For almost an half hour we descended upon a narrow winding path which forked off from the main trail near our camp at Big Meadows.
There was a fair amount of traffic upon the Appalachian Trail that Saturday morning
and we had already passed several hikers during the first quarter mile of our hike.
The time had come to make 'medicine', but with hikers either ahead and behind of us and no doubt more to pass, we decided to get off the trail thus finding an out of the way spot so as to spark up. In short time Flip spotted a small path opening that was barely noticeable. It forked off sharply, somewhat running parallel with Little Hawksbill Creek's down-flow. We expected this route to provide us a scenic place for bit of substance induced relaxation. Twenty minutes of descending path and we found a decent wide, flat rock outcropping to serve as a perch, allowing views of both path and stream.
Yet we could not see very far because all around us like so many dark temple columns rose a forest of grey tree trunks supporting late summer's leafy green canopy. Lingering morning fog hung in dim patches along the wooded slope.
This was a shadowy place of natural beauty. As we enjoyed our pipe the sun was just beginning to break through both overcast sky and burn through low fog. Ghostly tendrils of mist swirled around our perch liken to curious mountain spirits.
The weed was a brownish mid-grade affair, not up to my high standards but better than naught as our regular connection back home didn't pan out in time, thus we resorted to other means. But tinged with the breathtaking scenery and mountain air, plus two bowls, things seemed to fall into place. Finishing our pipe we drank from the canteen and were off again upon this narrow downhill trace. As the crow flies we were only about two miles or less from camp, but on this twisting path our trek seemed about twice that distance. I was beginning to think this was a deer trail as no human would blaze a path with so many bends and sharp turns. Now the sky had cleared and sunbeams cut through the canopy like golden rays burning away what was left of morning's mist. After several more bends we sighted what looked to be a somewhat open place upon a level rise left of us. We left the small path and started a ascent upwards to this clearing. Upon nearing our mark we were greeted by what smelled somewhat like a skunk's unloaded secretion riding along upon a slight downdraft. We knew there were many skunks in the Big Meadows area. Often they boldly come through that campground during evening foraging or extorting tasty handouts with raised tail threats. Although against the park rules, most campers are more than happy to comply with the demands of these furry muggers.
Emerging from the shadows we stood at the edge of a clearing and the scent was thick. Turning to Flip I said -"Don't think it's a skunk, it's not the same, it almost smells like,,"
We slowly advanced along a faint trace through prickly brush and tall meadow grass, but were halted by an unusual tangle of cat brier which Flip knocked aside with his walking stick .The thorny vines fell away like a swinging fence gate and we proceeded through this high natural hedge of tangled creepers, vine, bramble and brush. More than once thorns caught our clothing. There was about twenty feet of this before emerging into a smaller clearing. Oddly enough I first took notice of this clearing’s machete hacked brush perimeter before anything else.
Flip's voice sounded a bit faltering - "Would you look at that"
I looked upon what he was pointing to but had a hard time getting any words out. as we stood there gazing in wonder. My legs were shaking in the same uncontrollable manner as whenever I had hooked into a big trout.
"Great jumping catfish" I whispered.
It resembled a strand of bamboo, but this was no canebrake. Around eight foot high they grew, stretching to catch the morning sun. Thousands of delicate, dependent leaves looking like long green tapering fingers of open hands. Budding from every plant were long thick clusters of flowering tops. Hair like stigma and top leaves gave them a reddish-purplish hue, a sure sign of herbal goodness. Following a short period of tense silence, our eyes darting about scanning the area. We listen for, but heard or saw no other large living creature there or near about. Sure of our surroundings to some degree, I unsnapped and drew my little skinning knife then sliced off one of the smaller tops. Cutting the bud in twain, I popped a half into my mouth and chewed while offering the other portion to Flip who did likewise.
"Eat it man" Friends never enjoyed a finer fresh salad.
Marveling like men in a lost goldmine we counted twenty seven plants, all big females, flowering tops swollen in lustful passion waiting to catch pollen I knew would never arrive on the breeze. This was no wild-weed patch. This was a masterpiece of weed cultivation, damn near ready for harvest.
Someone's secret garden.
"Who ever grew this sure knows their shit" I said while admiring these beauties.
"Yep" returned Flip - "Grew em in the middle of a bramble, like we use to. Yep, this is someone's crop”
My concerns were if this secret garden was in anyway booby trapped. Following bit more time of blissful staring and sniffing, we busied ourselves with the task of carefully clipping a good many sticky, pungent scented flowering tops, some almost a foot in length and big around as a standard flashlight.
Stuffing them into the pack Flip had brought along, we finished our task. The pack was now bulging and tight against the seams making it difficult for him to snap it shut. We then set about stuffing the pack’s original contents ( snacks, map and first aid items) into my outer shirt, which I tied up into a small bundle.
"Lets get moving Flip"
The Birdman however seemed reluctant to depart. We could do no more at this place without inviting trouble to arrive unexpectedly, so we carefully departed the general area with our loot. Twisting, turning upward this same small path led us back to the Appalachian Trail and now we were feeling the effects of our previous snack. Even contained in Flip's pack we could still smell a pungent aroma. After drying we were looking to have around a quarter lb of top-grade smoke. A sight better than what we had before.
Flip was already yammering on about unloading and going back for more.
I stopped. -"Look man, the others are surely gonna know we're holding, but we can't let them know where that patch is" adding - "The Bear put down the pipe after getting that city gig in fear of a piss test, but Charlie, along with those Dibble Brothers can't know. If so, things could go bad" I went on to remind the Birdman that we had almost seven more full days at Big Meadows and having a heap of fresh weed at our camp would not be a wise choice - "Don't worry you damn pothead, maybe we'll grab a bit more just before we split next Saturday" Having raised a few good crops in the past, I had mixed feelings concerning such acts of thievery, yet weighed out the possibility of another raid.
With all haste we hoofed it back to Big Meadows Campground and did our best to give other hikers a wide birth least they catch of whiff of what was in Flip's pack. The same held true while passing through the camping area so we made in a wide outer circle to our campsite.
Bear was the only one up while others still slumbered. Small wonder as they had drained a half gallon of vodka last night.. He was hobbling about on a lame ankle, an injury which was the result of kicking out an ornate stain glass window at a Williamsburg tavern. Some three months ago during a berserk moment of savage drunken fury just outside the building he put a size 16” Dingo Boot through the glass following an altercation with several intoxicated William and Mary bravos inside. After this high kick, Bear landed on the other foot wrong breaking his ankle . I still remember pulling over after our getaway then cutting the boot off his swiftly swelling foot and ankle before driving him to the hospital.
"Out for a stroll I see" was the extent of his greeting. Bear then gestured for us to grab some coffee he had just brewed, which we politely declined.
Nostrils and broad chest expanding in a loud, long range sniff, he asked - "What the hell is that smell ?" Bear snatched the pack from Flip's hands, gazed at it's contents then stuck his furry muzzle inside taking in a long whiff. Placing the pack down atop picnic table he tilted his head and inquired directly - "Where in the hell did you come across this?"
Bear being the most trustworthy among us, we honestly recounted our adventure in so many words.
"Well Charlie, and the Dibble Brothers are still in a coma, they got even more snockered than me last night" he informed us and went on - "I'd put that stuff away if I were y‘all, people can probably smell that as far as Luray"
We had to work fast, before any other campers started to roll in.
Flip made a smoky fire to mask the scent as I set about hanging the tops from what ever could be found within our storage tent. Closed up in this late summer heat would perhaps speed up the drying process. Although the campfire's smoke may of covered the smell from afar, we could still catch whiffs of the curing weed within our camp and it wasn't too long before Charlie popped his head out of a flap and asked who was smoking hash.
"Hash?"
We told him a polecat had passed through right at dawn.
I called Flip aside and requested he get some zip-lock sandwich bags from the camp store.
"You bagging up some sandwiches, man ?” Charlie overheard and then turned watching bug-eyed as Flip's truck pulled out.
"What kind of sandwiches ?" he asked sniffing the air. A gangling dark haired lad in his mid twenties, Charlie was not among the universe's brightest stars, yet he proved to be a good angler and ever on hand for a few good laughs. A true clown most of the time his appetite for the 'high life’ never seemed satisfied. Living rent free with parents, his entire weekly paycheck went towards dope, booze and blurry bar-room belles. Many times he was broke and begging by Monday resulting from his shitting in high cotton all weekend long. Like his sisters, he too was bug-eyed or as Flip called them frog-eyed, but I couldn't say a whole lot, them being my cousins. As for Charlie, we took him for what he was. I always felt obliged to look out after him as much as possible, but could do nothing to curb his desire for hard drugs . I wasn't wholly honest with him - "No sandwiches Charlie, just gotta bag up a bit of homegrown we bought from some kat down on the trail".
Then I heard -“Some kat selling homegrown on the trail ?" Came pouring out of the Dibble's tent like strained peas. "About damn time you jerkwads awoke from the dead !" Bear snarled, and with that the Brothers Dibble rolled out, one after the other.
Denny the older of the two, was in fact the eldest member of our company. Dark of eye, hair and complexion, he was somewhat quiet and reserved when sober, but became rather gabby after a few good quaffs. He was the most learned member of our party in folklore and the supernatural. A natural born story teller who would usually get so bombed while spinning a yarn, Denny would often require one or two more nights by our campfire in order to finish a tale providing one of us remembered where he left off. Denny had not long separated from a long time love and mother of his only son. He also had a daughter in Germany from his army days and another somewhere in Newport News. Although a somewhat handsome and intelligent man, Denny had trouble holding on to women, families and jobs. He thought such a camping trip would do him good.
R.W. whom we called ‘The Poodle’ appeared very different from his brother. Although of the same height and build he was more fair of skin with a poofy light brown over styled, new wave hairstyle, quite popular among some during the 80s. Rather boisterous, and even more so while drinking, which in his case was mostly all the time, R.W. tended to be a bit of a fussy fop. Attired in quality, brand name casual outdoor duds, he never appeared unkept. Even if a small particle of campfire soot spotted some of his garb, he would quickly change out that article of clothing for something spotless. He was the only fellow I knew who would bring fancy suitcases on a camping trip. R.W. had it made for awhile, dating a young half Asian, half American daughter of a very well off high ranking military officer who was paying most of his bills, including the rent on an expensive townhouse near her home and College of William and Mary where she went to school. It served as R.W.’s abode as well as his and May’s weekend love nest. Daddy’s spoiled only child, May got enough money from her father to keep the object of her affection in the lap of luxury. All of these perks however did not keep R.W. from philandering with other women he met in the hotel restaurant and lounge he managed in Williamsburg. During one such encounter, R.W. caught the clap and passed it on to May, that following weekend. After that Poodle bunked up with Bear and I for awhile until I moved out and got married.
R.W. promptly told the Great Bear - "We're lucky to get any sleep at all, thanks to your snoring , you big oaf. So do us a flavor and sleep in one of the trucks tonight with windows up"
"Shut the hell up and get ye some coffee, I just brewed it" Bear growled back at the dandy.
"Not touching that sludge you brew, Heir Bear !" R.W. snapped back grabbing a beer out of our cooler, popped the top and began to guzzle.
"Yeah like that will wake you up Heir Dribble" I chuckled tapping upon his beer can with my finger.
"So how much weed did you cop man,, any good ?" Denny asked while lighting up a cigarette.
"Oh just a little homegrown from some local hippy we met on the trail, Denny. We have to let it dry out a bit more, I think it was picked just this morning"
Denny and R.W. excused themselves, departing off towards the campground's shower/restroom facilities with towels and toiletries in hand.
Slapping his hand upon our picnic table, Charlie began jabbering about heat drying some of our stash over the fire. A heavy duty weed head since he was a young boy, Charlie had a nose for good smoke and knew some was stashed within our camp. When I was growing, curing weed was most often hung upside down until about two thirds dry. This made for good, slow and even burning smoke. But due to our current condition, a quick-dry would be well in order. There was a need to get this stuff bagged up and put away pronto. After all Big Meadows is part of the Shenandoah National Park. I really didn't want to go back for any more of the buds as the thought of it brought about some concern. Really I had no intentions ending up in the federal joint at Petersburg with poachers, growers, dealers, bank robbers or the wayward Civil War artifact hunter caught a few too many times with a metal detector in National Park Lands. We had enough to see us through and a bit more, I had to weigh this all out as the drying process was putting limits upon our vacation. But what about Flip, he seemed dead set on going back for a grand haul. If Charlie and the brothers got wind of this secret garden our entire vacation could be compromised.
Enclosed in this hot storage tent, I anticipated maybe two days or less for drying time. I entered and by this time it smelled like an Afghan hash hovel. Grabbing a couple of large already wilting buds I proceeded to roll them up in foil wrap. The result, a silvery tusk-like affair. I got the hell out of that sweat lodge as quickly as possible.
"You drying it in there?" Charlie asked advancing rather swiftly.
"Just stay out! Don't let me catch you in there, or I'll lop your hands off!"
He slowly backed up, never taking his large eyes from the storage tent.
“Look a magic horn" laughed Bear as he took notice to my creation.
"Here" I handed it to him where upon he put one end to his lips and issued forth a strange contrived booming sound. While grabbing a fire stoking stick, I motioned for 'Heimdall' to give up his horn, then using the stoking stick as to hold it aloft well above the flame.
Flip pulled up and hopped out with a fountain drink, a Little Debbie snack cake, some heavily scented bug candles along with a box of zip-locks. He asked what was cooking.
"Brain sausage" I replied.
It didn't take much time over our fire's heat for little jets of smoky steam to exit the horn on either end. Removed from the fire's heat, it was placed upon the picnic table so as to cool a little. We waited with great anticipation. Charlie already on his second can of liquid lunch made a bold grab for the foil horn, but this effort was thwarted as Flip put him at distance with the blackened tip of a stoking stick. Neighbors, old schoolmates, camping companions, they grew up together, but there was limited love between them. A truly strange relationship. Charlie, while in the company of kin like me, or among others who protected him, would torment Flip, often mimicking the Birdman's facial expressions, speech and body motions. Flip on the other hand would bully Charlie whenever we weren't around.
As of yet we had no close camping neighbors and that was a good thing. I carefully unwrapped the foil horn exposing it's contents. The tops had shriveled somewhat but were still large and colorful enough to render us a bit giddy in our anticipation. I asked Flip if he was holding any papers. From his wallet he produced a pack of Jokers. I told him to -
"Stick six of those skins together, and twist us up a jumbo"
For Flip, high bogart master of pin joint rolling, this would prove to be a challenge. I could see it in his eyes, while handing him one of the big fire dried tops to work with. He succeeded with a finished product that had the length and girth of a large cigar.
We considered waiting for the Dibbles for about three seconds then sparked this well rolled wonder up
The Great Bear took no part in this recreational activity, but sat back watching us with great interest, passing the burning bone around.
We expected it to be harsh, lung expanding and cough inducing, yet found it to be smooth, with a peppery-mint taste. Oddly enough after five hits or so I felt no effect.
Then slow and sure, like a chicken hungry fox, it came a creeping. Little occurred for a time except that our conversation grew more lively. More rapid and amusing as the weed crept upon us. Then all got quiet. We were sitting at the picnic table in complete silence. Flip and Charlie had rather odd looks about them, their faces twisted into strange tight-lipped grins. Flip rose as to make a public announcement, then slowly re-seated himself just before bursting into a fit of uncontrollable laughter.
"Man you iz gone, Flippy-Dippy" Charlie barked, his large eyes crossed in mirthful mockery. Flip's thick glasses had fogged up and his wild laughter changed into an unnatural tittering. Charlie drained another can of beer, belched, then issued a sound that sounded like a Volkswagen Beetle’s horn followed by a barrage of unintelligible gibberish.
Maybe it wasn't gibberish.
Perhaps it was just me as I was extremely fucked up and in the company of an overly gleeful, yet whacked out laughing hyena and the temple's sacred monkey. I could hear the Great Bear's stomach rumbling like a far off thunder boomer, moving closer and growing louder as it approached.
The moisture was running in streaks down Flip's glasses as he gasped for air between outbursts of various forms of what could be took as laughter. He was a mess.
I had to stop my head and upper body from swaying along to the music that wasn't playing.
“Potent Shit !” Flip managed to get out.
It felt as if I was under the influence of a heavy duty hallucinogenic drug, yet it differed from acid, mushrooms or mescaline. Flip now had his face buried into his arms atop the table, now issuing a deep muffled humming sound akin to a mating hair lip bullfrog. He had a private party going on. The Great Bear got up from the table, shook his shaggy head and said - "Damn, you jerkwads looked stoned out of your gourds"
" Why their gnawed through the noodle" I laughed, then playing it down a bit added - "I'm a little buzzed too" I then started rambling out a flood of words which were swiftly forgotten. I had naught a clue of what was being said. In time my blithering trickled down to a series of low grunts as I begun to concentrate upon my own substance induced sensations. I carried on in such a manner for a few minutes more, then told the Bear - "Think I got too much, but it's real nice up here"
He slapped me on the back and said - "Yep, it sure is nice here at Big Meadows, you should stop back by on your glorious return trip back to earth"
Flip had regained his composure long enough to take a sip from a fountain drink and watch Charlie stand up atop the bench as he screwed with Flip’s mind by doing some weird Elmer Fudd-like impression. With that Flip lost it again, knocking his fountain drink over in the process. I attempted to tempt Bear -
“You should try some of this stuff, it’s rather unique "
Offering the now burnt out joint to him. He took a long gander at Flip and Charlie's antics, then looked at me and said - “Even if I could, I wouldn't" as he proceeded to pull our camp stove out a cardboard box.
While Bear went through motions of preparing himself a late breakfast go, the Brothers Dibble reentered our encampment. Showered, shaved and deodorized they took notice of our present condition and R.W. requested - "Well shit man, fire one up !" Denny joined in - "Burn one man !"
"It's not store bought" Charlie informed them with a twisted smile.
Butane flame sparked it up again, but this time I had to pass, as did Flip. Charlie, on the other hand continued puffing with Denny and R.W.. They too became goofed to the gills and in time, just like me, had to put it down for awhile.
Our encampment had taken up two sites, each with a somewhat level pad of ground for tents, a fire ring, and picnic table, separated by a bit of brush and several trees. Since checking in yesterday evening we had enjoyed a section of the campground to ourselves. Not odd for this time of year as all the kiddies had returned to school, after Labor Day.
Before then Big Meadows was usually packed all Summer. One has to make reservations in advanced during the tourist season or for the changing autumn colors, but this time of year one can find vacancy at all the National Forest campgrounds. Big Meadows as the name applies is a huge natural highland meadow, a short walk away was Dark Hollow Falls. The area provides a campground for tent campers and RVers, camp store, a beautiful old rustic dining hall, guest suites and breakfast nook/fast food eatery.Deer, skunks, bears, birds, highland amphibians and insects, Big Meadows was usually teaming with all kinds of wildlife which now included several whacked out, ‘under the influence’campers. A bit off the beaten path, indulging in high adventure, but still friendly and courteous to some degree. Being way too bombed to attempt any cooking, the five of us watched Bear scarfing down a hearty breakfast consisting of four fried brown country eggs, a whole pack of bacon and campfire toast, while we munched upon jerky, chips and whatever else that could be ripped open and consumed. At one point Charlie perched squirrel-like upon the bench next to the Bear's plate begging for a bacon slice, until the shaggy giant growled, waved his yolk covered fork dangerously close to the lad's face backing him away.
It was then we heard the sound of a vehicle approaching.
Heads turned as we looked on with blank facial expressions at the slowly passing station wagon pulling a pop-up camper. Not able to make out occupants inside the station wagon, we waved anyway. Still feeling the effects while giving our crew the once over I thought - 'We can only hope they'll move on down a good bit, for their own sake so they can have wonderful yet sane camping experience'
That was not to be the case as they halted and then started to back up their rig right beside our encampment
Put away the fun stuff and cup your hard drink !" The Bear's booming voice broke the spell and spurred some of us into action. He was correct. We were on federal lands and with the Reagan administration’s tough ‘just say no’ policy we decided to play it as safe as possible for the likes of us. Hard drink was another matter as in most campgrounds located in federal and state parks as long as you don't display the original containers, quaff from mug or cup, along with not letting anything get out of hand, the rangers would overlook such social drinking in public infractions. Now having unknown neighbors meant some sense of order had to be kept in our encampment. Complaints to the rangers were the last thing we needed.
The Bear placed his empty plate upon our table, got up and called me aside. His was one of serious concern - "Hey man, I really don't want to spend my vacation awaiting trial in some small town pokey" Continuing he discussed options - "Charlie, we can pass off as being special, but since the rest of us didn't come in a bus, we cannot all plead not guilty by reason if some major screw up occurs"
"Charlie being special ?" I asked somewhat taken aback.
"Just look at that whacked-out bastard" The Bear returned with a snarl.
Charlie had discovered some of Mr. Potato Head plastic parts belonging to Flip’s daughters that had somehow ended up in a cardboard supply box. With large unblinking frog-like eyes, Charlie was putting together his own creation with a large baking spud.
Inserted plastic potato man eyes uneven, one an inch below the other. A single arm sticking from the groin area, and a funny plastic mouth where a hat should be. It looked to be a Picasso Potato Head. I could appreciate this art in my state. The Dibbles burst into loud cackling after Charlie presented to Flip and so proclaimed - " It's suppose to be you Flippy"
Bear dryly stated - " If we got him one of those padded helmets, other people won’t get too curious"
"Hey man, dig yourself, that was cold” I objected.
"Keep a sharp eye on those Dibbles, you know what happens when they get too snockered" Bear advised.
True, only a month earlier they all but destroyed R.W.'s new apartment in yet another bout of drunken brother against drunken brother brawling. Bear and I let them go at it until both were winded and bloody, then we raided R.W.'s fridge for some chow before splitting the scene.
We heard the cheerful sounds of our neighbors making camp, but they were soon drowned out following Denny flicking on our boom box was lucky enough to find a radio station playing some old Leon Russell.
Everything stored somewhat out of sight we began to get into the spirits. No sightseeing today as five of us had poured ourselves a strong one, while The Bear guzzled ale from his drinking horn, given to him as a gag present and he brought along always for campground quaffing. About a head taller than the rest of us and packing on a good 260 lbs, he was a good fellow to have around during a hassle. Not being able to partake and ready to cut loose he proceeded to pour large amounts of ale down his gullet.
We more or less put him in charge for the time being.
I guess we were all aiming at getting a bit loose, or sociably tanked if our new neighbors decided to dare a friendly visit. “Well at least they waved at us" Denny said while attempting to peer through the greenery at our new neighbors. He was right, they did in fact waved and were smiling while doing so. The six of us with bloodshot eyes, long hair, armed with an array of sheathed hunting knives, displaying our snapping turtle skull and osprey feather banner of sorts lashed to a sapling could be mistaken by regular run of the mill campers as being crazed doped-up members of a killer hippy-like cult. By making camp next to us could mean these folk are also ready to throw down, they're oblivious or could be anthropologists here to make a documentary, perhaps with the college or maybe even PBS. In no time it seemed they were popped-up and geared down. Above the music I heard a car door close. They started up their station wagon and pulled out.
"Going out for supplies I'd suspect" Denny stated as we watched the red glow of tail lights disappear around the bend. Again the sound of wheels turning gravel got our attention. We expected to see either staff, rangers or campers passing by, but it was our neighbors again, driving slow even for a campground, barely creeping. I guess they did the loop and were coming back for perhaps a cooler. This time they braked in front of our camp, waved again and shouted friendly sounding greetings from the open window of their vehicle. We all waved, raised cups and issued friendly greetings. After this initial meeting they drove off once more. This time we got a better look at our neighbors. There were three of them and they appeared to be somewhat older than us, perhaps in their 60s. By the looks of it there were two older ladies and a man. It may have been the weed, but I thought to have saw the backseat passenger’s eyes glow in a weird way like a wild animal’s when reflecting headlights. We really didn't need anyone having a heart attack late at night because of Charlie or somebody else stumbling into their campsite to take a drunken leak.
Hard spirits had taken the edge off the power puff and we talked about getting an early supper started. There was meat in the cooler which had to be grilled tonight, before going into town for more. With little effort we had coals glowing in our two Weber grills. Flip started beans and taters, while Bear pulled raw rib eyes from the two family packs purchased at Waynesboro yesterday. Soon the aroma of sizzling meat drifted through our encampment. I watched Bear carefully tending a slab of meat upon one of our grills. The man could eat his way out of a shark's belly and demand seconds. Like me, he did not like his steak bloody rare, as did Charlie and the Dibbles. Approaching Bear at his work I said - "Shit man, you just ate enough breakfast for three full grown men, and now you're licking your lips over a rib eye"
Straightening up to his full height then regarding me with serious grey eyes and brandishing a pair of metal tongs, he asked - "Can I help you with something ?"
I told him as long as he was tending grill - "Make mine medium-well".
Charlie along with the Dibble Brothers had already got theirs off the coals and placed them on paper plates where they lay in a puddles of warm red gore.
A little more time and several more turns and Bear was finished with our steaks, yet Flip toiled on. Camp taters and beans completed he turn his attention to burning a good cut of meat into charred remains. Bear wanted no part of grilling that steak. All of us shook our heads in disgust, but broke into laughter after R.W. asked the Birdman if he needed a urn for his steak.
Ale, beer along with hard spirits washed our feast down well greased gullets and there was much chomping, lip-smacking and belching to be heard at the table. With stomachs well coated there would be scant chance of spewing high quality booze upon the good upland soil. Yet at some celebrations there was always someone who managed to puke his way through a good party. With the stench of charred flesh hanging about our encampment, Flip had at last seated himself then neatly placed what use to be a good cut of meat beside his sides of taters and beans. The Bear commented in disgust - "It looks like an old flat roof patch"
"I can't eat my steak half raw or bloody like you buzzards" The Birdman hissed, one hand gripping hard upon the fork pinning down his blackened meat clod, while the other wielded a steak knife in a back and forth hacksaw motion.
I slapped his boney back - "You better hope that cinder doesn't rip a tear in your sphincter as it passes"
Flip paid me no mind as he crunched his first chunk of overly well done steak then flushed the black particles down with an ale. What a character. A lean wiry fellow of middle height, a faded red bandanna knotted about his head in Apache fashion. Dark crow-like eyes above a beak nose added to his strange appearance. Those eyes darted about behind a pair of thick gold rimmed specs. But the real eye catcher was his wide collared, buttoned, short sleeved, light blue shirt complete with various antique car prints. Flip having a strange sense of fashion about him considered it to be one of his favorites. Weirdly enough Flip was born on October 31, mama’s little Halloween baby.
Charlie often called him 'Goony'. Of Lumbee heritage he was a man of fair wood and camping craft, but tended to be a bit of a bogart at times.
Famished as we were, supper became all but a loud belch and warm fart.
And the celebration got underway. Our mugs, cups and Bear’s drinking horn were filled, drained and filled again as we tried our best to keep open containers out of sight. Jokes, funny gestures and laughter measured our lofty condition. Charlie tossed Mr. Party Potato Head into our campfire. Cackling with insane simian joy as the plastic parts melted over his fast baking potato body. In swift motion he knocked it out of the flames then placed it again upon our table. To him this was art.
"We are gonna need more ice for tonight" declared Denny . He was mixing his spirits and wanted to keep them cool in going down on a rather warm late Summer's early evening. We planned on taking the drive northward up Skyline Drive over Hawksbill Mountain and a few more ridges then cutting westward on Route 211 into Luray to re-supply foodstuffs and of course enough ice to see us through for another day and a bit. Knowing full well the distance between Big Meadows and nearest big grocery store we each came prepared with a huge cooler, plus two or three smaller ones. We'd top off ale and beer stocks, buy some pork chops, chicken and perhaps more beef. We also figured on getting some sausage, hot dogs and more bacon as well. We had enough brown eggs as my father-n-law owned a farm with plenty of laying hens. With that we would stay in food and drink for a few more days. If we could just get a handle on ourselves for one evening there were plans of having dinner at the lodge. The Bear had some heavy duty painkillers ready if Charlie had to be sedated before eating in a public place. My mind was set on quail and wild rice. For now we only had need of a few bags of ice, to keep it all cool, and us in business for the night.
Flip and I decided to make the ice run, Bear wanted to come along too. Piling out of Flip's truck moments later we found ourselves half-crocked in the store's small parking lot. Old blurry memories bounced hard within my skull.
Those memories shattered, falling into deep dark holes once again as The Birdman started jabbering away about going back for more buds and with a smirk and eyes uplifted mumbled how many bucks could be made in sales. The Great Bear halted and turned then pointed his walking stick just short of Flip's beak while ominously growling - “Do I have to knock some fucking sense into you skull, you,,,”
I cut in attempting to quell any more talk of greedy endeavors while on vacation -"Starting on this trip we had about an ounce of shitty smoke between us, but after this morning's walk, free and easy like, two ounces of trip weed apiece was added to the stash. Maybe we should just leave it as is and gloat upon our small fortune already at hand"
The Great Bear lent some wisdom as well - "You greedy little flak, you have good food, drink, plenty of weed, good comrades, new neighbors and mountains." He then asked slightly slurring - "Now that you have these things, why risk it all in an unnecessary
venture ?"
Flip jumped upon a curb in a effort to make himself a little taller - "But just think of all that smoke and money it could generate. It would pay for this trip and more"
Disgusted by this foolish talk, I let loose in swift sure manner - " And on this next downhill jaunt you'll of course will be taking a bigger pack, maybe two,, hell, why not just bring some big trash bags, fill em up with tops, leaves, stems and all ? I want no more to do with it ! Got enough smoke , my smoking pouch is going to be beyond full with what there already is and that suits me fine. I can't tell you what to do, but if even a mere mention of what we found is revealed to the others before we split next Saturday,, I'll nail your hide to a tree "
"And if he doesn't, I will" The Bear said still towering over both Flip and his concrete curb soapbox - "Let's not totally screw up this vacation "
Old memories resurfaced as I walked into the store.
The Bear and I had been here some nine years earlier, tripping our brains out and barely escaping with whole skin after the clerk phoned for a ranger. It was purely an unplanned weekend adventure gone wrong inside this small market under the influence of more LSD than we had ever done before. This weird trip started out in Newport News Virginia after The Great Bear and I picked up a hundred hits of
purple micro-dot from our connection who oddly enough kept the whole lot in a Lucky Charms cereal box within his fridge. Well to make a short story within a longer story a bit shorter Bear and I had popped two hits remembering the weak potency of the last batch we copped. A double dose should surely get us there. We decided to unload a good deal of the ‘dot’ at a party another friend was having in an old farmhouse on the edge of town some twenty minutes away. First the Great Bear wanted to pick up some mail from the post office and fill his gas tank before hitting the party. A wreck on Jefferson held us up for awhile, but the flashing emergency lights appeared strangely different and by the time a tow truck arrived to drag the crunched-up hulk of what use to be a Buick away, we had already began to feel a certain tingling in our heads. Those flashing lights provided a starting point to a different type of journey that Bear and I had ventured out upon. The post office was very bright inside and all sounds within seemed to echo. The Bear picked up his mail while I watched patterns in the floor tile form weird animated shapes. This new batch far exceeded the last in noticeable potency and swiftly did it take hold. The Bear had noticed as well and mentioned that - "We should ask five bucks a hit instead of three. We managed to reach a gas station/mini-mart. By then the acid was taking hold but
quick. Man, was I whacking out big time. The Bear grabbed my shoulder in a savage grip and said - "Here's some money" One paw pulling out a wad of cash - "I'll pump the gas, you go in there and pay"
“Oh shit, why me ?” He just smiled and stuck in the nozzle. Things did not go as planned, but soon we were traveling northward up Jefferson making for the party.
Don't drive on acid folks.
"Oh fucking great man" The Bear growled fumbling with his rear view mirror "I think the cops are behind us"
"Oh no !" I said - "They're gonna get us for not paying for the gas"
"What do you mean,,, not paying for the gas ?" Bear roared. After yet another failed attempt to make out who was following us because of the brightly glowing halo-like headlights of whatever vehicle was trailing behind I explained to Bear that after exiting his car how the gas pumps were melting before my eyes and upon entering the store to make payment I encountered a cartoon looking Barney Rubble-like clerk with no visible neck and only four digits on each hand. It was panic on my part prompting me to turn tail and bolt out without paying. Hopefully Bear understood my recent predicament..
We veered off on Route 17 in hopes of shaking our imaginary pursuers. Ducking into a small neighborhood ultra-grit bar was not a wise choice, but we needed to gather thoughts, get ourselves together so to speak, but could not manage to finish a beer because Bear grew overly concerned thinking the bar maid to be some simian hybrid monkey woman - “I don’t want to get bit. They carry diseases”
She did have a protruding baboon-like muzzle, but so did a lot of the other patrons as well. Not wanting our skulls and shinbones cracked open for brains and marrow, we departed with all haste passing a female seated by the door who seemed to be grooming the alpha male for parasites. It was like being in a National Geographic television special.
Traveling north on Route 17 was a terrible experience as once again we imagined 'stealth police' were following us, taking their time, studying our habits, keeping us on edge, before coming in for the take down. At one point it got so bad the fear pushed us to extremes.
"Chuck those hits out the window, man !" Bear commanded.
'Damn, a hundred bucks down the drain' I thought then suggested - "Hey, lets do some more before they go out all over the road" I scooped out several more hits, handing some to Bear. He gulped them down as I did the same.
Needless to say we traveled some hundred or more miles northwestward still imagining that cops were trailing behind until well into the morning before ending up at the very same camp store at Big Meadows. Still very much in a whacked out altered state with a desperate need for drink, we barged in like crazed savages and made tracks for the beer cooler. Opening and guzzling bottles inside this establishment, we surely broke several state if not federal alcohol laws. We were lucky to have not been arrested.
Perhaps another story.
The Great Bear and I breathed sighs of relief in not seeing that same frightened short, curly perm, pointy glasses wearing clerk who was tending store some nine years earlier. Instead we traded with a younger woman with a weird distant look in her eyes. Flip attempted to direct a little friendly small talk her way while paying for a bag of cone-shaped corn snacks. She offered only a few vague one word replies and then finished this sale with the standard - "Thank you. Bye. Come again" The Birdman ogled her midsection for a few pitiful desperate seconds, then turned away from the counter. Tossing bags of ice into the truck bed, we headed back to camp. But upon nearing it was decided we check out the whole campground loop. From my count it appeared Big Meadows Campground was less than half filled. I had started to wonder why those older people picked a spot right next to us. We were here until next Saturday and really didn't need or couldn't afford any problems at all. Which meant no howling, dancing in leaps and bounds around the fire, no loud rock music blaring and no drunken squabbles. Bear would call a council and hopefully afterwards all should go a bit more smoothly keeping in mind we now had neighbors to contend with.
With any luck at all they were only one nighters and leaving tomorrow morning..