The skunk I remember from the 70s and early 80s—we just called it Indica.
You could have it triple zip-locked, stuffed down your pants, and the moment you walked into a bar, every head would turn. That smell hit people before you even made it through the door.
When the Allegheny County hillbillies got hold of it, they grew the hell out of it, and before long, folks were calling it Allegheny Indica. Sticky? Man, it was so sticky you couldn’t handle it without gluing your fingers together. One hit and you were flying. Two hits, and you were higher than you wanted to be. Three hits, and you’d better find yourself a soft place to land. The stuff expanded so hard in your lungs that anything bigger than a baby hit would blow them out. No exaggeration.
The leaves were fat, dark green, and the smell was so skunky it barely even looked—or smelled—like what people thought “marijuana” was supposed to be. The calyces—yeah, that’s a real word—were massive. So were the seeds, tiger-striped beauties we called “watermelon seeds.” The plants rarely broke 3 or 4 feet tall, but outdoors they’d still crank out a pound or two apiece without breaking a sweat.
Early on, folks grew it right out in the open because nobody knew what it was. Some even beat their cases in court because the laws only mentioned Cannabis Sativa. Took the state a while to catch up and outlaw Indica too.
Me? I haven’t seen anything like it since the early 90s.
The original landrace strains it came from have been bred, crossed, and watered down so badly now…I highly doubt it’ll ever be revived, unless some lucky fool finds some heritage 80's seeds and gets them to crack. my .02