winter walks

8/3/2019 Winter Walks

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Winter Walks

By Jonathan Janssen

It is an odd assortment of facts, one of those little known

histories that explain why some of the Western Christmas

traditions are the way that they are. I am sure many

Christian types would hate it, perhaps even calling it

sacrilegious, but some things exist regardless of how

anyone thinks about them. In this case it is the Amanita

Muscaria fungus, sometimes known as the Fly Agaric. Im

sure youve seen them, huge, luscious red caps dotted with

white spots. They are often depicted as the backdrop to

many a gnomes frolicking and also shown crafted into homes

for certain types of the fair folk. Some even say they

provided the inspiration for Carrols magical fungi,

enjoyed throughout Wonderland.

It should be no surprise, for humankind is fascinated with

the Amanita Muscaria for its potent hallucinogenic

properties. Siberian shamans use it to visit the spirit

worlds, and even in todays Western culture, reality

explorers use it for much the same purpose. Now, the

mushrooms connection to Christmas is the most interesting

part. Supposedly a lot of early Christian beliefs were

centered around mushroom cults who used the fungus to get a

deeper connection with the Lord. They claimed that the

Amanita Muscaria was the Lord brought to Earth in edible

form in order to impart wisdom more directly to his people.

Their rationale for this was based on the fact that it wassymbolic of the virgin birth. The mushroom deposited no

visible seeds, yet sprung up year after, seemingly from no

where.

This all leads to some of the most fundamental Christmas

symbols. The Amanita Muscaria only grows out of the snow,

particularly the snow beneath pine trees. Unbeknownst to

the ancients, this is because the mushroom forms a

symbiotic relationship with the trees roots. There we have

two important Christmas symbols tied in with the fungus,

the virgin birth and the pine tree, which evolved into theChristmas tree. Together you can imagine the whiteness of

the snow, the red of the mushroom and the green of the pine

tree the three most traditional colors associated with

the holiday. Lastly, reindeer local to the Siberian origin

of the mushroom, are said to eat a great many of these,

granting them the power of flight for a limited duration.


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This is an obvious origin of the flying reindeer that

dutifully pull Santa Clauses sleigh year after year.

I am out in the woods scrounging for Amanita early in

December because I want to ingest them on the night the

Krampus1is going to be terrorizing the streets in my town,

1Krampus is a mythical creature recognized in Alpine countries. According to legend,

Krampus accompanies St. Nicholas during the Christmas season, warning and punishing

bad children, in contrast to St. Nicholas, who gives gifts to good children. When the

Krampus finds a particularly naughty child, it stuffs the child in its sack and carries the

frightened thing away to its lair, presumably to devour for its Christmas dinner.

In the Alpine regions, Krampus is represented by a demon-like creature. Traditionally

young men dress up as the Krampus in Austria, southern Bavaria and South Tyrol duringthe first week of December, particularly on the evening of 5 December, and roam the

streets frightening children with rusty chains and bells.

One of my old girlfriends, Ingrid, was obsessed with the Krampus. As a child it was

simply the morbid fascination children often have for the things that scare them. The

night the Krampus emerged on the street, rattling his rusty chains, the children shrieked

and hid behind their parents. Ingrid, on the other hand, stood transfixed unable to take

her eyes off of the monster. She wanted more than a fleeting glimpse of the beast-- she

wanted to truly know its form. Only if the Krampus came too close to her did she

scamper off like the rest.

As she grew up, her obsession with the Krampus became eroticized. The demonic formwas not monstrous to her, but represented the unrestrained power of the world beyond --

the gruff, masculine part of nature, savage and passionate. She confided in me her

fantasies of being thrown down into the freezing snow, only to be embraced and ravaged

by the Krampus, engulfed in his warm fur and hot, steaming breath. Her hands, shackledin his rusty manacles would grab on to his rough horns, screaming with pleasure as his

bestial member penetrated her relentlessly.

Years later, long after Ingrid and I had broken up over acute spiritual difference, she

asked me for help in tracking the Krampus back to its lair. We had kept in touch, the split

was amicable. We didnt hate each other, just what one another believed in. I think we

were probably even still a little in love. Ingrids knowledge on the Krampus was great,but she knew little else. As I said beforeobsession. I had grown up exploring the local

woods and spent much time learning their directions and ways. I told her I had been all

through the pines and found many an interesting site, but never stumbled across theKrampuss lair. It was something I would remember. She didnt care what I had seen or

not scene, assuring me she had it taken care of. All she wanted to be sure of was that I

knew my way around the woods in case we got lost... and I did.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mythologyhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alpshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pre-Christian_Alpine_traditionshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Companions_of_Saint_Nicholashttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Nicholashttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmashttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demonhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Austriahttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bavariahttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Tyrolhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/South_Tyrolhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bavariahttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Austriahttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Demonhttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmashttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St._Nicholashttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Companions_of_Saint_Nicholashttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pre-Christian_Alpine_traditionshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alpshttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mythology


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The night of the Krampus was always a bit of a festival. People brought their children outto snatch a glimpse of it and older, braver children came out alone. There were people

that sang Christmas songs and vendors sold hot drinks and snacks, like hot red wine with

brandy and stollen, a kind of nutty fruitcake. Children threw snowballs at each other,probably to ease the anxiety of gazing at the Krampus. Sometime during the height of the

festivities, people began to hear the clinging of the Krampuss rusty chains and the

ringing of his bells. The children take on a small panic, scurrying back to their families,clutching them tightly. The Krampus emerged from a thicket of trees. It was the normal

thing, hairy bipedal beast with a huge set of twisting horns, demonic eyes and a wicked

maw of dripping fangs. It cackled and howled, clicking its claws, making its way slowlydown the street. It had eyes only for the children, peering deeply at each one of them.

They could feel the weight of its stare, judging them good or wicked. The children knew

that if a really bad child was among them, the Krampus would steal it home to feast upon

it. Some of the children tried to throw sausages or sweets into the street, hoping toappease it as it passed. The Krampus consumed these offerings greedily, but it was easy

to tell it hungered for much more.

As it passed us, Ingrid pulled a small cake with a few lavender flowers pressed into the

top from her bag. It filled the air with a pungent and sweet scent. She threw the cake into

the Krampuss path and its eyes widened with a manic delight. It leapt upon the thing anddevoured it voraciously, emitting an almost giggling laughter that was unnerving.

Afterwards, it continued its walk of terror, but seemed rather drunk. I had seen the

Krampus every year since I was born and never once saw it stumble, slur its growls or

bump into trash cans and light poles. Ingrid beckoned me to follow it with her, but at asafe distance. I was surprised to realize the Krampus was exuding the same strong odor as

Ingrids cake. Even after it reached the end of the street and turned in to the darkness, it

was easy to trail because of its scent.

Being familiar with the woods, I led the way. I could see the Krampus ahead at times, in

the moonlight, but it traveled quickly through the dense trees and did not make a sound orleave any trace of its passage. If it was not for the strong effect of the cake, hampering its

movement, we might have never tracked it at all. As we walked, Ingrid was sweating

despite the cold. Her eyes were fixed orbs, locked on the beast. She was restless.

Sometimes I caught her licking her lips lustfully. I could only imagine her thoughtsbecause I knew her.

Even though I was in familiar woods, the Krampus seemed to have a way of distortingspace. The only way to describe it is that these familiar paths and places didn t normally

lead to wherever it was leading us. Just when I was beginning to lose my sense of

direction we emerged into a misty clearing dominated by a large, but primitive hut. It wasa wide ovoid dome fashioned of branches, grass, leaves and the pelts of animals, like

rabbits and deer. Inside was smoky and it reeked of musk and meat. When it approached

the doorway, Ingrid stepped forward. I almost shot my hand out to prevent, but I realizedthat this is what she wanted. She was standing like a vamp and let out a low and

predatory purring-growl. The Krampus stopped and turned quickly, as if it expected to


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usually around the second week in December. Not a lot of

American towns still welcome the Krampus anymore, but some

parts of the Northern Midwest still have such large,

thriving Germanic communities that he simply cannot resist.

Its pretty cold on the night I choose to go out. I love

searching for them at night, for the light of the full moon

illuminates the untouched snow with an otherworldy glow.

Spotting the bright red caps amongst the field of

shimmering white is a breathtaking sight to behold,

especially when youve gotten yourself in the proper

mindset, like I have, elevating my senses and spiritual

perceptions with another ancient and magical plant, our old

friend Cannabis. When I step out of the car, at the edge of

the pine forest, I still have half the joint sitting in my

mouth, the thick, herbal smoke wafting slowly into the

crisp, still air. There is a tall ring of primordial pines,

about fifteen minutes from the road, which always hosts the

most amazing specimens of fungus. I love smoking the grass

as I hike to the ring. It feels like I am gradually

adjusting my spirit to the magic of the place as I walk, so

that when I get there I am prepared.

My tracks are the only things disturbing the snow and my

footsteps are a jarring noise against the calm of the wood.

The pines in this wood are dense and the thin needles brush

across my cheeks as I wander through them, my nose filling

with the piney scent of their resin. The walk passes

quickly, the weed keeping my senses occupied with the

splendor of the night. Before I even approach the pine ringI feel it - the distinct sense that I am merely a visitor

see a threat. Seeing it so closely put a fear into my stomach to run, but I controlled it.

Ingrid made another growl, more seductive. The Krampus widened its eyes, lifted itsbrow and issued his own guttural sound, handling his crotch for emphasis. Ingrid nodded,

approaching the Krampus, who was now holding out a set of its chain. When she let him

bind her wrists before escorting her inside, I knew it was time for me to leave. I turnedaround and headed back the way he had come. It was easy for me to find my way back

because I knew those woods really well.

The next time I saw Ingrid, she politely asked me not to bring up the incident, though Icould tell from her demeanor that it was a great memory.


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in this place and I must be on my best behavior. Stepping

into the trees can be disorienting, the ancient pines

stretching into the sky, looming over you, scrutinizing

you determining if youre worth being in their awesome

presence. My past respects are what allow me entrance now,

but they wont go far, so I have come prepared. Out of my

coat a pull a huge bundle of Nag Champa incense, a heady

scent that spirits find pleasant. I light the sticks with

my lighter, waving the flames out with my hand. Soon the

air is filled with the coiling, perfumed smoke. I walk

around the circle, placing one stick in the ground before

each of the pines. As I do it, I can see some of the bright

red caps calling to me, but I have to wait. If Im seen as

rude, itll be all over, the trees revoking their favor.

Once all the incense is in place, I move to the center and

address the trees,

Great spirits of the wood, thank you for your gracious

hospitality I know I am but a guest among you and hold the

utmost respect for you I come tonight for a favor that

you might allow me to harvest a few of your precious fungi

I seek to understand the ways of the spirits and your gift

of Amanitais the greatest path to truth I do not seek to

abuse the mushroom, but to respect, as I do you

There is an even deeper silence, as if all I said were

sucked into a vacuum. I can sense the pines weighing my

words and intentions. Then, the heaviness is suddenly

lifted, the air clearing, and the trees seem lessintimidating. I know I have their permission and it makes

me feel special winning over ones such as these is no easy

feat. I promised I would not over harvest their gifts, so I

slowly walk around the circle, carefully inspecting the

fungus sprouting up beneath each tree. They are all

tantalizing, but one bunch is superior to the rest. It is a

large clump of seven mushrooms, enough for my self and some

to share. The caps are a succulent scarlet, almost

throbbing with power. When I snatch them up and place them

into a bag, I can sense the pride of the pine, showing off

to others that I had chosen its fungus over the rest. Ithank the pine again, a head out of the ring.

Being in the presence of such a powerful place is

overpowering and the walk back to the car passes like a

dream, a surreal blur of trees and snow. Im suddenly

freezing when I get in the car, a sensation that seemed

absent the whole time. I start it up and sit a bit as he


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heater kicks on. I pull out onto the road and head back to

civilization, feeling the magic dwindling away as I return

to town except for the bag of Amanita Muscaria which roils

with potent power.

winter walks

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