would not be long. I was wrong. Apparently size and weight matter on these small planes, and as a six-foot-one, 275-pound guy, I was not going anywhere quickly.
But the Playa provides. Again.
While waiting, I met some genuinely great people. A coffee truck opened up and I nearly wept with joy -- because coffee. I grabbed some and got breakfast at a nearby camp, which was amazing. After about four hours, a group of skydivers arrived at the airport, I needed another caffeine boost, and went back to the coffee stand. One of teh skydivers was ahead of me and got turned away because he did not have a cup, which is reuired for burners to always have on them. One of the servers felt bad and asked if I knew him -- I did not -- but I had seen him near the airport, so she hannded me a cup to give him. I am sorry I cannot remember his name, but we started talking after he got his coffee. He told me to stop by his camp later, and he would get me to ride along on one of their jumps.
The Playa provides.
After more than five hours of waiting, they finally got me on a plane with Captain Runt -- if I am remembering correctly. I joined two others on the flight and, due to media privileges -- or, more accurately, being the tallest person there -- I got the shotgun seat. We wore cool pilot headsets and off we went. I do not mind flying, but these are not commercial airliners. These are small planes and you feel every bit of that difference. After about a minute of clenching my jaw and everything else, I relaxed and started shooting. Seeing Burning Man from above is genuinely surreal, and every minute of the wait was worth it. Captain Runt pointed out landmarks, shared stories, and made the whole experience feel like a gift.
On my way back to camp, I stopped by Burning Sky -- the camp for skydivers. I mentioned meeting one of their divers at the airport, and the person at check-in lit up and handed me something: a golden ticket. A card for a ride-along flight with the skydivers, with a time slot for the next day. I ran back to camp like Charlie Bucket with the last golden ticket to the chocolate factory.
The next day, I checked into Burning Sky, got my load number, and went out to explore and shoot while I waited. When the time came, I was headed up with two skydivers and a few other spectators. We all had to suit up in parachutes and receive a very detailed briefing on how to jump out of a plane in an emergency. I have gone tandem skydiving twice and loved it, but leaping out of a plane solo with two cameras strapped to me was not exactly my Plan A. Anyway, we loaded up. I landed the seat by the jump door -- perfectly positioned to capture the divers on their exit.
And what shots I got.
Watching those divers leap without a moment's hesitation -- no pause, no second thoughts -- made me want to go tandem again immediately. The door closed, the crew gave the pilot a thumbs-up, and then the pilot did a nosedive followed by a series of abrupt turns. It was the ride of a lifetime. If you ever find yourself at Burning Man: find Burning Sky, get a seat on that plane. You will see things most people never get to see, and you will feel it in your whole body. Thank you to the skydivers and Burning Sky Camp for a moment I will never forget.
Oh -- and did I mention? Upon returning to camp after all of that, some incredible people from a neighboring campsite had found my phone and tracked me down to return it. That right there is Burning Man. Before I left for the Playa, experienced Burners had given me the advice to set my wallpaper to my name, campsite, and location -- and that small tip is exactly what led them back to me. I wish I had gotten the names of the people who returned it, but I do have a video they left on my phone of them attempting to write my name across their bare ass cheeks as proof of delivery. I do not know who you are, but you are legends, and I am grateful. The video is still on my phone.
The Day of the Burn
The sunrise on the morning of Burn Night was something I knew I had to witness. So I did what you do -- set an alarm, dragged myself out of sleep before the sun crept over the mountains, and rallied two campmates who had not been to sleep yet. We rode out across the Playa like the opening of a Western -- bikes instead of horses, dry desert air instead of tumbleweed.
I found myself at the sculpture ARISE by Dreams Unlimited, where a few other early risers were perched and watching the sky shift from dark to gold. They made for some beautiful shots. Then, off in the distance, I spotted a couple locked in each other's eyes. The sun was rising behind them, and something just clicked -- I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be. I snapped a few frames without interrupting the moment, and when they moved toward their bikes, I jogged over to show them the shot and asked if it was okay to keep. They were happy. Normally I ask before -- but some moments do not wait for permission. That sunrise was worth every lost hour of sleep.
I spent the rest of the day exploring and shooting. I attended the mandatory documentarian meeting and received our Burn Night instructions, along with the Inner Circle pass. A laminated, beautifully designed pass. Sounds small, I know. But holding it hit me differently than I expected. There is something about being recognized not for payment, but for contribution -- for art as participation. True artists want to be compensated, yes. But the deepest satisfaction comes from being part of something larger. That pass represented belonging to a community built on creativity, and I felt that.
The Burn
As evening came, I headed out with some of the crew to our position just to the right of the Noon mark -- the furthest point from the Man, which turned out to be the best spot, with the Man directly behind EFC as a backdrop. As the performers moved through the orange glow of fire, contrasted against the dark sky and the vibrant lights, I will spend a long time trying to describe what that looked like and probably never fully get there.
I will be honest: I was nervous. Are my shots in focus? Am I in the way? Am I capturing this right? Creatives are always their own harshest critics, and I am no exception. But I kept shooting. Kept moving. Kept trusting.
Then came the burn itself.
Fireworks lit up the sky as the flame caught. The fire climbed slowly toward the base of the Man -- crackling, booming, consuming. We all watched in silence that was not really silence, because the sound of fire is its own language. There is something deeply satisfying about watching fire burn. It moves with chaos and intention at the same time. As time passed, the fire grew bigger and brighter. Pieces of wood broke off and collapsed into the pile below. I kept shooting, trying to time the fireworks with the moments the flames fully engulfed the structure -- looking for the one image that would move someone.
It took about thirty minutes for the Man to fully crumble. Once the fire dwindled to a safe height, we got the all-clear to approach. And there I was again -- camera in hand, watching silhouettes of Burners running toward the glowing ashes. It was beautiful. I made my way back to camp carrying a feeling I can only describe as a fullness I had not expected. I did not know yet how the photos looked. In that moment, it did not matter. I had been among people as passionate about their creativity as I am about mine. That was enough.
Temple Burn
The final day of Burning Man. Some had already started the long journey home. Those who stayed knew the day belonged to the Temple Burn.
The Temple sits far behind the Man -- a long ride out. Halfway there, my bike broke. I was frustrated for a moment, then let it go and walked the rest of the way. This burn is an entirely different experience from the Man. Where the Man goes down with fireworks and energy and collective noise, the Temple burns in near-total silence. A massive, intricately structured Temple consumed by fire while thousands of people stand together and say nothing.
Temple Burn has been described as a solemn, silent ritual -- a space for healing, release, and letting go of grief, pain, and memory. Personally, I was in a good place heading into it. No specific grief I was carrying. But watching others get emotional, watching people pull close to each other, watching strangers share something wordless in the firelight -- that was its own kind of profound. Yes, it is okay for men to cry. Yes, it is okay to be
vulnerable in public. There is no judgment at the Temple. And I was honored to quietly capture some of those moments -- not knowing anyone's story, but feeling the energy they were releasing into the fire.
The Temple took longer to burn than the Man. Standing in that silence while it did -- present, still, watching the flames -- was unlike anything I have ever experienced. When it was finally over, I told my friends to head back without me. My bike was broken. I would walk.
And maybe that was exactly what I needed. A long, slow walk back through the music and the lights, taking it all in one last time. As they say -- the Playa provides.
The Departure
Monday morning arrived, and with it the Burner Bus back to Reno at noon. I packed up my tent -- which, for the record, does not fold back the way it came out of the box, no matter how hard you try -- cleaned my area, and checked for MOOP (matter out of place, basically any trace of garbage or debris). Nothing gets left behind. The Playa cared for us; we care for the Playa.
It amazed me how quickly the week had passed. I felt like I had just arrived, just said hello to everyone, and suddenly I was saying goodbye. Bittersweet does not quite cover it.
Back in Reno, I checked into my hotel. The staff there is fully prepared for Burners rolling in -- covered in dust, smelling like the desert, eyes wide and grateful. The looks from regular tourists, though? Priceless. A photographer I had met on the Playa told me the first shower after Burning Man is better than sex. I will not fully co-sign that, but I will say: it felt absolutely incredible. And sleeping in an actual bed for the first time in over a week was its own quiet miracle.
The next day, I flew home to New York City. And that was my first Burning Man.
What Burning Man Taught Me
For my first year, everything felt aligned -- from EFC reaching out and trusting me to document their performances, to every person I met at camp and across the Playa. The random kindnesses, the strangers who became temporary family, the moments I did not plan for and could not have scripted. I am far from an experienced Burner. But I hope to return.
As of writing this, EFC will not be returning in 2026, and I am not sure if I can either. But I promise myself -- and you -- that I will go back. I would love to bring my partner someday, and even my stepdaughter one year. I genuinely believe everyone should experience Burning Man at least once. It is not a music festival. It is not a gathering of hippies on drugs -- I understand why that reputation exists, but it does not tell the real story. It is a self-sustaining community of people who show up fully, build something extraordinary in the middle of a desert, and then leave no trace. Yes, like any city with a large population, things happen there -- good and bad. We should always stay vigilant in our travels. But we cannot let fear be the thing that keeps us from living.
I also discovered something unexpected about my body on the Playa. I have had multiple surgeries on my right ankle that make walking long distances difficult, and I was only a year out from surgery on a torn meniscus in my left knee. I was genuinely worried about how I would survive a week of constant movement. But on the Playa? Almost no pain. I biked and walked miles and felt freer than I do in New York City. The moment I landed back home, that city weight returned -- physically, I could feel it. There is something about that air, that earth, that open space. I am not a nature person by default. NYC made me who I am creatively and I would not trade it. But I understand now, in a way I did not before, that in order to keep creating, you need to step outside what you know. Explore other places, cultures, ways of being. The world is big and it is waiting.
On a professional level, I grew too. I received real appreciation and meaningful feedback on my photos, but I also know exactly where I fell short and what I would do differently. That honest reckoning is what going somewhere that challenges you gives you -- you come back better, or at least with a clearer view of what better could look like.
Whatever Burning Man gave me, I walked away a more capable photographer.
And a more present person, too.
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