Scouting: Scouter: Philmont 2004 Crew 801-O

Philmont Scout Ranch (Cimarron, NM) – July 31 – August 13, 2004

This trip to Philmont was the realization of a dream 25 years earlier when I passed up an opportunity to go as a young adult leader for a nearby troop who had one of their adults drop out one week before departure.

Getting There (top)

Several of the boys wanted to fly, but I wasn’t keen on taking 10 boys with backpacks through the airport in the post 9/11 security era. Plus we would have had to rent vans or charter a bus for the 3-4 hour ride after we land as the nearest airports, Colorado Springs and Albuquerque, were still quite a ways away from the ranch. As it turns out Mr. Pawloski got the group rate from Amtrak that was about half the cost of flying so we ended up booking our crew on the train to Raton, NM. The first leg was to get to Union Station in Chicago. So we all met at the Fox Lake Metra commuter station as that line goes directly into Union Station. It was a tearful farewell for many moms as their young men debarked on a long trek far away. Pam was among them.

We arrived at Union Station with no problems. I was actually starting to relax and get a little excited about the trip, finally!

When we arrived at Union Station, we discovered the train was going to be an hour late, an inconvenience but not too bad. So we took turns going to lunch. I was able to splurge on one of my favorite Chicago specialties, Gold Coast Char Dogs! Everyone else went to McDonalds. Jimmy and Tim also went to Krispy Kreme donuts and split a whole dozen between the two.

The train ride out was mostly uneventful. The coaches were hard to sleep in as the air conditioning was cranked up and new passengers boarding at stops along the way kept waking us up. There was an especially loud family that boarded at Kansas City that roused the whole coach. I faired well as I happened to have a pair of ear plugs in my day bag. They were actually left over from our very first summer camp at Tesomas. Don Wright gave them to me because I was tenting with Al Skolnik, who is notorious for extra load snoring. This was the second time I employed them as I used the same pair at Devils Lake earlier in the year to block out the noise of the heron colony. Joe loves trains so he really enjoyed this part of the trip. And the final approach through the Raton Pass was very pretty. It was exciting to finally see the mountains and to start thinking about the days ahead.

Base Camp – Trail Bound (top)

There were two other troops aboard the train heading into Philmont. We all loaded up into two yellow school buses the camp sent out and made a quick stop for a fast food lunch, then off to base camp. The highway from Raton to Cimarron heads south along the eastern edge of the mountains. It’s all flat plains. In fact, Cimarron’s city motto is “Where the Rockies meet the plains.” So were driving through large open range with the mountains rising up on our left. The grass was green because they had a fair amount of rain this season compared to three years of drought. The Sun Flowers were in bloom everywhere smearing broad yellow streaks atop the green fields. Pronghorn antelope could be seen grazing in the rich grasses.

Our route took us through the town of Cimarron. This town is steeped in cowboy history and tradition. Billy the Kid and his gang were from the area and are buried in a nearby town. They made their mark during the 15 year Colfax County land war with the Maxwell Land Grant company. Black Jack, Bat Masterson, Wild Bill Hitchcock and Calamity Jane all spent time in this dusty little stage stop. Cimarron was an alternate gateway over the Rockies for the famed Santa Fe Trail. So it was a wild little town in its day. Now it’s a sleepy little hamlet that still caters to cowboys ... and now Boy Scouts.

Once we arrived at base camp, things immediately ramped up to a hectic level. The sense of urgency and regimented schedule did not let up or change for a few days. We meet our ranger, Andy. Andy comes from a coal mining community in Pennsylvania. This was his first year as a ranger but had completed two treks at Philmont as a scout. Our tardiness put us in hyper mode trying to get through all of the check in stops; logistics for itinerary confirmation and updates, services to check out the crew gear, security for the crew lockers, outbound tent assignments, health lodge, dinner than opening campfire. Andy did his best to keep us on track, squeezing in "ranger training" between each activity. The next morning we rush through breakfast, shakedown packing, lunch and catch the bus! At every break in between, Andy would announce it’s time for more ranger training. Uugggh!

Finally, we boarded the bus to our drop off point, Six Mile Gate. Our driver was Marilyn, the same driver that picked us at the train in Raton. She was a riot, pointing out points of interests, “There’s Baldy! There’s Black Mountain!” and so on. We rolled through Cimarron, which didn’t take too long, then a few miles south of town, she turned west on the gravel road towards the Rockies and our starting point, Six Mile Gate.

So we arrived and our trek officially began. Thank goodness! Joe started as Navi-guesser but not until Andy added a few more ranger training points. The most important lesson he taught us was how to use a stick to chase away spiders from the rim of the Red Roof Inn (a.k.a. Kybo). I never saw spiders, but I did chase away some beige crickets first thing in the morning a few times!

The hardest part was locating the trailhead. Andy let us head down the wrong trail for a short way before the crew realized we weren't on the right track. So we had to back track a few hundred yards to start down the right trailhead! But we did catch the trail and were on our way. Right off the bat we had to cross the river several times. This is when I leaned why our waterproof boots were a perfect buy! Our first stop was at the T-rex tracks. It’s an important archeological find as the impression in ancient mud is so complete it helped scientist complete their reconstruction of T-Rex morphology. Looking at it was unimpressive at first until you unfocussed your eyes, sort of like those 3-D images. Once you figure it out, it’s pretty cool.

Anasazzi (top)

This day’s hike was less than two miles and would be by far the easiest we would have the entire trek. We arrived at our first camp, Ansazzi late in the afternoon. We stopped at the staff cabin for our first porch talk but the staff seemed board and it was pretty unimpressive. So we headed to our first night campsite and had more “Ranger Training!” Andy went through the Bear-muda triangle, setting up bear bags and putting up the dining fly the Philmont way. Our crew struggled through it and they seemed disinterested. They even scoffed at his attempt to encourage them by claiming one of his crews set up their fly in 35 seconds. I think think their dismissive attitude stemmed from finally being overwhelmed with information overload on the "Philmont Way." It's an awful lot of information and sensory input for a 24 hour period. However, later in our trek, our guys whooped and hollered when they finally did set up the fly in 35 seconds. After teaching us the one pot cooking method and some more Ranger Training, we finally hit the sack. It was a relatively easy day, but the hectic schedule and altitude were taking its toll on us.

Indian Writings (top)

We got up late and were late breaking camp. As a result, we didn’t get to Indian Writings until 8:30 a.m. even though it was another easy two-mile day. On the way we passed the archeological dig site from an old Anasazzi Indian home. It is no longer an active site so a pavilion over the dig protects it as an educational tool for scouts. I looked about the canyon floor and tried to imagine it as a small settlement with a few families planting several fields of corn, their main food source. The canyon widens here with a decent sized flood plain. The small river provides a constant source of water for the crops and their families. It’s a nice cozy spot to live, but I’m sure it was not easy.

Arriving that late caused a problem as we were to do our required conservation project that morning but learned that we had to be at the site 3 miles up the road in half an hour. Se we dropped our packs and loaded up our fanny packs with rain gear, water and first aid kit and took off. It wasn’t long before we split into two groups, the older more athletic half out distancing the younger and less fit half, including myself. Fortunately, the jackrabbits in our group get there in time to get us into the morning session; otherwise we’d have to sit and wait for the afternoon session and blow our whole day. Us turtles filter in about 5-10 minutes later, then we sit through an hour lecture on the Ponil fire, the damage done and why, and what we were going to do to help the area recover.

The charred remains of the pine trees were impossible to ignore, but the true extent of the damage wouldn’t hit home for me until later on when we crossed over into the central section of Philmont, which did not burn. In total, over 28,000 acres of Philmont burned in the Ponil Complex Fire in 2002, a full third of Philmont’s total land holdings. Flash floods and soil erosion are a major problem since the fire. The river flooded last week following a rain with a five-foot wall of water. The downstream community of Springer was having water problems because of the silting in the watershed. This mornings task was to move a pile of straw bales across the river, then about halfway up the canyon wall and then over about 200 yards. The afternoon crew would seed, rake and spread the straw.

But we first sat through an hour long lecture on the dynamics of Philmont’s pyro-ecology and how lack of land management and decades of fire suppression policy allowed way too much fuel load to accumulate on the forest floor, leading to the large scale fire they experienced. The staff also explained the various selective lumbering techniques they’ve tried with different levels of success. Today they hire a timber company to selective cut trees they mark. The company then chips and sprays the slash to help return some of the nutrients into the soil. Prescribed burning is not realistic in New Mexico as it requires a separate permit and fee for each acre of burn. With over 98,000 acres, this is not practical. That’s a shame as I personally feel that such a policy is the best as it replicates the natural ecology of the area. Spreading wood chips does not.

After the lecture we took a 10 minute hike over to the work site where we got our first look at the mountain of hay bales we were to move. Each bale weighed about 35 pounds. My heart was pounding after carrying the first one over the river. Then a staff man said they had enough workers carrying across and instructed some of us to carry them up and then over. It was my first time heading up hill going up the side of a canyon, but it would definitely not be my last. Joey carried one over then started to feel the effects of his allergies kick in so he stopped.

After wrangling about eight bales up and over, I headed back down where I met up with Bob. He was doubled over in pain. He said he re-injured an old high school football injury, a dislocated rib. I asked him what he wanted to do. He said the only true cure is several sessions with his chiropractor, but he’d take some Advil back at our campsite and see how he feels later.

We eat our lunch at the conservation lecture site and start the three mile hike back. It’s mid-afternoon and we’re all beat from the race to the site earlier and the actual service project. So we it takes us a good hour to make it back. Back at Indian Writings, the crew decides to pass up the petroglyphs and dig tour as they’re too tired. It’s Andy’s last night with us and he runs through the last of the requisite ranger training. Bob takes several Advil and says he’ll sleep on it tonight and see how he feels in the morning.

In the morning, Bob says he didn’t sleep at all and that he cannot continue. He said he doubts he could even do it without a pack on his back. Furthermore, he says his son Jimmy has decided that he won’t continue if his dad goes home. I twice mention to Jimmy that it’s not too late to change his mind, but he doesn’t. So we break camp and head back to the cabin to radio the health lodge. They say that they are sending a truck with a chaplain and that the crew should wait. Basically, they wanted the chaplain to make sure Bob wasn’t being forcing Jimmy off the trail and to go home with him. We took advantage of the wait and toured the small shack that serves as a make-shift museum. I had a nice chat with the staff archeologist who suggested we could take the 9:00 a.m. tour while waiting for the chaplain. But he arrived at 8:45 and met with both Bob and Jimmy and determined that Jimmy was deciding on his own to remove himself.

So they both got in the Suburban and headed back down to base camp. I’ll never forget the image of the two of them sitting in the back seat. Eighteen months of preparation and anticipation were all for naught. In a few moments it was abruptly over for them. They suddenly looked isolated from the rest of us. There was a clear distinction between those coming off the trail and those forging on. Suddenly, I was now the sole adult for the crew with nine youth.

Base camp advised us to continue on and to camp with 801-E, our sister crew from California. They were on the same itinerary as we were and so we could camp with them and have 3 adults. They said they would see if they could provide a ranger with us later to help ensure we have proper two-deep leadership. So we said our goodbyes and Andy headed back down to base camp were he would pickup his next crew. So we started off on our way to Ponil.

Ponil (top)

Pat was the day’s navi-guesser and started off by missing the trail. We tried what looked like a trail up a gully, but the jumble of huge rocks soon proved that it wasn’t the right way. The fire has caused a lot of erosion and run offs from the rains created a lot of false trails, smooth paths of sand washed down from above that lead back upwards. I knew that the trail started back near the cabin, but let them flounder a bit as was advised on the Philmont email list. It’s a way to let them learn on their own rather than be told by an adult what to do all the time. Of course the down side of this approach is that you end up doing a lot more hiking when mistakes are made. This time we added an extra mile, not too bad. So we started our first serious climb upward.

I had studied the map before we arrived and I knew this was to be one of our hardest days. It was six miles of hiking and were climbing to the top of Hart Peak, around 8,000 feet. It was hard and slow going, but the views kept improving as we continued upwards. We reached the peak around 1:00 p.m., the hottest part of the day and had our lunch at top. It was here that we got our first real view of the North Country. We could see Baldy and Black Mountain in the distance. Multiple ridges and canyons spread out around us, several had afternoon storms dousing their heads and flanks. Joey lit up as he took in the view. For the first time he realized how beautiful Philmont could be and that there was a reward for toughing it out and busting your butt and the climb. Heading downhill after lunch was easier, but we were still beat as we finally stepped off the trail near the corrals at Ponil. It was late afternoon and the sky was darkening with the threat of rain so we were anxious as we headed to the cabin for our porch talk.

One of the camp staff, Eric, gave the porch. He was the most energetic staff member I had ever seen. A stark contrast to our crew. We were beat after our first hard day on the trail. He gave us our choice of campsites; continuing to the east up the canyon was the site they called The Meadows, up the canyon wall due north of the porch was the Penthouse, and back the way we came put up the south rim was Skyline. The crew chose Skyline because it sat just off the trail we were to take in the morning to Dean Cow. So up the trail we go to set up our site. We got to choose because 801-E arrived before us but took their scheduled horse ride in the afternoon and had not returned yet.

The first two nights we camps down on the canyon floor with tons of cottonwoods, sunflowers and ragweed. It was at our site at Ponil that we camped amongst the charred trunks of burned Ponderosa Pines when it really hit home on how much damage the fire had done. We had hiked all day and almost every tree as far as we could see was a blackened stick. The staff at the cons area told us that they were actually still alive living off of their reserves. But they would be completely dead in a few years since they had no needles for photosynthesis and no needles would grow back because of the fire damage to the buds.

We set up camp and grabbed our dirty clothes and toiletries to head back down to the shower before five so we could use soap (Camp Suds). 801-E, or Echo as we started to call them, were just cresting up the trail into the site as we were getting ready to leave. It also started to rain. So Aaron asked for volunteers to help them set up their camp. About half of the crew decided to stay and help and the rest, including me, went down to the showers. The hot shower sure felt good after a few hot days on the trail. But we had to hurry as it was soon time for the chuck wagon dinner.

It was only beef stew but it was nice to have a hot meal that didn’t start out as dried bits in a bag. There were about a dozen crews there all gulping down Dinty Moore beef stew seasoned with Tony’s and washing it down with Gatorade, the drink of choice on the trail. Then Kyle, one of the staff, called out for a volunteer crew to finish the pot and that he would take care of that crew at the cantina that night. Of course Alex, who I still called “Horse” from Owasippe earlier in the year, jumped up and ran over to the huge pot yelling at the rest of the crew to follow. So there they were stuffing their faces, bowl after bowl. Later, Horse actually barfed it all back up while running back down the trail from our campsite. (Into a plastic baggie as it was a smellable) I’m sure the others wish they had too.

Joe and I headed over to the cantina and I bought us a round of root beer that I had promised him earlier. It sure tasted great. Alex and Aaron came in and took turns playing a few tunes on the old piano in the back corner. Joe and I left for a bit to gather our drying clothes. We also stopped to brand our hats before heading back to the cantina. By then, all of the crew migrated into the cantina and settled in at a table near the back door in the corner to play cards. Kyle came in later and true to his word delivered root beer and peanuts to the crew for their heroic eating adventure. Horse told and retold his story on heaving the contents of his stomach into a baggie without even slowing down a step as he ran down. He was particularly proud of himself because you’re supposed to clean up and carry out any barf while on the trail. And since he barfed in the bag, he had no clean up at all. AND he made it down to the cantina in time for his free root beer and peanuts! I'm still amazed that they could find a way to consume rootbeer and peanuts after eating bowlfulls of beef stew!

About an hour later, members of Ponil’s staff made their way into the cantina and the slowly started to gather near the piano with a guitar and a drum. The piano started with a ditty, then the drum joined in, then after a while the guitar fell in line with the other two. The show had begun! They played a few songs, including “Sweet Home Alabama,” which made me think of my wife, Pam, as that is one of her favorites. And a John Prine tune, “Angel From Montgomery.” Then they did a cowboy version of Romeo and Juliet with Kyle donning a dress and looking a little too good to many of the trail weary men in the crowd! They then closed with a few more songs, A parable from the camp director, Jeff, about gathering as many “nuggets” as they could while on the trail, and finally a sweet rendition of “Silver on the Sage.” It was a great show and likely everyone’s highlight of the trek.

The next morning I rushed down to help cook pancakes and sausage for the chuck wagon breakfast. Actually, I did an assortment of chores, including mixing the drink mix and getting the wash water ready while other advisors cooked. After breakfast, we headed to the corral for our ride. Joe rode a horse named Windy and I was on Strawberry. We rode up the trail towards Dean Skyline, right past our campsite. This was the trail we were to hike up in a few hours. On one hand, it was cool to get a preview, but on the other hand, we wish we had our packs with so we could drop them off at the top. Alex, a.k.a. “Horse,” rode right behind me and was getting grossed out by Strawberry who had a bad case of gas. Every few minutes I’d hear Alex yelling about my horse’s body functions. I couldn’t help but laugh every time.

The ride up was pleasant. We kept climbing up the trail higher and higher. The trees were still charred poles, but the wildflowers were splashing color everywhere. I have never seen such a profusion of colors and they were everywhere. In some places, the flowers seemed to have been placed among rocks as if a landscape architect had designed a series of gardens along the trail. But no landscaper could have constructed such a beautiful display as were treated to; a tapestry of red, pink, purple and white on our right and the wide expansive vista of Ponil Canyon and the mountains beyond on our left. Breathtaking! We eventually made it to the top and looped around to head back down. This is when we started to wish we had our packs with us!

Afterwards, we made our way back from the corral, Joe told me that he was feeling bad. He was a little vague at first but it started to come out that the symptoms pointed to altitude sickness. The horse ride up the canyon wall must have triggered it.

So he and I headed to the staff cabin to talk to the camp director. He took some of Joe’s vitals and confirmed my assumption that it was a mild case of altitude sickness. Mild is a relative term as to Joe it was anything but mild, but it was mild in terms of being a danger to him. Jeff, the CD, said he could call the health lodge but they would likely take him off the trail for a few days and they would try to hook him back up with the crew later on. Or he could tough it out and continue on and it would likely go away as his body acclimates to the altitude. It was Joe’s decision.

So we hung around on the porch for a while the crew came down for water and to pick up our next few days food at the commissary. Several guys sat with Joe for a while to make him feel better while he tried to decide what to do. Eventually, we got our supplies and had to head back up to the campsite. Joe decided to try to continue, so I told Jeff and signed our crew out at 12:30 p.m., which gave us a half hour to pack up and hit the trail. But the climb up to the campsite sent Joe’s head pounding and spinning. He was also nauseous and had sharp pains in the side of his torso, just like what happens when run a long time.

We had reached a critical cross road.

As we loaded our packs he came to me and said he didn’t think he could do it. But he didn’t want to quit and he didn’t want to leave me. I was in a bind since Bob had left and I was the only leader I couldn’t leave or the entire crew would have to come off the trail and our trek would basically be over on day three.

His condition was not improving and we were running out of time. We stood of to the side together to talk our way through it. I acknowledge that coming to Philmont was a dream of mine, something he already knew well, but more so I wanted to be there with him and for him to have the experience for his own. So he shouldn't let my feelings or desires confuse his decision and that he had to decide what's best for him. He understood and said that he wanted to complete the trek, not for me, but for himself. To prove that he could do it. But he just couldn’t deal with the altitude sickness. He suddenly broke into tears as did I. He said he just didn’t think he could go on but that he couldn’t bring himself to make the decision to leave.

“I don’t want to leave you, Dad. I don’t want to quit.”

Over and over he repeated that. But then he finally said, “Dad, please tell me to go to the base camp.” He couldn’t do it on his own, he needed my acceptance and urging to do it. I told him that he should go down. That it wasn’t his fault that his body was putting him through this and that I was proud of him for going as far as he could under such a difficult situation.

He was relieved but not consoled. I could see he still was effected by the altitude, his head pounding, upset stomach and sharp pains in his side, but at least we made the decision and now he could go with a free conscience.

So I had him give me his half of the tent and the crew gear he was carrying. I distributed the crew gear among a few of the guys and started to repack my load to include the tarp, poles and stakes, as well as his portion of our food. I was just about done so we could head down to the cabin to radio the health lodge when he spurted out.

“I can’t go. I’m stupid if I quit. I have to finish this now because I’ll never be here again.” Then he loudly announced to the crew, “I’m going!” They didn’t hear the beginning, all they heard was “I’m going,” which they took to mean he was heading to base camp. But that’s not what he meant. He had changed his mind. He had made the decision on his own that he needed to do this, not for me, but for himself. It had become a challenge, a test of his own abilities and a coming of age of sorts. It was the type of decision a man must make in his life. It was a very adult decision and you could see in his demeanor that he made the choice as an adult.

At first I questioned his decision. I didn’t want him to go on if he physically could not do it. And I didn’t want him to do it to please me. As far as I was concerned, I was already proud of him for handling it the way he was and if went back to base camp I would still be proud of him. Plus I didn’t want to jeopardize his health or well being. The camp director described it as a mild case based upon his years of experience, but it could worsen and if his heart wasn’t committed, the combination would be dangerous. But he assured me that he felt that he could manage and that he was doing for himself, not for me.

I compromised by off loading about half of his personal gear and distributing it to myself and a few others to lighten his load. I then gathered the crew and discussed the condition and our strategy to let him lead and set the pace so we don’t puss him too hard or too fast. Then off we went back up the trail we had just rode down on horseback on our way to Dean Cow via the Dean Skyline trail. Only we were leaving at 1:30 p.m. instead of late afternoon as we planned. We didn’t even make the 12:30 p.m. start we reported back at the staff cabin. Oh, well, at least we were going on.

Dean Cow (top)

It was far different viewing the scenery on foot versus up atop a horse’s back. The natural rock garden were still exceptionally beautiful. I was second in line so I could keep tabs on Joey, who was in the lead. He started up slowly but seemed to pick up a little speed after a short while. Then he started to get absolutely giddy, almost too much. I was worried that his new happy-go-lucky attitude and bouncing steps would rub the crew the wrong way as his pack was nearly empty and they were shouldering much of is share. Then I realized that he was acting like someone who has sucked helium from a balloon, sort of light headed and a little goofy. Since his system wasn’t delivering enough oxygen to his body, his brain must be showing the effect as we continue to climb higher. So I shared my thoughts with him and told him to tone it down and to let me know if he experienced any problems because of it. But he just forged on, getting stringer with each turn. Perhaps the worse is over and he’s beginning to acclimate.

Late afternoon we finally reached the horse turn around. And Joe was feeling great! Yea! The horse turn around was as wide as a four-wheel-drive (4WD) road so we started to search for where the regular trail picked up on the back side so we could start our way down. That’s when I realized that we had not reached the top. In fact, we weren’t even close. I let my eyes follow the trail, first down, then across a level saddle before it started to rise again… higher … higher …and higher! Geez! My heart sank as I realized that we had only climbed about a third of the height up. Then I panicked a bit, “How will Joe react.” I gathered the crew and let them in on the bad news. There were some groans, but they all just decided that there was little to do but to put on their packs and keep going. Even Joe wasn’t too fazed by the revelation. I suspect he was still a little high from oxygen deprivation. So up we went.

It was a tough climb, even harder than Hart Peak the day before, but we finally did make the crest. It was not as spectacular as Hart Peak with its 360 degree views. But it was a welcomed sight none the less. We took our dinner break and rested for a “twenty.” Then we picked up our packs and started along the canyon rim.

Jeff, the Ponil camp director explained that there were two trails to Dean Cow. One headed almost straight down from the crest and then went along the canyon floor on a 4WD road. The second followed along the rim and as a long, sloping decent. He said his was easier and a bit faster. So that’s the way we chose. Only I think the trail had changed a bit since he last hiked it. It was a wide, rocky trail that looked more like a 4WD road than a hiking trail. I couldn’t make sense of for a while until it dawned on my that they most likely used it for the fire fight. I envisioned trucks and dozers gouging ruts and breaking rocks, turning the scenic trail into a rugged road that was difficult to walk on. But we managed and felt good that we had finished the climb, all of us together. No we just had to work our way down.

We were walking over an hour on the Skyline when I started to get concerned. It was getting late and clouding over. I watched the afternoon rain clouds form on other nearby ridges and peaks. Dean Skyline is higher than the surrounding ridges so you can see for several miles. And the rain clouds were turning into storms, some with lightning. I was concerned because we were up high, which is dangerous in a lightning storm. So I continually watched the storms and the clouds over head for any sign of lightning. I also kept an eye down either side of the ridge for possible emergency decent paths should the weather worsen requiring us to get down in a hurry. But the weather gods seemed to keep an eye out for us as the storms almost surrounded us but stayed away from our trail. But now I was also concerned at the late hour. I began to wonder at what time they would send out someone to look for us. We were sticking to our planned itinerary and Jeff knew we were going to hike the Skyline, so I knew we would be “found.” But I’d rather get into camp before they start that whole process.

We hiked on and on for hours. Several times our navi-guesser would estimate our position on the map. And each time he was wrong, over estimating our progress. It became obvious that we were inexperience in map reading. It was around 6:30 p.m. when I was finally able to pin point our location. We finally were nearing the end. Soon we’d be down in the canyon with a final short thrust into Dean Cow. A few minutes later we espied the bright blue tarp from the conservation site. The Skyline was an alternate conservation project site based out of Dean Cow. We still had a ways to go but it felt reassuring to find a sign of civilization. After two more bends, we could see the intersecting canyon were our path dove down into Dean Canyon. “Hurrah!,” Well, maybe only a little “hurrah.” We were all beat and tired. This hike was even more difficult than the one over Hart Peak.

The good news is that Joey made it He started to come down from his giddy high just as we neared the top of the ridge on our climb. But he leveled off and kept going. He and I exchanged several “I love you”s on the trail. I was exceptionally proud on how he sucked it up and continued. Especially since he did it for himself, to prove to himself that he could do it and not because I made him do it. I could tell that he was feeling the same way. There’s an aura of confidence one carries when you handle yourself in a tough situation or when you accomplish great things one your own. That’s where he was today.

We entered Harlan and started seeing tents from the different crews camping there. I alerted the crew to keep an eye out for Echo’s tents. They brought their own tents so they stood out from the Phil-tents. I didn’t want to carry my pack to the cabin then double back to the campsite if I didn’t have to. Tim and Alex let out a whoop when the found Echo. They had befriended several members of that crew and were excited to see them again. So we dropped packs and continued on to the cabin. Echo’s leaders were already there for the Advisor coffee as it was 7:30 p.m. already.

So the boys sat through their porch talk and I went up to the porch for a cup of coffee and to ask if they can radio in about our Rent-a-Ranger. The staff called it in and said they’d let us know what the reply was in the morning. It was after 8:00 p.m. by the time I got back to the campsite. Echo returned the favor of the previous day and help us set up our tents this time. There are moments in scouting when you see it come together without urging or prompting and it makes you feel warm and fuzzy. And I needed some warm and fuzzy at that time. We finished setting up camp and taking care of a few odds and ends and went to bed. It didn’t really bother us that we’d missed the rock climbing program at this camp because we were glad to have made it.

I was especially glad Joe made it.

Harlan (top)

Before we turned in that night, Echo’s leaders, Debbie and Donsua, came back from the advisor coffee (I left early) and passed along a message from the staff that we were to wait until 9:00 a.m. the next morning and meet at the staff cabin for word on our rent-a-ranger. The trail up the next canyon wall was right behind the cabin so it was on our way.

Echo left the site before us in the morning and we were breaking camp when two of their crew ran back to let us know we could go ahead and leave and that a ranger would meet up with us at Harlan, our next camp. Great news! So we packed up and hit the trail around 8:30 a.m.

I was catching on that most of our hikes would begin with a steep climb out of a canyon. All of the rivers on this side of the continental divide flow east towards the plains, carving a series of ease/west canyons from the mountains as they flowed. Our itinerary basically started in the north country and we worked our way south, traversing these canyons as we made our way into the central country. So up we went, again!

This climb was more reminiscent of the trails at Devils Lake, only longer. But we were getting better. Joe seemed to have recovered so I returned his gear to him and his half of the food. And we had eaten a few meals so all of our packs were generally lighter than they were yesterday. We got to the top and ran into Echo. They had stopped on top to eat their breakfast. We had ours at Dean Cow anticipating a late start waiting for news on our ranger. But this stop was a “pack off twenty” as we had been hiking for an hour and our previous two breaks were “packs on fives.” So Echo saddled up and went on their way and we sat and rested a while. The rest of the morning would be downhill through Turkey Creek Canyon. Then at the end we had another climb and a short decent into Harlan. It was not a high or rugged as the previous two days hikes, but it would be one of the longest hikes on the trek.

Turkey Creek Canyon was glorious. I’d have to say it was one of the most scenic stretches of trail we hiked. The path twisted back and forth over rock formations, which made the decent tricky, but the path itself was fun and the views of the canyon gorgeous. About half way it broadened out and the path joined up with a 4WD road. I hate hiking on roads. They’re long, dusty and boring.

We stopped for lunch on the road early in the afternoon. It was hot and sunny with no shelter from the sun. Shortly afterwards, as we continued on down, the afternoon rains came. The rain was a welcome relief from the heat. Everything dries in a few minutes in the afternoon heat, so you never worry about getting wet as long as your pack is covered to protect your gear. The only hassle was that the road turned to mud (I hate hiking roads). Soon our boots picked up a few pounds of mud. But the rain stopped and a few minutes later almost everything was dry and we were able to rid our boots of the hitch-hiking soil.

Then, a few mile before the end of the canyon, Tim spotted something moving across the canyon on the other side. It was a bear! Joe and I we ahead of the group a bit so we hurried back to them. He was hard to see at first but we all saw him, a small black bear making his way up the canyon rim. We were amazed at the ease in which he climbed upwards on all four legs. He’d stop every dozen yards or so and look over our way. He knew we were there and wanted to keep tabs on us. But he didn’t seem to worry about too much as he worked his way upward. He headed straight through a cleft between two rock layers where a layer of harder minerals formed a natural barrier half way up the face. He knew exactly where to go in order to get through. He obviously had been this way many times before. He was up and over in short order and we continued our downward path. A couple of the boys, including Joey, were a bit bothered by the sighting. There were bears here after all! The pre-Philmont material I sent and the ranger training from Andy about the Philmont way, the bear-muda triangle and putting all smellables into the bear bag didn’t really sink in until that moment. I assured Joe that there was no danger as long as we continued to follow the rules we were already practicing. But I did notice there was less griping about putting up the bear bags afterwards and every seemed to be a bit more diligent about making sure all smellables were out of the campsite.

The canyon opened up wide near the bottom and the road got easier to hike on. It was ore like a dirt road back home. Once again we ran into sunflowers and ragweed on the valley floor. Then we heard cars and trucks as we neared the highway we were to cross. I was a bit concerned about crossing a busy road, but I needn’t have worried. As we approached the road, the trail turned an went under it using a bridge that crossed a dry river bed as a way to avoid the traffic. A few feet further we came upon the Cimarron River. Several boys needed water, including Joe who drank like a fish and was definitely “Double C” material (clear and copious urine is a sign of proper hydration). So we broke out the filter and started to refill several water containers. Joe and I tried to balance on some rocks as we attempted to refill his hydration bladder when he dropped it into the river. We recovered it quickly but had to treat the bag with Polar Pure iodine as the river water contaminated the entire bag! We should have borrowed a Nalgene bottle to filter into as it fits the filter better, then pour it into the bladder. Oh, well, you live and learn.

A mile or so later we started our hike up the next ridge. I noticed one big difference though, there were green trees. We had crossed over the southern edge of the extent of the Ponil Complex fire. Turkey Creek Canyon wasn’t burned either, but it didn’t sink into my brain until now as we entered under the shade of pine trees and got some relief from the sun. So up and up we went... again.

It was late in the day when we finally made it into camp. The climbs weren’t as bad but the miles took their toll. Our new rent-a-ranger and friend, Mark Spencer, met us at the cabin for our porch talk. We were too late for the shotgun program, but we would have plenty of time tomorrow as our next camp, Deer Lake, was short two mile hike. Plus there was no program at Deer Lake so we could leave late in the afternoon and still get there with plenty of time to set up. So the crew decided that everyone could sleep in tomorrow and we’d do the program later in the morning.

The next morning, after sleeping in late, Joey and I walked on down to the shotgun range. Joe started to complain again, just like at Indian Writings, and he said he was feeling bad again. I didn’t like the sound of that. We had to wait a few minutes for two other crews to come down and get settled before we could shoot. We each shot three rounds of three shells. I pegged a few clay pigeons but Joe shot better than I. His first shot shattered a pigeon into tiny pieces. Then on his second round he went three for three! He said that pumped him up. “It’s a good way to get your frustrations out.”

But the half mile climb up the trail back to the campsite quickly drained all of the positive energy out of him. Clearly the altitude was effecting him again. He progressively got worse as the morning wore on. Then at lunch, he sipped some water from his bladder that was treated with Polar Pure. He said he was going to throw up. Fortunately I was standing by my pack and grabbed a Ziploc from my front pocket. He felt a bit better, but not much. It started to rain so we had him lie down under the fly and covered him as he was chilled. We decided it wasn’t going to get any better so we went down to the cabin to call the health lodge. The camp director took his vitals and discovered his blood pressure had soared, not a good thing. So they were going to send someone to “check him out.” But Joe and I both knew that there was little choice but to send him down to base camp.

So we sat there together waiting for the truck to arrive. It was tough. He had come so far since Ponil that we thought it was over. He still didn’t want to go. He promised he’d be back and that he WAS NOT going to get on that train home without me. He wanted to stand on the Tooth of Time together. We were both in tears. I couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving and going down alone. I knew that it happens every day and that most scouts don’t have their parent on the trail. But I was still torn. I couldn’t leave with him or the entire crew would have to come off the trail and essentially end the trek. It was one of the lowest points in my life. I had come to be there with my son, not to hike Philmont alone. And I was scared that I was making the wrong decision. Maybe I should go down with him, even if it meant the crew came off the trail too. But I knew logically that I’d be useless down there and he’d be alright. But my heart was taking a beating and my body shook from the quiet sobbing. I walked away a bit so no one would notice.

I don’t accurately remember how we got his gear. I think I remember Mark went back to camp to get Joe’s pack. But soon the entire crew came running down the trail. They wanted to come and make sure they saw Joe off and wish him luck. Joe was impressed that they made the extra effort to see him off. As the truck started to pull away he promised he’d be back. I had to turn and walk away so the rest of the crew wouldn't see me cry. I’ve only cried like that a few times in my life and I hope I never experience that pain again.

So we hefted our packs on our backs and started off for Deer Lake Mesa late in the afternoon. I took the lead so now one could see my tears. It was the shortest hike of the trek, but it was the longest walk I’ve ever taken in my life.

Deer Lake (top)

Deer Lake Mesa is a relatively flat top mount that has a concave dish sculpted out of its top by wind erosion that fills up with rain water. It’s not much of a lake, but it looked beautiful in the long, low angles of the late afternoon setting sun. The shallow lake is surrounded by a round expanse of grass with a final ring of pine trees circling the rim as a backdrop. There we several dozen cattle grazing peacefully in this bucolic setting. Everyone commented that this was the nicest campsite so far.

We set up quickly and ate our diner on some rocks over looking the lake and the cattle. There was nothing to do so we prepared for and early bed time as the next day’s hike to Sawmill was going to be tough. We held our “Buds, Thorns & Roses” session and almost everyone listed Joe’s departure as there Thorn. Then Alex, our crew Chaplain, led the crew in a prayer, and several offered their own special prayer that Joey return to the crew safely. Then they all thanked me for my courage to stay with the crew so they could continue. I never made an issue about my choices, I didn’t even think they knew that that was a potential outcome, but they were very appreciative of my sacrifices. They would pray for Joey every evening following that night, an act that touched me and comforted me at a low point. How ironic to be at such a beautiful spot while your heart yearns to get away, to be somewhere else.

As the sun finally dropped below the horizon, we watched a spectacular storm just to the north of us. It was a huge monster of a cloud system slowly lumbering away from the mountains out onto the plains. The last light from the sun highlighted the huge anvil shaped thunderhead. You could see the streaks of rain pouring down from the leading edge. It was almost as if we were watching an animated school movie on weather. Mark tried to capture some of the spectacular lightning displays on his digital camera, but none of the shots came close to representing the awesome magnitude of power when the entire cloud formation would go bright as if it were being lit up from the inside.

The storm distracted me for a while, but it passed and I was drained, so I headed for my tent. I cried myself to sleep that night.

Saw Mill (top)

I awoke with new hope. Mark had said we could call in to health lodge from the Ute Gulch Commissary. We stop there on our way up to Sawmill to pick up the remainder of out food for the trek. I was holding on to the prospect of getting good news about his condition and his eventual return to the trek.

The first half of the hike to the commissary is all downhill. Early on we slowly descend down the side of a high ridge hat overlooks the Cimarroncito valley. We were treated to some of the most breathtaking views of the trip. We could see the Tooth of Time Ridge for the first time since Hart Peak. It loomed so much closer now. There was also Shaefer’s Peak, Touch Me Not Mountain and all of the other peaks of central Philmont. We were getting better at hiking now and were making good time, even considering that we were going downhill. We made the commissary late morning and I rushed to the staff to ask them to radio in on Joe’s condition and to see when and where we’d hook up with him. The reply was maybe tomorrow at Cimerroncito. That was great news to my ears!

So I went to the trading post and picked up a few things for him, some Tylenol, replacement shoelaces, as one of his were starting to break, and a replacement cap for his platypus bag. Then I saw he pile of food for “our tent.” Since we might get him back tomorrow I had to take almost all of it. I did ask Mark to take a few bags as we’d share at least the next three meals. I then went through each bag and pulled out food items neither Joe nor I cared for and dumped them in the swap box. I also swapped the canned chicken for a couple of canned hams I found in the swap box. We both liked the ham so I figured it would be a good switch. We also filled up our water here for the long journey up to Sawmill.

I almost staggered when I swung my pack back on. It weighed more right now than ever before. I didn’t have much in crew gear, as the rest of the crew lightened my load, just a pot and spoon, but I had the full tent, full water and almost all of the food for two, and the food was heavy! But I figured I carried extra weight over the Dean Skyline, so I should be able to manage it again up to Sawmill.

Logistics had advised Aaron to take the trail up through Grouse Canyon as it was the most scenic, and they were right. The trail immediately dove up a narrow canyon with huge walls of rock climbing steeply on each side. The trail criss-crossed the swift stream several times as it steadily climbed upwards; and it kept climbing upwards and upwards. The trail almost never stopped going up. The grade was not too steep when it met up with Sawmill Canyon, which was a bit wider but still narrow in comparison to the other canyons we had been in so far, ... but the trail kept climbing upwards.

The ecosystem here was far different from the other canyons as well. There were a lot of aspens and dense underbrush. The woods in the canyon resembled a northern forest instead of a southwest mountain forest. I would guess that the narrow canyon walls trapped more moisture than the surrounding canyons. It was the first time I felt humidity on the trip. The steep sides also keep it cooler as the sun heats the inside only while at its peak. So I think the cool, moist weather accounted for the far different landscape before us.

...and still we climbed.

We had been warned that the last bit of the climb up to sawmill was steep and tough, but to me the tougth part started about half way up. We were tacking a “twenty” a few minutes past the Websters Park trail junction when I felt my insides flip. I knew I couldn’t wait until the next pilot-to-bombardier so I got the trowel and TP from Alex and headed off into the woods to dig a cat hole. And not a moment too soon! Just what I needed, not! Jacob had taken the first aid kit from me and it was buried under the food we had picked up. So I couldn’t get to the Imodium AD so I took a couple of chewable Pepto Bismal tablets from my pack and hoped it would work well enough. But I soon found that I needed to stop again. Luckily we had just reached Lower Sawmill camp and I found the pilot-to-bombardier. Then again a short time later when we reached Upper Sawmill. And all the while we were climbing upwards and the trail was getting steeper and rockier. I just kept my thoughts on the hope of seeing Joe the next day and continued on by placing one foot in front of the other as I knew that my path back to him was up this hill to Sawmill.

Then I twisted my inside of my right ankle on a rock in the trail. I knew it was bad but I didn’t realize how bad until later when we reached Sawmill. I think my adrenaline from the climb and my concentrated focus on keeping my insides inside covered the pain and discomfort to some extent. I was hobbling a bit but didn’t ever think of stopping or of not being able to make it. I suddenly realized how painful it was when we finally made it to the top and were able to drop packs. But I didn’t dwell on it as I needed to find the Red Roof Inn!

When I returned, Toby had just finished giving our crew the porch talk and was leading them next door to show us how to reload 30.06 cartridges. He took a look at me and said, “You don’t look so good. Are you alright?” I wasn’t feeling well at all, but Jacob had dug out the Imodium and I downed them with a bottle of Gatorade so I was hoping I’d feel better soon. Toby suggested I sit down if I needed to, but the only chair in the shed was busted! So I leaned up against the wall as Toby ran us through the process of reloading the ammo. The one rule he insisted upon was that every cartridge get lubricated before we reform it because otherwise it might get jammed in the machine and it would take him hours to fix. Tim warned that he should pay close attention to Alex. Of course, even forewarned, "Horse" started to reform a shell without lubrication and almost jammed the machine. Luckily, he was able to back it out.

Then we were off for the shooting range. First we had to climb up the trail to the campsites about a half mile further. Then turn left and go about ¾ mile down the trail to the range. We should have taken our packs with to drop at the sites, but either didn’t think of it or decided against it. I don’t recall which it was as I was trying to focus on just getting my body up the trail. My stomach was finally feeling better but my ankle was hurting real bad now. On our way past the campsites, we got our first glimpse at the wood burning boiler for the shower. Oh, a hot shower would feel so good!

It was a long ¾ mile to the range, but we had a riot there. Tim put a pair of his shorts on the metal target. The first shot went through, hit the metal and fragmented. The fragments than exploded, shredding a huge hole in his shorts. He announced he was going to wear them on the train, so I told Mark, “He’s not going to wear them on the train. Shot them up.” So we proceeded to nail his shorts. I was getting pretty good at it, sending them flying twenty feet in the air almost every time I hit them. He didn’t wear them on the train.

Alex put out a deck of cards but couldn’t hit them. Finally Mark nailed them with a shot right through the Ace of Hearts. The shot sent the whole deck fluttering in the air. The entire crew went down to help play “52 card pick up”, only the 52 cards were in 5,200 pieces!

I hobbled back to the campsites where they sat me down at our site and said they’d bring up my pack. But I walked around a bit picking up firewood for the boiler. Echo had just finished their showers and were washing some clothes. I wanted to be sure there was enough hot water for us. The crew came up a little later with my pack.

Only two of us took showers, the others decided to wait until morning, which would prove to be a big mistake. The boiler feeds a holding tank of several hundred gallons. So even if the fire is stoked in the morning, it take dozens of showers to drain the cold water out of the tank before it gets warm. But that wasn’t my problem. I needed that shower and it felt so good. The steaming hot water on my ankle soothed the pain (and the Ibuprophen helped too).

Mark said we had a fairly easy hike to Websters Park and since it was an un-staffed camp with little to do, we decided to leave around lunchtime. That gave everyone a chance to take their showers. It also gave me time to wash and dry my clothes. It was fun to watch the crew restart the fire in the boiler. There’s a length of electrical pipe stuck into a hole in the bottom for someone to blow air onto the embers. The guys were taking turns blowing. They’d settle into a rhythm, inhale-blow, inhale-blow, but Alex forgot to take his mouth off the pipe once when he inhaled, so he drew in a lungful of smoke. He coughed and hacked puffs of smoke from his mouth while we all laughed. They got the boiler going but still let out yelps as they ended up taking cold showers anyway!

Mark loaned me an valcro ankle wrap that can be reused so I wouldn’t have to use the horse wrap I packed in the first aid kit.  My ankle did feel much better after a nights rest so I was ready to hit the trail. We stopped at the cabin on our way out to get clarification on when to pick up Joe at Cimarroncito. We could either make a side hike from Websters that afternoon or hike through it the next morning. So we wanted to find out what they had in mind. Unfortunately, they said he needed to stay another day and might catch up with us at Clarks Fork tomorrow. I was really disappointed. The thought of seeing him on the trail with me again is what had kept me going. Now it was going to be another day. What if they where playing games and he wasn’t ever coming back? What if they were doing this to keep me on the trail with the crew. What if he was sicker than I thought? I asked Mark and Toby to radio again and see what the diagnosis was and if he was getting better. The reply was that it was altitude sickness and he was better and that he would likely be back the next day. I felt better about that but was still disappointed. I really wanted to see him again.

Websters Park (top)

The hike down to Websters park was just that, mostly downhill. We went back down Sawmill Canyon to the trail junction. The trail climbed steeply there for a short while, then went back downhill. The campsites at Sawmill are at 9,300 feet, the highest point on our trek, so almost anywhere from there would have been downhill!

We arrived late in the afternoon but the crew was getting very good at setting up camp quickly. It darkened quickly because of the late hour and an approaching storm. The campsite is on a saddle between two higher points, but it still was pretty high up on its own. So we decided to call it an early evening. We ran through our thorns, buds & roses session. Some of the boys said their thorn was the cold showers, but almost everybody still listed Joe’s absence as their thorn, followed by the third evening in a row where his quick return was part of the evening devotional. I added a second thorn to my obvious dismay of not having Joe with me. There was talk of taking the shorter 4WD road to Clarks Fork the next day instead of the longer but more scenic route through Hidden Valley. I expressed my disappointment that they would choose the easier route just to get through with the trek with the least amount of effort. I added that many if not all of us are not likely to return so we should make sure that we do all that we can to maximize our experience while we are here. They all listened by no one replied. “Well,” I thought to myself, “we’ll see what happens in the morning.

We all rushed into our tents as the clouds pulled over like a thick, heavy blanket and a stiff wind from the approaching storm whipped up. The two high ridges on either side seemed to channel the wind right over our sites. I stayed up for quite a while waiting for the impending torrent of rain. But it never came and finally fell asleep.

Upper Clarks Fork (top)

Aaron woke the crew up early at 4:00 a.m. in anticipation of a long hike today. Plus we had been taking a long time breaking camp so far. But the crew performed better in the dark as there were fewer distractions and less chatter. So we were ready around 5:30 a.m. so we decided to eat breakfast in the site instead on the trail at our first “twenty” as planned. By the time we fished eating it was light enough to safely start hiking. The path down to Cimarroncito, or “Cito” as it’s often called, was downhill. We were hiking through some old forest with tons of dead wood on the forest floor. This is what the conservation staff called “high fuel load.” You could easily see how a fire could ignite this whole section of forest like a huge bon fire.

I walked with light steps in anticipation of catching up with Joe. Part of me wanted to hold back thinking I’d get the “one more day” message again. But in my heart I sensed he’d be there waiting. For me, the shorter 4WD rode would have brought me to my son more quickly than the Hidden Valley route, but I knew that the longer path was the correct one. And the boys heard me last night and agreed. So we headed north and started a short climb up to Aspen Springs to hook back southwards through Hidden Valley and past Window rock.

All accounts of this route were dead on. It was one of the most beautiful stretches of trail we would hike. The grade was a steady rise but not troublesome at all. Ever turn in trail brought forth new rock formation in a small, closed in valley that made one think of it as our private little garden. We found a short side trail to a rock ledge that overlooked the sprawling Cimarroncito valley below. We could see for miles out over the plans, including base camp and the town of Cimarron. We started so early we had plenty of time to hang around and take in the view. Mark finally urged us to continue on a little ways father to Window rock were the view was much better. “Really???”

He was right. It was unbelievable. But it was also bittersweet for me as I knew how much Joey would have enjoyed this hike. But I tried to push those thoughts back, focusing on the future when we would stand on the Tooth of Time together. So I climbed up and around the huge rock formation taking in the different vistas each new vantage point offered. We had enough time, in fact we even napped a bit. Mark suggested a place a few minutes further up the trail, near Cathedral Rock where we could stop for lunch. Again he was right on. The spot perched along the northern cliff of the trail just before it starts its switchback ride back down into the valley. Some of the boys followed Mark out to the point for a photo op. From my angle it looked harrowingly dangerous, when in truth it was a much wider rock than the pictures show. Still, I was glad when we moved on and headed down. To me this was the last leg towards Joe.

It was a bit longer hike to Clarks Fork than I imagined. The trail seemed to take forever to switch back and forth down to the valley floor. We then stopped to take in the view over the Cimarroncito Reservoir anchored by the monstrous Cathedral Rock on the north end of the dam. We then hiked through the ranch's demonstration forest were they have several different sections managed, a.k.a. "logged,” using several different techniques. None of the resulting woods looked pleasant to me even though I’m sure they are more stable in terms of fire threat than an unmanaged forest. I'm still in favor of prescribed burns. I believe the natural process is more benifical to the ecology plus there's a natural randomness to a burn that man cannot replicate. A managed forest just simply looks managed and unatural.

I started to get more and more anxious as we climbed higher and higher towards Clarks Fork. Would he be there? I didn’t want to get my hopes up but I couldn’t help myself. We finally neared the cabin. There were several crews hanging out, some throwing lariats around the heads of the steel roping cows. The  crew started to form a pack line against the pole fence in the front yard when I saw him. He was sitting on the porch reading a book with his back to us. I dropped my pack where I stood, ran over to the porch and hugged him through the railing. He was back! My prayers were answered.

The sense of release was like a huge exhale after holding one’s breath for a long time. The release, the relief, all came out at once. He had been there since 10:00 a.m. until we arrived around 2:00 p.m. He described his experience down in base camp for three days. They took good care of him, even took him and the other health lodge denizens to the Villa Philamonte residence/museum. And the reason he didn’t come back the day before was that that he had the same virus or bug I got. Only he had porcelain toilets while I was digging a cat hole on the trail, too bad because otherwise he would have been with us today as we hiked through Hidden Valley. Oh, well. At least we’re together and he gets to complete his trek, which was his main goal.

We arrived early enough so we could go down and do some more branding. Some of us managed to get some branding at Ponil. But not everybody did so w made it a point to make it here. Joe and I both branded our hats at Ponil. I was afraid of damaging my $170 boots so I didn’t do them back at Ponil. But now, after enduring eight hard days on the trail and the glee of getting my son back, I was ready to put the Philmont mark on them forever. So Joe and I both branded our boots at Clarks Fork, the place where we were united.

After the branding, we asked if we could join them in their Chuck wagon dinner. But we turned down as they were running low on supplies. So we headed up the trail to hike the last mile to Upper Clarks Fork, the un-staffed camp where we were to stay. But it didn’t take long for Joe’s ailments to return. My heart sank. How could he ever make it up to Tooth Ridge if he was already having problems with this short climb? But he persevered and picked up a little steam as we made it up to camp. Perhaps the morning will bring a better day.

So he and I decided to take a pass on going back down to Clarks Fork for their renowned porch show. (After all, the staff at Ponil said that surveys showed that Ponil was 2.4 times better than Clarks Fork.). That night at Thorns, Buds & Roses almost everyone said that their thorn was getting up at 4:00 a.m. and that their rose was the views they saw that day and being able to relax and climb atop Window Rock. I chuckled to myself a bit and commented when it was my turn that the two were not “mutually exclusive.” Meaning they had the time to relax and have fun BECAUSE they got up early enough to allow the time. I’m not sure that concept really sank in right then but perhaps someday they’ll reflect upon that lesson.

Naturally, my rose was having my son with me and my bud was looking forward to standing on the Tooth together.

Tooth Ridge (top)

We got up early but not as early as yesterday. Still we were able to break camp and leave soon after the trail was visible. The crew was getting much better at breaking camp. Joe said he felt better, which was a good sign. Perhaps the rest and treatment worked. Still, I decided to let Joe lead to set a workable pace. Otherwise the jackrabbits in the crew would soon out distance us and we’d have to work extra hard just to keep up.

It soon became apparent that I wouldn’t have to worry as he soon was out ahead of me. I reminded him to pace himself that it was a long climb. We had about three miles of uphill to Schaefer’s pass and then swing around the northern flank of Schaefer’s Peak. Then a quick dip down and back up to Tooth Ridge for the remaining three miles.

We were near the end of the trek and boys in the crew were feeling the end near. They were both looking forward to it as that would mean the end of day-after-day of hiking. But they were a little remorseful as well. Not overtly, but you could tell by the comments on the scenery that they were realizing that they needed to take it all in because soon it would be gone, over a thousand miles away from home. And, as if to accomodate their desire to take it all in, the scenery was spectacular.

The trail up to the pass was typical of switchbacks going uphill, you don’t stop long enough to really see anything except the trail snaking upwards in front of you. But the view from the top is always worth the climb. Once we crested the pass we could see the South Country for the first time. Some of the taller peaks we had seen before but now we could see them all, including Uracca Mesa, a huge flat top mountain just north of us. We heard another crew off in the distance on one of the other peaks to the southwest of us, their voices carrying across the canyon from a mile or two away in the still morning air. Tim and Alex started yelling out to them with whoops and hollers. They answered back as did another crew somewhere below us to the southeast. Invisible to us yet still part of our shared experience as they were on the trail heading to their next camp in the early morning light just like us.

The trail hooked back east and we rounded the northern flank until we could finally see Tooth Ridge. We still had a surprising distance to cover to get there. And once we did the trail dipped down and we had yet another climb up to get to top of the ridge. But once were on top of it, the views were unlike any we had seen before. To the south on our right, we could still see the Uracca Mesa and the rest of the southern territory. On our left we looked down and over the North Country were we had been the day before. We were now on the south side of Cimarroncito Valley. From here we could look back to the northwest and see Window Rock. Yesterday we were on top of it remarking on the view eastward down through the valley. It seemed so remarkably high. No were looking over our shoulder and downwards at it. To my direct left several miles away was Deer Mesa. In between, climbing back northwest was Sawmill Canyon. In one sweep of my eyes I could traverse the territory we had covered in the past three days, the part of the trek when Joe was away. But that’s looking back. We’re heading forward again, together. And Joe is ecstatic that he’s back and can see these remarkable sights. He made it.

The trail is extremely rocky and footing is treacherous if you don’t pay close attention to were you place your feet. More than once I thanked my good fortune for having my trekking poles as they saved me several times from doing a “face plant” as Tim called it. The going was slow as we snaked back and forth across the top of the rocky ridge, stopping on occasion to soak in the vistas. After about two miles, the top of the ridge broadened and tree cover became denser. Then we passed the side trail to the Tooth of Time Peak. Several crews were stopped there eating their lunch or getting ready to take the side hike up to the top. We were keen on getting to the campsite so we could get our pick, preferably the far eastern site that overlooks base camp. Unfortunately, one crew had beaten us to the site. Darn it!

We set up camp, ate lunch and hung out. We climbed atop the rocky crags overlooking the plains to the southeast and sat back to relax. Tim and Alex sought out Echo’s campsite about a quarter of mile away to play cards with their friends. The rest of us switched between exploring to playing Ucher, a Midwest card game Mark had taught us back at Deer Lake. I suggested that perhaps we could take our dinner atop the Tooth. So we grabbed our fanny packs and headed back to the side trail. We dropped of Tim and Alex’s dinners as they decided to stay back with Echo.

We were almost to the trail head leading up when Joe succumbed again to altitude sickness. Unbelievable! I had thought we had this thing licked. It must be after a certain amount of time his system just runs out of gas. The others went on and Joe and I headed back to camp. Our original plan was to get up early in the morning to climb the Tooth and watch the sun rise. I now realized that we were not going to make that trip. Tomorrow we’d stay back and focus on getting back down the trail.

When his ailment first appeared at Ponil and we struggled across the Dean Skyline, we had talked about standing atop the Tooth together, now we’d have to settle for standing atop the ridge together. I didn’t discuss it with Joe but I don’t think it bothered him much. I think in his mind, his priority, his main goal was to come back and complete the trek. To him, he was successful. I can live with that. Now when I see the Tooth, which appears on also every souvenir item including our patches, I don’t imagine us on top. Rather I see the ridge flanking on either side and remember Joe’s perseverance and how he fought his way back to finish the trek with the crew. I know the others knew he was sick and that the he tried his best after Ponil to keep on the trail. But I don’t think the truly understood how tough it really was for him. Physically with the migraine like head ache, sharp stomach pains, nausea and lack of energy it would have been so easy for him to back off the trail and quit. But he didn’t.

We returned back and the weather turned foul shortly afterwards. The sky darkened with thick fast moving clouds and the wind pick up with strong gusts. Lightning flashed in the distance and I began to worry about the crew members on the Tooth. But Joe and I had our hands full as we restaked the fly and tents as the wind was pulling the loose ones out of the ground. A few minutes later, the rest of the crew came jogging down the trail. They saw the storm approaching from on top of the tooth and quickly scrambled down to beat it back to camp. First the rain came, then the hail. It was only pea size hail and it didn’t come down too hard and only lasted about half an hour. But it was cool that we were able to say we had hail. Afterwards we spotted a huge rainbow out over the plains to the south. What a neat sight to see a colorful rainbow arching upwards into the clouds, highlighted by the low angle of the setting sun, tossing its golden colors into the palette. And off to the right, the brooding Uracca Mesa had its head covered in grey rain clouds as part of the storm was still letting loose to the southwest. We had the camera but it was out of film and the extra rolls were up in the bear bag already. So I’ll just have to do my best to remember the image in my memory.

The storm cleared and moved on. We all headed for our tents to play cards, chat or write journal notes. Eventually we all drifted off to sleep on our last night on the trail.

Base Camp – Home Bound (top)

We decided to rise extra early again for two reasons. One, we wanted to be sure we got back into base camp early enough so we could make the bus into Cimarron. After 10 days of trail food we were all looking forward to calzones at Simple Simon’s. Two, this morning was to be the peak for the Orionid meteor shower. We had seen a few of the early arrivals the past few nights, like little teasers, but tonight’s show was to be pretty good according to the experts. Hopefully they would be right.

Four in the morning came early, at least it seemed that way. I roused Joe and stepped out. Sure enough, the meteors were streaking across the sky. There were several every minute. Sometimes they’d just flash to the side and you’d catch them out of the corner of your eye. Sometimes they’d just burn up as a blot when they entered straight on. But occasionally you’d watch an earth grazer, the ones that smear across the sky leaving a trail that would hang in the air for a moment or two. It was an awesome display.

So we’d get dressed, and look up for a while. Pack some gear, and look up for a while take down the tent, and look up for a while. Finally, our packs were ready for the trail and the sky to the east was getting lighter. Joe and I had been so preoccupied with packing and meteor watching, that we didn’t notice that the others had already walked over to the edge of the ridge to watch the sunrise. We joined them and sat there as the eastern horizon over the plains slowly changed colors from the grays of predawn to the purples and pinks of early dawn, then finally the yellows and oranges of the rising sun.

Then the burning disc of the sun itself rose above the edge of the earth, blinding the colors from our sight except for the intense red of its ever burning fires. It quickly became to bright to watch as it raced upwards at a surprising speed. It seemed that if it continued to rise at that rate it would quickly cross the heavens and it would soon be night again. But that was only an illusion. The show was over so we went back for our packs and started on our last leg of the trek, the long hike back into base camp.

It was just before 7:00 a.m. when we started. Several estimates I had read said it was a three hour hike down the ridge. The new trail features about 20 switchbacks and the stories are told how it seems that base camp is just around the corner… again and again as you turn the corner of each switchback. By this estimate we’d be back in around 10:00 a.m. and have only one hour to check in and clean up before the bus left for Cimarron. But everybody was in a hiking mood, even Joe showed no sign of altitude sickness. So we hiked and hiked and hiked. We skipped the rests every 20 minutes and only stopped a few times early on for equipment adjustments. The rest of the trek we just hoofed it on down the path, like horses heading home to their stable. Mark was impressed as we finally reached the bottom and approached the final sign that announces to crews that they made it. We managed to make it 2 hours! And it was a good thing too as we really needed those two hours to check in. I also had to make sure they changed our us ride to Raton to that afternoon instead of the next day because of my error. That’s when I learned the Amtrak train would be 5 hours late!

But we made the bus to Cimarron and had our calzones. They certainly lived up to their reputation. I’m not sure if they are really that good or if we would have thought cardboard was good after 10 days of trail food. In either case, they really hit the spot. We then wandered around town a little bit, which is all you can do because it’s a little town (8,000). Then we had dessert while waiting for the return bus. Joe had a root beer float and I had an old fashion lime soda with ice cream. They had an authentic soda fountain and started with the syrup, ice cream and finished off with soda water. Cool!. We got back around 2:00 p.m. and had just enough time to shop in the trading post for last minute souvenirs.

Mark had come into town with us for lunch. But now it was time to say good-bye. While we were at Simple Simons, I cut my Leaders All patch from my sleeve and presented it to him since he was a leader for our troop during the trek. I truly appreciated what he did for us. I know he enjoyed it as he got a chance to visit some of the camps he had not been able to see that year, as well as participate in the programs, like the 30.06 rifle shooting. But it was still a great advantage for us to not only have the two-deep coverage, but we gained from his experience and insight. We enjoyed ourselves much more than if he had not been there.

It wasn’t until I boarded the bus to Raton that I realized that I was the only adult for the train ride home. Until this moment, I was focused only on the crew’s immediate needs on the trail. I didn’t project myself into the homeward bound leg. There were no problems, but I was a bit extra tense and maybe a bit hyper as I continually did head counts. At one point Joey said, “Dad, relax. Stop counting. We’re all here.” I then explained to him why I was worried.

The bus dropped us off at the train station just before 4:00 p.m. There was already several people hanging around the station. They had been there a while and the young boys were goofing around with the station’s wheel chair in the waiting room, which was a small dingy room with furniture left over from the fifties, which would be interesting under different circumstance. But now it just looked uncomfortable. The Amtrak Agent, Sandy, showed up a few minutes later. She explained that the train was still 5 hours late but said the local fire department would often host troops stranded by late trains. So she called them up and they said we could hang out there after we explored the streets of old Raton, which wouldn’t take long.

So I convinced the crew to visit the nearby scout museum that a retired Scouter ran two blocks away. Some of the guys were resistant, but there wasn’t much else to do so we all strolled over to the museum. He had some nifty patches, old uniforms and other items that kept our interest for a while. Most of the boys enjoyed browsing through the ads from 50 year-old Boys Life magazines. But everyone soon lost interest and we eventually left to make our way to the fire station. Of course, it started to rain and we ended up sprinting the last block to make it to the station.

The firefighters were very nice. They brought out some chairs, the TV and some board games. They asked us to be quiet because one of the men was trying to catch up on sleep. But their alarm went off twice so they ended up going out on two calls. It was interesting to watch them go. They didn’t run around all panicky but still managed to pull out in less than two minutes. The first call was for a hit-and-run drunk driver who smashed into tow empty parked cars and sped off (the men insisted they cops would find him as there are only a few vehicle in town matching the description.) The second was for a diabetic who had gone into convulsions. His mother was able to get him to drink some juice so the episode was over by the time the firefighters got there and he refused treatment. Both times they were back in the station in 15-20 minutes.

Several of us decided to go next door to Mona Lisa Pizza for some dinner. It was pouring and we got soaked. It never rained this hard in the mountains. But here the streets had turned into flowing rivers and there was a small lake in front of the pizza parlor door. Amy feet got soaked but I was able to dry my socks off at the fire station later. The food was good and Joe and I shot some eight ball pool while watching a preseason football game on TV.

After we got back, one of the firefighters offered me some coffee and we sat and talked for a while. I found out that among other things, he was an Eagle Scout and his son just started in Tiger Cubs. It seems that no matter where you go, you keep running into scouts!
Sandy called back a little after 11:00 p.m. So we said our thank you and good byes and headed over to the station.

Getting Home (top)

The train rumbled in just before midnight. I had everyone call their folks before we went to the fire station to revise our pick up time and location. We were not going to catch the 4:45 p.m. train to McHenry tomorrow. Instead we were looking at the 8:30 p.m. train to Crystal lake. The train was now even later so it looks like the 9:30 train. We’ll have to have a calling tree tomorrow when we see if the train will make up some time in the plains of Kansas. The late start meant that we would not be able to see the Raton pass on the way east and all of our daylight hours would be over the flat, boring plains. Sigh…

Besides being long and boring, nothing noteworthy happened on the train ride home. Except they ran out of food. With a long stop in Kansas City in the late afternoon, I can’t understand why they didn’t restock. But they didn’t. So Joe and I were turned away from the dining car when we tried to enter for Friday dinner. They only had enough food for the prepaid meals, meaning the sleeper car passengers whose meals are included in their ticket price. Bummer! And we didn’t make up any time on the plains. Instead we lost more time as we had to wait on sidings occasionally to let other passenger and freight trains pass. So now we’d be on the 10:30 p.m. train to Crystal Lake arriving at 12:00 midnight. So we placed another round of calls to change all of the parents’ pick up instructions again. But we finally did pull into Chicago and we did catch the 10:30 p.m. train. So we rolled back home at midnight. I passed out the crew photos and the valuable Philmont pocket patch you earn for completing the trek. We made it!

The trip was long ordeal. I had spent a lot of time and energy planning and preparing for the trip starting a year and a half before we left. Then I had to deal with two serious problems on the trail with Bob leaving and Joey’s altitude sickness. Plus it was much harder than I imagined. I had worked out on the Stairmaster 3-4 days a week for 6 months preceding our trek, but I still was not as fit as one needs to be.

Still, I was able to fulfill a lifelong dream. And it was truly beautiful, even beyond description at times. I also had the good fortune, once again, to see my son grow. The way he addressed his own challenges, refusing to back down and give up was a measure of his maturity and a step toward manhood. He made up his mind to not let the difficulties get the best of him and he forged forward even in the face of self-doubt and almost unbearable pain. Adventures, such as Philmont, can make men out of boys … if they chose to let it.