Shroom Stories

The beaten, but trusty red Astra turned, finally off the winding moorland road, into the tarmacked parking area. It had been a long drive to get to this innocuous and quietly deserted spot. The morning fog, famous in this region at this time of year, clung thickly around them, but they knew they were in the right place, from years of practice. They had been here before many times. Dave gave John a weary smile for such a well done job, getting them there.

“Can I have a spliff now” John said, slightly incredulous – it had been hard to endure Dave’s toking all the way down, and not being able to even have a puff – John was good like that – definitely no toking, / drinking whilst driving. Dave on the other hand had no such qualms as a passenger.

“Got one right here for you mate”, Dave said with a twinkling eye, protruding up a large, and perfectly rolled joint for John’s appreciation. “Rock N’ Roll” John said taking it and lighting it from the car’s cigarette lighter, and inhaling deeply in with a relieved satisfaction. They sat there, heads nodding to the cool, chilled tunes emanating from the CD player, occasionally passing the joint back and forth between them.

“It looks fuck’n A out there at the moment” Dave mentioned, nodding his head towards the side window. All John could see was thick fog, and the gentle patter of raindrops on the windscreen. It was gloomy as the morning sun had only just begun to rise. It didn’t look fuck’n A to him. But he knew Dave was right – conditions were indeed perfect for the thing that had brought them here. One thing was for sure, however - they were definitely going to get wet.

Minutes later John finished off the spliff, and crunched it in the ashtray. “Ready” Dave said – it wasn’t a question. John nodded, wearily. Dave opened the door and got out. The elements immediately embraced him, and the chill in the morning air welcomed them hello. He felt a tingle down his spine, partially from the cold, but partially from the excitement they had arrived. He was like a Labrador, after months of waiting was finally let off the leash. He could sense that their quarry was here. His eyes couldn’t resist darting about the roadside verge of the car park, hoping he might see the thing they were seeking.

Ten minutes later, both of them were dressed more appropriately for the environment. It was the same gear they always wore this time of year. John had his bright red and black weatherproof jacket on plus full waterproof trousers. Dave too had full rain clothes and thick Caterpillar boots. Both of them had their hoods up to keep the heavy drizzle out of their eyes. John locked the car, put his rucksack on and they set off upon their way. At last they were in pursuit.

They moved quickly now – they had a lot of ground to cover and the terrain was hard and rough underfoot – gorse and bracken bushes abounded around them, and it was all uphill. The low visibility made it hard to pick a good path that would lead them toward the place they were trying so hard to reach. They continued moving uphill following the slope to its crest, where the land flattened out, and they could move easier. The fog was unrelenting, thick and disorientating around them, and for a while they weren’t even sure they were going in the right direction.

“If we don’t get any today, I’ll be absolutely amazed” Dave puckered. Nothing dented his enthusiasm for this. To Dave shroom season was a special, magical time. Nothing could beat the thrill he got from hunting in these lands for their cherished prize - the Psilocybe semilanceata – better known as the Liberty Cap - perhaps the greatest and fairest magic mushroom of them all. At least it was to Dave.

“I can see it now” he said. So could John – like magic, their enchanted land, the place they had driven so hard through the night to get to, had materialised, as if by magic from the veiled white cloak that surrounded them. There was the tree - an ancient, old tree that marked the beginning of their hunting grounds – it seemed to somehow symbolise the enchanted nature of this place - old and mysterious.

Before them lay the vast expanse of some of the most pristine magic mushroom picking land England had to offer. It was a field they found years ago, on experimental forays into this wilderness, and was the jewel in their magic mushroom picking crown. They had the field completely to themselves and were clearly the first shroomers to arrive here. It was pristine, unspoilt and completely unpicked, virgin shroom land. It was the stuff you dreamed about. They were both buzzing now, full of anticipation and expectancy. They walked past the tree.

“Ha” Dave cracked stooping down. He bent up and proffered his hand to John. Clutched between his fingertips were three small brown mushrooms – but they were unmistakeable – John had seen them many times before – Liberty Caps. Dave’s smile was infectious. John looked down, and straight away saw one too. A single solitary shroom - no wait – to the right was another one, and another… and another greeted his eyes as they arced round. Not ten feet in and they’d already hit their first family. This field was truly special. “Whhhheeee haaaaaa !!!” John screamed like some rodeo star – “Wheeeehaaa” Dave chimed in, the sound echoing into the mist. Both were enjoying themselves despite the weather.

Of course Dave pulled a spliff out from under his jacket to celebrate the moment, but John was hardly going to complain – why not – it was a fuckn’ good gear. Picking and spliffs were born for each other. It was part of their ritual. They walked slowly now, relaxed but alert, occasionally exchanging the joint. They didn’t get far, before they saw more mushrooms. It was hard not to see them – they were everywhere.

The next hour passed and the initial excitement of being in shroom paradise had settled down into a methodical shroom gathering exercise. Both of them were now tuned in to their surroundings – to the point they were spotting shrooms with their peripheral vision alone. Dave found himself almost lost in his thoughts – his mind was relaxed, but focussed, processing what it saw, and analysing it for anything that resembled shrooms. To him, hunting mushrooms was more like a state of being then anything else. To be good at picking it was necessary to be able to relax yet be aware of the smallest details, looking for visual clues or the slightest hints of what could be their quarry poking up from out the grass.

Most of the time these mushrooms were very small – and the grass was taller – they were very easy to walk past (something Dave hated to do). It became instinctive after a while, as you just anticipated the shrooms appearance. Often he would spot one single mushroom, seemingly alone. On stooping down to collect it, he would follow his usual ritual, of gazing in a visual arc taking in an immediate 3-4 feet scanning radius all around the spot where the mushroom was. It was amazing how often mushrooms that he had not seen initially, suddenly materialised into view before him.

If he couldn’t see any immediately, he would increase the scope of the scan taking in more ground, and do another sweep with his eyes, trying to work out which direction to head next. Often a shroom on the perimeter of his vision would announce itself, deciding this for him, other times, a particular patch of grass – green, fresh and tufty would offer promise of shrooms potentially hiding amongst its blades. Ten feet to the right, the grass was particularly well grazed, then the shorter grass around it – Dave knew from experience, that well grazed grass yielded the biggest hauls of mushrooms so he was always on the look out for it.

However he wasn’t even aware of what he was doing now, as he was running on auto-pilot. It was easy to simply lose oneself in the whole involved nature that is shroom hunting. To Dave, it was perhaps one of the most absorbing, therapeutic and rewarding past times nature has to offer – Dave never got bored of the buzz or excitement from spotting a large group of shrooms he affectionately called villages. He never got bored of shrooming - period. It was simply the best hobby a person could wish for. It always pushed his senses to razor sharpness. The mushrooms just seemed to jump into his consciousness, like little light houses and beacons. He could spot even the smallest ones from 20 feet away. He didn’t know what it was, but there was just something about them - like they were just designed for humans to find them.

God the shrooms were plentiful this year he thought quietly to himself. He was beginning to get a sore back from all the bending down he was doing. It was monotonous work, carefully plucking the shrooms one by one, and occasionally two or three at a time, and popping them into his pod.

He moved his hood back with his hand, which had suddenly slipped annoyingly down across his eyes. The rain was a persistent drizzle now and the fog still clung thickly and sombrely around them. He suddenly became aware how quiet this place was and had a feeling of loneliness. The only thing he could hear was the wind and rain against his waterproof. A realisation suddenly dawned on him. He looked up, looking around. He hadn’t spoke or heard from John for over an hour now.

“John” Dave called out. No reply. “John!” Dave called again, this time standing up and walking forward. Nothing – just the rain. Dave started to feel uneasy. He continued yelling, but after 5 minutes there was still no sign of John.

Dave felt concerned. This place was very remote, and with the fog as thick as it was, very easy to get lost - something that had almost happened to him on a few occasions out here in the past. You could walk for miles in the wrong direction without any clue where you were – especially in this weather. Or worse, what if John had slipped and knocked himself out, or fallen down a hole? He reached for his mobile, and then cursed as he realised he’d left it in the car. Now he had no way of getting in touch with John. “F*@k” he thought annoyed at this oversight. He was so keen to get into the action, he’d totally forgotten about it.

The magic field was situated on the crest of a large hillside that swept down into a valley basin. The flat of this valley was a place where marshland met well grazed grassland. This Dave had always felt was a contributory factor to why the shrooms were so prevalent here. It was the equivalent of three cherries on a jackpot machine, and was ideal for Liberty Caps.

The vegetation in the lowlands where the grassland ended was different. Tall reeds and spongy like moss and lichens flourished as far as the eye could see before him. As Dave continued forward the solid ground began to squelch underfoot. It had soaked through to his socks. The feeling added to his disquiet. Dave called off the search. It was hopeless. He needed to get back to the car now. Maybe he’d find John there waiting for him.

Around him the fog hung thick, giving a ghostly feel to the landscape. Dead tree stumps and branches punctuated out of the bog, giving the place a deathly feel. He couldn’t see any landmarks. All he could see was swampy marshland. He moved forward and suddenly his ankles disappeared into the swamp, causing him to jolt. He lurched forward stumbling knee deep in swamp water. “Fuck” he cursed again. He moved and just ended up wading in the swamp.

He began to run, afraid setting in. He splashed through the marsh, trying to find some sort of solid ground. Dave stopped. “Keep calm” he told himself. “Think”. He peered into the mist. He had to get back onto the hill. As he looked he noticed the white blanket around him was thinning. The wind had picked up, and now he could see at least 100 feet. He could see the slope of the hill, and new where he was. He moved towards it, hoping the swamp wouldn’t suddenly suck him in deeper. It didn’t, and he was relieved to see it receded. He stepped onto a dense matt of vegetation, and could see some solid ground ahead of him. He took a moment, pulling himself together and then crossed across to it, and then immediately walked back up the slope.

He saw he could see down to the car park now, nearly a mile away. The Astra sat there still, though it was now joined by a large camper van. He couldn’t see John. But at least now he could get back. All thoughts of finding shrooms was now gone, replaced by the mystery of what had happened to his mate.

He walked quietly, lost in his thoughts, negotiating his way back to the car park. The journey was hard underfoot and he was relieved when at last the Red Astra loomed close ahead. He could see that it was empty. John was still no-where to be seen. Dave reached the car door and tried it. It was locked.

The wind had picked up hard now, and Dave was getting battered by it and the pelting rain it delivered. It was a bleak. If only he could call John’s mobile he thought. That though meant he had to get his own phone first.

The bag it was in lay tantalising in front of him through the window. He cursed, weighing up his options. Behind him was the large Motorised Caravan, he had seen from the distance. It began to move, turning in a 90 degrees arc so that it was no longer square onto the wind that now tore down upon it, threatening to topple it over. Dave was glad that at least he wasn’t alone any more. Maybe the occupants inside could help. Swallowing his pride, Dave went to the caravan, and knocked on the door.

It opened by a cautious looking lady holding a mug of tea. “Sorry to bother you” Dave said, appreciating he must look a site, “but I think I’ve lost my friend on the moor”.

“Oh my God” the woman replied. “Come in”. Dave felt a little embarrassed as he entered. His waterproof clothes were drenched dripping rivets of water onto the caravan’s linoleum floor. From his jacket’s pocket the big coke bottle he had used to put his shrooms protruded out. There were at least 500 shrooms in it, but fortunately not enough to be visible above the jacket pocket. However if anyone had given the bottle closer inspection one would have seen a few strands of grass were stuck on it’s lip and just inside it.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” the woman asked to which Dave gratefully accepted. He began to explain what had happened. He noticed that the woman wasn’t alone, and was accompanied by a man in his 40s. They listened as Dave improvised his story as to how he’d somehow convened to lose his friend. When he finished, they shared Dave’s unease for John. “Would you like to make a phone call?” She asked, motioning to the handset on the windowsill. Dave did, but he didn’t have a clue who to call. He figured it was an emergency so felt 999 (the number for the emergency services in England) would be the best bet. He dialled the number, composing his thoughts as he listened to the ring. A lady answered asking what service he wanted to be put through to - the Ambulance, Police, Fire Brigade or Coast Guard. Dave looked out of the window. The wind continued to howl at a strong rate of knots, and the rain was pelting the caravan like nails. None of these options really seemed appropriate to Dave in his current predicament. He explained to the operator that he didn’t know which one was best.

“Sir unless you can tell me who you want to pass this call onto we can’t help you” the operator said. All Dave could see was water – “Well it looks pretty wet out there, maybe you should send the coast guard”. It was an ironic joke which almost forced a chuckle from everybody in the caravan. Dave changed his mind. “Put me through to the police” he said still not sure how exactly a police officer was going to be able to help find John. He was transferred through to the police who took down the details of what had happened.

Five minutes later after explaining the situation, he was assured that the call had been passed to the nearest available police car in the area, who were now heading to the scene, and would be with them as soon as possible. Dave considered he’d have a long wait due to how isolated the moor was, and that it might be difficult to find them. He felt better at least, knowing that someone else could share the burden of his responsibility. They sipped their tea, quietly discussing what might have happened to John.

The wind had blown much of the low lying cloud away now, and with it the rain had begun to ease. They could now see clearly much of the panoramic landscape around them. Dave stepped out of the caravan back into the fresh air, to try and give himself some space, and get a better look. He also didn’t want to be too close to anyone due to the small matter of the half bottle full of shrooms stuck in his pocket. He was sure the woman had noticed it. It was kind of hard not too, but felt confident that she didn’t know what was inside it. He scanned around him, preying his buddy would just materialise into view and everything would be all ok again. He looked for any flash of colour. Nothing moved at all. “Where on earth was he” he thought to himself. It was a mystery he needed to know the answer to.

Ten minutes later the black and white police car pulled up into the car park in front of the caravan and red Astra surprising Dave at how quickly the police had arrived. These guys were good. Two officers got out and Dave approached making himself known to them, his arm instinctively dropping to his side to cover the bottle.

“So what happened then”, one said, obviously the senior policeman. Dave explained how he’d been out walking with his friend, and that they’d got separated.

“How could you get separated so easily” the other asked, almost a little suspicious, eyeing Dave up. He knew he had to be careful with his answers. Going picking wasn’t the same as a leisurely walk in the park. Following mushrooms was more akin to a random amble, spent with your eyes looking mostly down. It was normal to lose site of your buddy and perfectly normal to have a lot of distance between you as you both followed your separate ways. However he could hardly admit what they’d been up to. Dave explained how the fog had been thick then, and he must’ve drifted away from his buddy without realising.

“Has John got a mobile phone”, the other policeman, with dark hair, cut in gratefully removing the need for Dave to explain further on that small detail.

“Yes, trouble is I can’t call him because my mobile phone is locked in his car”. Dave certainly couldn’t remember John’s number. One of the officers tried all the door handles of the Astra coming dangerously close to Dave’s right sided pocket. He angled himself leaning his side away from the officer, continuing to use his arm to shield the bottle of shrooms. This was going to be tight Dave thought to himself feeling he was in imminent danger of getting busted. The legality of fresh shrooms had always been a grey area in England. Dry magic mushrooms were classified as Class A drugs, and possession was punishable by a hefty fine, and potential prison sentence. This whole day was turning into a nightmare.

“Well hop in then, and we’ll go for a drive and see if we can see him” the officer said motioning for Dave to get in the vehicle. The officers moved to their car, Dave jumping in the empty back seat. They pulled out of the car park, taking a right. As they drove Dave couldn’t help but see the irony of the situation. He was sitting in a police car with 500 shrooms going for a drive to find his mate. How the hell was he going to get out of this?

“What was John wearing”, the blonde haired policemen leaned round to ask? Dave described it as best he could remember. The landscape sped past as they all took in the view scanning intently for any sign of John.

“One of my constables handed in his resignation today”, the driver said to the policeman in the passenger seat. His voice was disappointed.

“Really, who” replied the younger officer? They continued talking amongst themselves, almost oblivious to Dave’s presence. He was happy to shut up, and not draw any attention to himself. However he knew there was no way his mate could of made it this far out. They had driven at least three miles by now.

“I don’t think he could’ve made it this far” Dave proffered. The policeman agreed, and turned the car round the next opportunity they had, driving back towards the car park. The field they had picked on lay on the south facing rim of a large basin like valley. It was looked down upon by a flat plateau a few miles to the West. A car park on this bank offered a natural vantage point to look directly down onto their picking grounds. It would give them the best possible view of the land ahead. If John was out there, they should be able to see him from there. The police car drove into this better vantage point. The shroom land lay in a vast expanse before them on the other side of the marsh.

Pulling into this larger car park Dave could see their picking spot clearly some miles in the distance. The visibility had returned to normal now, and Dave could even see blue sky. They all searched, scanning their eyes across the horizon. Dave half expected to see a glimmer of John’s back pack, or a flash of his bright red jacket. After 5 minutes, they hadn’t seen anything. John was definitely missing. The idea he’d fallen down a hole seemed startlingly realistic. They gave up, reversing the car back and swinging it round. They drove back to the car park where John’s Astra was parked.

The constable pulled out his two way radio and called back to base. He reported his location and asked if the Park Rescue Team could be summoned giving them their location.

The policeman then came over to John’s car peering in through the windows. “We’re going to have to get in this car and find that mobile phone of yours” the senior officer said. Again they were both close to Dave now, who was still worrying about the small matter of 500 shrooms in his right pocket. “I think I’ve got a crowbar in the back” the older policeman said. A minute later he was back clutching the 2 feet long piece of steel. They gathered round the car door as the police officer with the crowbar felt around its edges trying to find a weakness in the Astra’s defences.

As Dave tried to keep to the right side of the officers, the younger one gave Dave a measured look. His eyes darted to the bottle he’d now glanced sticking out of Dave’s pocket. Dave could almost sense what the policeman was going to ask next. It was on the tip of his tongue. Just one little question away. Then Dave would be busted. His heart thudded in his chest.

“Got it” the policeman said as the door gave a ‘whump’ and the lock gave in. Quite how the policeman had done it, Dave hadn’t seen, being too preoccupied at that second. The door seemed perfectly intact still. However it was just enough of a distraction to break the younger officer’s train of thought. He turned back round to his colleague who was grinning, obviously relishing the satisfaction of a successful break in and gave him a pat on the back “Still got it” the policeman smiled, basking in own glory, that he could still crack cars.

“Good stuff” the blonde one said as his colleague opened the driver side door, and then round between the front seats to unlock the rear passenger door, nearest Dave. The officer then repositioned himself so he was sitting properly in the front passenger seat in front of the glove box. Sensing an opportunity, Dave opened the rear passenger door and hopped in.

“You better find that mobile phone of yours” the policeman in the front said. Not needing a second invitation Dave leaned over the back seat where his overnight bag was stashed. He pulled it over, darting his head round. Both policemen were focussed in the front. He slipped out his bottle and quickly put it into the bag. ‘Phew’ he thought zipping the bag tightly up. He then opened his backpack next to him, and pulled out the mobile phone. Dam-it, the thing had run out of batteries. Typical.

“Just to let you know” the lead officer said “we’re going to need to take a look in his glove box, to see if we can find anything that can help us contact John’s next of kin.” Dave didn’t object. The constable opened the glove box. John’s wallet was conveniently sitting on the top of some old maps and CDs.

“Sorry, but my mobile phone’s dead” Dave said proffering it to them between the seats. They glanced at it, and said “We’ll try and get a charger for it”, and then returned to John’s wallet. The constable opened it and then blinked as something dropped out straight into the constable’s hand. Dave could not believe what he was seeing. Nor could the police officer who now had, sitting perfectly in the palm of his hand, John’s quarter ounce bag of weed. Dave didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. This was getting ridiculous.

A moment of stunned silence descended as the police office looked round with raised eyebrows. “Do you have any explanation for this then” said the officer? Dave was speechless. Not only had he just narrowly avoided being busted for shrooms, but he’d just managed somehow to convene John to get his car broken into by two coppers, and then get him busted for pot. Brilliant!! He didn’t know who was going to kill who if John ever got found alive. He could almost see the funny side of the situation, not for the first time that day.

Dave thought it best to remain silent on this note. “Is there anything else I’m gonna find in here” he asked? meaning the wallet, but Dave suddenly thought they might have grounds now to search the car after all. Maybe he wasn’t going to get away with those shrooms after all. Dave shook his head. “Sorry, I didn’t know John had that” he said. The officer continued to look through John’s wallet. It was full of coins and business cards and a £20 note. The policeman saw one of the cards had some of John’s family’s contact numbers on it.

There was a flash, as a vehicle pulled into the car park. They all looked, to see a large, militarized looking vehicle with six wheels pull past. It was Park Rescue. This got their attention and the officers got out to see meet them.

The door of the six-wheeler slid open, and a medium sized man got out. Dave could see there were more people inside. The policeman introduced himself giving them a quick debrief of what they knew. Another older gentleman with a white, trimmed beard got out too and listened in.

“We’ve found this mobile with John’s number on it, but it’s unfortunately run out of power” the officer mentioned.

The man with the white beard said, “I might have a charger for this in the vehicle”, he took it disappearing inside.

They could hear a radio chattering noisily in the vehicle. It was the pilot of a rescue helicopter that was now on its way to them. One of the squad sat at the control panel, with lots of lights and buttons, speaking into a walky-talky. “Just to confirm, he’s still missing” the man at the control panel said into the mouth peace, “I think we’ll need you at our location”.

“Affirmative, what is your position” the pilot said. “The man at the control panel checked his GPS, and radioed in the co-ordinates to the pilot.

“Roger, I’ll be there in three minutes, over”. Dave had to admit, they ran a smooth, slick operation. It had all been very professional, and if anyone could find John these guys could do it. He had no idea what was going to happen next. He just stood in the car park taking in the drama around him. The car park was a hub of activity. Even the people in the Caravan had got involved now, offering everyone a cup of tea. The policemen were chatting to the rescue team, and Dave almost felt a sense of calm descend upon them.

A drone, carried across the wind getting quickly louder. It was still a surprise to Dave, as the helicopter raced low and fast above the car park in a fly by that took his breath away. The helicopter gleamed day glow orange and white, and made for a fantastic sight sweeping across the valley. The fact they could hear the pilot on the intercom made them feel more involved. The guys on the ground continued to feed the helicopter with information pointing him in the right direction to focus on. Dave could only stand and watch in awe – it was exciting.
“I don’t see anything obvious”. ’ Going round for another sweep” the pilot’s voice crackled. “I’ve got it” the man with the white beard who they’d almost forgotten about who had taken Dave’s mobile phone earlier to try and charge, appeared holding it. It was on and had a signal. The man handed the phone to the senior constable, feeling he was the best person to make the call. He quickly accessed the phone’s address book finding John’s number and called it. For some reason, Dave’s phone was set to speaker, so they could all hear the ringtone as it rang. The chopper continued circling its rotors noisy overhead. Everyone went quiet, faces turned with expectation.

“Pick up” Dave thought “pick up”. The ringing continued two three more times, a click and stopped.
“Hello” a new voice filled the vehicle. Dave recognised John.
“Is that John” the police officer said?
“Yes, it’s me”
“John, this is the police. Are you alright? – Your friend Dave has reported you missing. Are you alright?”
“Yes – I’m fine” he said. He did sound fine Dave thought a little surprised. He half expected John’s voice to be filled with agony and worry because he was half dying in a ditch somewhere. But he sounded the same as ever. Fine, perfectly fine.

“Where are you now?” the policeman continued.
“I’m walking back to the car park now. I should be there in five minutes”. All this time the helicopter continued buzzing over head. There was no-way John wouldn’t be able to see it. The policeman motioned to the radio operator, in communication with the helicopter. “He’s safe, call off the helicopter”.

The operator nodded clicking the handset to talk. “Good news, we’ve found him, safe and sound. Call off the search.” “Call off the search” the radio crackled. “Roger, heading back to base now”. “Thank you for you efforts” the operator said. “Have a good day”.

“You too” the pilot chuckled, happy it had all ended well. They all watched as the helicopter banked to the right and then flew straight above them. It was a special moment, and then just as quickly as it had arrived, was gone.

Dave and the rest of the search party moved outside. A couple of the Rescue Team were already kitted up in full battle readiness, harnessing their backpacks and just waiting for the word to go. Their colleague informed them that the lad had turned up which they received with wide smiles.

Dave headed to the side of the road, scanning for John. Sure enough John was trudging up the road towards them cutting a sheepish figure. Dave just stood their, incredulous as he walked up, giving him the wide eyed stare.

“What the f*$k happened to you then?” he mentioned as John got in earshot, gesturing with his hands to all the carnage John had caused around him. John could see the police car now, and the six wheeled all terrain vehicle. The thought of the pot incident which had briefly been forgotten also came back to Dave’s thoughts.

“Was that helicopter for me too” John asked?
“Take a wild guess” Dave cut back. “What happened”?
John explained. “After a while I just got lost. The bloody shrooms were everywhere. I didn’t realise where I was as just couldn’t get a moment to look up. When I did, I couldn’t see you anywhere”. Dave could relate to that at least, after all he was partly guilty too.
“Didn’t you hear me shouting? Where did you go”?

“I didn’t hear a thing with the wind out there and my hood up. The fog was mental too – couldn’t see anything out there. Before I knew it, I didn’t know where I was. Then eventually I came across this path, and all I could remember was “Stick to the Path!!” (the line out of the American Werewolf in London that always seems to come into your head in moments like these). It made Dave smile. So I did. I ended up walking past this creepy old house, and streams and everything. I didn’t have a clue where the hell I was, but figured as long as I was on the path then sooner or later I’d get to a main road or something”. Dave thought he knew the path John was talking about. He’d seen it a few seasons ago but had never gone down it. He’d always assumed it took you out back further into the moor. As long way rounds went, it was a long way round. No wonder they couldn’t find him.

Dave not for the first or last time that day almost had to laugh.
“I saw that helicopter circling about and was preying it was nothing to do with me” John said. Dave could just imagine that thought going through his mate’s brain. “Even on the way up here I was finding shrooms everywhere, but just had to leave them with that thing flying about.”

They entered the car park and Dave directed them towards the policeman. In the background, the Rescue crew were packing up, but stopped to give John a wave and a smile that he was alright. John waved back, still overwhelmed by what was going on and the trouble he’d caused.

The policeman held out his hand which John shook, greeting the policeman with a smile. Dave decided to give them a bit of space and went back to the car to keep out the way. Quite honestly what was going to happen next he didn’t have a clue.

John came to the car shortly later. Around them everybody was packing up. Dave sat in the passenger seat. He left his door open. There was a crunch, as the six wheeled vehicle turned itself around and pulled out of the car park, turning onto the road. A moment later it was gone, leaving them alone in the car park with the police car and the Caravan. The day had settled down into lovely warm sunshine now, and the sky was blue with thin white clouds gently drifting across. It was a beautiful afternoon considering how bad the morning had been.

They noticed the black haired policeman walking towards their car. When he was a few feet away he said “You know that helicopter costs £5000 an hour to use”. He left the fact lingering in the pleasant afternoon breeze. Dave’s eyes rolled. “Oh F*@k” he thought, fearing he was just about to get served with the bill for this little escapade. He was still knee deep in student loans. There’s no way he could afford that. He figured John was thinking exactly the same thing. The policeman smiled sensing their discomfort.

“But that’s alright, we’re just glad it all turned out well, and no-one was hurt” he said. They both gave sighs of relief. “Oh and one more thing” the policeman continued. He reached his hand out to John who looked at him. The policeman proffered the small bag up in front of him that contained the weed. “Dispose of this please” he said reaching forward and giving John the bag, and pausing “….by non combustible means”. The policeman gave them a winning smile, obviously revelling in their astonishment, then turned and walked back to his vehicle. He got in, and moments later, the black and white swung out of the car park, driving away.

Dave and John turned to each other speechless. “Ha ha” Dave said, John also grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Can you believe that” he said bursting into laughter. “By non combustible means”… John joined in the laugh. “What a f@*k’n day” he said.

Dave looked out the window, now that they had the place to themselves again and then looked back at John. “So wanna go find some shrooms” he asked cheekily?

“Fek Off” John said. Dave shrugged accepting that the picking was over for the day and the season. He smiled. But hey, at least his still had 500 shrooms already in the bag.
“Let’s get the hell out of here then” he said.

“Sounds like a very good idea to me” John said closing the door and starting the ignition. Moments later they pulled out of the car park and also drove away, reflecting on what had been one of the strangest picking adventures they had ever had.