You're coming to the desert. Reading the fine print.

By signing this, you acknowledge that Tramokyo is not a paved resort, a curated retreat, or a cruise ship. It's a friends-only gathering on BLM land in Landers, California, where the nearest urgent care is forty minutes away by a road that gets dusty, and the nearest coffee shop will judge you for asking what oat milk is.

The desert, by nature, contains:

• Sharp plants that did not consent to being stepped on.
• Small mammals with reasonable trust issues.
• Larger mammals that appear at dusk to remind you that you are, in fact, a guest.
• Sand that will find its way into things you didn't think had openings.
• Weather that changes its mind without a press release. Bring layers.
• Fire. Fire is hot. Fire does not care.
• Stars. More than you were emotionally prepared for.

You agree that nobody is responsible for:

• Cuts, scrapes, bruises, stubbed toes, existential stubbing, or the noise you'll make when you discover scorpions glow under UV.
• Sunburn incurred because you insisted the jacket was "too hot" at 11am.
• Dehydration from operating under the personal theory that "I drank yesterday" is how hydration works.
• Lost, stolen, or whimsically repurposed belongings.
• Emotional attachments to dogs, strangers, or fire formed around a pit that will not carry back to the city.
• Embarrassing camp singing recorded on someone else's phone.
• Anything you chose to eat out of a shared pot without asking what was in it.
• Your ego after the talent show.

You certify that you are of sound mind and sufficient body to:

• Hike up to four miles over loose gravel without a formal complaint.
• Sleep outside in unheated accommodations.
• Carry your own water, and drink it.
• Clean up after yourself, including your own mess in the shared bathroom.
• Say a clear "no" to anything you don't want to participate in, and respect the "no" of others without a debate.

You agree to:

• Leave no trace. If it wasn't here Friday, it goes home Monday.
• Stay within marked camp bounds without asking the desert for directions.
• Treat the site, its neighbors, and the jackrabbits with the respect they've earned by showing up consistently for longer than any of us.
• Not operate heavy machinery — including your own feelings — after the fourth round at the firepit.
• Not sue us, in any jurisdiction terrestrial or otherwise, for anything that can reasonably be chalked up to "the desert being the desert" or "you making the choices you made."

By checking the box below, you confirm you've read this, you understand it, you are participating entirely at your own risk, and you agree that the desert is bigger than us and owes us nothing.