The Time I Went Camping, Took Edibles, and Thought My Friends Were Going to Kill Me
Back in the summer of 2022, while I was living in Oregon, some friends and I took a spontaneous trip out to the Columbia River Gorge. It was one of those perfect days—sunny, scenic, and full of good vibes. We set up a riverside picnic, cracked open some White Claws, took a dip in the river, and just soaked up the beauty around us.
Riding that high, we decided—why not keep it going? Labor Day weekend was coming up, so we made last-minute plans to go camping in Bend.
Since it was a busy holiday weekend, we went with a first-come, first-served site. Xoey volunteered to wake up early and grab a spot for us at Eastlake in the Deschutes National Forest. Meanwhile, Albert, Natasha, and I met up at Albert’s place and somehow managed to cram all my gear into Natasha’s car. After a quick Starbucks run and a stop at Electric Lettuce in Portland, we hit the road.
We cruised through the Mt. Hood National Forest and rolled into Bend after about three and a half hours. By the time we got to the site, it was just hitting 6 PM—perfect timing. We pitched our tents and caught the most stunning sunset over the lake. The campsite was nestled inside a caldera, so as the sun dipped below the rim, it lit up the whole place in golden light. It felt like we had front-row seats to nature’s own little light show.
For dinner, we made spaghetti and circled up around the fire, swapping spooky stories like we were kids again. Normally, I steer clear of edibles—they tend to mess with my head—but when Albert casually offered me one, I shrugged and thought, why not? Bad idea.
As the night went on, Xoey and Albert started sharing creepy tales—some pulled straight from Xoey’s time working at a penitentiary—and for some reason, I couldn’t stop laughing. Something about the mix of smoke, exhaustion, and that edible just made everything feel oddly familiar and ridiculously hilarious.
When it was finally time for bed, I crawled into my tent… but the paranoia hit fast. Everything outside was dead quiet except for the crackle of the fading fire, and it was making me spiral. Albert wanted a moment to change, so I stepped out barefoot to brush my teeth. That’s when Josh—also paranoid, also giggling—snapped a photo of me with my bare feet in the dirt, totally amused.
Once Albert was done, I climbed back into the tent, still on edge. Then Jess called my name. She didn’t want to leave my knife outside, so she passed it to Josh. Problem is, Josh stood there holding it right in front of my tent, his shadow stretched out from the firelight like something out of a horror movie. My brain said, This is it. They’re gonna kill me. I opened the tent flap super slowly, took the knife, and immediately hid it under my sleeping bag like a weirdo.
Sleep was out of the question. I was completely convinced Albert would try to take the knife from me in the middle of the night. My trust in everyone had vanished. Thankfully, Albert picked up on how freaked out I was and stayed up talking with me for a good 30 minutes, gently walking me back from the ledge. We eventually decided to give the knife back to Jess, who locked it up in her truck—probably for the best.
After a while, the high started to wear off. I was still buzzing, but at least my brain had slowed down. Meanwhile, Albert was starting to feel the delayed effects of his edible. And as if the night couldn’t get any more chaotic, it got cold. Like, real cold. None of us were ready for it. Albert didn’t even bring a sleeping bag—just a couple of thin blankets. So, I emptied out my backpack, layered my clothes over him like makeshift insulation, and even tucked the bag over his feet. Somehow, he made it through the night without freezing.
The next day, we found out those gummies had way more CBD than expected—about 15 mg. No wonder we were so out of it. Still, as chaotic and ridiculous as that night was, it ended up being one of the most unforgettable camping trips I’ve ever had. The scenery was stunning, the paranoia was next-level, and the laughter—totally unhinged and unfiltered—brought us all closer together in the weirdest way possible.