when tripping... part 2
when tripping... part 2
The over three hour hike back towards our camp was some of the most grueling steps of my young life. Several times I felt I could not continue and suggested they leave me behind to die. My ankle was puffed up and my tank was on empty. We had left the creek far behind and dehydration was a factor in the exhaustion. Instead of the wonders of nature it was just rocks, dirt, dust and wheezing hikers. I was the only one lagging and felt like a hike failure. There was no more liquid in my body to sweat out the acid but after an eternity Ed's VW was in sight. I desperately lurched into the back seat toward the cooler and found a can of actually cold Shasta Root Beer that tasted like an IV of sugar life. I inhaled it and belched like a wild hog. Then there was camp and more recreational drugs and more wine without grubs. Ed wandered across the fast moving stream near us by jumping from strategic rock to rock until he stood on the other side trying to focus on a swirling mass of colors, sounds and forest smells that surrounded us. Therer was no lizard to direct him. To kid him I found a dead fish on the shore and hooked it to the bare hook at the end of his fishing pole he brought that never saw water. After an hour I noticed a concerned look on Ed's face as his glaze-eyed gaze was locked onto a rock in the stream. The problem was that he saw the pattern of the crossing going over but now could not find that pattern to return. Well-rested , long-legged Zeke hopped over the slippery rocks and lead Doc Carroll back across like a lost lamb. It was at this time that a park ranger showed up and let us know we were not in a true campsite. It wasn't even camping season. He then asked if we had fishing licenses which we assured him we did not. Problem was there was that dead fish hanging from a hook on Ed's pole which made our denial less believable. It probably was that he saw some clueless city boys out in the wilderness and he left us with a dead fish and the final stages of our acid trips. Knowing how the temperatures sank in Sespe Mister Lucky set out to find some kindling with a sharp k-bar knife. In his drunken haste hacking limbs from branches he managed to swipe the knife across his leg above his knee slicing through his jeans and opening a deep five inch wound that began to bleed profusely. Planning? No we did not have a first aid kit but we did manage to wrap paper towels around his leg and make him hold the leg straight to staunch the flow. Due to the rigors of the hike the hallucinations faded somewhat early as we continued to drink and smoke while checking the bleeding leg of Consoli. We also did have an old Coleman lantern that was fired up to monitor the wounded man but what seemed like thousands of the insects of old Sespe showed up to enjoy the light. Mister Not So Lucky seemed unconcerned but Ed worried about his pal bleeding to death in the night so he fashioned a splint of paper plates and masking tape as the patient took to his sleeping bag. This time I put on all the clothing I could find and managed a few winks before there was some alarm early on when Mister Lucky slid out of his bag to find the interior looking like the horses head scene in the Godfather. There was even some discussion about dropping more blotter but good sense won out and we all drove the thirty miles to Fillmore and an open clinic where they used quite a few stitches to close up the wound. We had no money so I think they just took a promise someone would mail them a payment. Funny thing about Consoli is that he went on to become a Nurse Practioner who worked at the Atascadero State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.
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