James sat at his desk, notepad open, flipping through a list of handwritten numbers and addresses he'd pulled from the yellow pages the night before. He was focused only on one thing: places with cabins, trees, and room to film.
He'd already called three. One didn't answer. Another said the property wasn't available until summer. A third told him, flatly, "We don't rent to film people."
The fourth one was different. The man on the phone didn't ask too many questions. Just said, "You can come look if you want. Place is in Topatopa Mountains. Ask for Hewitt."
James jotted down the directions and left within the hour. He didn't bring much just a map, a notepad, and the same blue folder he kept all his location notes in.
The road out to Topatopa was curled through the hills. It wasn't far, but it felt farther than it was. Tall trees and patchy clearings gave the area a quiet, uneven rhythm a mix of old cabins, narrow driveways, and dead-end signs.
He found the place without much trouble. There was no gate, just a gravel turn-in and a weather-worn sign leaning against a stump: PRIVATE PROPERTY in red letters. A white trailer sat farther in, beside a wooden post with a rusted lantern.
James pulled in, parked on the side, and got out.
A man in his sixties stepped out of the trailer. Plaid shirt. Watchful eyes.
"You're here for the rental?"
"Yes, sir," James said. "James Rowan."
"Hewitt."
They didn't shake hands. Hewitt motioned with his chin. "Come on. I'll show you."
They walked the grounds without much talking. The path was simple a loop that passed four small cabins, a mess hall, a gravel clearing, and a trail that dipped into a lightly wooded area. Everything looked old but clean. Doors weren't broken. Windows were intact. No trash.
Hewitt walked ahead, occasionally pointing. "This one's got power. That one doesn't. You can run cords between 'em if you're careful."
James nodded and kept mental notes.
"This here's the main lodge. Used for groups. Got tables and a big sink in back."
They walked around the back of the building and reconnected with the front trail. Past that was a short gravel road that led toward the deeper trees.
Toward the end of the loop, they passed a narrow dirt trail that branched off behind the cabins.
Hewitt nodded toward it. "That path leads to the lake. It's public land. Not mine."
James looked in the direction of the trail. "Alright."
"You can't drag equipment through here to get to it," Hewitt added. "If you're planning to shoot down there, you do it from a public side. This property line ends before the hill."
"Understood," James said. "We'll handle lake access separately."
They walked the rest of the loop and ended up back by the trailer.
"How long?" Hewitt asked as they reached the step.
"Twelve days."
Hewitt nodded slowly. "Alright. You'll need insurance. You bring me proof, Twelve Days, I want $1200 per day. But I don't deal in deposits. It's Half up front, Half on last day."
"I understand."
"You come back with the papers. We'll settle it then."
James nodded once. "I'll be back next week."
Back in the car, he scribbled notes before starting the engine:
Cabins: 4
Lodge: good condition
Trail & trees: usable
Lake: public; access not through property
Bring insurance
Pay half upfront
At the office just after four, Linda handed him a sealed envelope.
"Palmer's contract came."
He set it carefully on the top shelf of the bookcase.
"Location?" she asked.
"One might work."
He sat down, drew a faint checkmark next to the camp name on his list, and then dialed the next number without saying anything else.
James spent most of the next morning hunched over a legal pad, pen in hand, the county phone directory open beside him. His notes were already layered with crossed-out numbers, circled words, and arrows pointing to different sections: fire permit, insurance, county forms, contact for Hewitt.
He started with the Los Angeles County Film Office, using the number listed under "Film and Television Coordination." After two transfers and ten minutes on hold, someone finally answered. A woman with a flat, no-nonsense voice.
"I'm shooting on private property," James explained. "Just want to make sure I don't need anything beyond basic paperwork."
"Are you using any county roads, sidewalks, or parks?"
"No."
"Generators? Lighting equipment?"
"Yes. But all on private land."
"You'll need to notify the fire department for that," she said. "Especially with woods. They'll want a site inspection. Might cost you a permit fee."
"How much?"
"Seventy-five for the permit, maybe more if you need a safety officer. Depends where you are. You'll also need proof of general liability insurance."
He scribbled that down. "Anything else?"
"If you stay on private land, no stunts, no fires, and no traffic control? That's it from us."
He was about to thank her, but then added: "There's also a public lake near the site. We're considering one or two short shots there. What's the process?"
There was a pause. "You'd need to contact the County Parks Office. If it's public access, you'll need a separate permit and liability waiver. No permits, no filming. Especially near water."
He nodded to himself and wrote down the number she gave him.Parks and Rec – Lake Permits – Ext. 263
He thanked her and made the next call.
The L.A. County Fire Department – Film Unit had a separate line. The woman there was more relaxed. She walked him through the basics again.
"Do you plan to shoot at night?"
"Some scenes, yes."
"Then you'll need a generator permit. Also fill out the fire safety declaration and get it signed before shooting starts."
"Got it."
"If you're using fake blood near wooded areas," she added, "don't dump it. Collect it. Some people forget."
James blinked. "We'll clean up."
She said, "Good."
Next, he called an insurance broker: Canyon Mutual, a low-budget firm used by documentarians and student crews.
He got a quote after fifteen minutes of questions."Crew, cast, light effects, portable gear," he told them.
"Coverage up to one hundred thousand liability, two weeks, including equipment," the rep said. "That's eighteen hundred flat. Nonrefundable once the policy's active."
"That includes certificates?"
"Yes. We'll list the property owner and county if needed."
"I'll confirm tomorrow."
He wrote it all down and marked the sheet with a bold red underline: DO THIS NEXT WEEK.
Linda came in with a brown bag and set a sandwich on his desk without asking. "You didn't eat."
"Forgot."
She sat down and started sorting through a small stack of envelopes. "You've got three mailers with no return label. One might be Palmer's check deposit."
James didn't look up. "I'll check later."
"How's the location stuff?"
"Paperwork maze. I think I've got the route now."
"You want me to organize it?"
He handed her a stapled pack of printouts. "Start a folder. One for insurance, one for permits."
She started labeling folders with masking tape and a felt pen.
As the clock ticked past three, James looked down at the pile he'd just built. He hadn't shot a single frame, and already he had more paperwork than he'd filled out in his last three years combined.
Still, he wasn't overwhelmed not exactly. Just busy. Focused.
Next step: lock the insurance.
Then file the lake permit.
James stepped out of the car just before noon. The sky was overcast but dry. He had two manila envelopes tucked under one arm and a checklist folded in his back pocket. The second visit to Mr. Hewitt's camp wasn't casual this time, he was here to seal the deal.
Mr. Hewitt was out front by the trailer again, sipping from a tin mug. He looked at the envelopes in James's hand but didn't say anything.
"I've got the insurance paperwork," James said. "Certificate of liability, listed under your name and the property address."
Hewitt held out his hand, took the envelope, and opened it right there on the trailer steps. He read through it slowly, flipping each page once.
James waited without saying anything.
After a minute, Hewitt said, "Looks fine."
"I also brought a property-use agreement," James added, handing over the second envelope. "Basic terms. Nothing binding. Just so it's in writing."
Hewitt opened the second envelope, scanned it, then folded it back neatly. "You shoot twelve days?"
"Yes. April tenth through the twenty-first. No overnight stays."
"You got enough crew to clean up after yourselves?"
"I do."
"No fires, no trash in the woods, and no running cables where someone can trip."
James nodded. "We'll secure everything. Cables stay along the path. Gaffer tape or covers."
"You stick to that, you won't hear from me."
James reached into his bag and pulled out a white envelope with a check inside. "Half up front."
Hewitt took it without counting. "Rest on the last day."
"Agreed."
They stood quietly for a moment. Hewitt folded the papers and tucked them under his arm.
"You filming the kids screaming out here or what?"
James kept a neutral tone. "No one's screaming in the woods. Not real ones, anyway."
Hewitt raised an eyebrow, but didn't follow up.
James nodded once, turned, and walked back to the car.
He didn't feel excited. Not exactly. Just... cleared for the next step.
Back at the office, he laid the signed agreement and insurance copies on the desk and opened the drawer where Linda had been filing location paperwork.
He added the two new documents, labeled a folder CAMP – FINAL, and stuck it in the middle section.
Then he went over to the corkboard.
He took down the paper that had read SITE – PENDING, and replaced it with a fresh one he wrote in block letters:CAMP LOCATION – CONFIRMED
He underlined it.
Linda looked over from her seat. "That's it?"
"That's it."
"You want to call the insurance people and tell them we're moving forward?"
"I'll do it now."
She nodded and returned to her typing.
He picked up the phone and dialed the number from Canyon Mutual.
As it rang, he looked at the board again.
Cast, crew, location all locked.