A Baptism By Fire (Greening Out) 2/4/2014

Sage; a fucking legend and a hard worker.

"Yeah, man!"

- Sage

DISCLAIMER

DRUGS ARE AGAINST THE LAW. 

I DO NOT DO DRUGS. 

IN FACT, 

IF SOMEBODY GAVE ME DRUGS, 

I'D TELL ON THEM TO THE POLICE.

SAGE DOESN'T DO DRUGS EITHER, AND HAS IN FACT AGREED TO BE A CHARACTER IN THIS

COMPLETELY FICTIONAL

STORY

WHICH HAS BEEN WRITTEN FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT.

Enjoy.

I walked down the dusty trail, more and more becoming visible behind the thin veil of trees ahead. I could make out a fire engine next to the wool shed and a handful of vehicles, some of which were painted with patterns and bright colours; I was definitely in the right place.

I was still clutching the beer my last ride, Doug had given me, and was feeling very proud of myself, having arrived on the date me and Dad had agreed on, even if the sun was dipping a bit.

"Hello!?" I called out.

"Hello!" a woman's voice called back, and my old man was nowhere to be seen - I'd beaten him. Dad had told me about sage though, who we were assigned "watch duty" with two weeks before Confest, as volunteers. She is a kind, bubbly character with a knack of disappearing then coming back a day later and a million problems are suddenly resolved. Basically, it was our job to keep an eye on the site and detour anyone who wasn't a volunteer or who wanted to sneak in and not pay for tickets from the site. I continued walking to a small brick building behind a tin shed, and surely enough there she was. We hugged and introduced ourselves, then walked into the brick cottage. It consisted of two rooms - the kitchen and the dining room, and on the other side was the door to the laundry and shower. Sage took a seat at the table in the dining room in front of her laptop. She had paused some film about a pilot with a drinking problem who does some bad things or some such, and continued to watch it as we chatted about stuff and smoked some cigarettes. As we began to speak more on the topic of Confest, Sage very politely asked "Do you want some weed?"

I was taken aback; Drugs, and confest hadn't started yet! "Are you gonna smoke too?"

"Nah, man, but you area welcome to." she replied. I thought about it for a moment, and about my personal boundaries and such; to me, smoking alone is like drinking alone - a bit depressing as a whole, so I declined. We keeps smoking and watching her film, and she kept rolling more cigarettes. I put the smoke to my lips and inhaled deeply. The smoke was very harsh, causing my teeth to bare. I pulled away the roll and looked at both ends. A roach; "figures" I thought to myself as I took another drag. "How strong is this stuff?" I asked, "It's pretty harsh."

"It's a mix of strong and weak really."

"Shit." I thought to myself and asked "Are you sure you don't want some?"

"Yeah man, I'm fine. You enjoy; take a load off."

"Meh," I thought "I suppose I deserve this" and I kept smoking as the film concluded. Sage closed her laptop, and said "I'm going to set up your bed man, you're sleeping in the Dasha tonight."

I finished the joint and opened my mouth to protest; to offer help setting my bed up, but no words came out. The dope hit me HARD; my face was hot and tingling, my arms were like jelly, and my head was spinning - I felt great! Whatever Sage had given me was some kind of wonder-weed. My lips were dry and my throat was parched, and Sage was already off setting up my bed. The kitchen was about three meters away. I stood, getting higher and higher with every passing moment. I got to the doorway and put my hand on it to balance myself.

Plates smashing in the distance; my ears are ringing.

I'm lying flat on my back looking at the ceiling, unsure for a moment of where I am. I look up at where my feet are in the kitchen doorway. I stand, walk quickly to the sink and begin to fill my bottle.

A plane crashing; my head is throbbing a little now.

The tap is still running, I am looking at the underside of the steel kitchen table, which is now slightly askew. I get up, grab my bottle from the sink, drink, and then quickly manoeuvre myself to the chair nearest the kitchen doorway at the table in the next room, my head falling into my arms, unable to sit upright. "Eeeeeeeergh..." The throbbing is gone, and I am in bliss. Sage walks back in "Your room is all set up, and all your gear is in there too on the second bed."

"Cheeeers duuuude..." I responded, grinning.

"No worries, man!"

From there, It is pretty foggy what happened. We talked a long time, I gather that much; possibly about some deep seated issues in my life and other things - major epiphanies I can't remember at all. At some stage in the evening, after having not shut up for an hour, I remember looking up and Sage was gone. A distant memory of me acknowledging her as she said goodnight, telling her I'd be okay to get to bed once I sobered up a bit, flashed across my mind. So I lay there, lifting my head once or twice to see if it was getting any easier. I then stood without falling over, and made my way outside to the tin shed in front of the brick cottage and walked to the wooden door at the front of it, which bore a sign reading "The Dasha". I pushed the door open, spotted my gear to the right, and an empty bed with my sleeping bag on it and my jacket rolled up like a pillow.

"Sage, you sexy beast."

I crashed.

I'd made it to confest, and now I'd been initiated into the wild lifestyle by getting totally blazed; It truly was A Baptism By Fire.

To Confest! (Walking and Abduction Scares) - 1/4/2014 - 2/4/2014

 Back on the road

"Romulus! Hahahahaha!"

- Romulus, The Parrot

Packed and ready to roll... kinda

Bright and early - our bags already packed. Dad and I had been Itching to get back on the road again, and Peter had offered to drive us to Sale, which got us back on the Princes Highway to Melbourne, which is just like any other suburban city; a nightmare to hitchhike out of once you are there. So instead, we had an alternative route planned to get to Confest, which made a big arch around Melbourne:

- Pakenham (or "Packenham", depending on who you ask)
- Cockatoo
- Healesville
- Yea (pronounced "Yay" (I know, it's stupid...))
- Seymour
- Moulamein

After Moulamein, I had written directions to get to the festival site, but more of that later - at this time I didn't have a map, as I'd left my previous map at the campsite in Bega.
We thanked Pete as we left the car for his hospitality over the previous days, and began to thumb. Dad walked down the road, the direction we came and eventually rocked up with a ride that could pick me up too. This was quite convenient. We got dropped further down the Princes Highway, and proceeded to get one more ride to the Pakenham turn-off. We split again, and I walked for about 20 minutes to try and leave suburbia, quickly realizing it was only getting worse. Once at the edge of town (after walking for almost an hour) I got a ride from a hippie! I was stoked, and it turned out she was actually a Confest veteran of 14 years, and told me she hadn't gone for the last 3. I asked if she was going this year, and she said she was going to Renaissance instead (an art festival). She dropped me at Cockatoo, where I then proceeded to continue my usual routine of waiting for a ride. Eventually a mad old woman came to pick me up with her dog in some dusty old shit-box. She was fairly difficult to communicate with, as every second word from her mouth was a mumbled "fucken one time i fucken went with my daughtrealbglgjhbdsg...", but she got me to Healesville where I got my map at a servo. Things were so far going quite well, except she dropped me at the wrong end of town, So I walked. And walked. And eventually I reached a hospital, ducking in quickly to fill up my water bottle (looking as if I was trying to nick morphine, what with the dreads and smelly clothes).
At this point I'd reached the other end of town.
I stuck out my thumb,
and met Mark.

Mark is one of my favourite rides to date, simply due to his character and the way anyone could take a look at the guy and know his life story immediately. He was a fairly stocky scary looking fellow in a singlet, driving a shifty brown sedan, sporting a Wild Turkey at the wheel, tattoos that read "Born To Ride" and a prosthetic leg.
"Hop in! Where ya headed?"
"Alex"
"I'm headed to Buxton, so that' half way"
"Perfect!"
Mark looked down at his bottle of bourbon and said with a grin "I'd offer you a drink, but I only brought the one!"
I liked Mark already.
We chatted a bit about where he was from and his family, as well as his family and the part of the world he was from. I avoided the questions about his tats, knowing full well where I might push the wrong buttons. We were headed through the Black Spur, the single most beautiful and untouched forest I have ever seen in my life. He explained that the particular road we were driving on was where most of the car commercials usually got shot if they wanted mountainous forests in the background of their Mercedes 4WD's. Fair go. It was very pretty, even from a moving vehicle.

Prettiest forest in the world

I hopped out at a servo just out of Buxton, where he said I'd likely get a ride. The first thing on my mind at the time however was that I needed to find Moulamein PRONTO, as I hadn't seen it on the map I acquired in Healesville. I went inside, and a couple of guys offered to let me sit with them and share their chips. How could I refuse, especially when they also gave me water and helped me plan my route to Moulamein, which was off my map somewhere west of Deniliquin.

The afternoon resumed as one might imagine; got a ride to Alex just fine, and the same went for Yea. Getting to Seymour proved to be much more difficult. I waited from four in the afternoon until dark trying to leave that town, but the only people who were headed west seemed to be rich old women with bowl cuts and fancy cars - not hitcher friendly. I needed a place to set camp, so I decided to stay in town. It was oats for dinner tonight, and a bed on a local park bench by the road under a barbecue shelter.

Five star accommodation in Yea

I was roughly half way, and it had been one day. My next stop would be Seymour, through which i would take the highway  to Shepparton, which I had a hunch would be the size of Wagga Wagga. The next morning I woke with the sun and started thumbing early, to try and catch a tradie. Lo and behold, who picked me up? A TRADIE! (white utes are a good sign for hitchers). He could only take me half way to Seymour, but at least it got me away from Yea. When we arrived at his turnoff, I began to walk to find a good place to hitch from - there was nowhere on this particular stretch of road for cars to pull up. A camper van passed and tooted at me (this will be important in a later article) and I began thumbing, eventually getting a ride with a fellow going to my destination. We chatted a bit, and he needed to stop by a hardware store to get bits to fix this old sprinkler he'd inherited with his property. It was inside that I heard this horrifying fact on the radio:

THE SUICIDE RATE IN AUSTRALIA IS

AT ROUGHLY 50 PEOPLE

A WEEK!!!

NOT COOL!

I IMPLORE ANYONE WHO KNOWS SOMEBODY WHO IS DEPRESSED TO JUST BE THERE FOR THEM! THIS IS SICKENING! THE SUICIDE RATE IS THE HIGHEST IT HAS BEEN IN 10 YEARS IN THIS COUNTRY!!! WHAT THE FUCK!?!

So yeah that has to change. Anyways, my driver who I am now going to call Rod Stuart because I can't remember his name, took me to the highway, where I almost immediately scored a ride with another trade who was able to take me to the turnoff for Negambie. 

This is where I met Helen.

Helen was the most normal person (aside from being a man with a name normally used by women) who I've ever gotten a ride with who has said something worth mentioning.

"Live for today

and hope for tomorrow"

- Helen

It's an expression we've all heard before, but something about hearing it while I was travelling really struck something in me, so I jotted it down in my Journal.

I needed internet. Well, not so much needed it as I was curious as to where dad was, and if or not he was behind or ahead of me, being a seasoned hitchhiker with ten years of experience (he needs a trophy or a medal or something). I got Helen to drop me at the KFC in Shepparton, which opened at ten, so I had to wait half an hour. I listened to Edward Scissortongue from my phone while I waited. After a fail with the Wifi there, I started to walk. And Walk. And walk. And walk. And walk. And walk. And awl- HANG ON A FUCKING MOMENT! THIS ISN'T A TOWN, IT'S A FUCKING CITY!!! I was sweating, frustrated, and I'd been walking for close to half an hour, my surroundings getting gradually more and more clustered with shopping centres and cafes, the Sun moving slowly across the sky, it's heat beating down on my face. I looked to a shopping trolley on the side of the path full of empty beer bottles and subway wrappers.

I had an Idea...

Ah, much lighter...

After a very long walk, I had finally at the edge of town. I was literally cheering. I started thumbing again, to see If I could at least get a ride to the turnoff that went to the Cobb Highway. A car pulled over, and the woman driving wound down her window. I told her where I was headed, and she told me the turnoff was literally a hundred meters down the road. She then asked if I'd met Romulus. Before the words registered in my head, she held up a blue cage with a bright green parrot the size of my forearm inside. It looked like it belonged to a pirate in a red and white stripy shirt with a hook hand, peg leg and eyepatch.

"Say hello to the man, Romulus"

"ROMULUS!"

My jaw dropped. It spoke. But. I. WHAT!?

It didn't end there either, because just before she drove off I cracked a joke about being abducted on the road or Wolf Creek or something, and the parrot LAUGHED! 

"HAHAHAHAHAAAAA!"

Once again I was astounded. When she pulled away I must have looked completely retarded and dumbfounded. 

I walked to the turnoff, and light grey clouds were beginning to fill the sky. I stuck out my thumb as a white ute passed me. I felt a brief moment of disappointment until I heard the screech of tyres against gravel behind me. I picked up my bag and guitar and jogged to the vehicle.

"Where ya goin?"

"Deniliquin"

"DENO! I CAN GO THERE! HOP IN!"

I clipped my bag to the mesh behind the drivers cabin (the tray had no walls) and hopped in the passengers seat. the first thing I noticed was that the whole interior was falling apart. The next thing I noticed was the driver. Something wasn't right as he swerved back onto the road, but I couldn't pick it yet. Maybe it was his filthy clothes, or his unshaven face. Maybe it was the way his head swayed, or the slightly creepy way he never made eye contact. I chatted with him a bit, and he kept reassuring me in a overly friendly tone that he drove around these parts all the time and that he knew the best way to get where "I was going".

Basically, he had to drive me to the end of a straight road.

He turned off it and began heading in the other direction. 

I looked at my map and started to panic a bit. Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!; I feel like that should have been the name of my whole blog instead of just my first post.

"Where are we going?"

"Don't worry, I'll get ya there!"

"No, really, pull over and look at my map for a second"

SCREEEEEEEEECH! He slammed on the brakes and peered over at my map.

"What is the problem?" he said cooly, his head still swaying. I showed him where we were going, and showed him where Deniliquin was. He looked baffled - genuinely. I was starting to get the picture now; this guy wasn't going to murder me and wear my skin as pyjamas, he was just a little special.

"Ooooooh" he said, "I thought you said you wanted to go to Numurkah! Silly me" and with that he slammed on the pedal and swerved around back on the road we were meant to be on. 

"I'm a good man, you know? I just like helping people" he said, not looking at the road - not really looking at me either.

Suddenly He pulled into a driveway with a screech. I peered out the windshield at a warehouse, and my nerves were back. There were men in leather gloves and berets loading an old truck, almost like the villains from the Tintin comics I read as a child. 

"Um... what are we doing?" I asked, getting paranoid. He appeared to be on another planet, sitting completely still, gazing vacantly out the windshield at fuck all. His head abruptly flew back into his seat as if he'd been punched in the nose, and he yelled "I CAN DO THIS LATER!" as he screeched back onto the road.

Yep, he was nuts. Harmless, but nuts.

We chatted for a while, about hitchhiking and what it was like. He was adamant that it would be no fun and scary. I spent most of the time convincing him otherwise, and then we talked about his family. This guy was old fashioned as hell. He asked if I had kids. I told him I was only 18 and screw that. He didn't approve. In the end he only got me half way to the Cobb Highway. As I left the car I asked for his name.

"Charles" he said, and he screeched off in the other direction.

I stood on the side of the road once again, completely alone. There was nothing around me. No farms, just forest; no cars, just a dusty road. I suddenly had an epiphany; I realised I was free. Completely free. I could get lost on these roads, go anywhere. The world was mine, and it hit me in such a way that I actually felt euphoric and light, like I could fly. I was completely at peace.

I got a ride with a couple in a green 4WD, and I barely spoke to them. I was still on my high. They dropped me in a Town just before the highway whose name I'm uncertain of. I got a ride with another trade who took me to Mathoura. From Mathoura I got a ride with an elderly couple who took me to Deniliquin, a bigger town, but nothing I couldn't handle after Shepparton. A school bus passed me  full of teenage girls, all waving and giggling. I chucked a peace sign and they threw some back. I got to the servo and asked a young fellow If he was heading to Moulamein. He said no, so I started to trudge down the turnoff to my destination. I was so close to Confest. I wanted so bad to rest, but I couldn't give up now. The guy from the servo pulled up alongside me and said "Will Pretty Pine do?"

I could have kissed him. 

My directions told me that the Confest site was 30km out from Moulamein on the Pretty Pine road, and that the gate would be marked. All I had to do was get a ride with somebody on that road and keep an eye out for the gate.However, I expected Pretty Pine to be bigger. Maybe there was a town further up, but all I saw was a pub/motel. This was possibly going to make my chances of hitching a ride relatively slim.

I stepped inside the Pretty Pine Motel, and I could't believe my eyes. Quite literally the whole town was in there. There was:

- The barkeeper

- The local bald guy with a buggered leg and a beard

The whole town!

I bought a beer and skulled the thing down in half a second, possibly drinking half the alcohol consumed that afternoon. I left and began to walk. As I walked down the Pretty Pine - Moulamein road, The local bald guy with the buggered leg and the beard pulled over in his ute!

I was amazed he'd noticed me in such a crowded place, especially seeing as I was only in there for a short time. Anyway, he said he couldn't take me all the way to the Confest site, but he could get me closer. His property was 20km away from the gate. Anything was better than 80. We passed another ute with a tray full of dogs on the way, and when I got out of the car, the dog ute passed and the driver said " You goin' to Confest!? I'm going to drop my dogs off at my house, I'll be back in ten to take you there.

I was cheering again.

The driver came back and opened the door of the ute for me to jump in. I caught glimpse of a six pack of Coronas. All was well.

He told me his name was Doug, and he reminded me quite a bit of a close friend back in Sydney. He was super cool, and welcomed me to have some beers with him. We chatted about Confest, my travels, and about life in general. I was starting to feel a touch of destiny; I had felt it previously in my travels already, but never nearly as distinct. It was like something in my journey so far had sort of been a little too lucky to just be luck, or to better explain, like the butterfly effect was really being guided discreetly by something far more mysterious and distinct. When Doug said "Now It's around here, but I don't remember. That might be it there, but who knows..." I responded foolishly "Yep I reckon you are right, that's definitely it." He dropped me at a bare gate to a long path that went bend some thin tree cover. I could see a wool shed in the distance and a fire engine. I fared Doug well, he gave me the last beer and drove off.

As I walked down the path to the unmarked gate, the sun was setting to the west and I felt immensely satisfied. I couldn't wait to see dad's face when he saw I'd made it, my smug grin on and beer in hand.

I couldn't eat to share my stories.

I couldn't wait until Confest.

I'd made it.

To be continued...

Volunteering: the hitchhiker way...

Life On A Dairy Farm - 30/3/2014 - 31/3/2014

  Getting sucked off by a calf... I mean sucked 

on... I mean... oh dear...

Kids try to freak out their friends for a laugh. I've done it, you've probably done it, and if you never tried it and are in or approaching your forties, it is too late to try. Seriously.


"Shhhh..."
I knew what was going on as soon as I heard the muffled giggles just outside my door. They were going to startle me awake. They were going to fail. I kept one eye tightly shut and the other squinting up at a shadowy figure creeping closer, until it was looming right above me. My eyes sprung open as I threw my arms up, letting out a blood curdling shriek. Marie and Jo practically shat themselves, and Dad sat there laughing at the door with Pete. The man above me, was Dale. I'd not yet met Dale, but If I'd not been awake, he would have scared the shit out of me - he's a roughly six foot tall man with long blonde hair in a ponytail, and a beard which is just as majestic. He is also extremely friendly. I rubbed my eyes laughing; feeling good about myself and making a note to be wary of them trying to get me back later for thwarting their plans to give me a fright. It would be a good day.

Pete lets travelers stay on his property quite a bit, as far as I gathered, but at a price - they must work. I ate breakfast, then Jo and I set off in one of Pete's trucks to feed the young stock.

 

 

Farm Stuff

The calves were cute. The bigger teen cows stunk. Their leavings stunk worse.

At one point, we went to pick up dale too, and I sat in another interesting location this drive - the back was taken by cattle feed, and the two seats in the front were taken by Dale and Jo. The only place left was...

Riding on the front of Pete's truck.

After our feeding run, and me trying the cow-feed to see how it tasted (not terribly nice), we went back to the house where Pete had a special job for me:

Another one off the bucket-list.

That afternoon, Jo and I went off to milk the big cows. She did the milking (as this particular job put you in the perfect place to get a mouthful of shit) and I hosed up afterward (cows shit a LOT). The poor beasts were terrified of me. 

Old farm equipment.

Marie and Peter training horses.

 The Marshall gene continues to shine.

 

Never grill plastic cheese. 

When we got back to the house though, things would only suck more.

Dad had head lice. 

(Insert childhood damaging mental image here to further understand my displeasure)

I'm sure that upon reading this, you know exactly what the head louse is and how to eliminate it from any scalp. If not, here is a basic rundown  of how to kill the fuckers:

Step 1: Apply special head lice solution to hair, covering the scalp thoroughly to kill lice.
Step 2: Run thin metal nit comb through hair to remove eggs, making sure not to miss any of your head.
Step 3: Check scalp for a few days after, just to be sure.

Seems pretty simple. Not really though. I have dreadlocks. Step 2 is irrelevant; my hair was at risk something savage of being clipped off. For the rest of the day, it was a madhouse. Jo and Dad both had nits, and with my hair it was hard to be sure as you cant really search it properly, and I'd been in constant contact with dad, hugging him and whatnot. Pete went to town and bought some chemicals, and we set to work on all our scalps. I was determined to kill them if there were any; every lock of hair smelled like coconut and dish detergent.
I know this was the motif for my first blog, but the one thing going through my head at this time was "Fuck, Fuck, Fuck".

That night, the dinner conversation didn't vary much from lice and nervous laughter. I still had the stuff in and intended to leave it in until morning.

Dad cutting out his dreadlock to help eliminate the nits.

The next day, Jo shook out some dead nits and dad shook out about two hundred. I had none.
Phew.
Jo and I were on feeding duty again. Dad joined in the fun, and I sat in the boot. We had dinner and packed our things, ready to leave the next day.

Long story short, I am alive. This post is a week late, but I promise I will bring you all up to scratch as to my doings as soon as I possibly can. My journey hitchhiking to the Confest site and the wondrous five day event itself is all yet to come, and I assure you I will have lots to write. For now I am near Moulamein (roughly 30km out), and I will most likely not post again for another two weeks or more, but here is a picture of where I am sleeping at the moment to build the anticipation.

The Maffnwy: Home sweet home.

See you all soon! xox