ON THE ROAD

West to Oahu THE PSYCHEDELIA ISSUE

STORY by JONAH TACOMA @DABSTARS2.0 for LEAF NATION | PHOTOS by JESS LARUE @JESSICALARUE_420

IT WAS 5:30 A.M. I grinned at a gawking passerby, winking at them through my gold-tinted Oakleys. The bright reflective tint of the glasses matched perfectly with the tropical print polo I had worn for the occasion. It was a gloomy 44 degrees fahrenheit in Seattle, making my outfit seem out of place in the bustle of SeaTac commuter traffic.

Jessica trailed along beside me, her long blonde hair flowing out of a sun hat we had picked up on the North Shore of Oahu a few years back. This was to be the fifth annual Hawaiian Cannabis Expo, and Dabstars had been a part of it from the beginning - recruited out of the Emerald Cup by Dana, the co-owner and promoter of the event. After riling up the California crowd in traditional Dabstar fashion, one man off to the back of the ruckus stayed behind with a group of friends. “Hey!” he shouted as the crowd dispersed.

“If I fly you to Hawaii, can you do that again?” he shouted for the second time. “Of course I can!” I yelled back, grinning ear to ear.

That “yes” had opened up a whole new world and here we were five years later, still finding new adventures on the island. In spite of our cultural differences, we had been welcomed as a squad with open arms. Cannabis was a common denominator and perhaps nowhere was that more true than here on the islands. Forced subjugation and the rising cost

of living had created a palpable tension that existed just below the glossy veneer of tourism. The common role we all shared and the community we had all created had transcended geographical and cultural lines. Over time we had come to call many of the smiling faces we had met across the world our family. I had forgotten to turn airplane mode on and my phone began to ring immediately as we started our landing approach. Ron Bass met us at luggage pickup with a rented Jeep. “Bro!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in the air and making his 6’9” frame lumber over us in ridiculous fashion. “I’ve been driving in circles for an hour, they won’t let me park!” he exclaimed again, motioning to a nearby traffic cop.

The event was being held at the Blaisdell Event Center in Oahu and had grown to fill the giant dome. We were officially on the docket for the following day at 4:20, but the promoters had saved us a space next to Ed Rosenthal and we hurried to set up as the doors opened for day one.

Cannabis personalities Jackie 420 and Stoner Rob were both in town for their first expo, and we all made our way to the giant Hua tree out back after setting up. “Work hard, play hard,” said Rob, holding up a joint that was being passed around the small crowd. Everyone laughed, but a few of us knew what he meant. Cannabis was great work if you could get it, but it was still work.

As the day’s events gave way to the evening’s festivities, we found ourselves with the NW Leaf crew, huddled around a tiny pile of seed pods I had been given by a local friend. “These are Hawaiian Baby Rosewood seeds…” I explained to an engaged but suspicious crowd of friends and family. “Each pod has multiple seeds, but don’t eat more than seven!” I said, passing the pods around ceremoniously.

We woke to the 6:30 alarm, groaning. The Leaf crew had decided in the middle of last night’s stupor that we should all get up early and hike Diamond Head before the tourists showed up. By the time we gathered our band of weary travelers, the parking lot at Diamond read “FULL.” Circling back, Mike Ricker managed to find us a spot to wedge the oversized rental, on the other side of the large hand dug tunnel that opened up into Diamond Head Crater. The view from the top was spectacular but marred by throngs of shoulder to shoulder tourists who had turned the once pristine hike into a concrete pilgrimage. Every step was now encrusted in manmade rock to preserve the overused trail, which can see as many as 3,000 visitors each day.

As the clock drew closer to 4:20 I assembled my motley crew on the mainstage. Damon Simmons, Timmy Edwards and Ron Bass had all flown out to help with what had become a regular tradition at the expo, the Dabstar Giveaway. Dana had collected a small mountain of merch from the vendors and I chuckled remembering how things had begun. The secret to the sauce had always been the stone in the soup… “WORK HARD, PLAY HARD,” SAID ROB, HOLDING UP A JOINT THAT WAS BEING PASSED AROUND THE SMALL CROWD.

We never had a budget but we always had a crowd, and it was not long before we figured out that we only needed enough swag to start the riot off. Once the vendors saw the riot, they tripped over themselves bringing up free shit, because this was America after all. Your business wasn’t shit without the people, and it was the ones that got recognized that thrived. Here in America we voted with our dollar, and spending five bucks at one of the white vendor tents meant you were voting for them to succeed, as those of us who had devoted our career energy into Cannabis sure seemed to be.

The crowd roared as the clock hit 4:20, and for the first time you could see how many people had shown up for the event. We were all one ‘hui’ - one group united by a common purpose and that had made us family. Cannabis was a slow burning revolution, one that was sweeping across a nation desperate for change.

On an island where the locals were finding themselves priced out of their own land, Cannabis was currency, Cannabis was change. As the last day came to a close, we said our goodbyes to friends and family and piled into the rented Jeep. It was time to get out of the city for awhile. It was time to head north.