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Confessions Of A Career Criminal

GanjaGuru

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Forward:
Webmaster/admin:If I'm out of line, let me know. I'd like to start a thread where I can relate interesting experiences that have to do with growing pot in the great outdoors, and I invite others to contribute.

Isolation:
Think about the longest you've ever been completely cut off from civilization. No phone, no internet, no t.v., no other people.
For most people it's only a few hours in their entire life.

One year I had 2 pot patches deep deep in the woods. It required a hour hike on a steep dirt road and a 45-min. bushwhack with multiple steam crossings.
In Sept. one of my patches got ripped off and I was loathe to let them get the other one, which was quite big.
So I took off a month from work and did "guard duty", me and my trusty camping dog Buffalo.

I had a friend drop me off at the trailhead with more equip. than I could haul down at 1 time so i stashed some gear in the bushes and made 3 succesive trips to get it all in.
I set me up a nice camp, a few dozen feet from a stream, in a sandy area under a big oak tree. I had a tent, sleeping bag and inflatable matress.
I built a rock ring for campfires, and had a fishing pole so it appeared to anyone who might wander that far off that I was a backpacker/fisherman. 50' away from my tent there was a pool where I bathed, using sand for soap.
Now, up until that time the longest I had ever spent completely cut off from "civilization" was less than a day.
I had a walkman and I could recieve 1 radio station--a conservative talk show station. But I did have a lot of tapes to listen too at least.
And books, I had books I had been meaning to read for years but had never gotten around to.
My plants had about a month to go til ripe.
I would stay down there for 6 days in a row, and then meet a friend up at the trailhead at a pre-arranged time, at night. I'd come back into town just long enought to get supplies, take a hot shower and sleep in a real bed before heading back at dawn the next a.m. for another 6-day stretch.

to be continued
 

GanjaGuru

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I had 2 guns at my campsite.

1 was a .22 rifle I left leaning up against a tree.
This was mainly for show.
I didn't intend to shoot anyone with it (although "they" wouldn't know that).
see, I knew whoever found my first grow (8 early-maturing hash plants which would have yielded somewhere in the neighborhood of 4 oz/each) would come back looking for more plants to steal.
As a general rule, thieves don't like to steal stuff in broad daylight when someone with a gun is watching them.
Also hanging from a branch next to the tree was a walkie-talkie--totally useless in that deep canyon but then again "they" didn't know that.
My intention was to deter any potential crooks. Rippers are like burglers--they want to get in and out without being seen or confronted.
I also had a .22 ruger revolver. Every night I'd unload the rifle and load the revolver, which I would take in the tent with me.
Now there was no reason to have a gun at night in the tent. The area was so brushy and rugged even I would have a tough time getting in and out at night. Plus, anyone attempting it would have alerted my dog who would in turn bark like crazy long before they got there.
And there were no wild animals to worry about either. And if a stray bear or lion came near they would avoid the camp area because of the scent of humans and a dog.
It just made me feel safer for some reason.

The first night I was there I had a freaky occurance.
Around about dusk I was sitting by the campfire eating dinner when a rock hit my tent!
I looked at my dog and he was just hanging out. So he didn't see smell or hear anyone
I was pondering this when another rock hit my tent. Then another.
WHO THE **** WAS THROWING ROCKS AT MY TENT?
And why?

to be continued
 
T

Themanwithnoname

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aaaww you cant do this to me please write more!!
 

GanjaGuru

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I went and grabbed my rifle. Another rock hit the tent when I realized it wasn't rocks at all.
As I mentioned, my tent was pitched under an oak tree. It was Sept 1.
It wasn't rocks hitting my tent--it was falling acorns, which fall off oak trees around that time of the year. Increasing humidity at night causes the acorns to fall.
I had never camped that remotely by myself before, so I was kinda edgy. But it was just acorns.
After a few nights I got used to it.

The biggest drag about being out there was sheer boredom.
Oh yeah, it's nice to kick back next to a stream and blaze a fattie but that gets boring after a few hours.
I read. But you can only sit for so long.
I fished, but it was soooo easy to catch fish that it got boring soon too.
I couldn't hike because that would have defeated the purpose of being there.

I was there for a month. 6 days in a row, a quick overnighter to town and then back again for another 6 days.
I found myself having long philosophical talks with my dog.
I was going nuts.
That's when I realized that humans are social animals. We need other people.
The entire time I was there I only saw other people twice--friennds who came to visit and a group of 3 fishermen. They looked very disappointed to see me. I think they were the ones who ripped off my other garden.
I was soooo lonely. I remember seeing headlight, miles away on a road that skirted the canyon and found myself thinking "I wish I was in that car". It didn't matter with who was in the car or where they were headed--they were people. That was enough.
I also found myselg felling depressed around dinnertime.
It took me awhile to figure out why. Things would be mellow but around dinnertime every night I'd sink into a deep depression that would pass in an hour or so.
I finally figured out why.
Remember what I said about people being social animals?
Throughout human history, people of a tribe or group or family gathered at dinnertime. To eat and socialize, talk over the days events. For the first time in my life that was not an option. That was the cause of my depression.

I had been there for a month and was planning to wait 1 more week for optimum potency of my plants. Events changed all that.
At dawn on Oct. 1 I was making coffee at the campfire when a boulder about 10 feet away make a spark.
A second later I heard the shot.
Someone had shot a gun in my direction!
A few minutes later 2 low-life hunters appeared, the kind of people who shoot at anything that moves (in this case, me).
Then they headed over to a stand of trees on the other side of the stream, behind which I had 20 7' tall plants.
"No No." I yelled "Peligroso. Esnakes" made a snake motion with my hand and a rattlesnake sound.
They made a detour and continued on their way.
I did some thinking.
Like I said, my buds were about a week from being perfect.
But sooner or later some hunters might deciede to have a look-see and there was nothing I could do to stop it, or stop them from ripping off my plants.
Even if I was inclined to "shoot it out", what chance did I have--1 guy with a .22 against 2 guys with hunting rifle's?
Plus, I wasn't gonna shoot anyone regardless.
So that night I harvested all my plants and stayed up all night field stripping the buds--cutting the branches off the plants and cutting the buds off the branches and throwing the branches into the campfire.
In the morning I triple bagged all the buds and loaded them up in my pack, leaving everything else behind for later pick-up (my pack was totally filled up with about 80 pounds of buds) and started hiking out.
When i got to the road I had another problem.
My friend wasn't scheduled to pick me up for another couple of days. And the nearest phone was miles and miles away.
I stashed my pack VERY CAREFULLY in some heavy brush, went back to the road and stuck out my thumb.
About 2 hours later me and my dog finally got a ride to the nearest town.
I called a friend to come pick me up asap.
Then I hung out with some homeless people at the 7-11 who kept begging beer money from people going into the store. After awhile the clerk (some guy in a turban) came out and chased us away until I convinced him I wasn't "with" the homeless people; I was waiting for a friend. He relented and let me stay and even brought a bowl of water out for my dog (but none for me!)
A few hours later my friend arrived and we went back up and luckily my pack was still there. He drove me home and I spent the next week solid manucuring the buds.

Guard duty was a major drag. But on the upside I yieled 20-some pounds of killer bud, dried and cured. I smoked some, sold some and gave some away.

P.S. I went back a week later with a couple of friends to get my stuff. All of it was there except someone had stolen my lantern.

The end.
 

mojomon

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That was most entertaining.

I'm tellin you Guru, you gotta think screenplay...

Can't wait for the next one--

MoJo
 

GanjaGuru

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Here's an interesting story that has nothing to do with pot.

One evening my friend and I hitch hiked to a campground way up in the mountains, a place we had never been to before.
We got dropped off and walked in at night. Using our flashlights we walked alond the dirt road, found a campsite, made camp, built a fire and got high (I guess it does have something to do with pot after all).
The next morning a ranger shows up and gets in my face right away.
"Why didn't you pay the campground fee" he demanded, all beligerent.
I said "I didn't know there was a fee or how much it is" I say.
"It's posted on a sign as you drive-in" he says.
"We walked it. We didn't see any sign. Anyway no prob., how much is it?"
"Six dollars" he says, still all confrontational.
I start to hand him the smallest bill I had, a $20.00 bill.
"You have to have the exact amount. If you pay with the 20 you get no change."
What an *******.
So I say "I don't want to pay $20.00 for a $6.00 campground fee".
Then he says "then I'll write you a citation."
"Can you give me 5 minutes to try to find change?"
"No, you must pay now."
We were 100 miles away from home, in a different county. I didn't plan to come back. So I said "write away."
He gives me a ticket.

Later on we left.
I ignored the citation.
It would have involved a 200-mile r/t to go to the court. **** 'em.
About 2 months later I get a notice in the mail saying a federal warrant had been issued for my arrest. I had been charged with a federal crime. I had to appear in Federal Court, the one downtown near where I lived.
So I go and brought my friend with me.
We walk into court, through the brass doors.
The court clerk reads off a list of cases to be heard. People were in there charged with wire fraud, embezzilment. counterfitting, stuff like that.
"Is there anyone here who's name I didn't call?" he says.
"Me" I said.
"Who are you?"
I tell him.
"What are you charged with?"
"Failure to pay a campground fee"
Well everyone had a good laugh and the judge says "let's get this cleared up frst. Are you represented by council."
"no your honor I'd like to represent myself if it pleases the court".
"OK" hizzonor says, "take the witness stand".
I was sworn in.
"tell me what happened" the judge says.
So I told him the truth.
The judge says "ok, how bout if I fine you oh I don't know how about 8 dollars?"
The U.S. Attorney who probably makes $100k/year jumps up and says "That's in addition to the 8 dollar campground fee your honor."
"So ruled, I find you guilty and fine you $16.00.
So I pay the clerk $16.00 and we leave.
BUT before we left we went to another floor and into an unlocked vacant courtroom where I stuff two $100.00 micraphones in my belt under my shirt, pistola style.
And we walk out.
The next day I sold the mike's for $75.00.
**** with ME will they!!!
 

Max

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Keep breaking stupid laws, Gange. You're reasonable enough to judge which are bullshit. Stay flagrant.
 

The haze one

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ahahah guru ur solid bro .... KEep rocking seshions and every one stay high!
 

GanjaGuru

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Circa 1978

I'm on my way to see a chick and as I pass by a park near the high school someone's waving at me and calling my name.
I pull over and I recongnize this guy, the younger brother of someone I knew, who was with 3 of his friends.
He comes up and says "Hey we're ditching school and there's a cop on his way--can you give us a lift back to school?"
"Sure" I said, "Hop in".
They didn't tell me that the cop was like right behind me, and before I pull off he's standing by my window.
"Turn the engine off" he says.
I do.
Then he makes us all get out and he takes down the kids names and sends them back to school.
I tell him what happened. He starts ripping up my van.
"What are you looking for?" I ask him.
"I'm looking for your dope" he says.
"How about if I tell you where it is and you stop ripping my van up?" I say "You're gonna find it anyway."
I tell him where a bag with 4 or 5 joints is.
"AHA!" the cops says.
At the time, in Calof., simple poss. of less than an oz. is just a ticket.
However, I had no license in possession. I had one, but not on me.
In Calif, that's an arrestable offense. If you don't have an state-approved identity document proving who you are, they can arrest you. They usually don't but this guy was being a hard ass.
So I get arrested for no license in poss. and go to jail. I get out the next day--released OR as any upstanding career criminal should be--hitch hike back to my van and go home.
A few days later I check the local piss ass paper and there's a story--Suspected Pusher Nabbed and said that I was said suspected drug pusher.
I wasn't charged with sales, only ticketed for simple poss.
So I call the paper.
Turns out that someone had reported a guy in a van selling joints to school kids in the park. It wasn't me--in fact back in those days I was buying my pot from high-schoolers.
Anyway, I played the part of an outraged citizen unfaily slandered by an irresponsible media outlet.
I demanded a retraction--one was printed--and sued for $500.00, which was settled out of court for $350.00.

By the way, the reason I gave up the pot so easily is because I didn't want the cop to find the 1,000 quaaludes I had stashed under the back seat.
 

Dohc

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Hey GG great stuff!!You are a experianced grower with all the know-how and you tell very good stories.I'm new to both this forum and growing my own weed.Glad to have a "guru" on site!
 

MarPassion

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GG Thank for your great stories. Reading your stories is like watching a movie ... haha

Thanks man.
 

GanjaGuru

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Ode To Buffalo.

Buffalo was the best hiking dog a body could want.
Hiking and camping was so much a part of his life. I went hiking with his mom when she was pregnant with him, and his first trip I carried him most of the way since he was too small of a pup to walk the entire way.
I like dogs. And a dog is a guerilla growers best friend. They can smell and hear much better than us people, make free deer-deturring droppings, and a person attracks a lot less leo attention when hiking. Just a guy and his dog, no danger there.
Also, when camping way deep in the woods, a dog keeps bears and mountain lions, etc. away.
He was my companion for 17 years.
In '00, due to his age he was in pretty bad shape. He was almost blind and there came a time when he could barely walk. When ever I got up to do something he would try to get up to accompany me as he had done since a puppy but he would fall down, and look at me as if to say "I'm sorry". Then it got to the point where he could no longer control his bladder or bowels.
It was time for him to go to that great big forest in the sky.
A friend and I met at my all-time favorite camping spot with Buffalo. As Forest Service volunteers we had keys to the fire road and we could drive in. I brought my another friends .45, with 2 dumdum bullets.
We sat around the campfire that night and gave Buffalo more petting than he had ever had before. We talked about all the adventures we had experienced that Buffalo had been a part of.
And that night he slept in the tent with me instead of outside.

Now, I could have taken Buffalo to the vet and had him put to sleep. But I wanted his last moments to be in an area he loved, instead of a steel slab in a stange place.

The next morning, when it was time, I couldn't do it.
It was my responsibility, but I loved him too much. I knew it was a merciful thing that had to be done, but I just couldn't. We carried Buffalo (not easy, since he weighed about 80 lbs.) about 1/4 miles to the edge of a meadow.
I handed the gun to my friend and said "2 shots in the eye, bam bam. Wait 15 minutes" and I walked back to my van and drove off.

My friend showed up about 20 minutes later. He was white and I could tell he had been crying, as I had been too.
All he said was "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

Buffalo wasn't buried. My friend piled rocks on top of his body. The reason I didn't want him buried was so other forest creatures could obtain nourishment from his remains.
I moved a few weeks later, and never returned. But the following spring my friend planted some pot in the soil that Buffalo had nourished with his blood, flesh and bones. He brought some of that pot up the next time he visited.

When I decieded to write this, I didn't think I'd cry.
But 6 years later, there is still hurt.
I miss him so much.
 

GanjaGuru

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I wanted to thank MarPassion for giving me the opportunity and bandwidth to share my stories.
I also wish to thank him for letting me post occasion political pieces.

I was anti-computer until I moved from a county of 8 million people to a county of 10,000.
Having a computer has allowed me to share my growing knowledge. It is my legacy.
Years after I'm dead and gone, someone who I helped to grow will in turn be helping someone else grow.

I'll tell you how much I love pot.
I have left instructions that when I die, I want to be cremated and my ashes mixed in with a friends next grow. And then, when harvested, for him to get together with friends, get high and say nice things about me.

P.S. When I moved up here in the middle of nowhere, I got a computer for 2 reasons.
One was simply to keep in touch with the outside world (I didn't know there were any cultivation websites at the time).
I gotta be honest though. My other reason--free internet porn.
 
T

Themanwithnoname

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GanjaGuru said:
Ode To Buffalo.

Buffalo was the best hiking dog a body could want.
Hiking and camping was so much a part of his life. I went hiking with his mom when she was pregnant with him, and his first trip I carried him most of the way since he was too small of a pup to walk the entire way.
I like dogs. And a dog is a guerilla growers best friend. They can smell and hear much better than us people, make free deer-deturring droppings, and a person attracks a lot less leo attention when hiking. Just a guy and his dog, no danger there.
Also, when camping way deep in the woods, a dog keeps bears and mountain lions, etc. away.
He was my companion for 17 years.
In '00, due to his age he was in pretty bad shape. He was almost blind and there came a time when he could barely walk. When ever I got up to do something he would try to get up to accompany me as he had done since a puppy but he would fall down, and look at me as if to say "I'm sorry". Then it got to the point where he could no longer control his bladder or bowels.
It was time for him to go to that great big forest in the sky.
A friend and I met at my all-time favorite camping spot with Buffalo. As Forest Service volunteers we had keys to the fire road and we could drive in. I brought my another friends .45, with 2 dumdum bullets.
We sat around the campfire that night and gave Buffalo more petting than he had ever had before. We talked about all the adventures we had experienced that Buffalo had been a part of.
And that night he slept in the tent with me instead of outside.

Now, I could have taken Buffalo to the vet and had him put to sleep. But I wanted his last moments to be in an area he loved, instead of a steel slab in a stange place.

The next morning, when it was time, I couldn't do it.
It was my responsibility, but I loved him too much. I knew it was a merciful thing that had to be done, but I just couldn't. We carried Buffalo (not easy, since he weighed about 80 lbs.) about 1/4 miles to the edge of a meadow.
I handed the gun to my friend and said "2 shots in the eye, bam bam. Wait 15 minutes" and I walked back to my van and drove off.

My friend showed up about 20 minutes later. He was white and I could tell he had been crying, as I had been too.
All he said was "It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do."

Buffalo wasn't buried. My friend piled rocks on top of his body. The reason I didn't want him buried was so other forest creatures could obtain nourishment from his remains.
I moved a few weeks later, and never returned. But the following spring my friend planted some pot in the soil that Buffalo had nourished with his blood, flesh and bones. He brought some of that pot up the next time he visited.

When I decieded to write this, I didn't think I'd cry.
But 6 years later, there is still hurt.
I miss him so much.

one second...i have to get a tissue..
 

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