By On the occasion of our 20th anniversary
By Gustavo Arellano
By R. Scott Moxley
By Alfonso Delgado
By Courtney Hamilton
By Joel Beers
By Peter Maguire
By Charles Lam
"I almost thought they were going to blindfold me and my guys when we came up here," he jokes. "Then we figured, once we finished the job, they wouldn't let us leave and just feed us to the pigs. In this business, it's all connections; it's all word-of-mouth and grassroots. It keeps the money among the bros, so everybody has a vested interest."
Looking west at the setting sun, Red clutches a cigarette between the tobacco-stained knuckles of his left hand and waves at the open space where five or so redwoods used to stand along the gulley until a few hours ago, when he chopped them down. "We did good," he tells Lucky, belching loudly. "Now you can see all the way to the ridgeline, and the good thing is, we put all the debris down there in the gulley so you don't have to haul that anywhere—and it'll stop anybody from hiking up that fjord and finding this fucking place. Nobody can get through that mess."
Lucky isn't looking at downed trees so much as the wide-open sky.
"That's just beautiful," he says. "Look at all that light, bro."
The official start of outdoor marijuana-growing season may still be a week away, but on this corner of America's Emerald Triangle, summer has just begun.