What's your most memorable trip, and why?

[Maia]

People think that wicca is an ancient 'mother goddess' religion with some vague, Celtic origin when it's actually a modern invention of the 20th century.

Yes, that's right. Its founder was Gerald Gardner.

[promethean75]

Born one Gerald Brosseau Gardner, 13 June 1884, Lancashire England.

Deceased 12 February, 1964

[Maia]

Here's an interview with him. It's a bit rambly, though.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wcKfKdJrmUE

[Skepdick]

Ohhhh...this thread isn't about psychedelics.

[promethean75]

A memorable trip for me was around 96 when i ate almost a full quarter ounce of psilocybin. The story is, i was selling some good herb, and these HVAC guys working at the building i was hanging drywall in, met me at lunch, and traded a whole quarter shrooms for a half quarter of herb. They were sketchy dudes, and i thought the deal wasn't right; why are they settling for only a half quarter of herb for this quarter bag of shrooms?

I ate a few at lunch and finished the work day without feeling anything. Finally thinking they're fake shrooms, hence why they took only a half quarter of weed for them, i ate most of what was left. Well, long story short, i had eaten a big sub at lunch, so I hadn't digested the shrooms until hours later. But by then i had eaten a lot more. When they finally zapped me it was all i could do to lay down on my back in the grass in the back yard for hours, trying to hold on. I probably ate a fat seven grams in a 3 hour period. They were big fresh caps too... not many stems.

[promethean75]

MDMA glow light party in Asheville around 2000. The prototypical house music beat UN TSS UN TSS UN TSS is so loud your teeth vibrate. Three sweaty hotties, one with a pacifier, no shit, have me pinned down on the floor and are waving these glow sticks all around. I thought the shirts were coming off next, but they never did. Too many people were there for anything along those lines to develop. The kind of situation where unless you act fast and get away from that party somehow with them so you guys can chill, you'll never see them again on account of the party traffic. And that's exactly what happened. I was so ready to be ravished by these crazy maenads on ecstasy, but it never happened, u guys.

I probably should have lied and said something did happen, huh? Would have made for a better story.

[accelafine]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KXK1at-udX8

[Maia]

On another occasion, with the coven, we went to Glastonbury, a town that's basically the New Age capital of England, full of alternative clothes shops, Pagan bookshops, and vegan eateries, all drawn there by the town's association with King Arthur and the Holy Grail. There's even a Chalice Well, where the grail is supposed to be hidden. Glastonbury Tor is a large hill next to the town, which was supposedly once the Isle of Avalon, when the surrounding area was under water. The hill is ascended by walking up a long, spiralling path, and at the top are the ruins of a medieval church. Only the tower survives, and this is open to the elements. Blake's famous poem Jerusalem, later set to music by Parry, is thought to refer to the local legend that Jesus visited Glastonbury Tor as a boy, with his uncle, Joseph of Arimathea, and founded the first church on the site, which seems a bit unlikely, to be honest, if he was only a boy at the time, but the legend is real enough.

We went there to attend a handfasting, in other words, a Pagan wedding, though it's not legally recognised as such, of course. Handfastings can take many forms, and this one was pretty unique, I think, as it consisted of a game of Nine Men's Morris, played with people instead of counters. We took it in turns to move around the base of the tower on top of the Tor, at the direction of the bride and groom, until one side was eliminated. The winner, which happened to be the bride, then chose the vows. Afterwards we retired to a pub called the Rifleman's Arms for a feast.

[promethean75]

The wilderness camp hiking trip through Ocala national forest in florida in 1991. It was a private and rather expensive wilderness camp for male adolescent reprobates, delinquents, and ruffians, used as an alternative to training school or juvenile detention centers. Set on a huge plot of land, five groups of five to eight kids 12 to 17 years old with indian group names. We had earned the hike by points gained from work projects completed back at the camp. Spent about five days hiking down there. We were dropped off at x and picked up at y a week later. I had an external frame hiking bag and the old man wouldn't buy me some decent hiking boots (he got the off brand ones) so my feet were all fucked up by day three. Everybody else had vasque or merrell, and I get the cheap JC Penny jobs.

We had packed a lot of peanut butter, summer sausage, instant coffee, oatmeal, and trail mix. That was the general diet.

Daniel, the twelve year old, youngest in our group, decides to throw a tantrum on the middle of the trail and refuse to carry his pack. After a long group meeting to no avail, his weight is split up between everyone else, and the little shit gets to carry an empty pack. We hiked seventeen miles that day.

Due to some map mishap, we missed the hot springs camp grounds we were supposed to go to. That was disappointing because swimming in the hot spring and seeing the two female group leaders in bathing suits was pretty much everyone's MO for the whole trip.

Fighter jets were flying over us in formation all day, too. Close to a base down there somewhere. Saw an impossibly huge rattle snake on the trail too. The group leaders made this whole big thing out of it like the Viet cong were up ahead and pulled us all back down the trail until they shooed the snake away.

[Maia]

I've been to quite a few Pagan camps over the years, and one of the most interesting was held at a stone circle called the Rollright Stones. The main circle is Neolithic, situated on the border of Oxfordshire and Warwickshire. There are lots of legends associated with the place, including one about a witch who turned an invading Viking army to stone, and in another story, the stones are said to get up and walk down the hill to a stream to have a drink, on certain days of the year. The circle is also said to be guarded by the spirit of an ancient warrior queen, which is particularly interesting because a high status burial of a woman from the Anglo-Saxon period has indeed been found in a nearby field, the same field, incidentally, in which we camped for the festival, and which contains a large, single standing stone called the King Stone.

Like most such festivals, a fair bit was going on, including workshops, music, and a group ritual. I spent a lot of time talking to a guy there who happened to be an incredibly talented violin player, of all things. Another legend associated with the stones is that it's impossible to count them and get the same number twice, so obviously, I took this as a challenge, and went round the whole circle three times, literally on my hands and knees, touching each one. I figured 77, for what it's worth, though the main difficulty was deciding what counts as a separate stone, as lots of them are half buried, or have cracked into two over the years. I also tried my hand at dowsing, as they were handing out dowsing rods, and got a strong reaction while walking over one particular spot near the entrance, which apparently, everyone did.

That was in the summer, and we went back there the following January, 2012, just four of us, and camped in the same field. It was so freezing in the morning that the beans we heated up for breakfast were already cold by the time the spoons reached our mouths. The cows in the field had probably saved our lives by huddling round the tent in the night, mooing their heads off. I actually quite like the cold, but that was just too much, and needless to say, we cut our trip short. But by then, in any case, my time in the coven was gradually drawing to a close, as I had come to realise that Wicca wasn't for me, and that my own Pagan path lay along a different route. I eventually left a few months later, but I'm still good friends with them, and certainly didn't abandon the Pagan scene as a whole.

[Maia]

My next memorable trip was to Stonehenge, where cats meow and children dance to the pipes of Pan, for the winter solstice of 2013. It was becoming difficult juggling work with other things, such as Pagan moots, since I mostly work in the evenings, but this was fine, as it fell at the weekend. One of the Pagan guys I knew had offered to take me down there, which meant picking me up when I finished work at 11pm on the Friday, and driving through the night to the campsite.

Usually you have to pay to get into the Stonehenge, and are not even allowed to touch the stones, but at the solstices they open it up to Pagans and anyone else who wants to go. The summer solstice is far more popular, of course, with many thousands turning up, and far fewer venturing out into the cold for the winter solstice. Still hundreds, though, and it seemed pretty crowded to me. In fact, it is now thought that Stonehenge is actually aligned to sunset at the winter solstice, rather than sunrise at the summer solstice, which is in precisely the opposite direction, because of the layout of the causeway leading to the entrance.

For anyone who hasn't been there, it's difficult to convey the sheer size of the stones. Massive, brooding lumps of rock, covered in moss and lichen, that feel like they've been there forever. I've been to other stone circles, such as the Rollrights, but Stonehenge is rightly famous for how big the stones are, though the effect was somewhat spoilt, for me at least, by the raucous behaviour of some of the people there. But that's the nature of festivals, and it's good to know that Stonehenge is still a place of genuine celebration.

[Skip]

I can't match any of those wonderful adventures, but as for memorable, there was this one trip from Creemore ON to LA CA for a contract that could last six months or more. We drove down in an extended cab pickup with basic household goods, three dogs and a cat. Had to stop twice for every meal - ours and theirs - and choose motels with some care. Spent New Year's Eve on the highway fringe of Albuquerque and pulled into a shopping plaza in Anaheim Hills after dark on New year's Day, and the supermarket was open, so we could get eggs, milk, bread, dogfood and wine in a box.
The house they'd rented for us was nice - and big and empty - but we set up camp and later bought some furniture. A month later, the company was floundering, our agent hadn't been paid and we bugged out. With very poor judgement, I fed all the leftovers to the dogs before departure. We lived to regret that, at several stops, using up many paper towels.
But, boy were happy to see snow again! Even the cat.

[Maia]

In December 2016 I spent a week in Snowdonia, North Wales, camping alone. This wasn't the first time I'd been there, but was the first time I had spent that long out in the wilds, on my own, which is something I knew I had to do, as a personal challenge. When I was at boarding school, we spent most weekends doing outdoor activities, such as orienteering. Basically they would drive us somewhere in the school minibus, drop us off early in the morning, and, armed with our GPS devices, we would have to find our way to another location, where we were picked up at the end of the day. We always had a member of staff with us, of course, who was not supposed to help too much, unless it was an emergency, but all the same, it was pretty scary at times. And a huge load of fun, too, I should add.

So, with this experience, I felt confident that I'd be able to spend a week out camping on my own. I caught the train up there and booked my return journey in advance, so I'd be less tempted to come home early, and each day walked from one campsite to another, which, again, I booked in advance. Snowdonia is very mountainous and remote, but not so remote that there are no people around, and I knew from experience that the people of the area are always extremely friendly and helpful. They're also, incidentally, mostly Welsh-speaking, which is not to say that they can't also speak English, but Welsh is their first language, a beautiful, almost sing-song language, in my opinion. I can't actually speak it, sadly, though I do know a few words and phrases. But, as I say, there were no communication difficulties, as they can all speak English as well, so there were no problems, for example, ordering a pub lunch, or buying provisions, nor indeed asking directions.

Winter is definitely the best time for this sort of thing, in my opinion. There are no tourists around, for example, and most of the campsites are deserted. I also don't like walking for hours when its too hot, and my favourite ambient temperature, for that, is around zero degrees Celsius, because you soon warm up. I'm not a big fan of rain, but I definitely like the snow, tingling on your arms and legs as you're walking. I suppose that's why they call the tallest mountain in the area Snowdon, because, well, it's always snowed on...

[accelafine]

Welsh is my absolute favourite accent but not so sure about the language. It sounds a bit like old English to my ears, which probably makes sense.

[Maia]

Welsh is my absolute favourite accent but not so sure about the language. It sounds a bit like old English to my ears, which probably makes sense.

There may indeed have been a Welsh, or rather Brythonic, influence on Old English, it terms of grammar, apparently. Brythonic is the ancestor of Welsh and Cornish.