Why I Brought My College Best Friend Instead of a Support Crew
Most expeditions I document have some kind of support behind them. A production assistant, a safety team, someone handling logistics while I handle the camera. For 72 Miles of Blue, our five-day paddleboard circumnavigation of Lake Tahoe, I brought none of that. I brought Michael Whalen, my best friend from college, and we figured out seventy-two miles of open water together, just the two of us, each on our own board.
The Easy Decision That Wasn't Really a Decision
People ask why I didn't bring a proper support team for something this demanding. The honest answer is that it never felt like a real choice. Michael and I have known each other since college, and when this idea started taking shape, he was the only person I actually wanted next to me for it. Not because he was the most qualified paddler. Neither of us had paddled all that much before this trip. Because the trip was never only about the miles.
What a Support Crew Would Have Changed
A support crew would have solved a lot of problems for us. Someone to handle resupply logistics. Someone to manage the wind delays and route decisions with more experience than either of us had. But it also would have changed the entire texture of the trip. Every decision we made, waiting out the headwind at Emerald Bay, pushing through the swell near Sand Harbor, figuring out gear logistics the night before departure, was a decision the two of us made together, with nobody else's judgment to fall back on.
Michael Whalen and Years of Friendship
Michael and I met in college and bonded over surfing, and we've stayed close across the years since, even as life and distance have made it harder to actually spend real time together. This trip was, among other things, an excuse to do that. Five straight days with someone you've known for years, with no phones, no work, and nothing to do but paddle and talk, is a different kind of friendship maintenance than a phone call every few months.
What Almost Went Wrong
Partway through the trip, we realized we weren't covering enough daily mileage to finish the full route on the original timeline, and Michael had a prior commitment that meant he might need to leave the trip early. We sat with that over food at a market on the western shore and worked out a plan where he'd paddle through day three and get picked up the following morning, leaving me to finish the back half solo.
That plan changed again a day later when his schedule opened back up and he ended up finishing the entire circumnavigation with me. But for about twenty-four hours, I genuinely thought I was going to finish this alone, and that thought changed how I felt about every mile we'd already covered together.
What Five Days on the Water Gave Us
We ended up with more than seventy-two miles behind us by the end. We ended up with long conversations on quiet nights, camped by a river on private property whose owners let us stay after we explained ourselves, and under the stars at Banzai Rock listening to music from a phone. Those conversations don't happen on a normal week. They happen when two people are physically tired, far from anything familiar, and have nothing left to do but talk.
Why the Ending Made Sense
On the final stretch back toward the finish, Michael was ahead of me, and as he came into the shallows near the end, he tripped and went face-first into the water. It was the only fall of the entire trip, saved for the very last twenty feet, and it was the funniest possible way for five days of paddling to end. If a support crew had been running the operation, that moment might have been staged, expected, or missed entirely. Because it was just the two of us, it happened exactly the way it happened, and neither of us will forget it.
What Kristin and Chestnut Showing Up Meant
Partway through the trip, my partner Kristin and our dog Chestnut met us at Zephyr Cove with food and a real chance to sit down together for an evening. It was a small thing logistically, a resupply stop with a bit of company, but it landed as something bigger than that. Having people who know you well show up in the middle of something difficult changes the emotional weight of the days that follow. We left that evening rested in a way that had nothing to do with sleep.
What I'd Tell Someone Considering the Same Choice
If you're planning a demanding trip and weighing whether to bring a professional team or someone you actually know well, ask yourself what you actually want out of the experience. If the goal is maximum efficiency and the smoothest possible execution, a support crew is the right call. If the goal includes the relationship itself, the years of history, the shared decision-making, the conversations that only happen when you're both tired and far from anything familiar, bring the person you actually want next to you when it gets hard. I'd make the same choice again without hesitation.
What This Trip Taught Me About Documenting Friendship
Most of what I document professionally involves people I've just met or worked with for a short window of time. This trip was different, and it changed how I thought about carrying a camera around someone I've known that long. There's a version of documentation that gets in the way of the actual experience, and a version that captures it without interrupting it. Five days with Michael taught me more about the second kind than any professional shoot has, mostly because I had every incentive to put the camera down and just be there, and every incentive to pick it back up when something worth keeping happened in front of me. That balance is harder to find than it sounds, and I don't think I'd have found it with anyone I knew less well or trusted less completely.
Before You Close This Tab
Is there someone in your life you'd choose to bring on a demanding trip over someone more qualified but less known to you?
What conversations have you had with an old friend only because you were both stuck somewhere with nothing else to do?
How would a trip like this change if a professional support team were running the logistics instead of you and a friend?
What would you do if your paddling partner's plans changed halfway through a trip like this?
Dalton Johnson is a photographer, filmmaker, and brand storyteller based in South Lake Tahoe, California. Over the past decade he has worked with brands including Patagonia, GoPro, Arc'teryx, Four Seasons, Nike, Rivian, and Ford Bronco across all seven continents. He is the creator of the Follow The Journey distribution framework, which has produced over one million organic views per 30-day cycle without paid media. His work includes two published books, an award-winning documentary that aired on PBS, and more than fifty commercial spots directed. He runs Stories by Dalton on Substack, read by more than 34,000 subscribers.