La Tomatina en Reno strengthened my respect for war photographers.

After the first calm tomato attack from an elderly man, I thought I could direct plenty of focus on my Glad-wrapped camera. After the second barrage of fruit, focus turned to survival.

Downtown Reno turned into a fruit war zone Saturday as 150,000 pounds of tomatoes became the weapons.

La Tomatina has its roots in Buñol, Spain. Participants from all over the world come to drink, eat, listen to music and, of course, to throw tomatoes at the event.

There are many ways to engage in the Spanish tradition in Reno. You can peruse around the outskirts listening to live music along Virginia Street, survey the area from the Club CalNeva parking garage, or fight in a king-of-the-hill type game atop a three-foot pile of tomatoes.

Some went prepared for battle with shields and helmets; others took a simplistic approach with gym shorts and a plain shirt.

A fresh white T-shirt was a beacon to already completely red contenders. All white was shortly converted while tomato bits could be seen flying through the air from blocks away. The food fight is an instinctual urge during any meal, so the painted-red sky had mass appeal to the inner-child of the participants and spectators.

“I came to watch, but it looked like so much fun I wanted to partake,” said Emily Durr, 21.

The event’s Spanish beginnings were to celebrate the town’s patron saints, St. Louis Bertrand and the Mare de Déu dels Desemparats. Reno used the event to support the American Cancer Society by gathering a $10 minimum from each participant.

“(La Tomatina) gets the community involved and raises money, all while throwing tomatoes,” Paul Shanrock, a participant, said.

Being a photographer, my main goal was to capture some killer photos of tomato-red Renoites in the trenches of food warfare throughout the streets of downtown, but after a few stingers I needed some revenge, or cover.

I held my camera, lens down, in my right hand and grabbed for anything solid by my feet with my left. Artists are not cut out for warfare.

Trevor Parker, on the other hand, stuck to the surprise attack method, attacking men, women, children and photographers alike, but his actions did not go unseen.

“I got karma-ed pretty hard out there,” Parker said.

In the middle of the war, fighters riled around on the tall mound, tossing handful after handful of tomato gunk. Away from the pile, most were slipping through a foreign tomato liquid while dodging the fast pitches from the center and the grenades from the parking garage.

The event offered a unique opportunity to donate to an honorable cause as well as hurl an overly ripe piece of fruit at a passerby of choice.

“Having it legal to hit someone in the face with a tomato is the reason I came out,” Parker said.

Three welts and a hundred photographs later, I decided a shower was a good idea.

La Tomatina was a great release, a means to aid in the fight against cancer and a great excuse to get my lenses professionally cleaned.