When I arrived, there was already a flock of policemen hovering over peacefully chilling stoners, insisting they not smoke (the horror!). The smokers were displeased with the cops’ rules. “Don’t smoke until 4:00, they said. Then they’ll leave,” said Hunter, who looked sad about being sober. Hannah, a blonde with impressive dreadlocks who claimed that this was her third 4/20, was sitting near the front of the meadow, playing with her dog. When I asked if she was nervous about the increased police presence, she scoffed: “Pretty sure no one gives a flying fadoodle about the cops.”

Eleanna and Lillian

Eleanna and Lillian, a stoner chick duo (pictured above), were also upset at how the doting cops had harshed their mellow. They said that in previous years, they had seen more bands and non-smokers enjoying the festivities. Eleanna mentioned that the police were hovering over them as they tried to smoke. “They said if we smoked again, they’d give us a misdemeanor,” she recounted in obvious disapproval. As a fourth-year student, she knew what 4/20 was like in its glory days. “I’m enjoying myself, but it’s just not the same,” she finished.

Some of the first-timers seemed somewhat disappointed with the turnout. Connor, a transfer from Kresge College, said, “It’s not as big as the photos I’ve seen.” That seemed to be the consensus.

As 3:30 p.m. approached, the cops were still about, and still no one was smoking anything (besides a subtle vape here and there). Never before had there been such trepidation! But at last, as the meadow finally began to crowd, smoke began to rise. “They can’t get us all!” someone in the crowd cried, indistinguishable from the mass of people among the billowing smoke.

The enlarged crowd changed the air from oppressive to jovial, and as more smoke climbed into the sky, laughter and general ruckus began to emanate from the meadows, audible even from Porter College up the hill. The 50 or so police who had originally held the stoners back were rendered incapable of stopping everyone. At 3:40 p.m., a brass band set up next to a group of 10 policemen, featuring a tuba, trombone, saxophone and marching-band drums.

The 4:20 device. Your guess is as good as mine.

Half an hour before the main event, I ran across a young man with a large smoking apparatus in his hands that he called the “4:20 Device,” which was made of a huge tube into which small holes for blunts and joints were cut. It looked intimidating. Santa Cruzians seem to have a penchant for odd smoking devices: along with the classic bong, there were portable vaporizers that looked kinda like walkie-talkies. At one point, I saw something I thought was for smoking, but then someone flipped a switch, and it started playing music, so perhaps it was some kind of dual-purpose instrument? I may never know.

As 4:00 p.m. rolled around, the crowd had grown to an estimated 3,000 people, and the police, who had struck fear before, were now invisible. What was normally a two-minute walk from one side of the meadow to the other now took 20 minutes; in front of me, a (likely stoned) girl tripped as she ran toward the meadows, not wanting to miss out on 20 past 4. I watched another dude sitting cross-legged on his tie-dyed blanket, openly grinding over $100 worth of weed. A voice rose above the din: “Selling ribs!” he cried over the brass band. By 4:10, things were getting pretty chaotic; I watched as a guy dressed like Jesus hit a blunt.

Gabby, the artist I had met earlier, was still painting atop her hill, away from the ruckus. Her painting was almost complete but lacked people. She was conflicted about whether she should prepare to light up for 4/20 or get the final details into her piece. From the hill’s vantage point, I could see the thickening smoke settle over the bobbing heads in the meadow, obscuring the horizon; this was with four minutes to go. A drone buzzed overhead, luring the attention of the smokers. At 4:19 and 5o seconds, the countdown began—10…9…8…Once they hit zero, people began to cheer, strangers hugged and couples kissed.