The psilocybin sunset (Human Pursuits 9/9/22)

A scene report from Alex’s 30th birthday aboard Golden Eagle Egg

VANCOUVER — I was talking to Emily when the scooby snacks really started to hit. We were on a boat in the middle of the Burrard Inlet for Alex’s 30th birthday, and the sun had just started to set. It was another hot and clear day, in an August full of hot and clear days, and a gauzy haze was coming off the water, casting a thin screen over everything in sight. It had been just over an hour since the boat, Golden Eagle Egg, had set forth in the waters off False Creek, weaving her way past the tankers and luxury super yachts parked just off shore.

It had been a few weeks since my surprise shingles diagnosis, and I decided to attend the party Cali-sober — bringing no liquor, and only a little bit of weed. I was sipping on a small can of Diet Coke when someone tapped me on the shoulder and asked if I wanted some psilocybin pills they had bought online. “You only need a few,” they said “It’s basically like micro-dosing.” They pulled out a small, millennial-y looking package and dumped a small pile of pills into their hand. I stared at their palm and tried to predict the future. The last time I did hallucinogens, about two years ago, I pictured myself as a giant fish floating above Pluto, and experienced a series of epiphanies that felt like non-sexual orgasms. It wasn’t a bad trip, exactly, but the experience was so intense that it left me wondering whether my constitution could handle psychedelics. The last thing I wanted was to enter some ethereal plain while sailing aboard the Golden Eagle Egg.

And yet, I was intrigued.

“Can I start with just one?” I asked.

They replied. “Sure, but you’ll need at least three to really feel anything.”

“Okay. Let me start with one for now and see how it goes.”

They handed me a pill, which I swallowed with a swig of Diet Coke, and put another one in the pocket of my sweater. “For later.”

Forty-five minutes later, I still felt sober, which I took as a good sign. The boat was cruising through the Inlet, Alex’s guests were having a good time, yelling “YOO-HOO” to passing boats, and eating pizza on the deck. Kate had spent hours crafting the party’s soundtrack, and her playlist reverberated off the boat and up into the mountains. Azealia Banks was in the 212, on the uptown A.

I went over to Leah. “Are you feeling anything yet?” she asked. “No, but I think that’s the point,” I said. “I maybe feel a bit more talkative.” The boat drove assuredly past Kits Beach. Little crowds dotted the shoreline, playing Spike Ball and swimming, even though the water always has E. Coli in the summer. It was Saturday evening and the city was still showing signs of life. I took the second pill out of my pocket and swallowed it.

Leah and I were sitting on the deck’s port side when Shomas walked up. “The journalists aren’t dancing,” he said “Somebody needs to tell them to stop talking about work.”

We had been on the boat for more than an hour, and the journalists had spent nearly every second talking about the public broadcaster. It was a beautiful summer day, but their minds were still shackled to the office. “I know what we can do,” I said. I went into my bag and pulled out a handle of Fireball. I handed it to Shom. “Try this,” I said. He took a sip and set off, circling the deck with his cinnamon whiskey surprise. I stared at the North Shore mountains from behind my sunglasses. The second pill was setting in and I felt relaxed, and a little light headed. I stood up and crossed the deck to

Dr. Feel Good, who was holding court by the starboard bow.

“How are you feeling?”

“Great, I think I could handle a third,” I said.

They opened the packet and popped the final pill into hand.

I swallowed it with a sip of water as waves of blue water gently lapped against the Golden Eagle Egg’s hull.

Leah and I were talking to Justin, when I noticed the North Shore mountains. Something about their natural symmetry, the way the taller mountain peak poked out from behind a shorter one, as if the entire range had been purposefully designed, felt playful, but also just a little scary. I tapped Leah on the shoulder.

“I think I’m feeling something.”

“Yeah?”

“The mountains seem sillier than usual.”

I smiled and stared across the Inlet, Cypress mountain’s reflection splayed across my sunglasses.

I was still wearing them when Emily and I started talking. The boat had rounded the northern tip of the University Endowment Lands, and was passing Wreck Beach. It was golden hour and old, flabby men sat amongst the drift wood in their birthday suits.

“It’s unfortunate that the male body is so gross to look at,” I said.

Emily replied. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean it’s never the people who anyone wants to see naked who go naked.”

The three scooby snacks were coursing through my system, and I felt lightheaded. I knew I had a point, I just didn’t know how to make it.

Emily didn’t seem to mind. If she did, I couldn’t tell.

“It’s funny going with a group of people versus only women,” she said. “Women usually always want to go topless.”

Over my shoulder, the sun started to dip below the horizon, sending one last stream of golden light across the party. It was getting a little hard to see behind my sunglasses, so I took them off.

It was only then that I realized what I had been missing. Sometime between my second and third pill, the sky’s colours had grown more vivid, folding across the wide yonder in a spectral array of pinks, yellows and oranges, so that it seemed I was watching the sunset for the very first time.

I looked at Emily.

“Wow, okay, wait are you seeing this sunset?” I said.

“Yeah it’s beautiful.”

“I’m on mushrooms. This is crazy.”

Leah was on the other side of the deck talking with Kevin and Shomas. She was still wearing her sunglasses. I walked over and told her to take them off.

“I didn’t know colours could look like this,” I said.

“Me neither.”

We stood there watching the sky until the sun disappeared below the horizon and the blue hour set in. The heat of the day had broken, but a warm breeze was coming off the water and everything seemed calm. And so summer started to exhale.

Eventually, the boat brought us back to shore. The downtown lights reflected off the dark waters of False Creek and made Vancouver seem more imposing and futuristic than it really is.

Shomas spoke. “Are we the five per cent?”

The psilocybin had all but worn off. I knew that he was joking, but I also knew he might be right.

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