G'day. My name's Luke. I'm 18 and I live in Tasmania. No, Tasmania
is not in Africa, it is a state of Australia. You know that little island
just below mainland Australia? Well that's were I live. I just wanna say
that shrooms grow down here as well and they're pretty bloody good mate!
Alright, on to the trip report.
I scored a heap of mushies from my backyard, we've got a big block and it's
covered in bush. Mushrooms and toadstools of every description grow all over
the place around March through to May. I'm not sure what the magic ones are
called but they grow to about 8cm high and have a brown cap with a golden
centre. I guess they're a psilocybe of some sort but we call 'em Gold Tops.
A friend and I decided that it would be cool to go tripping and camping out
in the bush, so we grabbed some shrooms, borrowed mum's car and took off
to this spot that I know of. Actually, the spot we went to isn't in the bush,
bush being defined as Australian native flora, it's a pine plantation and
we chose that spot because it wasn't to far to drive, it proved to be a bad
choice. On the way we bought some hot chips to eat the shrooms with. I was
in high spirits. I had done a lot of different drugs; acid, speed, morphine,
cocaine, too much hooner, and I had loved them all. I had done mushies before
and enjoyed their effect. I had never had a bad trip on any psychedelic and
I didn't expect to have one now. I think the experience I'm about to relate
is as close as i've ever come to a bad trip.
We arrived at our camp site and got set up. We pitched the tent, wipped out
the mushies and ate em down mixed with the hot chips. Yukky! We each ate
about ten decent sized shrooms, by decent sized I mean they had caps which
were about 4-6cm across and stems about 5-8cm long. We were pretty green
when it came to camping. I had only been out a couple of times and I hadn't
yet learned the necessity of prepration. My friend and I had just grabbed
the tent and hit the road. I'm trying to justify the fact that we forgot
matches. It gets pretty cold at night in Tassie around this time of year
and I had been counting on a fire. Oh, well, we decided to rough it. After
we ate our mushies we got out the footy and had a kick (Aussie rules football
of course). After about 15-20 minutes I could feel the mushies kicking in.
They had never come on that quick before.
Things were starting to get really trippy. I remember I was getting these
cool visuals, the clouds were merging and boiling as the sun cast it's dying
rays over the horizon. Colours stood out and every thing seemed to be bordered
in black. As the sun went down and night took hold, a feeling of oppression
settled over us. I don't know if you have ever been in a mature pine plantation
but the pines kind of create a stifling atmosphere. The air was perfectly
still, silent. Noise was muted. It was eery, the feeling of foreboding was
almost tangible. It was like all those massive pine trees were looking down
on us, watching, and they dissapproved of us being there. I remember thinking
that it was a good thing that we didn't have a fire because the act of burning
wood would almost certaintly provoke those ancient trees to violence. I remember
fantasising that those trees were communicating, brushing their leaves together
and edging closer to us and our tent. So there we sat. Under the pines, in
an environment that had suddenly taken on the unreal characteristics of a
Tolkien novel. ! I tried to brush off the feeling of apprehension, making
light talk with my mate, but we inevitable returned to the subject of 'no
fire'. It was bloody cold after all.
I had brought a torch and I was using it to shine around and look at my body.
My hands amazed me; normally so purposeful and deliberate, now they seemed
to be unable to find a purpose. It seemed to me that the colours red and
orange stood out on my skin, slowly mixing, merging. My hands moved randomly,
in search of twigs to snap or leaves to fiddle with. I shone the torch onto
the tent. It seemed unreal in this fantastic world of huge, living trees
and unnatural, stifling silence. Its metallic, silvery colour seemed to clash
with the stagnant darkness and I remember imagining the tent as being symbolic
of all the pollution and environmental destruction created by humans. It
was pretty freaky. I was doing some deep soul searching about the world that
I lived in, the values that my society regarded as important and I was
deffinately not liking the answers that I was coming up with. Then something
really amazing happened (probably not all that amazing but it was at the
time).
Remember those hot chips we bought? Well, after we had eaten them we had
chucked the wrapping paper into the bush. Now, there were these evil rustling,
scraping, squealing noises coming from where we had chucked the paper. Oh
god! What a nightmare. I kept comparing what was happening with sci/fi, fantasy
books that I had read. I kept thinking, "If this were a book, it would be
right about now that the hero got attacked by the nasty goblin dudes." We
went and had a look. I shone the torch around. Possums! Possums are way cool,
the fact that two fat little possums had turned up to say "G'day" made me
feel much better. Normally possums are shy, don't let you get real close
but these guys were letting me and my mate get within reach. They just sat
there and took it in turns chewing on the chip paper.
This was good, maybe it was a sign sent by the trees to say that they didn't
mind us spending the night within their realm. I was hopeful. I tried to
pat one, to see if he would speak to me and tell me the will of the trees.
Theyran away. Oh Shit! This was bad. The possums hated us. I couldn't stand
it any more. I ripped up the tent chucked in the back of the car and made
ready to leave, all the while my friend was demanding to know what the hell
was wrong with me and why did I want to go? I paid him no attention. It was
clear to me that we were not supposed to be here. I was convinced that we
had to get back to urban reality and that once we were there the purpose
of all would be revealed.
Needless to say, it was one spun out drive home. We just sort of drifted
along the highway at 120km/h in a swirl of car lights, and tunes. The world
was emerged in eternal darkness, night. I'm not gunna go into detail about
what happened over the next few hours, really it was just much of the same.
I recall that apon reaching the sleepy town of Launceston, the true nature
of existence became no less baffling to me. I couldn't hack being with anybody,
so I dropped my mate off somewhere, (much to his disapproval), and spent
a long time just sitting in the car at the end of a dirt road. I rememer
the radio host told me smoking was bad. I agreed. He said that music was
good. I believed him on that too. Finally I was straight. In the early hours
of the morning I let myself into my house. Mum woke up and raced out thinking
the place was being robbed or something. "What are you doing home?" She asked.
"We couldn't get a fire going." I said. If only she knew.
