Microdosing Psilocybin Saved My Life, and my Brain
James 'Jamo' Hall credits psychedelics to his remarkable full recovery from a near-death snowmobile accident in this guest essay
I had the pleasure of speaking with James “Jamo” Hall over the phone this past March, just ahead of a North Spore x Hamilton Morris video shoot in Denver. His story—a near-death accident in 2020 where tree branches were literally impaled into his brain—stuck with me. Not just because he made a full recovery against impossible odds, but because he attributes much of that recovery to his use of psilocybin and other psychedelics.
“The psilocybin was actively connecting the synapses that had been disturbed by the tree branches that had been abruptly lodged into my brain.”
While his experience is anecdotal—a single data point in a sea of compelling stories about psychedelic healing—Jamo’s journey didn’t stop there. He’s since become a skilled cultivator of psychedelic mushrooms and even took home top honors at Denver’s Psychedelic Cup in 2024. I asked Jamo if he’d be willing to write about his story for North Spore’s Substack and he graciously accepted the offer. Warning: there is some graphic imagery in this article. -Matt
Get back on your machine. That’s the first thing I remember thinking. The snowmobile was positioned sideways at my feet in front of me. When I tried to stand up I was pulled back down. I heard George behind me, “You gotta stay down man, you’re messed up.” I gave another feeble attempt to get up but quickly relaxed in George’s embrace. He was lying behind me, my back to his chest while Andrew made his way to the ridge road to call for help. Fading in and out I heard, “Are you getting service?” “Shooo, get out of here!” Gray Jays were swarming my exposed wounds, and finally, “We’re over here.” George was reassuring me, “Mountain rescue is here, we’re gonna get you out.” but when he looked back to the man settling into the snow his expression changed back to concern, “There’s a Heli coming right?”
“What’s your name bud?” No reply. “You know where you are? I’m going to get your blood pressure.” Turning to my buddies, “Ok guys, I’m going to need your help getting him out of the trees to a clearing where the helicopter can land,” explaining the game plan as he unfolded a canvas gurney. Black out again. I snapped back as soon as the group that had assembled hoisted me a foot before they stepped forward and packed the snow below them, repeating the jolting maneuver for every foot gained. Every time I was pulled another few inches I could feel something significant was broken. It’s a very specific type of pain. Unique to the clavicle lodged in my left lung, which didn’t feel great but I was mostly just aware I was not breathing well. Why can’t I talk? I couldn’t tell George I was fine when I wanted to get back on my sled. I couldn’t answer Mountain Rescue's questions… hmm. Sounds like the helicopter is close. I must not be in that bad of shape, everyone seems cool. Maybe I should try to get down on my own. That’s a helicopter. Chase? Was he with us?
Chase had not been with us that morning, he was in fact the recipient of the choppy call from Andrew. “911… A-frame… 911… Richmond Ridge Road… 911 at the A-frame on Richmond Ridge Road.” Chase had heard enough, being a Freak himself, he was able to decipher the code. When he answered the call, he was home in Basalt. He immediately jumped to action, hung up, and dialed mountain rescue to request assistance at the location. Knowing that if a Freak is calling for help it’s serious, he insisted a helicopter would be required. As he relayed the call out to the first responders, he is simultaneously loaded his sled onto his truck. Then drove pedal-to-the-metal up to the roundabout, took the second exit, up Castle Creek to Little Annies, the backside to the snow lot, unloaded the sled and got to the crash site before the helicopter. I remember him grabbing me by the forearm as I was slid into the helicopter. “You’re good bud! Love you brother.”
“Ok, Jamo, we’re going to get you over to AVH.” The in-flight medic was great about keeping me informed on what they were doing to me. “We’re just going to get you secured in and then it’s a quick flight to the bottom of the hill. Great job bud. You just hang tight, we’re just about ready to go.” Looking to Mountain Rescue, “Vitals?”
I hope I didn’t survive whatever just happened to die in a helicopter crash because I’m pretty sure I could ski down. Death before download! Oh, I think I might be able to see the cabin...
The exchanges got more serious after landing at Aspen Valley Hospital. No one was talking to me anymore; it was just a bunch of medical jargon as a swarm of strangers whisked me through the halls terminating in an ER room full of more people at the ready. Look, it's Mary Fran. Is she tearing up? Oh, they’re taking all my clothes off. “We’re going to put you in the CT and see what’s going on” a statement clearly intended for me, but I couldn’t tell who was talking through all the swift, efficient commotion. By this point I’ve realized I can't say anything, I’ve been trying to let someone know every movement kills my back, so I’m just letting them do their thing. They’re professionals.
This time the shift over to the CT felt different; I was spinning. As I slid into the machine, I felt like I was on a tilt table. I’m going to... too late… The last thing I remember for the next three days was being pulled out of my own vomit in the only CT machine at Aspen Valley Hospital, then hearing, “We’re going to give you something for the pain,” as a syringe plunged some undisclosed chemical in my IV port. I’m sorry, whoever had to clean my mess. XO. They had only scanned a bit of my head, but they saw plenty. There were tree branches penetrating my skull. Apparently, I was not unconscious, although I have no recollection of the next few days. I was told weeks later my cousin, Alex, was the first person to see me at St Anthony’s Hospital once I was out of surgery. The first thing I actually remember was my dad and the anesthesiologist standing over me, the doctor still holding the syringe, the contents of which she had just injected into my bloodstream. “Alright he is coming back now.”
We had a rough couple weeks in the spring of 2019. One of the crew’s best friends, Sam Coffey was on a surf trip in Mexico with a couple other Freaks, when he died of a stroke. It was a huge blow to the Aspen community. Sam was a very handsome and talented skier, the unspoken leader of the Freaks, one of the local Aspen ski gangs. Somehow, he was always everywhere. There was a shirt that read, “Coffey for mayor” floating around town. Everyone LOVED him. We held services for him on the mountain for a full week. At that end of that week my backcountry mentor, Jerry, died on his snowmobile… second legend down. Jerry had been the honorary gate keeper of the backside of Ajax. I was his number two at his caretaking gig. I worked at the last local ski shop in town, Stapleton Ski, three days a week for a free ski pass but if I wasn’t at the shop or skiing, I was hanging out and working with Jerry on the backside. A week after Jerry, Alex laid his bike down in a curve on highway 82. He worked at Stapes before I started there but still came around to hang with the Freaks regularly and everyone knew him from working at the only “local” pizza shop in town, New York Pizza. Like I said, a rough couple of weeks. Life keeps moving though.
Around that same time, I became enamored with the idea of flow state. I read Stealing Fire by Jamie Wheal and Steven Kotler, a thorough digestion of the concept, which they describe as being so engaged in an activity everything else fades like boca. For me, that was skiing and mountain biking. I was drawn to high-consequence activities, seeking the euphoric flow of the do-or-die moments. What if we could consciously reignite that curiosity and zest for life without putting your life on the line? Anecdotal evidence suggests that microdosing may bring a sense of intrigue and curiosity to everyday tasks, transforming the mundane into something truly fascinating, teasing out the wonder we often lose with age. As we grow older, we narrow our perception, but in doing so, we dull our sense of wonder. The brilliant predictor overpowers the intrigue and loses the potential for novelty.
Everyone has to eat, right? Microdosing can reinvigorate a sense of intention, sensory awareness, and curiosity. What starts as the routine chore of making dinner evolves into an experiment. You take on the role of a culinary scientist, exploring the nuances of flavors, textures, and techniques. Sure, you can just toss a dinner in the microwave, but you could also create a culinary adventure. With this kind of support, we can wake up and be present even through the mundane, everyday tasks without the intense risks that traditional flow states often demand.
The family Jerry worked for asked if I would take over his duties, shoes I would never be able to fill but I decided to give it a go. It took months to get everything sorted. Just as I was starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel, COVID shut EVERYTHING down. People were fleeing the big cities to live their socially distanced lives from small towns. Those who could afford it flocked to the beautiful Rocky Mountains. Meanwhile the Freaks and the Monkeys, the faux enemy of the Freaks, were taking full advantage of the empty runs ordinarily reserved for the elite Powder Tours. [Powder Tours is a luxury option on Aspen Mountain where guides take you into the “Backcountry” in snowcats, more like side-country but the fancy people were all about it.] We would get three people on a sled, one standing on either running board and one seated, while two people would tow off the back with a shortened water ski rope. We spent the first three weeks of the lock down party lapping the good stuff! It felt like summer break; no rules, freedom. Most every night I had a couple people stay up at the cabin because we stayed out too late for them to go back to town or so we could get an early start the next morning. The night before the accident, George and Andrew stayed just for company.
My accident was March 24th, 2020. We got up pretty early, like 7:30 -8am. I made some breakfast, and we decided to go check the conditions before I had to head down valley to work on my shuttle bus RV project parked at Miles’ spot. Just a poke around, no reason to gear up. I lived on the western aspect, so we checked a couple zones before heading to the eastern slope. We parked our machines in a run out, just enjoying the crisp mountain air and the sun beaming bright on that blue bird morning when we heard some chatter on the radios. Baker and Victor were on mission a couple peaks over. We chirped them for a second before it was time for me to start heading towards Carbondale. I was leading the crew as I shifted my weight to the back of the sled and opened the throttle wide to climb the hill on my brand-new Skidoo Summit 850 165. As I crested I turned the bike to the right to set it down to watch the other two climb the hill as well. As I turned right and jumped back to the front of the rails, I realized the RPMs weren’t dropping. I looked down to see what was going on. Am I leaning on one of the throttles? As I looked up my left ski went on the far side of the tree and the sled went from 60 mph to 0, sending me over the bars, darting my face into a tree, my body crumpling behind it from the rapid deceleration.
I’m not sure who made the calls to my family, but my mother and sister recall the doctor they spoke to saying something less than reassuring like, “we’re going to do what we can but he’s in a bad way. It’s possible he will not make it through surgery.” Apparently, someone else talked to my dad and encouraged him to get to Denver as soon as possible. The truth resides somewhere in the middle of their recollections. AVH stabilized me before Flight for Life flew me to St. Anthony's Hospital in Lakewood, a Level I trauma center. Dr. Souslian and his team had enough time to prepare and consult other surgeons around the country while I was in transit. They were ready as I was rolled into the operating room.
The most obvious hurdle were the tree branches sticking out of my skull but that was not the entirety of the injuries. My left clavicle had found its way into my left lung. The doctors would have to secure it back in place with titanium. I broke C7, T1 and T11 vertebrae, which would have to be further assessed later as I was immobile for the time being. My nose was very broken, a familiar occurrence in the rambunctious process of finding my own brand of adulting; not a priority. My left foot is still misshapen from the breaks in the various foot bones, but that too would give way to solving my serious head wounds. The team of competent MDs got to work mapping their cuts to contour with the lacerations from the sticks that were exposed outside of my skull.
At this point they could see that one branch had deflected forward toward my left eye and never actually penetrated the skull. They drilled holes around the perimeter of the damaged area and then sawed between the dime-sized holes, connecting the dots until they were able to pop the skull off to expose the brain. The middle branch had punched a clean circular hole in the skull and was lodged about an inch into my brain and the third branch had penetrated the skull too, but pieces of bone were still between the branch and the brain. Clean up was going to be a lot easier with this third branch. They had to check to make sure there weren’t any splinters that would cause a secondary infection. The team struck a perfect balance of being thorough without leaving my brain exposed to the elements any longer than absolutely necessary. Dr. Souslian and his team did the most outstanding job anyone could ask for under the circumstances. While I was in the post-op ICU a new face came to visit. Dr. Spier was from Craig Rehabilitation Hospital. He was supposed to represent the beginning of what I was told would be a long and trying recovery.
After a little over a week at St. Anthony’s I was transferred to Craig Rehab, where the “real work” would begin. As I was unloaded from the ambulance that toted me across town, I was greeted by the onboarding staff. “Hey Jamo. Welcome to Craig. We’re going to help you get back on your feet.” I assumed that was a pun but might have been a slip up as I was currently occupying a wheelchair. “We’re going to work as a team to assess you over the next six months, give a clear diagnosis and help you overcome any hurdles we may encounter.” From the start the Craig team was clearly managing expectations while still being very upbeat and optimistic. They wanted me to live as normal a life as possible. I wanted to get home to Aspen as quickly as possible. Whatever I had to do. Just a couple weeks after the country was officially locked down, Craig was inpatient only. Everyone who did not have to be there was locked out, no visitors, which frustrated a lot of the patients, but I was stoked. No time to wallow, I had a full and vibrant life to get back to! I could concentrate all my efforts on getting better and going home.
With staff out numbering patients, the hospital put together more programs for me than patients received under normal circumstances. I had three speech therapy sessions a day along with PT, OT and a sort of elective hour when I could choose which therapy I wanted to double down on. With fewer patients to keep track of they could be more lenient on other things as well. Like, I was allowed to continue intermittent fasting. I made my own smoothies in my room. The nurses had more time to spend with patients as well and I made a lot of new friends.
After a couple weeks I was making such outstanding progress that all the doctors, nurses and therapists started to wonder how I was seemingly bouncing back so quickly. The first time I mentioned my routine prior to the accident was to one of my favorite nurses, Taylor. We talked about my daily routine which included meditation, lots of reading, regular exertion, no weed or alcohol, intermittent fasting and the big ticket, I was microdosing psilocybin. I heard so many mycologists talk about the nootropic effects of microdosing but now I was a living example. The psilocybin was actively connecting the synapses that had been disturbed by the tree branches that had been abruptly lodged into my brain. The doctors were reluctant to make such a bold claim based on one unrepeatable anecdote but would admit that it was at least possible that my microdosing regimen was more beneficial than harmful. I took that as doctor code for “We can’t responsibly credit psilocybin but maybe it didn’t hurt” I know it didn’t hurt. I was sold. More research has come out to support what was already beginning to emerge then. The microdoses worked to bypass the missing brain matter, rerouting new neuro-pathways and strengthening those new synapses. I decided I wanted to expose more people to the benefits of mushrooms.
It’s not just psilocybin! There are so many healthy benefits to all kinds of mushrooms. The cell wall of mushrooms are a complex carbohydrate called polysaccharides that have been linked to various health benefits such as anti-tumor, antioxidants, antiviral, hypoglycemic and immunomodulatory effects. Studies of Lions Mane show it improves memory, focus and concentration and actively regenerates brain cells (hericenones and erinacines promote nerve growth factor production). Cordyceps boosts energy, respiratory and kidney health. Oyster mushrooms contain antioxidants that are known to support heart health, a robust immune system and blood sugar control. The beta-glucans even help lower cholesterol. Even your basic button mushrooms improve immune function, and may even be able to prevent cancer cells from forming. I genuinely believe there to be a lost connection between mushrooms and humans. This is the prime time to dive into the wild world of mushrooms. I want to be a part of that exploration.
After a month and a half, it was obvious I was not only recovering at an unprecedented pace, but it looked like a full recovery might even be possible! I wasn’t there yet, not even close but the rate at which I was recovering suggested it could happen. Six months was now two. We started prepping for me to go back to Aspen. Priority: expedite my prosthetic skull from the German manufacturer. Dr. Spier’s team and I designated a Primary Care Physician, reached out to let them about the accident, the unique-to-me signs to watch for and scheduled the appointment to take my post-op staples out. My mom flew back up for the last few days at Craig and to be there for my skull replacement surgery back at St. Anthony’s. The team went over everything with her as well; seizure protocols, how to identify prosthetic rejection, heat coming from the surgical site, swelling, headache, slurred speech, dissociative behavior. I can’t say enough amazing things about Craig. I worked out a place to rent in town that was closer to the Hospital; if there were an emergency I wouldn’t be on the side of the mountain, with a high consequence drive on dirt roads, at the cabin alone. I was actually taking George’s place in the house. My new roommates all worked at the hospital and were getting the scoop from George since the day of the accident.
After Dr. Souslian’s team implanted my new skull, I had to stay in the hospital until my brain drain was clear of CSF, cerebral spinal fluid. The same fluid as a spinal tap. Once I was cleared to go, three days post op, I walked out on my own, no assistance required! My mom drove from St Anthony’s immediately back to Aspen. We got in just after dark but the first thing I did the next morning was I went to see my dogs! My dear friends Laura and John took care of my dogs, Sarge and Beb, for the two months I was at Craig. Then we made the rounds to all the usual spots. Stapleton Ski, Aspen Bikes, the properties I managed in town, lunch at Jour de Fete, we filled prescriptions, checked in with my PCP, and had a pretty full day. I was most eager about my last adventure of the day, I went up to the cabin and got my “Protocol” tin, my microdoses! Day two, back on my microdose, I was determined to get to the top of something. I chose a small little ridge sticking out of the valley floor like a hangnail, called Red Butte. There are a few technical sections and the majority of the trail is along a cliff edge, facts that did not ease my mother’s concerns, I thought it a perfect trail to further my rehabilitation. She lived in Aspen for a year with my dad in the 70s so she understood the objective, but she had only been at altitude for a couple days and was relieved when we ran into my buddy Wiley on the trail rehabbing a lumbar fusion operation he just had.
Mom was happy I found a rehab partner and she didn’t have to watch me try to prove I was okay. Wiley is a Freak as well. He skied for the US Ski Team for 10+ years. In fact, Sam was his ski tech for a few seasons. We started hiking Red Butte together a couple times a week. By August I climbed Castle and Conundrum, two 14ers connected by a rock scramble saddle. Microdosing psilocybin saved my life. At the very least it brought me back to my life.
That summer I also started growing my own mushrooms. First attempt, BRF jars. That went swimmingly but the yields were very small. Then I tried TubTek. Again, success, so I dove in. I got in the weeds, studying all the ins and outs of the substrates and the grains. Hydration levels, cook times and temps at altitude, ALL the various contaminations, tested a bunch of substrate recipes for optimal mushroom growth. I’ve seen everything from a “burnt” mushroom because the substrate was too “hot”, to the benign fuzzy feet from high humidity and low FAE. I spent years learning how to grow the perfect Psilocybe cubensis mushroom culminating in me winning a couple top awards in Denver’s Psychedelic Cup in November of 2024. I admit I got a little obsessed. It was probably the microdoses.
Thank you to North Spore for supporting me and my endeavors. I have run into so many characters on this new path I find myself on, as you can imagine, and most everyone in the community has been extremely supportive of anyone genuinely interested in mushrooms. North Spore has been no exception. I was up front with them that I was looking to offer a competitive product and they not only encouraged me to keep pushing but they brought me in the fold. I look forward to a symbiotic relationship for many years to come. Amazing people, making mushrooms mainstream, just like me!
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A poignant example of why #spreadthespore is such a wonderful mission to be a participant in.... Very cool, and as soon as I can, I'm going to get some of that HB-4!