Bob Hall Fishing Pier
Padre Island
Oct. 24, `70
With the surf bubbling up my calves, and my toes digging into the
wet sand, there was nothing like walking along the deserted beach.
During those walks I thought more clearly, more deeply. I am alone,
but I wouldn't want it any other way. I was on my way back from one
of those walks when I ran into Jim and Collin. We went to the
fishing pier, and they bought a couple pounds of bait (the shrimp
the fishermen use to catch fish with). They invited me to their
place for dinner. In a good-sized pot (with a tight fitting lid), we
boiled up the shrimp. For $1.50 we chowed down on two pounds of
delicious ocean shrimp. While we were eating, another beach walker
strolled by and asked if we wanted to buy some acid. For $2.50 a
hit, it was kind of expensive, but it was the only acid in town, so
we each bought one hit.
Sitting around the fire, drinking Collin's wine and eating Jim's
peanuts, we waited for the acid to come on. It didn't take long; it
was good acid. Almost immediately my throat gave off that metallic
feel, the one that let's you know you are about to trip. By the time
I felt the "rushes" shiver up my spine, we were all ready to trip
over to the fishing pier. This time however, things looked
completely different. The breaking waves took on the ambiance of a
Beethoven symphony. It was absolutely astounding. With night
closing in, the white-capped surf seemed to take on immense
proportions. When Jim suggested that a storm might be brewing,
Collin reminded us that before we came out to the pier, we had moved
the VW closer to the ocean. We used it for a windbreak in order to
eat our dinner in peace. Our gear was left lying on the beach. At
that point, we started to run, hoping to reach the van before the
ocean's rising tide swallowed everything, including the van.
Being the first back, I frantically began picking up the stuff. The
surf's outstretched fingers—ever so close and getting closer. In our
condition we couldn't get organized. We knew we had to move the van
out of there, but we just couldn't get it together. We started
laughing so hard we had to stop everything (many times) just to
catch our breath. The surf was advancing. I lost my shoe and nobody
could find it. We couldn't wait. Once in the bus, Jim tried to start
the engine; it wouldn't start. That was too much; we were all going
down with the ship, errr-bus. Everybody started laughing again. I
was in the back of the bus, rolling on my back, trying to catch my
breath. Every time one person would snap out of it, the laughter of
the other two would quickly put him right back into a state of
helplessness. Finally, exhausted from laughing so hard, we managed
to get behind the bus to push. It wouldn't budge. It was stuck in
the sand. Wasted and defeated, Collin and I dropped to the sand; we
were too tired to move.
A truck was coming down the beach. After responding to Jim's plea
for help, it stopped and the driver assured us (to our amazement)
that a storm was not about to happen. Just to be on the safe side,
though, we had the driver pull the bus farther up the beach. Safe,
we finally realized the guy in the truck was right. The tide might
have been a little higher than usual, but it wasn't a threat. In our
madness we overreacted. Our fears subsided, but the acid did not. We
were still heavily tripping.
I suggested we go swimming. Jim and Collin didn't like that idea.
The air, away from the fire, was freezing, but it didn't seem to
bother me. I decided to go it alone. I wanted to see what peaking on
good acid was like in the middle of the breaking surf. As I walked
into the ocean up to my knees everything was fine. Then, as I stood
my ground, a four-foot wave swallowed me whole. In the dark, only
the roar of the surf could be heard. I couldn't see when a wave was
going to smack or swallow me, but I managed to keep my balance most
of the time. I imagined myself to be the sea god, Neptune. Holding
my arms high in the air, I began to conduct and orchestrate the sea.
I summoned the waves. Well, I summoned the waves until an unruly one
crested on top of me, dragging me to the bottom and holding me there
while my lungs filled with saltwater. I figured my services were no
longer needed after that.
Back at the bus, Jim, Collin, and I sat around the fire until we
thought we could crash. I tried sleeping, but I no sooner got bedded
down before I felt something gnawing at my sleeping bag. It was one
of those pesky kangaroo rats trying to eat through my bag. I
couldn't cope with that, and I had mosquitoes to contend with also,
so I carried my things to the ocean's edge once again. The only
thing I had to worry about down there was getting hit by a passing
motorist, or swallowed by the sea.
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