Sebastian Sinclair was a sight to behold. He apparently always wore some kind of black leather ensemble wherever he went. He looked out of place in the thick of the Alaskan Wild and from the moment I met him I had an embedded dislike for him. I really don’t know what disgusted me more, the fact that he treated the guys I worked with like crap or the fact that he had been high since the moment we met.
His entourage that traveled with him were just as exasperating except for the tall, blonde woman who was the only one that had worn blue jeans and leather boots; appropriate attire for hunting in Alaska. The rest of them were clad in sequins, boas and other attire that I was not familiar with.
Early that night I told him, “We leave at four in the morning”.
“Dude, why so freakin early?” He asked as he drank his vodka that he had brought with him.
“Cause, dude, deer get up freakin early.” He just looked at me stunned.
I should have sent him packing, but I didn’t and I nearly lost everything because of it.