The following journal was written by Scoutmaster, David C. Laredo, during the 2003 Troop 90 - Trek 24 at Philmont, New Mexico. (Copyright, David C. Laredo, 2003, reprinted with permission of the author.) 

Monday, June 30, 2003 - 4:30 a.m.

Picked up Mary and Chris at their house for the drive to San Jose. Matthew awoke to say "goodbye" but returned to sleep. Ginny will drive the Suburban back to Pacific Grove.

Met the other Scouts at the AMTRAK station in San Jose at 6:30. All Scouts arrive on time. Mike Parise wore his Class P that Darby and I presented to him the night before. He was as cheerful as circumstances would allow, but was clearing disappointed that his knee injury would prevent him from joining us on the trek. While Mike's injury was a blow to this father-son bonding opportunity, his absence would provide Nathan a boost toward maturity and an opportunity to earn his father's respect.

Mary asked how long I had anticipated this trek. Although we made reservations almost two years ago, I realized that I had first coveted a trip to Philmont in 1963. My family had stopped at the Philmont Training Center in Cimarron, New Mexico on a vacation; I had purchased a Philmont patch that I proudly wore on my scout uniform from that point forward, and fielded many a question from others, "Have you been to Philmont!?!" I tired of explaining the "yes, but no" answer that I had visited but had not participated on a trek.

The Stockton bus is on time at 7:00 a.m., and I hand the driver our crew tickets. He asks, "You are only going one way?" I reply, "No, this is a round trip." He cannot find the return tickets. Beginning to panic, I take the tickets and also cannot find the return ticket. He says, "No bother, I have what I need" taking the San Jose to Stockton ticket from the pack. I ask, "Are you sure it is all in order?" He shrugs his shoulders. I decide to board the bus and resolve the matter at the L.A. station. On the bus I carefully reshuffle the tickets three times. No return ticket. Then, on the third attempt the missing ticket magically appeared. It had stuck together, and reappeared much as the missing bill reappeared in Brother Manuel's hand. I smiled in recollection.

The bus pulls away from the curb, with our nineteen scouts (David Holodiloff will join us in New Mexico) and four other passengers. There is no traffic at this hour. The temperature stands at 62 degrees, and the skies are low with coastal fog. We don't break into the sun and blue skies until 7:45 a.m.

We arrive at the Stockton AMTRAK station within 5 minutes of schedule. By now the temperature has reached the low 90's. The central valley sky is clear. We board the rear AMTRAK car and are pleasantly surprised that we have been provided a private railcar! We stow our backpacks downstairs in a storage area near the restrooms, and ride above. The upper portion of the car has 10 tables with facing seats. Approximately 40 other reclining seats are divided equally front and back of the car. A snack bar is located two cars ahead.

Scouts divide into groups of two, three and four. Some read. Others play a variety of games, including chess, poker and a new age card game they call "President - Scum." We brought our own food aboard, and snack throughout the day. Scenery flashes by and we slow through an endless chain of small rural farm towns. Lunch in transit is my own salmon - trail mix - bell pepper - apple combo, accompanied by diet ice tea. Still need to make weight!

We disembark from the train in Bakersfield at 2:25 p.m. One of my clients met us at the train station as we boarded the bus to Los Angeles, and gifted us with 4 dozen Neiman Marcus Cookies that I distributed on the bus. I felt I could eat one without blowing the "weigh-in." Time will tell. The trip to L.A. is mostly smooth sailing, although we had to "rescue" some passengers from another AMTRAK bus that had a fender-bender. Our driver pulled to the shoulder to offer assistance; we transferred only 4 passengers who were attempting to make connections in L.A. We did not accept the others who were approaching their final destination. 

After milling about Union Station we finally board the Southwest Chief to New Mexico. This AMTRAK train is full; we do not have a private car and there are no extra seats. We were spoiled on the earlier run. This train is not as new or as nicely appointed. There are no tables; no facing chairs, although the train boasts an observation car, a snack bar and a dining car. We pass the California stations of Fullerton, Riverside, San Bernardino, Victorville, Barstow before midnight, and on past Needles and into Arizona during the still of the night.

Tuesday, July 1, 2003 - 6:30 a.m.

Sleep in the reclining chair is fitful. My guess is these may be more comfortable if you are 5 feet tall and weigh 110 pounds; but not if you are over six feet and weigh as much as an ox. Mary, Lance, Darby and I meet for breakfast at 6:30 a.m. in the dining car. Food is good and not too expensive considering that breakfast includes juice and coffee. The scenery is beautiful; the windows signal that the outside air is hot, but air conditioning on the train works well. I dozed through the Arizona stops: Kingman, Williams Junction, Flagstaff and Winslow. 

The train maintains its schedule, passing Gallup, New Mexico shortly after 9:00 a.m.. We stop for an hour and twenty minute break in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Mary suggests that we walk to stretch our legs and find our way to a Starbucks for some ice tea. A bank sign reports that the temperature is only 82 degrees, but the dry New Mexico air feels like it is over 100. The sun glares in a cloudless sky. All scouts rendezvous on time at the train, buy some street vendor burritos and then eagerly seek the cool refuge of our train car.

The New Mexico weather makes a distinctive statement, changing from cloudless skies to towing cumulus thunderheads in moments. We pass a parched landscape studded with abandoned adobes, discarded washing machines and rusted auto bodies. Many river washes are shored with Detroit rip-rap. We pass through brief episodes of rain, and marvel at magnificent lightning bolts, followed by distant rolling thunder. Along the way we pass antelope and bison. We are surely in the Southwest.

We arrive at Raton, New Mexico about 10 minutes behind schedule, having first passed Lamy and Las Vegas (New Mexico). Another Scout crew boards to continue East as we disembark. There is little interaction between the two crews. I survey the train station and cannot see any sign of life; there are no attendants. I scurry back to the train and ask the last boarding scout leader how they arrived from Philmont. He pointed to a yellow school bus parked at the far end of an otherwise abandoned parking lot, "That is the bus to Philmont." We grabbed our gear and began to hike.

Our bus driver, Linda, was pleasant and helpful. She knew we wouldn't arrive at Philmont in time for dinner and asked if we wanted to stop for fast food. This was perfect! She drove to a small cluster of burger stands, and scouts scattered, some to McDonalds, other to Jack-in-the-Box or Subway. I chose the latter to stay within my diet strictures. The boys saw a fireworks stand, and lobbied intensively for an unscheduled shopping stop. After a quick conference among leaders, we relented. We placed several restrictions: I would retain custody of all fireworks until we returned to Pacific Grove; all purchases would be disclosed to parents; and any use of a firework at Philmont would result in destruction of the entire cache. All agreed. We left a very happy vendor, and the scouts were ecstatic. Linda agreed to store this arsenal at her house for us during our trek, so she provided her phone number and we gave her our departure data.

We pulled into the Philmont Welcome Center at 8:30 p.m. To our relief, David Holodiloff was waiting for us, having driven from Pacific Grove by way of Colorado for a rock-climbing event. Each crew was assigned a series of platform tents in Tent City, two cots to a tent. We are lucky as we have permission to check in a day early due to our late train arrival, but we were not guaranteed billeting in Philmont tents until our "official" arrival date - July 2nd. Crew 34 was given a routine Trail Bound tent assignment, but there are not enough vacant Trail Bound tents for both so Crew 24 was billeted in the Home Bound section. We located our tents, and quickly wash away the travel dirt. It felt strange to mingle with others who were excited from completing their treks. I felt unworthy, much as a new recruit who stands near grizzled war veterans returning from the front. 

I call home, listen to the recording on our answering machine, and leave a message for Ginny and Matthew. Off to bed. 

Wednesday, July 2, 2003 - 5:45 a.m.

We awake at 5:45 a.m. (officially), although rose at 5:00 a.m. after checking my watch at 3:00 a.m. and again at 4:00 a.m. I find my way to the nearby "homebound" showers and jostle among recent trek "veterans." All are jovial and good-naturedly ask "did you enjoy your trek" or mistakenly inquire as to details of our return. I demurely explain our pre-trek status in response. With a bit of apprehension, I quickly scurry over to medical at 6:00 a.m. for an "unofficial" weigh-in. Scale shows that I am one pound under the limit... with my boots on! 

We met Crew 34 outside the dining hall at 6:20 a.m. and met Ranger Tom, a junior at the U.S. Air Force Academy majoring in computer science, at 6:30 a.m. Tom will guide us through all the check-in hoopla, and advise us through the first day and a half of our trek.

After breakfast we speed through a series of pre-trek requirements; Admin - to settle our fiscal arrangements, including paying for extra group photos and our extra night at Philmont, Logistics - to reconfirm our trek route and gain valuable information as to the status of water sources, and the dreaded Medical Tent. We learn that we do not need to change tents to Trail Bound, and will therefore spend another night at the Home Bound tents. All scouts and Mary precede my re-check. The physician weighs Michael, who passes, and also Mary even though Philmont only uses a single uni-sex weight chart that places Mary squarely within the "optimal" range. It is my turn. The doctor doesn't even ask me to stand on the scale! Aha!!! Mary is offended when I chortle this tale, and wants to re-enter Medical to give the doctor a piece of her mind. She defers, reluctantly, to avoid making waves. Tom then provides a rapid-fire review of first aid procedures and out-back emergency protocols. 

We proceed to the equipment area where we are issued a set of Philmont-supplied group gear. Although we have brought most of our own group equipment, Philmont supplies some unique items for the trail, including bear bags, bear rope, water purification liquid, dining tarp, sump tools (more on this later), assorted pots and pans, and cleaning materials. We are also issued our first increment of trail rations. Although we have planned for this weight and bulk, it is still a factor to be reckoned with. Tom has each of us extract every item from our backpacks and urges us to reconsider our decisions to lug this onto the trail. Much of his advice seems contrary to the published Philmont gear list.

We are issued two postage-stamp sized storage lockers to hold our set of non-trail gear for the entire crew. Cramming this stash into the lockers is no mean feat, particularly as scouts are reassessing their packs and opting to pull out bulky or heavy items they no longer wish to carry. 

Lunch follows; it is my first non-diet meal in months - hot dog and chili - not the best pre-trail meal. At noon it is hot and dry, sweltering in fact with no wind. Scouts scatter to the trading post. Check the post office and collect some awaiting mail, send two postcards, and later tour the Philmont Scout museum. 

At sunset we gather at the Welcome Center and then march as a group to the Opening Campfire, together with the other 36 crews (almost 400 scouts and leaders) that will depart for the trail tomorrow. It is mind boggling to think that this many trekkers depart for the trail each day of the week throughout the summer. By our count over 4000 persons are actively engaged in a trek during each day! 

The campfire embodies an impressive multi-media show. Players are roles of Native American, Spanish explorer, old West pioneer, and more modern settlers. The last character is of Waite Phillips, the philanthropist whose donation of the original land to the BSA created Philmont. The program is fast paced. It ended as each crew leader was invited to the stage for a solemn flag presentation; in Philmont parlance, "crew leader" refers to the youth leader, not to the adult advisor. I am so used to being called the "leader" that I mistakenly go to the stage. I was mortified, but did not want to disrupt and received a flag along with Michael for our crew, and Andrew for Crew 34. I was angry with myself for this protocol lapse, and apologized to Michael before we retired.

Thursday, July 3, 2003 - 5:00 a.m.

Up at 5:00 a.m. to shower before the trail. There is a long line at the Home-bound showers, filled with travelers who have completed their treks. We meet again at 6:20 a.m. for our last dining hall meal - egg burrito and grits - makes you look forward to trail food. Immediately after breakfast we clear our tents, and create a pack line at the Welcome Center where we will be picked up by bus and driven to our respective trailheads. We then proceed together with Crew 34 for our group photos; we take two, one only with our crew, the second with our entire Troop 90 contingent. Returning to the Welcome Center, we fill water bottles and weigh packs. Darby, Lance and my packs each weigh 55 pounds; Mary's weighs 53, including the 10 meals that she has decided to pack as she chooses not to eat red meat. Lance shares that he is now a senior citizen; it is his birthday and he is 55!

Our bus comes before Crew 34's. We bid them fair trails, and depart for the 25 minute ride through Cimmaron to the trail head at Ponile Turnaround, a fence and cattle guard at the end of a dry dirt road. Tom engages in more Ranger Training at this point, as he will do throughout the next two days, before we hit the trail toward Dean Cutoff Camp. We stop at a staff camp - Ponile - where we eat our trail lunch consisting of squeeze cheese and crackers, but do not partake in the activity there. Tom provides a lesson on garbage and trash protocol; the entire crew's trash is crammed into small box of crackers, the size of a pre-packaged individual serving of dry cereal. 

Tom educates us on the intricacies of urination and defecation in the outback. The former is done on rocks, not in outhouses or on trees, to encourage evaporation as wild animals will often be attracted by the dried salt. The latter is assisted by one of several methods: red roof inns (two-hole walled outhouses, without interior dividing stalls - so called as each "inn" is topped by distinctive red shingles), pilot-to-bombardier (two-hole back-to-back seats without the benefit of walls), and the pilot-to-copilot (two-hole side-by-side seats, also without the benefit of walls). 

We continue from Ponile to Dean Cutoff. The hike is easy, spanning 2.06 miles with a elevation gain of only 440 feet. Still, the altitude is almost 7300 feet, and can easily be felt by those that live on the seacoast. The temperature is warm, and a light sprinkle greets us as we arrive in camp. We continue with Ranger Training, learning details as to how to hang bear bags, the "Bearmuda Triangle" (formed by the sump, dining fly and bear bags) in which no tent is to be erected, and more detail bear rules relating to "smellables." Tom lectures us on the need for hydration in the parched New Mexico air, first aid and foot care. 

Tom actually cooks our dinner, making it an educational experience as well, and demonstrates clean-up protocol and sump care. All food particles must be disposed into a wire mesh covered sump, or be packed out. Dehydrated food is heavy enough, but leftovers now have added water and weigh a ton. The simple answer... eat it all. Tom reminds us that food is not food, it is fuel. All must be consumed. 

I teach Tom 3 - 5 - 7. He is at first intrigued and then becomes obsessed with the game; he is determined to best me at this.

Tom introduced us to a Philmont tradition that he asked us to repeat each night before retiring: Thorns & Roses. This became a nightly gathering as the crew formed a circle, and in turn, each camper was given an opportunity to share one or more thorn - something that bothered him, ranging from a physical discomfort such as blisters, to an emotion; a rose - something that was pleasing; and a bud - a hope, wish or aspiration, a seed for the future. 

Friday, July 4, 2003 - 5:00 a.m.

We wake early (5:00 a.m.) and hike back into Ponile where we enjoy our first trail breakfast sitting on a large rock that still radiates heat from the preceding day. We continue on to Rich Cabins. Tom sneaks in additional Ranger Training as we proceed, partly as some protocols differ in this area. This is the Valle Vidal, a Wilderness Area that is technically outside the Philmont Scout Ranch boundary. This area does not have established bear cables or sumps. We have to improvise by using a plastic bag to strain food debris. Within the bag are layered rocks, then pebbles, then dirt, then pine needles and grass. The debris is filtered through this, and then the residue is packed out as garbage.

We tour Rich Cabins, an old 1800's homestead. This is a staffed camp, and we will be joined by five other crews at this location before the day is done; one crew is a shadow crew also taking Trek 24, another set is on day six of their trek, and yet another set is on day eight of their trek. Rich Cabins staff wear authentic garb and share the history of the site as each crew reports in. The Cabins are a working homestead, and as visitors we are asked to assist with the chores. Scouts are soon making wood shelves using authentic hand woodworking tools. Alex and James are asked to create an irrigation channel for the garden; they are later joined by Chris and Josef. All work long and hard and have to be called away for lunch.

In the afternoon we set up camp and laze at the stream that gurgles past. Tom continues to practice 3 - 5 - 7. He challenges me two times, but still doesn't fully understand the winning combinations.

We opt for an early dinner, and then return to Rich Cabins for our full increment of trail food. Wow! This is going to be heavy! Here for the first time we encounter the "share box." Tom explains that many of our commissary stops employ this wonderful convention. Crews are invited to leave unopened containers of food that they do not plan to use... or to grab the unwanted discards left by others. We mostly grab spare containers, but do not part with any of our own, making our load all the more heavy. 

The scouts haul our heavy treasure trove of food off to the bear bags while Mary and I enjoy our first advisor's coffee (actually warm cider) on the porch of the cabin. Tom announces he has solved 3 - 5 - 7 and chooses to challenge me before the advisors of the other groups. I throw him a curve, and say we should do the game in our head - by orally stating the numbers for each column - rather than by using physical markers. He agrees, and plays a winning combination of moves until the second to last move; but he misplays and I win! He immediately asks for a rematch and we in effect play the same game, with him winning. The other advisors are intrigued and we end up teaching them and the Rich Cabin staff as well.

Our merriment is disrupted; the four-day's worth of rations has proven to be so heavy that one of the bear rope broke as the scouts attempted to hang it. A scout was sent to retrieve me from my advisor's coffee at Rich Cabin, so I returned to camp to help David and Alex repair the rope and re-hang the bags. The remainder of the crew helps with nightly chores - slopping pigs and milking the cows. They get to sample the warm milk. These activities were a great hit. 

Mary and I then take a short walk and share our first bootleg nightcap - a sip of French cognac that I had smuggled onto the trek. We were feeling a slight buzz when Tom returned to camp and asked all to accompany him onto a steep hill, in the dusk, where we were asked to silently reflect on the Philmont experience, and take a solemn Philmont Wilderness Conservation Pledge: 

I shall keep Philmont free of Litter and graffiti.
Respect all wildlife.
Conserve water and don't pollute; Use proper sanitation.
Stay on Trails; Do not cut across switchbacks.
Use designated sites and leave neat and clean.

Thereafter we made our way back to camp, held Thorns & Roses, and turned in early.

Saturday, July 5, 2003 - 4:00 a.m.

We wake at 4:00 a.m. Tom rose to shake our hands, wish us well and say goodbye. He said he planned to return to sleep as he was to join another Ranger for their own hike, but not until 9:00 a.m. We struck camp and hit the trail at 5:10 a.m. We want to beat the heat and eat breakfast on top of Wilson Mesa, an elevation gain of 1,000 feet. 

We retrace the steps that lead us to Rich Cabins for about a mile and a half, then turn to climb the mesa. Josef takes the point as lead hiker for the first time, and will maintain this spot for the remainder of the trek. He sets a good pace, and is a natural leader in this role. At the top we enjoy our first view of Mount Baldy. It is a distant sight, over a dry lake that lies at the middle of the mesa. We lounge about this idyllic setting for almost an hour. Scouts break out cards, or just lie in the grass.

Exploring the area, we stumble across a well-maintained gravesite; there is a carved marker, inscribed only with the name "Cutter." The grave is rimmed with methodically placed rocks. Several scouts comment that this is a perfect spot to spend eternity, with a view of Baldy. I agree. 

We push on to Pueblano Camp, a staff camp that focuses on lumberjack skills, including sawing, log splitting and pole climbing. The staff members at this camp are extraordinarily musical, each playing an instrument. Their "patter" is lively and spontaneous, and they perform as if on stage. We chose to participate in our "program" upon arrival, as we are scheduled to camp at an unstaffed location, Pueblano Ruins, another mile and a half up the trail.

Training for pole climbing is interesting and entertaining. Our instructor races another staff member up the pole. The boys eagerly try, and accomplish this skill, but experience much more difficulty and even some skinned knuckles and arms. David and Alex are afraid of heights, but climb on despite their fears. David asks Max to take his picture at the top, but due to miscommunication this does not occur. David is upset but decides to climb the pole again to get the photo. 

We lunch at Pueblano Camp, and then push on to Pueblano Ruins, an open meadow filled with wildflowers and rimmed by tall verdant pines. A healthy creek (Ponile Creek) runs through the meadow and passes our camp. Towering above the pines are the sheer Western bluffs of Wilson Mesa. These rock formations appear as crumbling fortifications, and seemingly call for a mountain Indian in full war bonnet to oversee our camp.

The weather continues to astound. Early morning is brusque, even cold. Temperatures reach the low 60's. The mornings then heat as soon as the sun rises. Each ray can scorch. There is no wind, and immediately the thermometer hits the high 80's. Then, in late morning, a wild but brief hot wind hits. The blue sky turns dark and rain threatens, but passes. The sky clears and temperatures again rise during midday. About 4:00 p.m. the skies again darken, as massive thunderheads rise. Drops fall and distant thunder is heard. A few long distant lightning bolts are seen. This too passes and the evening is again calm and clear; temperatures again rise until nightfall when a short breeze announces that the sun has set. Nights start warm; we sleep on top of sleeping bags but slip within about 2:00 a.m.

Tonight we will retrace our steps down the mile and a half path to Pueblano Camp for a 7:00 p.m. campfire program. This is preceded by a game of "Logger Ball," modified baseball where the rules change each inning.

So far, no injuries. Michael has chaffing. Mary suffers from some blisters. All are sore, but seem to be getting used to the altitude. Tonight we camp at 8,230 elevation. Tomorrow the itinerary calls for us to camp at 10,550 feet.

Logger Ball was fun until Josef used some profanity on the sideline. Another Scoutmaster took me aside to complain. I dressed Josef down, and upon returning to camp spoke to the entire crew. Language had become entirely too loose. Tempers were short as the campfire didn't end until 10:30 and we then had the half hour hike back to Pueblano Ruins. We hiked the last leg by moonlight. We aired our concerns during Thorns & Roses, and retired.

Sunday, July 6, 2003 - 5:00 a.m.

Again the boys elect to wake early, 5:00 a.m. I am amazed that all agree to hike early, and none choose to dawdle in the morning. We begin hiking at 6:00 a.m. and stop for a trail breakfast of dry granola, trail mix and jerkey at 7:00 a.m. Today's hike is a long, continuous uphill journey to French Henry, and beyond, stopping at Copper Park Camp. We proceed up a broad canyon, paralleling Ponile Creek. We emerge from dense pine forest at intermittent meadows clad with wildflowers. We pass a beaver bog, but mostly remain in verdant forest, rimmed by distant rock canyon walls. Every step is uphill, but the grade is not too extreme. 

We arrive at French Henry, a staff camp that focuses on mining and blacksmith lore, at 8:45 a.m. We are the first crew to arrive. Staff gives us a tour of a cabin that hosts a blacksmith museum, telling tales about many of the esoteric parts and pieces, and how they were used. We were then brought to the blacksmith forge where all crew members, including advisors, took turns helping forge a souvenir "J" hook that Michael will hang at Chautauqua Hall upon our return.

Most then try their hand at gold panning in the creek. A few merely soak their feet in the ice-cold stream. The staff put our a German chocolate cake that the Scouts devoured in seconds. All exclaimed it to be "the best" even though it had been made from a standard Betty Crocker cake mix.

At 11:00 a.m. we pushed up the trail for a quick elevation gain of 500 feet to reach an entrance to the Aztec Mine, an authentic copper mine. We ate lunch and then were treated to a thirty minute mine tour that included tales of this mine, and descriptions of how the 1800's miners did their jobs. This was clearly hard and dangerous work, leading to short life spans. A highlight of the tour was when we were shown a side tunnel that had collapsed, were told tales of mine cave-ins, and were instructed to turn off all flashlights and find our way toward the exit only by feeling the walls and holding onto the person in front. Scary! 

Returning to the trail, we soon were confronted with "The Wall." This daunting path rises 800 feet in elevation in less than a half mile. We hike 100 paces and rest. The fact that we are hiking at over 10,000 feet altitude contributes to our breathlessness. We arrive at Copper Park Camp at 1:45 p.m. This unstaffed camp lies at the foot of Mt. Baldy in a magnificent alpine meadow.

The crew did great today. There was much cooperation, excellent hiking protocols (gathering at least every 15 minutes, and more frequently on steep terrain), and even good language. Still, Mary takes me aside to comment that she is dismayed that Chris has been "dogging it" and not fairly taking on his share of group tasks. I had not noticed, but agree to monitor the situation. Michael has been doing a good job as leader, but cooperation from the older boys has not been easily forthcoming.

We will stay at Copper Park for the next two nights. Today's hike wasn't that far, only 4.22 miles. We gained over 2,130 feet in elevation from Pueblano Ruins. 

Monday, July 7, 2003 - 4:30 a.m.

We awake at 4:30 a.m. and hit the trail at 5:15 a.m. It is dark as we begin and we hike by flashlight. This is the climb to the peak of Mt. Baldy. We owe our early start to two factors: first, I am concerned about the climb and want to have as much time as possible to complete it; second, Josef and Chris did not get to complete this climb three years ago during their trek as their progress was interrupted by a lighting storm that drove them off the peak. Ever since we arrived at base camp, their mantra has been "To the Top!" 

We stop at the tree line, just as the sun breaks over the surrounding peak. Sunrise is awesome; a burning orange globe on the horizon casting beams through silhouetted pines on the facing slope. We are in a shaded gully that is filled with last season's snow. We stop for breakfast and an impromptu snowball fight. Chris finds a flat piece of metal and improvises a toboggan run. Josef asks all to pose for a group photo, using the automatic time-delay so he can enter the picture. As he frames the shot, Mary encourages all to prepare a snowball and we bombard Josef as he scurries into line for the photo. Upon our return we can see our obvious laughter in the picture. 

We resume hiking at 6:30 a.m. From this point we scramble up loose shall that falls away with each step. We take frequent rests, gasping for oxygen, proceeding no more than 100 feet higher before most are forced to stop again. Some of the boys do not seem affected by this, though. Max and Sammy choose to clamor on all fours, veritably running up the slope, reminiscent of a scene from "Last of the Mohicans." 

We reach the peak as a group; we stand at an elevation of 12,441 feet. It is 7:45 a.m. and the temperature is a brusque 42 degrees. A stiff, almost gale force wind forces us to bend to maintain our footing; the wind chill is noticeable. There are really three separate high points at the top of Baldy, which is essentially a rounded dome. Each point appears to be the tallest until you stand on it, and then the other two appear taller. Despite the inhospitable setting, we pose for family and group photos. The scouts decide to re-enact raising the flag on Iwo Jima, and use a trek pole for that purpose. We break the new flag from its wrapper, and in moments its frantically flapping tail begins to fray. 

There are several small, 3-foot tall semi-circular rock "structures" that have been cobbled together by earlier climbers. I call the crew together at one of them, and surprise them by convening an Eagle Court of Honor for Chris. Calling Chris forward in front of his crew, I reminded all that our goal was "To the Top!" but that this slogan symbolized not only our physical climb, but also Chris' progression through Scouting's ranks. He had indeed made it "to the top." I proudly presented Chris his cloth Eagle patch, and pinned his Eagle medal on his shirt. I then handed him the "mother's pin" and he presented this to Mary.

The moment was solemn, but mostly silent. As I labored on the hard uphill hike that morning I had thought of many words to say. They seemingly evaporated as I presented the award. Nonetheless, all present were touched. Pride clearly showed in Chris' eyes.

We left the peak after 45 minutes due to the buffeting wind. I stare one last time at the awe-inspiring 360-degree views, trying to burn them into my memory. It is frightening to locate the Tooth of Time Ridge on the horizon, an impossible distance away. We will stand on it next week. 

Having clambered up the steep, northern face of Baldy, we now descend the somewhat less imposing far side. Our destination: Baldy Town. On our descent we pass at least six other crews struggling uphill. I think they are all envious that we have already completed our quest. We offer encouragement to spur them along.

We also encountered a disappointing scene. A father, with the scoutmaster in sight, walked behind his young, heavy-set 14-year old son who was obviously struggling. Each step of the way the father berated his son, issuing orders, "lift that leg!" "don't stop!" and "keep going!" The boy had tears running from each eye. What should have been a moment of timeless father-son bonding had degraded to a never-ending forced march. I almost interceded, but felt that was not my duty. Instead, I stopped our crew to discuss this sight. I let them know that they were never, ever to treat their children that way. All agreed as to how inappropriate this behavior had been.

We reached Baldy Town at 10:30 a.m. Staff told us we were the earliest crew to arrive after cresting Mt. Baldy all season. Baldy Town is the remains of an old mining town. This was the headquarters of the Aztec Mine that we had toured yesterday after French Henry. The town still boasts a working post office, a trading post and a commissary. 

We enjoyed hot showers - our first since base camp. Chris, Sammy and James for some curious reason chose not to bathe, much to the chagrin of their tent mates. We also washed clothes. It felt heavenly to have some semblance of cleanliness. We ate our trail lunch on the porch, sitting on a swinging bench. Later, the commissary provided our next set of provisions, a full set of meals for the next four days on the trail, 60 meals in all. The Scouts scrounged the "share box" but this time wisely decided to leave more than they took. We bought and mailed postcards, and I also acquired some extra rolls of film.

Josef and Alex had carried empty backpacks over the peak in anticipation of our commissary booty. We still had 2.5 miles and now a additional climb of 1000 feet to return to our camp at Copper Park. This cruel path rapidly undid our efforts to scrub and tub bodies and clothes; we were dripping sweat when we returned to camp. We didn't realize the load that the two "pack mules" had to labor under; Josef led the way carrying an 80-pound pack. He didn't complain, but upon our return he dropped his pack and asked everyone else to try it on. All were amazed. 

I write this passage in my tent at 3:00 p.m. to the sound of rain tapping the tent. Peals of distant thunder echo from the mountain top, reminding of its wild weather. The warm air has instantly cooled. Now for a well earned nap. ... short nap, short evening. I crawl back into my sleeping bag at 8:00 p.m. It is not even dark, but all are quiet. 

Tuesday, July 8, 2003 - 5:30 a.m.

The boys elect to start early again. We rise at 5:30 a.m. and clear camp by 6:30 a.m. Today promises a long hike downhill, after we cross the ridge separating Copper Park from Baldy Town. As before, all hike in good order, and the crew is a good team.

We proceed down a long ridge that is the southern divide of Ponile Canyon. Views of Baldy impress us each time we stop and turn. I must have taken 20 photos of this same scene! Towering above us, it is hard to believe we climbed this peak. We hike along a ridgeline that at times is a hiking trail, at times a fire road, and at others an ill-defined firebreak. Many develop blisters due to the unrelenting downhill course. Max turned an ankle on a rock but manages to hobble on. David is also slowed, his flat feet develop mega-blisters on their heals; his chaffing also forces an odd gait.

We stop at a staff camp known as "Head of Dean" at 11:45 a.m. and check in. The activity here is "challenge events." The first challenge is in fact a group game - each member of the crew stands in a circle, and reaches across to hold the right hand of another person on the far side of the circle. This is repeated with the left hand, but you now select a different person to hold hands with. The group has thus formed a "human knot." The group must now "untie" the knot and form a circle - without letting go of hands. This effort takes much thought and communication - plus some flexible body mechanics. It is a great group building exercise. The staff guide was impressed with the crew's teamwork.

The next station was at a rope swing. This challenge was to use the rope to transport the entire crew from a starting line to a receiving circle. The rope itself was out of reach, and the area between the starting line and the circle was "untouchable." If any person touched, all needed to start again. Several difficulties complicated this event: (1) the rope was beyond reach, and the group needed to devise a means to get the rope to swing within reach... but if any member of the crew stepped on the "untouchable" area, all had to start again... and each attempt to grab the rope exhausted that technique, so alternative (and more imaginative) methods were needed for the second, third and subsequent attempts; (2) the rope was very long, dragged on the ground, and was itself suspended from a flexible cable, so that one could not merely swing across the "untouchable" area without hitting the ground; (3) the landing circle was higher in elevation than the starting spot, and it was so small that the crew stood shoulder to shoulder in it.

The scouts grabbed the rope by (1) throwing a stone to make it swing, (2) throwing a log, (3) throwing a water bottle, (4) using connected belts, and (5) hooking it with a hat lanyard. The boys were now well into the cooperative spirit and several made extreme physical sacrifices for the betterment of the crew.

The next challenge was to get the entire crew up and over a 10-foot high vertical wall. The final challenge required each crew member to pass through a "spider" web of rope without ringing a bell attached to the web. This task was complicated by the inability to use any single opening in the web more than one time. Oh, the crew was also instructed that this exercise was to be completed in silence, using only signs and gestures. It was a hoot! 

After the challenge events we ate lunch on the porch and hit the trail at 2:00 p.m. for the final two miles. The trail led down Dean Canyon next to a dry creek. Grassy fields were filled with wildflowers, and scattered pines rimmed the sharp canyon walls. The canyon as this point is only 50 yards wide.

We enter our unstaffed camp, Upper Dean Cow. This camp is long and linear, with individual camp sites well separated. A well supplies untreated water. The air is hot, and the sun intense as we set up camp. Scouts are showing both mental and physical fatigue. David and Max and Mary are limping due to foot problems. Josef and Michael get into a brotherly altercation. Most laze in the afternoon heat and relish every slight breeze. I wash my t-shirt in water and take a sponge bath to refresh. I luxuriate in the coolness as my wet t-shirt dries on my body.

We started our hike at an elevation of 10,220 feet. Tonight's camp has an elevation of 8,180 feet We dropped 2,040 feet today, 4,261 since we stood atop Baldy yesterday morning. Today's hike was 8.61 miles.



Wednesday, July 9, 2003 - 5:30 a.m.

We wake at 5:30 a.m., and start hiking at 6:30 a.m. The pattern is clear; all rise willingly albeit groggily upon request. Invariably we require an hour to clear camp, during which we attend to personal needs - toothpaste and toilet paper - as well as medications and hydration; pack personal and crew gear; pack tents and dining fly, and retrieve bear bags and re-distribute food, mindful of which trail meals will need to be retrieved during each day's trek. On rare exception water bottles and hydration packs (camel packs) have been filled the night before. Those who need nourishment before hiking grab a quick snack. All this activity is accomplished in silence, most too tired to converse.

At 7:15 a.m. we eat our trail breakfast at "New Dean," a non-staffed camp. We arrive before most the crews camping at this location have even stirred. We complete our day's hike of 6.59 miles to "Dean Cow Camp" at 9:15 a.m., just as the day's heat was beginning to be felt. The entire trail traversed a dirt road that paralleled a dry creek. The elevation is quite a bit lower, the habitat dryer, and the area is semi-arid, bordering on high alpine desert. 

Most of today's journey shows severe burn during last season's Ponile Complex wildfire - sparked by separate lightning strikes. Stark burnt tree trunks stand as silent sentries casting narrow shadows upon the land. The dry creek shows signs of erosion and flash flooding; I am certain views of surrounding hills and cliffs were only recently exposed, having previously been occluded by the high desert forest.

On arrival at Dean Cow the staff provided options to sign up for activities. Scouts choose to register for rock climbing at 2:00 p.m. and showers at 11:00 a.m. We could have opted for later showers, but staff explained that these close if lightening threatens, that the water is heated by solar panels that are inefficient if clouds appear, and even that the well is operated by solar power and dark skies means no water will be available to bathe or wash clothes. No one wants to miss this opportunity, so all agree to place the program at risk rather than the showers.

Staff hands out fresh grapefruit to those who are interested. These are pure ambrosia! They then show us to our separate campsite. As we set up camp it is clear that tempers are short due to heat and fatigue. Crew Leader Michael gives direction as to necessary tasks but Chris objects and Josef also sabotages the effort. In frustration, Michael announces "I quit!" The older boys have been unfair to him by reluctantly cooperating as crew members and not helping to share leadership responsibilities. I chose Michael's abdication as the opportunity to cure this; I appointed Chris as substitute crew leader, rationalizing that his buddy Josef would give Chris less grief than he would his brother, Michael. Time will tell if this was a good move.

After setting up camp, we enjoy a full hour at the showers, washing ourselves and our clothes. Showers are long and divine, exactly the remedy for tired muscles and frayed nerves. 

Rock climbing is also a hit with all, even though the afternoon temperatures pass 100 degrees. The sunny rock face intensifies the heat, but a slight breeze makes it tolerable. When we finish the program, the afternoon is filled with card playing and horseshoes. I ask Chris to approach Michael to settle their differences, and ask Josef to do the same. I am not sure when this was done or what was said, but all seems to be well. Michael confided in me that he enjoyed taking the lead, but at the same time this was a weight lifted from him now that he isn't responsible for the entire group.

The boys lobby for an extraordinarily early start tomorrow morning. This is partly due to the nature of tomorrow's hike, perhaps the second hardest of the trek, and partly to stay ahead of our shadow crew... a second crew that has been following our identical Trek 24 itinerary. This crew is a troop that hails from New Jersey. We have broken camp before that group each morning and it has become a point of pride with our scouts. None of the boys appears to object to rising early, and I would much prefer to hike in the cool morning hours than in the heat of the day, particularly as we are now so much closer to the desert floor.

Thorns & Roses this evening is mixed; Michael makes reference to the change in leadership. Chris and Josef could have acknowledged Michael's efforts as leader, but they did not. I was disappointed. 

At some point around midnight we were awakened when another crew was rousted... they apparently had not fully complied with bear protection procedures involving disposal of food at the sump; all were awakened by Philmont rangers to remedy the problem.

Thursday, July 10, 2003 - 3:30 a.m.

Our earliest rise yet. The scouts wanted to awake at 3:30 a.m. I awoke with a start at 3:06 a.m. thinking I had slept through my alarm. I quickly dressed and woke Mary, who testily said, "Dave, we aren't supposed to wake until 3:30!" Oops. To late now (or should I say too early?). We pack quickly in the dark, and sign out at the staff cabin at 4:10 a.m. The hike begins immediately behind the staff cabin up an 800 foot steep rise. We find our way by flashlights, hiking under the glowing Milky Way, with the moon far below the horizon. The rocks radiate yesterday's warmth, but somewhat cooler breaths of air meet us as we rise.

We crest the ridge as the first glow of daybreak mars the horizon, and eat breakfast by starlight. Before any ray of sun touches our trail we cross the ridge and drop down the steep grade into Turkey Creek Canyon for a long four mile walk along a 4-wheel drive path. Mary's feet are bothering her more today than before. Our hiking conversation ground to a halt shortly after we crested the ridge, and she chose to walk apart for the entire length of Turkey Creek Canyon. The crew takes a break at New Mexico Highway 26 just as the sun rises above the ridge, dispelling the last vestiges of night air.

We follow a dry wash underneath the highway, and use a footbridge to cross a paralleling river. This watercourse is fast flowing and I stop to drench my t-shirt and buff to offer some slight relief from the building heat. We proceed up the final grade, a 1000 foot elevation gain, first to Vaca Camp and then to Harlan Camp. This is the path that Darby and Crew 34 followed seven days earlier at the beginning of their trek, as the highway crossing offered the initial trailhead for their trek.

At 10:45 a.m. we arrived at a hilltop camp offering stunning views well above the desert floor. All are spent; Mary especially. We report in to camp, refill water bottles, but by the time I return to camp she is asleep next to her pack. We set up camp, break out our trail lunch and refresh. When Mary first stirs I offer her some Gatorade, and insist when she declines. Later she agreed that she had become slightly dehydrated.

I am doubly glad we chose to begin this hike early. One of the crews in camp was also following our same itinerary, Trek 24, but had left base camp a day earlier than we had. They started their hike from Dean Cow in mid-morning, and never made it to Harlan! They reported severe dehydration problems, and chose to stop hiking at 12:30 a.m. at Vaca, the preceding unstaffed camp downhill from Harlan. Reportedly an adult leader was sent back to base camp due to problems he encountered. I was thankful of our choice to hike in the early cool pre-dawn hours of the day.

The program at Harlan staff camp is shotgun shooting. Scouts load their own shotgun shells, and then proceed to a skeet range to shoot clay pigeons. Josef and Chris register perfect scores. I made 60%, not bad for never having held a shotgun before! The stifling afternoon heat is broken by a brief rain which threatened more than it delivered.

In the evening the six different trek crews at this camp competed at burro racing. Staff held three heats and had the crews vie for unspecified prizes. Our crew won the second heat (they led until the last moment in the first heat, and their burro finished first, but the scouts stumbled at the finish line and was disqualified as the rules require a scout to hold onto the reigns of the burro as it crosses the line.) The prize for winning: a can of Betty Crocker cherry frosting. The boys devoured their share, and Michael decided to take the remainder to our New Jersey shadow crew, much to their surprise and delight.

Tomorrow the schedule calls for us to cross the 50-mile mark! Hope Mary does well. Her feet let her down today with major blisters on both feet. David also continues to suffer from blisters although his chaffing is improving. Max's ankle is better. Several scouts have had bouts with recurring nosebleeds due to the dry New Mexico air. 

Friday, July 11, 2003 - 5:30 a.m.

We wake at 5:30 a.m. but do not leave camp until almost 7:00 a.m. This is our slowest start yet. Scouts are moving slow. Several take last moment visits to the Red Roof Inn, others fill water bottles that should have been filled the night before. Chris also dawdles and takes an inordinate amount of time checking out.

Today's is a fairly short hike to Ute Springs camp, offering only a modest vertical rise. We tell all that this should be an easy hike, consequently all complain bitterly that it is longer and harder than they had anticipated. Mary's feet appear to be the same, but she has not complained. We pull into camp at a respectable time: 10:30 a.m.

The creek is dry, and at first it looks as if this will be a dry camp, meaning we will need to transport water from Ute Gulch, 2 miles uphill from here. Josef followed the dry creek bed upstream a ways and found some flowing wet seeps that were capable of being filtered. Exploring a bit further, we then found a large metal farm water trough, the size of a large hot tub that was filled by the slow trickle from a spring fed pipe. We filtered water; by the end of the day most had also taken a dip into the bracingly cold "hot tub." This was heavenly. Mary's spirits appear to be restored by this bath.

Sammy, Alex, James and I then walked the mile and a half uphill to Ute Gulch Commissary to secure the last set of our meals. We also got oranges for the crew! What a treat! I soaked my t-shirt again at the water source in Ute Gulch. We picked up some tuna packages and squeeze cheese from the "share box" and decided to make tuna for dinner instead of the freeze-dried spaghetti that was the routine Philmont-fare. We scrounged some mayonnaise, cheddar-jalapeno cheese spread and trail mix, together with crackers. It was yummy!

We lazed the afternoon away; the boys divided amongst two long-duration card games. Two sets of thunderstorms blew through, the later delivering a lightning bolt that was extremely close, resurrecting memories of Wood Lake. 

I got upset twice. Once when the boys chose to dip in the "hot tub" as thunder echoed through the canyon. I chased them out. The second was when Sammy used a rock to strike a shotgun starter cap he had "liberated" from Harlan. Both the cap and I exploded. It went off like a cannon in the narrow valley. They boys assured me that they had taken only the one cap. I'm not so sure.

Against adult advice, Chris delayed putting up the bear bags until after 9:00 p.m. Michael was so upset he boycotted this effort. I could sympathize with his point of view, and did not intercede. When we arrived at our next camp the following day we were notified that rangers had noted our bear protocol violation; the entire crew was forced to review bear procedures, and were told that our campsite would be inspected sometime during the evening. 

The crew decides to sleep in, so we will rise at 6:30 tomorrow, our latest start this trek.

Saturday, July 12, 2003 - 6:30 a.m.

Our day began with a wrong turn. Josef missed the trail and led us all the way to Ute Gulch Commissary. This will add another three miles to today's trek. This is not good as we have already had a late start, and were to complete ten miles in the heat. 

The first five miles are uphill. The terrain is rocky. Massive boulders strew the landscape. Our path winds through a beautiful alpine glade known as Hidden Valley. We stop for photos at a peak known as Cathedral Rock, and at another known as Window Rock. 

Due to our late start, we are unavoidably aware of the presence of other crews, the first time we have encountered this experience. Several crews hike in front of us, and this is disturbing as their pace is slower than ours. The path at Cathedral Rock is confusing. We start to hike down the wrong side of the mountain. Fortunately, Josef recognizes this after only ten minutes, and pulls us aside to reorient the map and backtrack. Other crews are not so fortunate and venture much further along the wrong path. (We later learned this was also the ill fate of our sister crew on Trek 34 as they passed this spot.)

Views on the far side of Cathedral Rock are stunning. We oversee an immense pine covered valley, dotted by a sky blue reservoir. The next ridge to the south is the Tooth of Time Ridge, and imposing presence for tomorrow. The schedule suggests that this may be our hardest hike yet.

We arrive at Clark's Fork at 11:30 a.m. The program at this staff camp is Western lore, including roping, branding and horseback riding. Mary and I go for a two and a half hour horseback ride at 1:00 p.m. The scouts choose to brand and kick back; they do not want to miss their window of opportunity for showers. Adult shower times are later, beginning at 4:00 p.m. 

Clark's Fork also features a chuck wagon dinner, the first we haven't had to prepare for ourselves in ten days - although each crew had to lend two scouts to prepare, and two to clean up. This feast features canned beef stew, Dutch oven biscuits, and Dutch oven peach cobbler. It tasted great!

We are all extraordinarily thirsty due to heat and exertion. My mouth is dry despite downing three liters of liquid in two hours. We caution each crew member of the need to hydrate for tomorrow. The trail is eleven miles long, and the entire length is dry. Our elevation at Clark's Fork is at 7,380 feet. Tomorrow we will climb first to Shaffer's Pass, then to Shaffer's Peak at 8,900 feet, and then drop to the desert floor at base camp, 6,680 feet.

Before retiring I visit two crews at neighboring campsites. These crews have not yet reached the midpoint of their treks. I offer them our remaining white gas as we no longer have a need to carry the extra weight. A few ounces remain, however, and walking by the sump on my return to camp I notice the grungy screen covering the sump. Without thinking I splash the remaining fuel on the screen and ask a nearby Scout to light it. An explosion of flame resulted as the sump became a veritable cannon. All the boys took note and encouraged me to "do it again!" I was embarrassed by my lapse of judgment and declined, fortunately having depleted the fuel source! The scene of this inferno was destined to grow to fable proportions in the telling and retelling of this tale.

Sunday, July 13, 2003 - 3:30 a.m.

This is our last day on the trail. We rise at 3:30 a.m., and begin to hike at 4:15 a.m. using flashlights in the dark. Just as when we left Dean Cow, the Milky Way watches over our footsteps. Again the rocks radiate heat; the air is still warm. This is the coolest hour of the day and it is hotter than mid-day in Pacific Grove. 

The climb is relentless; we rise 1,200 feet in two miles. They boys elect to take a fire trail leading straight up the mountain instead of the switch-backed trail. Oh well, this is supposed to be boy-led. I struggle behind and they wait for me every 100 or so feet of elevation gain. We pull into Shaffer Pass Camp at 6:00 a.m. - this is the spot where we had arranged to meet our sister crew. We eat breakfast and cool down... although mosquitoes and flies are bothersome.

Darby and Crew 34 arrive at 7:10 a.m. They ran uphill in full packs the last several hundred yards as soon as they saw us, clanging a large dinner triangle they had crafted at a blacksmith forge on the trail. All were "tattooed" with "Crew 34" logo and other New Mexico markings to symbolize their trek. We were eager to hear a medical report and were excited to learn that they had not suffered any injuries. 75% of their crew, though, had also experienced extensive nose bleeding, similar to our experience. The New Mexico air must be taking its toll on our coastal nasal membranes.

We continue now as one conjoined mega-crew. Josef leads, and all four adults chatter in the rear. I was pleased to see how the two groups mixed. This was just as I had imagined (but we all know how seldom dreams are realized.) Scouts laughed and traded tales as they hiked.

After cresting Shaffer Peak we continued along the Tooth of Time Ridge, a rocky, pine studded narrow trail that fell away sharply to the left and right. Views of pine valleys and distant deserts astound. Behind and over our left shoulder we are inspired by Mt. Baldy, an impossible distance away. We see the disturbed forest that marks Baldy Town, but none of its structures. From this height we look down onto the forested plateau of Clark's Fork, see the mountain range to our left, home to Ute Springs and Harlan, and identify more distant ridges hiding Turkey Creek Canyon, Dean Canyon, Ponile and Rich Cabins, each fading further into the desert haze. Overseeing this panorama is humbling. 

The rocks of the ridge grow into the size of cars, then the size of houses, and larger still. Shear granite cliffs are cracked and pocked, eons old. Full trees grow from tiny clefts, with nary a bit of soil to be seen. 

We rise to the Tooth of Time, a granite outcropping that rises above the ridge. We drop our packs and take another 1/2 hour to rock hop to the top where we sit as Rulers of All We See, soaking up the 360-degree panorama that is Philmont.

Once again we don our backpacks to undertake the 2,700 foot final descent from pine forest to desert floor. The grade is mild, too mild in fact. Switchbacks easily add an extra three miles to this parched trek. Scouts would gladly take a steeply graded staff shortcut, but we had been admonished not to take that trail and I am pleased that Josef declines the urging of other scouts and leads us along the sanctioned path. Base Camp is tantalizingly close, yet the trail swings far left, ducking behind intervening ridge lines, and then far right to do the same. We careen left and right down the mountain as though fighting a drunken stupor, unable to focus on our true goal: Base Camp. Every foot we drop seems to add another degree of heat. Some scouts run out of water and David is feeling fatigue.

At long last we arrive at the entry sign to Philmont Base Camp at 2:30 p.m. We pause for photos, and the crews report to Check-In. Rapidly we return Philmont crew gear (pots, bear bags, rope, etc.), get Homebound tent assignments and retrieve our non-trail clothes and gear from the storage lockers.

Scouts scatter to showers and then to the snack stand for cold drinks, ice cream and the junk food they have been craving. Chris finds the phone number of our kindly bus driver, calls her and arranges to retrieve the stored fireworks from her.

Before I shower I stop at the Registration Desk to reconfirm tomorrow's departure transportation. I am certain that these arrangements were explained to me in detail upon our arrival, but I cannot recall them at all at this point. Thereafter I stop at the medical office for an unofficial weigh-in. I am fifteen pounds lighter than the day we began this trek... admittedly this is a pre-hydration weight, but it is gratifying to see the scale stop at a weight that I have only seen in passing for years! Michael later reports he has dropped ten pounds, and others the same.

I call home and leave a message for Ginny on the answering machine; enjoy an endless shower, and find myself sharing a cup of cold juice at the snack stand with members of our crew and others, including two scouts wearing casts, one on the arm, the other on the leg, who noted that their respective crews were still on the trail.

Dinner at the Dining Hall features chicken fried steak. We assemble for the closing campfire at 8:30 p.m. for some songs, skits and a memorable slide show that highlighted the many views and scenes of Philmont. Leaders and advisors are asked to take the stage; this time my presence is appropriate, but I feel a sense of loss as Michael remains in the audience as Chris takes the stage as the crew leader. This is right, but at the same time I wish they had managed to share the recognition. From my view, Michael had the harder task, and performed it better. The campfire closing is stirring and we are filled with emotion as we wind our way back to our tents. 

Monday, July 14, 2003 - 5:00 a.m.

Sleep was restless. I was very conscious of assorted camp noises as late arriving scouts are billeted in tents, and as other homebound scouts rise early to prepare for departure. Perhaps our extended time on the trail has somehow amplified these alien sounds. I rise at 5:00 a.m., perhaps from habit or possibly excitement. I luxuriate in the best shower at the homebound adult male shower house - most are low flow, but one gushes! The entire crew is up by 6:00 a.m. even though breakfast is not schedule until 7:00 a.m. for Homebound crews. I pack carefully, discard trash and bag all stinkables.

Breakfast features coffee!!! Pancakes, hot cereal and ham steak are like manna from heaven. Immediately after the Dining Hall feast I move my bags from the tent to the Welcome Center, and take a last run through the Trading Post managing to drop $100 in the process.

I call home and actually connect with Ginny. She reports that she received my prior messages. All is well at home.

We all board the bus to Raton at 8:45 a.m. and arrive in Raton at 9:30 a.m. The bus driver kindly stops first at a grocery store to allow the Scouts to purchase provisions - deli sandwiches, drinks and a hodge-podge assortment of snacks and junk food - for the train. 

The train is on schedule! We check our backpacks all the way through to Salinas, saving the ordeal of hauling these through Union Station in Los Angeles. The train is cool, but we are disappointed to discover that our seats are immediately above the smoking lounge, and the odor permeates the air. Despite our requests, the conductor refuses to relocate our seats.

Most scouts fall into chairs in a daze and do not move for several hours. Others read or quietly play cards. After awhile, the conductor stopped and asked me to instruct a wayward scout to remove the Centerfold display that he prominently posted by his seat. Later a passing passenger provided some comic relief when she mutters under her breath, "Try some deodorant" as she walked past our contingent. We all laughed.

The return train ride is uneventful; Monday morphs into Tuesday in an endless blur of scenery; we are met by a boisterous throng of parents, siblings and friends who warmly welcome us upon arriving in Salinas. One parent brought a tray of brownies that were consumed in large gulps as we posed for final photos and received warm slaps on the back. Scouts shook hands and even hugged, and siblings acted as valets as our adventure came to a close. 

AFTERNOTE: As evidenced by these journal entries, each crew member came to understand and appreciate the unique attributes of Philmont, which are well embodied in John Westfall's Philmont Hymn, 

PHILMONT HYMN 

Silver on the sage,
Starlit skies above
Aspen covered hills
Country that I love
Philmont, here’s to thee,
Scouting Paradise
Out in God’s country -
Tonight
Wind in whispr’ing pines
Eagles soaring high
Purple mountains rise
Against an azure sky.
Philmont, here’s to thee,
Scouting Paradise
Out in God’s country -
Tonight