Ok, so Hazey, this is actually an outdoor strain and a SMOKE "STORY", not a smoke report. I hope you find it entertaining since your smoke reports are the best I've read so far on THC Farmer, Roll It Up, Smoke Reports, Grass City, and even Shanti's Mr. Nice forums.
A story takes into consideration the context of the smoke in action, not just a dry chart or evaluation scale that, as you say, may not have anything to do with what it does for you, an individual that likes getting high. It's cool to look at the chart-style smoke evaluations and get all fuzzy, but perhaps it makes us think that we are all talking about the same thing when actually we're not.
6 billion people, 6 billion realities.
And...I was one of the lucky ones to be in the summer of love. I got into farming a bit later, in 1976.
So here it goes, a story about how good/bad Colombian can get, although I'll have to write another round about the Santa Marta Gold we enjoyed that ONLY got us HIGH!
The most devastating herb I have ever toked was a true, landrace Colombian Wacky Weed was known to me as "Candybar". It showed up three or four times a year via Brooklyn, New York to Phoenix, Arizona. The only person in America getting it was my good Colombian friend Gerardo. His source was an old-time grower from Neiva, Colombia, land of the Colombian Blacks that ranged from a shady chocolate color to a rich tar coloration.
Candybar came so black and compacted in one ounce "bars" that it looked like hash and had very little if any apparent leaf or vegetable matter. It was tightly sealed in aluminum foil with an outer wrapping of Saran Wrap. The few people who were lucky enough to examine it up close were like, “WTF?” because it couldn’t be just plain weed. Not coming like that. What these lookers didn’t know, though, was the true surprise that the source of this smoke was handful of female plants that were not annuals. These mother plants were many years old and treasured by the few, rare individuals that had access to the herb they produced. Though I've never seen photos of multi-year plants from Colombia, my friend RCC sent me photos of a Thai tree with a sturdy trunk slightly larger in diameter than your forearm, with average height of approx. 16-18 feet. Standing alone along an agricultural field's wooded edge, a single plant looked very similar to a small stand of bamboo. It doesn’t necessarily mean a lack of vigor at the Equator when a plant grows beyond a year….or five.
One toke from a New York needle pin joint of Candybar was enough to send people falling down staircases, to start spinning so hard that they vomited, and to even lose their balance like my best friend who immediately passed out, fell forward into a brick wall, smashed his eyeglasses, and hit the cement - all before we could move from the same instantaneous freeze and time-stoppage induced by the one, hard-to-pull-from-the-pin joint hit that we each inhaled.
The time period helped the high. In 1974 when Candybar was selling for $100.00 an ounce in Phoenix, an outrageous price for those early days, very few people has smoked decent sinsemilla or had ever tasted this kind of highest quality, professional Colombian grower's personal stash weed. Peter, AKA Johnnie, and actually Gerardo, had people driving down 3 hours in the dark of night from Flagstaff just to grab one of the 3-5 bars being sold shortly after it arrived in Phoenix. Many were disappointed due to its absolute rarity and the general impossibility of getting even a 1/8 of an ounce, ever. Folks laughed when they heard about it. They just couldn’t relate without the experience. They had no reference point that was comparable. I’m sure many of the farmer bros out there reading this account can remember their first space dream and total wipeout.
He had tales of heavy intoxication from wherever he roamed. In Redway and Shelter Cove in Northern Cali he told me of sitting in the pitch-black Redwood forest on a summer night and listening to insect, animal, and sounds from "The Standing People" (trees). Yeah, sitting for 4 hours without barely moving. Now that's some zone. What territory.
Other times there were humorous stories of leaving pin joints in public places and following/watching the poor mental-patients-to-be as they blasted off instantly and lost their grip on the way. Much like the best highland Thai or other southeast Asian smoke that exhibited a SAM (Surface To Assassinated) missile speed. Victims who later swore that they had smoked herb spiked with LSD. Today, looking back, I'd compare it to a DMT blast, though not quite as psychedelic as a stunning combination of extremely high THC accompanied instantly by a wave or windblast of an even more intense CBD spin. And spin they did.
In the stashed Rasta section of Brooklyn’s Bed Stuy, Peter watched helplessly (yep, frozen in time) while a friend's girl tumbled down an entire wooden flight of Brownstone stairs. Once they could break free of Candybar's Tractor Beam they spent awhile tending to yet another casualty.
I remember several occasions when hipsters asked Johnnie what type of hash he was preparing. He used a razor blade to slice chunks or slices from the candy. Imagine, for you that can relate to what a “Chunky” candy bar was (is?), that you took two Chunky bars and lined them up touching, side-by-side. That was the general shape except it was not quite as thick. It smelled of warm dark humus, an earthy cannabis with a hint of fruit.
I never, ever smoked more than one hit at a time once I experienced the time-warp of 5 hours disappearing from a couple-three thin hits from a Ney York Needle pin joint. I laid wasted on the banks of Sycamore Canyon’s swim hole just below Laurie’s Cave wondering who I really was and when was I going to be able to, heyhey, think again. Only a few like Gerardo, George B., and Rob T. were perpetually motivated by Candybar and took off hiking for hours or drove a tractor in 100 degree heat all day under its spell. For most like myself it was paralyzing.
Second place (oh yes) goes to “Cartoon Weed”. Whatever it was, it was extremely predictable and intensely stony in its effects: you will be somewhere, probably in public, most likely in a place that you wish you weren’t, and totally lose it, laughing ridiculously until you cried. The release was enough to make some piss their pants, oh man.
I like that smoke a lot, too. It made life’s dream a magic, funny, shadow show.
