Sheri worked with Nate and Julie until past noon today, then Julie took over the office duties so we could go camping.
I invited the Davis, Roh, Benson, and Smith families. I intended to invite the Thiedes, but they were set to go to Africa to pick up their son from his two-year LDS mission. (I was informed that they were delayed, so Kristin Davis extended another invitation to them just before she left her home.)
Our intent was to have the Bensons and Rohs ride up with us in the RV. Jay indicated that he had lots of firewood, so he volunteered to bring some along with his camping accouterments, which we would then transfer into the back of the Davis truck so that the Bensons could ride up with Sheri, me, and the Rohs.
Well… we didn’t count on Jay bringing at least ½ cord of wood, enough food to feed us all for a week, and all the camping accessories to make our wilderness campsite comfortable. We took a look at what Nate intended to take in his truck and realized that along with two generators, the kids bikes, his Dutch ovens, fuel for the generators and Kristin’s humongous makeup bag containing her hair dryer, lipstick, a tanning bed, and other vanity sundries, there was only room for a twig of fire wood. The decision was quickly made that the Bensons would drive their own vehicle.
(I was just kidding about Kristin’s makeup bag. She’s far from vain but easy to tease. :-) )
The Davises and Bensons left from the Davis home and Sheri and I took the RV to the Roh’s to pick them up. We were finally on the road about 3:00 P.M. headed to the Uintah Mountains of Utah where we had reservations at the Iron Mine campground at the north part of the Duchesne River.
After getting lost, we finally arrived at base camp around 5:00 P.M.
We set up camp.
Truly, Jay Benson knew what he was doing. The dude brought some light thingamabobs (I don’t know what they’re called) that the Sun charged up and provided lighted paths throughout the campsite throughout the night. He brought a wonderful propane grill for all to use on which he and Noni provided the first night’s dinner of Café Rio style shredded pork sandwiches.
Earlier, right after arriving, I rushed to the river with my Barbie pole. Yep, that’s right, I was the proud owner of a three-foot long, pink Barbie pole purchased for $14.99 at Sports Authority along with a fishing license good for a week.
From what I learned from my father as a kid, I knew Salmon eggs were the best thing to use in small rivers and creeks. They are also the easiest things to put on a hook. Armed with Barbie, a couple of hooks and the eggs, I headed for the river. It’s a small river, but one I knew fish could be found therein. I had previously told Sheri that I would be providing a fresh fish dinner, to which she mockingly replied, “Oh yea! I’ve seen your fishing skills.” WHAT! She’s only seen me fishing once. She didn’t know what Barbie and I were about to do. I think she was a little jealous of Barbie.
I tried a dry fly at first. (Dry flies float on top of the water.) Using a three-foot Barbie pole to fly fish might not be the way the world does it, but it’s the way I do it. After a few casts, something unseen bent Barbie 90 degrees. I jerked rapidly and strong enough to pull that gigantic fish right out of the water (this was very possible since I had only let out about 10 feet of line pursuant to my Barbie-fly-fishing technique.
Well, experienced fishermen would quickly conclude that a jagged rockfish is what actually took the fly. This type of fish has never been caught in the wild. Somehow this species has evolved to the point where they are able to bend the strongest of poles and break the thickest line. My Barbie was no match for this fish and I lost the battle…
… even though the rockfish was only two feet away from me. (I wasn’t fishing to get wet, however.)
I knew that rockfish also like Salmon eggs but not as much. When I lost the fly, I had maneuvered myself in the middle of the stream by walking on protruding large rocks. About this time the Rohs and Sheri had come to the river to see the spectacle… according to Sheri’s lack of faith in my fishing skills. John, an avid fisherman, never mocked Barbie once. My back was turned so I probably didn’t see his raised eyebrows and smiles watching me fly fish with her.
After the huge rockfish took my dry fly, I cast out some line to John on the bank and had him tie a hook on so I could use Salmon eggs. Sheri and Lily were sitting up the bank a bit and conversing like they often do: “Pick a little, talk a little, pick a little, talk a little, cheep, cheep, cheep, talk a lot, pick a little more… cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep.” All the while John and I were humming, “Goodnight Ladies!”
(One would have had to see the Music Man to understand the humor of the last paragraph. The Music Man is one of my all time favorite movies, starring Robert Preston. It has a great message. The writers used music instead of religion to show how easily people can be duped, yet have something good come from it—a message very similar to the Music of Mortality. Something good will eventually come from all the conmen who have invented ways to aggrandize themselves in front of others.)
Although I didn’t announce loudly that I had hooked a rockfish, a few casts later I yelled, “Got one!”
Yep, Barbie came through. I caught about a nine-inch (according to man’s measurements, as we measure those things that make us men) rainbow trout.
This caught the ladies’ attention and they came closer to get a look at what my fishing expertise produced. I knew catching fish and eating them are two very different things, so I decided to throw the fish back. I maneuvered it over to John on the bank, who carefully removed the hook and gently helped the fish back to life in the water.
One cast later and I caught another. This fish was not as lucky as the first. It was smaller but took the hook much deeper. It was going to be part of dinner.
A couple of casts later I caught another… then another. Both of these swallowed the hook too deep and I had no choice but to end their existence… much to my own personal chagrin.
While I was fishing, Barbie got to John. Catching the fish titillated him enough to have him try his skill with another pole we had. All John caught was himself falling off some slippery rocks and injuring his shin. He mentioned that he doesn’t fish anymore due to his last experience where the fish he had caught let out its last breath and broke his heart.
Nate Davis had prepared poles for all three of his children and himself. I looked up stream and saw the dedicated father catering to the fishing needs of his children. I thought about his unselfish nature in caring for his kids’ needs so that they would have fun. I thought about my selfishness and my adulterous tryst with Barbie.
I thought about telling John Roh that he and I should go help Nate’s kids (since I already caught quite a few) so that he could fish himself.
I thought about it for just a moment…
… then the thought left.
There’s a good reason why I don’t have any kids… any who like me anyway. The reason is simple: I’m a lone fisherman of people. And like my Barbie pole (one a professional would mock at), the MWAW does the job just fine.
I would trade Nathan Davis any day… my Barbie for his kids. (Well, I tried… but that’s another journal entry.)
I paid no more attention to Nate’s joy in fishing with his kids.
I cast Barbie a few more times with no success and left fishing… not to return to it again.
I prepared the few fish I had caught and couldn’t save and placed them in the RV’s fridge where they would be staring right up at Sheri when she opened the fridge… and she did… and they were… and she freaked… and I laughed.
After the Benson’s wonderful dinner, I found that there were some brownies for dessert that no one would talk about. I was really the only one interested in them. Whether there was any other there who wanted a brownie or ate one… I don’t know… and I don’t care. If they want to speak of their experiences… if they had one… they can publish their own journal.
And for the authorities: If you ask… I brought the brownies to the camp and am completely responsible for them being there and my own consumption. And since the crime was committed in Duchesne County, Utah, Sheriff Travis Mitchell would be responsible for my arrest and extradition back to his county for prosecution… which extradition I will fight… because I can testify in complete honesty… that I don’t know if Christopher Nemelka ate the brownies or not. The experience was so surreal and disconnected me from reality that I didn’t have a clue who I was… nor did I care at the time.
I wanted to feel the effects that millions of people feel everyday when they smoke marijuana. However, I would never smoke it, not wanting to put the effects into my lungs. What I didn’t realize, however, is that ingesting it was far stronger.
What I didn’t realize is that the effects of eating the herb didn’t start until long after ingesting. So, I ate one brownie, then two more (about the size of a normal store-bought brownie). After about 15 minutes, I felt nothing. There were those present who were concerned that I didn’t know what I was doing and that I should be careful. Sheri was one of these caring ones. She was fully aware what happened the first time I ate one months before.
I know they cared… but I didn’t.
I snuck away from the group, found the brownies and ate four more… at least that was what I could remember. They tasted like normal brownies so I figured there couldn’t be too much THC in them. I like brownies. After eating 7 brownies and waiting another 30 minutes or so, I felt a slight relaxation come over me, but nothing serious. That’s when I excused myself again, found the brownies… and can’t remember how many more I ate… in fact… after excusing myself to eat some more… my whole reality began to change.
For the first time in my life I was completely, 100% incapacitated. I sat in my chair around the fire and didn’t have a clue where I was, who I was, or who the people were that were present. Needless to say, I was severely poisoned by the drug. I remember Sheri… at least just her head… sitting next to me and smiling. As I looked at her, her countenance changed many times. I lost the ability to consciously move or think beyond the simple commands of my brain trying to figure out who I was, why I was, and why I didn’t have control of any part of my body.
The dark, crisp wilderness night crept in around me. Suddenly, it was just me and the fire. I was dead, but the fire was alive. When I thought about standing up, the fire would stand up and the flames would dance. This went on for sometime… maybe a few minutes to most, but what seemed like hours to me. It wasn’t until the fire ring, the pit, and all the logs began to levitate in the air that I knew I was possessed… or at least the fire was.
I concentrated (for what seemed like many hours) on standing up and asking Sheri and John Roh to put me to bed in the RV before I saw other things that scared me. Finally… I’m not sure how… I was able to communicate to Sheri that she needed to put me in bed.
I was baked… no I was overcooked… overdone… completely wasted… strung out… or whatever else one calls the experience of an overdose.
Laying in bed, the paranoia and experience got worse and worse. The RV seemed like a long tunnel where shadows elongated and bent towards me in an evil, menacing way. If I actually believed in the devil, I would have seen him and his cohorts mocking me and enticing me to follow them to hell. Instead, my reality was transformed into intense fears of things that scared me. Herein was the problem: I don’t fear anything, I have no phobias, and have complete control over my mind in a normal situation.
But now… OMG!!!…
… my drug-induced mind was trying to invent things to be afraid of! It was like my mind kept searching for things that would scare me, but when what it produced didn’t frighten me, it changed the scenario and presented something else—thus, the elongated RV and the shadows.
(Sheri would later comment that my heart was beating upwards towards 200 beats per minute. She stayed close by my side, yet I don’t remember her being there but for short periods of time.)
So, that ended Friday, September 3, 2010.
I overdosed on weed.
(Now, bear with me mine enemies and critics. There’s still a few days to go until the events unfold to explain why I went camping with just a few and wanted to experience the “brownie effect” on my mind.)