In retrospect, what I did was a fireable offense at most dispensaries. Buying two pounds of moldy weed isn’t exactly a path to job security but, like Adrian Grenier, it was gorgeous on the outside and dead inside. Stuck with Snowcap that was riddled with botrytis — bud rot — that was hard to see until cracking open a nug, I scrambled to find the info of the caregiver who sold it to us. The unwitting grower made everything right several days later, even giving me an eighth for my head stash, and I managed to keep my job. Until this week, that was the last time I smoked Snowcap. Much like I did with the “Entourage” movie, I had chosen to pass.
The best versions of Snowcap I’ve seen are still restrained from a flavor and scent perspective, often with a dull earthiness that is better suited to smuggling into a concert undetected than stinking up a room. Even after grinding a half-gram, I found myself rolling chunks of shake between my fingers like a tiny violin player to coax out the faintest of sugary lemon and spice notes. A single poppyseed from a lemon muffin is more robust, but even that bit of fragrance still tips that the strain has a legitimate claim to a Haze background, even if it smells like a half-cousin, twice removed. Don’t let anyone tell you this is a Trainwreck or White Widow descendant.
Those expecting a Haze experience will be sorely disappointed, because what we usually see in Colorado skews toward a 50/50 hybrid, despite being pitched by Verde Natural as “a sativa forward” strain. This, I felt, made it uniquely qualified for a stoned fall trip to Elitch Gardens, our local ex-Six Flags theme park, while the kids were away at school. Choosing a strain for a day of simulated near-death experiences is an important task: too much sativa and you’ll spend the day a nervous wreck; too much indica and walking the theme park feels like a slog. Unfortunately, I made the wrong choice.
While everyone else pre-gamed with a bowl of Ghost Train Haze, I had stuck to my guns on making Snowcap my choice and was rewarded with a burst of exuberance and mood elevation. One friend gave me the “earmuffs” sign so she could tell the rest of the group about how rough her period was this month, to which I responded, “I’m a woke ass 33-year-old man in 2016, let’s talk about your period!” She declined to be named in this piece but, needless to say, I was on the precipice of having too much energy. We entered before I could have any additional woke ass outbursts.
My above-average height scares the life out of me on this ride, as I’m constantly worried I’ll lose both of my feet and some poor person will have to collect them while probably high themselves. The thought of this led me to laugh, uncontrollably, for the duration of the ride, hoarse and nearly voiceless by the time we exited. The thrill of it all had led the effects deeply inward, leaving my body buzzing with an almost slight numbness that I momentarily confused with the start of a heart attack. We exited and went to the photobooth to examine our horrified faces while I found myself becoming less externally engaged.
At that point, my high was disorienting, as I was attempting to lead the group to the Brain Drain but instead ended up retracing our steps. My favorite ride, the Half Pipe, was shut down, mirroring my own speech centers. On what I’ll call the dorkiest of rides we took — the Dragonwing — Snapchatting from 50 feet or so off the ground didn’t elicit the terror it usually would. Even with the customary jitters, I’d have preferred a sativa that kept me on the edge of my seat instead of slouching in it.
Hybrids have the toughest job in the weed world, straddling two experiences while inevitably giving in to one as your high progresses. Here, the Snowcap didn’t pan out as I had hoped, but even if I’d had that soaring sativa high, the absence of flavor makes it a strain I’ll continue to pass on. Why watch “Entourage” when the same network makes shows like “Game of Thrones”?Share to your social accounts