RangerDanger
New Member
Years ago I had 2 patches in the same area very deep in the woods.
It was quite a hassle to get to...a wlak 2 miles down a steep dirt road then 2 miles of extreme bushwacking--through poison oak, stinging nettles, with numerous stream crossings.
There were probably less than 10 hikers a year that went in that far.
I day while going out to tend the gardens I discover 12 fat indica beauties which I was planning to harvest that day had been stolen.
My other garden was 12 massive sativa's and they still had a month to go.
I knew the rippers would return looking for more and I wasn't about to let them get these.
So I arraged to be out of town for awhile, took all my camping gear and set up next to the stream withing sight of the trees my plants were hidden behind.
It was a real nice area--a trout-filled stream, a pool where the water cascading over a rock made like a jaquzzi, soft sand.
I pitched my tent, built myself a rock ring and was in business.
What I hadn't counted on was this was only the 2nd time in my life I had ever camped out in the wilds by myself. The other thousand or so times had been with at least 1 other person. This time it was just me and Buffalo my trusty camping dog.
(Buffalo was such a camping dog, I took his mother camping when she was pregnant with him. And the first few times I took him camping I had to carry him because he was too young to walk very far. He was my constant hiking/camping buddy).
So the first evening, around dusk, I'm standing my the stream drinking a beer and all of a sudden a rock hits my tent.
Wtf?
Well the tent was pitched halfway under an oak tree near the canyon wall. I figure a small rock came tumbling down, no biggie.
Then, a few minutes later, another rock hits my tent. While I'm absorbing that, another rock hits the tent.
Now I'm starting to feel creeped out.
Why was someone throwing rocks at me/my tent? And why hadn't Buffalo heard or smelled them.
I admit it, I'm somewhat of a pussy in that kind of situation. Although there's really nothing to fear from the wildlife (most wild animals avoid people, especially if the person has a dog.), there is an animal to fear in the woods--man.
I reach in my tent and grab my revolver (I told you I was a pussy).
Who--or what--was out there in the darkness throwing rocks?
to be continued
It was quite a hassle to get to...a wlak 2 miles down a steep dirt road then 2 miles of extreme bushwacking--through poison oak, stinging nettles, with numerous stream crossings.
There were probably less than 10 hikers a year that went in that far.
I day while going out to tend the gardens I discover 12 fat indica beauties which I was planning to harvest that day had been stolen.
My other garden was 12 massive sativa's and they still had a month to go.
I knew the rippers would return looking for more and I wasn't about to let them get these.
So I arraged to be out of town for awhile, took all my camping gear and set up next to the stream withing sight of the trees my plants were hidden behind.
It was a real nice area--a trout-filled stream, a pool where the water cascading over a rock made like a jaquzzi, soft sand.
I pitched my tent, built myself a rock ring and was in business.
What I hadn't counted on was this was only the 2nd time in my life I had ever camped out in the wilds by myself. The other thousand or so times had been with at least 1 other person. This time it was just me and Buffalo my trusty camping dog.
(Buffalo was such a camping dog, I took his mother camping when she was pregnant with him. And the first few times I took him camping I had to carry him because he was too young to walk very far. He was my constant hiking/camping buddy).
So the first evening, around dusk, I'm standing my the stream drinking a beer and all of a sudden a rock hits my tent.
Wtf?
Well the tent was pitched halfway under an oak tree near the canyon wall. I figure a small rock came tumbling down, no biggie.
Then, a few minutes later, another rock hits my tent. While I'm absorbing that, another rock hits the tent.
Now I'm starting to feel creeped out.
Why was someone throwing rocks at me/my tent? And why hadn't Buffalo heard or smelled them.
I admit it, I'm somewhat of a pussy in that kind of situation. Although there's really nothing to fear from the wildlife (most wild animals avoid people, especially if the person has a dog.), there is an animal to fear in the woods--man.
I reach in my tent and grab my revolver (I told you I was a pussy).
Who--or what--was out there in the darkness throwing rocks?
to be continued
hey, no fair! lets go
awesome man but did you find the guy who took ur shit?
