scott's ravings

Philmont Scout Ranch - Chronologically

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Fri, 05 Sep 2014 07:38:00 +0000

One of the things I don't like about Blogger is that everything is sorted latest-first. This works for the general "read something new each day" format of a blog, but once that everyday stuff becomes history, especially when a topic spans multiple days, it is awkward to read it in reverse order.

So, here, I present to you, my Philmont Scout Ranch journal, in chronological order:

By clicking on the links above, and the judicious use of your "Back" button, you should be able to read each entry in order, as a journal was meant to be read.

I hope you enjoy.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Eleven - Chase Turnaround and Base Camp

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Thu, 04 Sep 2014 09:41:00 +0000

Our last day on the trail. Reflecting back on this trip, we had done a lot. We hiked through desert. We hiked through aspen and conifer forests, summited rocky shale peaks, and hiked through dry lakes and high mountain meadows. But, we had not yet hiked through Dean Canyon.

Some of our crew lamented that the trip was over so quickly, but I secretly was glad to be winding up. I was ready to go home! It had been two weeks since I'd had any kind of contact with Becky, Hannah or Greg at the distillery, and I was anxious as hell to find out if everything was OK. My anxiety built throughout the day. I had to force myself multiple times to squash it down and continue on with my hike.

We hiked through six miles of the most awful God-forsaken canyon on the planet. Things were hot again, desert-like. And thinking we'd left the mosquitoes at Dean Cow behind forever, we set out, only to be besieged by swarms of the nasty insects through the entirety of our six mile journey. Hot sun baking down on us, no shade whatsoever, and mosquitoes everywhere. Clouds of the insects swarmed each hiker. They bit our faces, bit our arms, bit our hands and knuckles. They even bit us through our shirts. How could this be?! There was no standing water anywhere! And yet they persisted.

I honestly prayed for deliverance. I prayed to God. I prayed to Jesus. I prayed to Yahweh, and I prayed to Allah. None of them would heed my prayer, and we continued to be bit by mosquitoes right up until we finally reached the Chase Ranch. The unfortunate thing was that it was 10am, and we didn't have a bus appointment until 4pm. I most certainly did not want to spend six hours at Chase Ranch. And even there, as we waited for a base-camp bus, we were bit by mosquitoes.

Some of our crew went in to tour the ranch, but I wanted that bus. So I stalked the highway for any sign of a vehicle, ready to pounce and flag it down to rescue me from this horrible mosquito infested hell-hole. I seriously considered offering any passing motorist $100 to drive me six miles to base camp. I was done. But traffic was few and far between and we continued to wait. And for two hours, we waited, until...

Finally, a bus came, but the driver was headed to Ponil, and wouldn't be back for 45 minutes. Damn. I didn't want to wait, but he said there were no other buses in front of him. Wait we must.

Then, fifteen minutes later, a lady drove by with an empty bus and pulled in to pick us up. We were saved!! Hallelujah!

We made our way back to base camp, where we had the promise of showers, a hot dinner in the dining hall, and the luxuries of the snack bar and trading post.

I used Max's phone to call home, unable to contain my anxiety about my business and my family. When Becky told me everything was fine, and I could hear her voice, I broke down sobbing like a five year old. I was so overwhelmed, so homesick and so, so tired. "Please don't ever make me go back there," I begged her. I was a wreck, and had to walk off to regain my composure away from the scouts. Regain it I did, and after a meal, a new pair of warm socks at the trading post, a hamburger, and an ice cream, and a relaxing church service, I felt restored and ready to go home.

That night, as we attended the final Philmont closing campfire, something truly special happened. It was dark, well after nine pm. All week, the moon had been full, obliterating the night sky. Because of the moon and lots of clouds, we had been unable to see the sky that we knew was so visible out west.

But on this particular night, the waning moon had not yet risen and there were no clouds.

We could see the STARS!

(Image: Kaitlyn Chaballa)

The Milky Way stretched from horizon to horizon, bold and white with its beautiful band of stars wrapping the indigo sky. All the constellations were bright and visible like I've so rarely seen. All of the boys, and even Max, had never seen the Milky Way before. Never. The light pollution in Virginia was too bright. And the entire crew stayed up late looking at the sky in awe.

This was like one last gift from Philmont: "Here you go, boys. Here are the stars."

Our trip was complete. And it was totally worth it.

It was time to go home.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Ten - Dean Cow and the Mosquito Canyon of Death

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Wed, 03 Sep 2014 09:31:00 +0000

Rising early the next morning, Ponil had one more treat in store for us: a chuckwagon breakfast. The camp staff had asked for two adult volunteers from each crew to come down and help cook breakfast, and Max and I jumped at the chance. We were expected at the chuckwagon kitchen at 6am sharp, which meant we had to get up at 5am and pack up all our stuff in the dark, so the boys could meet us for breakfast at 7am.

We had a little miscommunication, so we didn't awaken the boys until 5:50am or so, and realized by then they would not have the 60-90 minutes required to break up camp. This meant we'd have to go back to camp after breakfast, and waste more time before getting on the trail. That sucked, but oh well.

Max and I were so happy to have hot coffee and make pancakes, we were like two fry cooks in fry cook heaven. I'd pour 'em, and Max would flip 'em. I'd remove them to the dutch oven warmers, scrape the grill clean, and Max would spray it with grease and we'd start all over again. Meanwhile, to my right, other crew parents were cooking up sausage patties that smelled divine.

We worked like this for thirty minutes, when the boys rolled into breakfast. And they had their backpacks on! Max and I couldn't believe our eyes. John informed us that the boys were so gung-ho to get breakfast, they packed up the entire camp, tents, bear bags and all, in thirty minutes! Once again, Max and I were so proud. These guys were really becoming great hikers.

We enjoyed that wonderful breakfast, with seconds, and thirds, and once everyone had their fill, we loaded up one last time at the commissary, donned our packs and hit the trail for Dean Cow.

Our last bit of trail would have us doing one last 800 ft elevation change, and then it was reportedly down from there on an easy eight mile downslope. This last climb was tough, but since we knew it was the last one, we buckled down and knocked it out. The summit of the ridge seemed to go on forever. Every time we'd hit what we thought was the peak, we'd round a corner and another peak would be before us. Finally, we crested the peak, and entered into the Dean Canyon.

Dean Canyon looked like prime mountain lion country, and I let my mind daydream about what would happen if a cougar attacked, just to pass the time. I thought, if one attacked, it'd most likely go for one of the little guys, like Mitchell or Luke. And I would run up, despite my bandaged sore feet, and begin thrusting my hiking pole into the lion, stabbing it multiple times, hitting it with my fists and kicking it in the face, saving my son from certain death. Everyone would pick me up on their shoulders, and carry me out of the canyon, chanting my name and talking about me in the annals of Philmont history...

I went on a while like this until we finally did arrive at our camp, Dean Cow, which should have been renamed mosquito camp. Here the camp activity was rock climbing, but only officially. The unofficial camp activity was dodging mosquitoes. Now, here's the deal: All the books said there are no problems with mosquitoes at Philmont in August, and so Deet isn't required. So we didn't bring any. Hmmph! Thanks a lot. Not so!

As it turned out, one of the donkey troughs had standing water in it, and a veritable Chicago-sized mosquito factory in production... right next to our camp. While the boys were climbing the rocks, we adults were under constant siege from the flying, biting pests. We burned sage on the fire to try to smoke them away, so much sage, in fact, that an adult staffer had to come and "diminish" the size of our fire. (Apparently, it wasn't very Leave No Trace worthy.) We didn't care. We had to get relief from these insects.

Finally, after wolfing down some beef chili and beans, we all sought refuge in our tents and slept through the night in the safety of our netting, while the little insects buzzed angrily inches from our ears.

At his point, let me offer you a brief word about donkeys: You will occasionally see crews with a donkey at Philmont. You see, Philmont will loan you a donkey as a member of your crew. This sounds ideal, because everyone's first thought is, "Let the donkey carry my pack!" Ha ha! Do not be fooled! Philmont puts an arbitrarily low weight limit (according to the cowboys) on the donkey of forty pounds, and you must carry forty-five pounds of donkey-chow with you. So by taking a donkey with you, you are essentially adding a cantankerous, slow moving, hairy individual to your crew who stops every twenty meters to take a break, and bitches when it's time to start up again. In other words, like having an extra adult. Don't do it!

Tomorrow, we wrap up our hike by heading six or so miles to the Chase Turnaround. Honestly, I can't wait for the trip to end!

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Nine - Ponil

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Tue, 02 Sep 2014 09:43:00 +0000

Early the next morning, we struck camp to make our 8am appointment with the Pueblano boys. We were going to learn how to climb logging poles. In the center of camp, four fifty-foot tall poles stood like monuments to some long ago logging god. We sat in the morning sun, and listened as Shane and "Boss" explained to us the proper safety procedures for climbing these poles.

The first step was donning the equipment. To each leg, we strapped a pair of gaffs, which is basically a three inch knife protruding from your instep. Then, a harness, which cinches around your crotch like a rappelling harness might. Finally, a helmet and the safety rope.

To climb the pole required the assistance of a "donkey". The donkey was the counterweight to each boy climbing the pole, run through a three-point pulley friction block, so that a donkey weighing 100 lbs (i.e. Luke) could keep a climber weighing 210 lbs (i.e. me) from falling to his death. (Pulleys are such cool machines.)

Everyone took turns climbing and playing donkey for the other climbers. Donkeys are apparently bad listeners, and get distracted easily, so the climbers were instructed to shower their donkeys with compliments to keep them compliant and aware.

The kids and we adults quickly learned how to climb the poles. You'd step up about 10 inches, plant your foot, as they said, into a basket of kittens, and then raise the next foot and plant it next to the first on the pole. Then you'd raise your belt, and do it again. Pretty soon, you'd get good at getting up the pole, and once at the top, we were required to let out a manly yawp. This was perhaps the unanimous highlight of the entire trip for the crew. The boys really loved this camp, and the staff here were simply amazing.

Leaving Pueblano, we set out for Ponil. Ponil turned out to be about four miles away, which was supposed to be an easy hike, but we lost the trail (which was shaded and in the woods), and had to hike the entire day in the hot, baking sun on the access road. Meanwhile, on the road, Luke accidentally placed his hiking pole on the back of Ethan's foot, and Ethan's foot popped his pole up and hit Luke right in the nose. It was a fluke accident, and nosebleed number two on the trail.

We were getting tired and sloppy. It was pretty miserable, walking that road in the hot desert sun all day, but we finally rolled into town dusty, sweaty, cranky and overheated.

Ponil was an entire complex of buildings, like a small town. Having once been the main base camp for Philmont in the 1930's, Ponil had commissaries, dining halls, showers, and a store, and all kinds of activities.

The kids immediately hooked up with the cowboys and set out on their horseback rides through Ponil Canyon, while we five adults stayed behind and had blessed, wonderful, Oh-God-it-can't-be-this-good, showers! And after showers, we did laundry! My God it felt good to be clean again. And once clean, we were suitable to now enter the Cantina, where a lovely girl in a gingham dress served draft root beer. $1 for the first cup, and 50 cents for each refill. I drank three in the span of ten minutes, they were so good!

After the boys got back from their horse rides, I made them all wash their hands (so I didn't come into contact with the horse dander), and we set off for the shooting range. We received a brief safety lecture, whereby the boys were instructed in the use of a Colt 45 Peacemaker pistol, a 38 special Winchester rifle, and a 12 gauge double-barrel shotgun. We each got five shots with the pistol, five shots with the rifle, and two with the shotgun. I was pleased that I hit all the targets except the first, although later someone remarked that the targets were awfully close. Hmmph, what a killjoy.

Dinner at Ponil did not disappoint, either. We were invited to abandon our dehydrated meals for the night and enjoy a chuckwagon dinner of beef stew and fresh made biscuits. They even had Cholula hot sauce on the tables. That stew was so delicious, I had two helpings.

I had to hit the first aid station after supper. My feet had had enough, and I feared I might have to abort the rest of the trip. Luckily, the good cowboy doctors were able to lance and treat my blisters sufficiently that moleskin and more Vitamin I could get me to the next two camps.

Once dinner was complete and my feet were treated, we set up camp and sent the kids to the showers. These kids stunk! Most of us had been taking bandanna baths all week, but the kids were largely unwashed and absolutely foul. Getting them cleaned up was really important!

After the showers, Ponil had a Cantina show, with live performances by the camp staff of piano and fiddle playing and dancing. I went to bed early, but the kids rolled in later content and laughing with stories of the night.

Tomorrow we'd be heading to our last camp, Dean Cow, and it'd be nearing the end of our trip. Funny to think how quickly it all went by.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Eight - French Henry and Pueblano Camps

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Tue, 02 Sep 2014 00:24:00 +0000

On our eighth day, we struck camp at Copper Canyon and headed blessedly downhill to French Henry camp, destined for Pueblano camp. This would be another approximately eight mile day, but it was a steady descent from 10,000 feet to 8,000 feet. A nice stroll.

Our early morning hike took us immediately into the Copper Canyon Meadow, which was indescribably beautiful. We paused for a moment, long enough to snap some photos, and headed on down the trail.

French Henry lay just about halfway along our journey, and was a mining and blacksmithing station. Since the boys had done blacksmithing at Lenhock'sin, we decided to focus on the mine with our limited time.

The Aztec Mine (so named for all the gold it contained), was a real functioning mine from the 1880's (or so) until 1941, when World War II made it impossible to run for lack of men and supplies. Our guide, a girl-staffer from French Henry, told us all about the mine, and taught us that there are a million ways to die in a mine.

First and foremost, steel rails that head into the mine are a perfect conduit for lightning, and many people died in this way. She then invited us to climb into the mine, where the ceiling was so low, I had to crouch and crawl through mucky water as we went deeper. I fought hard against the panic of claustrophobia, not wanting to miss this once-in-a-lifetime chance to see the mine with the boys.

Once inside, the ceiling raised a bit and we could stand up, and our guide showed us the old drilling bits that were used to bore holes into the rock. One person would hold the bit while another would strike it with a hammer. One missed blow, and you'd have a busted thumb for sure. Nasty stuff.

The purpose of drilling the holes was to have a place to put the dynamite. This was a job usually reserved for children, because dynamite was dangerous business, and dynamite would go off unexpectedly, and children (sadly) were considered expendable.

After the blasts would occur, "muckers" would have the job of shoveling all the stone out of the newly opened channel. This too was dangerous business, because if their steel shovels hit an unexploded bit of dynamite, well, that was the end of them too. The muckers were usually Irish immigrants, and sadly again, also considered expendable.

Once all the stone was loaded into the cart, a donkey would haul it up to the surface where they'd dump it into a grinding mill, mixing it with mercury and cyanide to extract the gold, silver, and copper ores. Again, nasty stuff. People died.

Mining, we learned, is dangerous business, and once you were employed by the mine, you were indebted to the companies for food and lodging, and literally made slaves of the mining corporations. Most would die before they turned 30. Very rarely did any one individual, with lustful dreams of gold, ever get rich. Quite the opposite.

We walked further into the mine, and at the end of a long shaft, our guide had us all turn out the lights, where it was so black you could see absolutely nothing.

She began telling us a ghost story. She spoke of a long, lost miner, whose lust for gold brought him to the mine, but who never fit in with the other crews in the mine. He was always the odd man out, and most of the other miners thought he was crazy. Setting off alone one night, in a remote and lonely passage, he hit a weak spot in the shaft, and was trapped in the mine. They said that if you listened closely, you could still hear him tapping for help with his hammer.

Still in the total darkness, our guide then struck a metal pail hard with her axe, sending shivers through us all.

CLANG!!

Quietly then, in a low whisper, Luke sang out, in "Stephen King-esque" way:

"One, two. Buckle my shoe."

CLANG!! She hit it again.

"Three, four, lock the door."

CLANG!!

"Five, six, pick up sticks."

CLANG!!

It was eerie. I thought Luke had been enlisted to do this as part of the show, but it turned out he did this of his own inspiration, and it was creepy as hell.

Show over, I beat cheeks to get the hell out of that mine, stepping in watery puddles and stooping to keep from baning my head. I breathed deeply when I was out back in the open once again.

From French Henry, we headed down the trail again into our camp for the night, Pueblano. The Pueblano camp was a faithful reproduction of a logging camp, in which the Pueblano boys, as they came to be known, showed the boys how to do logging with two person saws, and how to use other various woodcutting tools.

We set up camp early, and made dinner, for this camp offered lots of entertainment around the staff cabin. While making dinner, tragedy befell our camp once more when my coffee cup got stepped on and broken. Oh, Lord, what would I do?! Luckily for me, Luke's coffee habit had not yet set in, so I was able to requisition his coffee cup for the remainder of the trip.

After supper, we played checkers and cards around the cabin. Then, later, the Pueblano boys challenged the scouts to a game of loggerball, which oddly resembled baseball, except that the staff team had the advantage of changing the rules when it suited them. As such, the staff apparently had an undefeated record against the scouts all year.

One of the highlights of this camp was a staffer named Shane, who wrote ransom notes for anyone requesting it, and sent those notes back home to our beloved (our "kissy-faces" as he called them) as a means of extracting cookies from the distraught missuses back home. Unfortunately for Shane, our letter arrive a week and a half after my return home! The letter is amusing as hell, so click on it below to read it in full.

After loggerball and adult coffee at 7pm, the camp staffers brought out banjos and fiddles and played for the camp residents until well after 9pm. Then, once again, it was time to turn in, and get ready for a new day.

Tomorrow, our trip would take us to Ponil, Philmont's historic base camp from the 1930's, and now a cowboy camp with lots of great surprises in store.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Seven - Mount Baldy

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Mon, 01 Sep 2014 11:06:00 +0000

This was the big day. Day seven of our hike was the day that we summited Mt. Baldy. Baldy was so named because it lies at 12,500 ft, just above the tree line, as an imposing bunch of rocky shale that stares at you from every part of the vastness that is Philmont.

Today, we'd climb it. I was wary of heading up this big monster both because of the elevation changes, plus the fact that my feet still hurt, a lot. But we were bolstered this morning by the arrival last night of John Solomon, who had been planning to come on this trek with us, but on day one was informed that his dad died, and had to fly to Texas for the funeral. All week long, John's boys, Zach and Mitchell, had wanted nothing more than to have their dad return, and we adults, with no cell phones nor contact with John, could only guess that there was perhaps a 50% chance we'd see him again on this trek.

But as luck would have it, John strolled into camp last night accompanied by two rangers from French Henry camp to see him safely delivered. John's boys were elated, and we were really happy to see him return. John has an even keeled, gentle likability to him, and he was a welcome addition to our crew.

His return, though, was bittersweet. John had missed out on all the acclimatizing hikes thus far and would be totally unready for ascent to 12,500 today.

I reassured him though, that "John, we'll take as many breaks as you need, and we're in no rush to do this." Perhaps I was selfishly giving myself some much needed pauses, but really, in all honesty, the last thing we needed up here was an adult with a heart attack, and that was a very real possibility.

We set off early, on the trail by six am, since we didn't have to break up camp. Today was another long journey. After summiting Baldy, we'd climb back down into Baldy Town to pick up another three days of provisions, and then make our way on a big winding loop back to Copper Canyon.

There are two ways to get up the mountain: One involves a straight-up ascent on shale and unrelentingly rising rocks. No thank you. The other way is back up those sixteen switchbacks, back to that 11,500 ft pass, and then instead of heading down into Greenwood Canyon, heading UP the trail to Mt. Baldy. This trail went up quickly, and was very difficult, so we stopped every twenty minutes for prescribed two-minute breaks. These were magical in their ability to restore us, both in breath and on our feet. We took many, many of these, until we left the trees altogether and entered the long curving ridge known locally as "The Sound of Music." This was a beautiful and very easy walk along the top of the mountains at 12,000 feet where we could swing our arms, singing "Doe, a deer, a female deer" and take photos and catch our breath.

Several of the boys, my Luke included, felt that it was an appropriate milestone to be able to poop at 12,000 feet, and so they did so here.

At the end of the long C-shaped ridge, we came upon an old abandoned mine. (The entire mountain is criss-crossed internally with mines.) We posed for pictures before setting out on the final ascent.

The last 500 feet were straight up on nothing but hand-over-fist rocky scrabble. I was behind Ethan at this point, which means, with his big clod-hopper feet, I was walking behind a living avalanche.

Every one of Ethan's footsteps would dislodge rocks the size of cantaloupes and send them careening my direction, while I was desperately trying to plan every footfall to minimize sharp corners that sent twinges of pain into my poor feet.

Step after step.

Rock after rock.

Rest a bit, and then continue again.

We finally made it to the top. We arrived on top of Mt. Baldy!!

On the mountain, we were victorious, like conquering heroes. The weather was glorious, and we high-fived and strutted around, and yes, even wept a little with the accomplishment. Ethan and his dad embraced in a long hug. Ethan, earlier, seeing that his dad was struggling, took his dad's heavier pack and carried it up the mountain for him. Max was overwhelmed with the emotion of this. Even I grabbed Luke for some tight hugs and photos on the mountain. We had done it!

Success at hand, we stayed up there for a long time, taking photos and goofing off. I found a small patch of grass, and in the sunny warmth, I laid down and fell fast asleep. I napped for a good 30-40 minutes at least, when I was suddenly awakened by the gentle thudding of tiny footsteps across my legs and chest. Luke cried out, "Hey! A chipmunk just ran across my dad! Did that just happen?!" Indeed it had. I had become one with nature.

We descended Baldy on that treacherous straight-down rocky path, and had to be all the more careful not to slip and fall. One slip, and we'd be unable to catch ourselves, and Max very nearly demonstrated this to us when he slipped. We side-stepped down the mountain, carefully placing our feet. Finally, we reached a point where the trail became more workable, and we came down into the forest once again, and into Baldy Town.

Baldy Town is one of the major provisioning outposts, where we picked up new packs of food for the next three days. We used several packets of mustard, mayo and relish to dress up our tuna into a tuna salad, which we ate for lunch with crackers.

Our biggest joy in Baldy Town, however, was FRESH FRUIT! Max surprised me with a fresh pear, which I devoured in three bites. Then I quickly ate down two more oranges. I had not had much appetite all week long, but this fruit tasted amazing and I ate it greedily.

After Baldy Town, and yet another rainstorm, we headed into the woods once more and made our way back for another night at Copper Canyon camp. We struck up another campfire, ate, and had another really good day, but a long day, of 15 miles of hiking.

And the best part was, it was all downhill from here.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Six - Greenwood Canyon to Copper Canyon Camp

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Sun, 31 Aug 2014 10:53:00 +0000

Leaving Greenwood Canyon camp, we continued in the Greenwood Canyon valley and hiked among an environment that looked more like Switzerland than New Mexico. Green aspens and blue spruce were all around us, and the valley was really, really wet. Babbling brooks lined the trail, and far off vistas reminded me of Bavaria and Neuschwannstein. It was some of the prettiest hiking we had seen so far on the trek.

We were on a ten-or-so mile journey today, heading our way toward Copper Canyon camp, where we would have two blessed days in one camp, as we go up and down Mt. Baldy. This meant we had the luxury of not having to break up camp tomorrow morning, and being able to get off on our hike 90 minutes earlier than it typically took us to break camp and have breakfast.

Baldy, which once seemed so far away, now loomed over us like an ominous giant, so near, but so difficult and high above us. I seriously questioned my ability to climb it the next day. By this point in the trek, the halfway point, my feet were very, very tired and sore. I had two banana shaped blisters, one on each heel, which were protectively covered with moleskin and tape, and small blisters on the pads of my pinkie and ring toes (is that what you call them?). Every single step hurt, and it was only through the grace of God and Vitamin I (Ibuprofen), that I was able to continue. I was regularly consuming 800 mg in the morning, and 800 mg at night to keep me going. It worked.

The trek to Copper Canyon was no easy task. Again, we were faced with a long distance day, coupled with the insult of serious elevation changes. We trekked 10 miles, which by this time was really not bad. The distance wasn't difficult. It was the elevation. Our camp at Greenwood was at 8,500 ft. And our camp at Copper Canyon was at 10,500 ft. But between them, we'd have to cross a ridge at 11,500 ft before coming back down an endless series of switchbacks into the camp. (Adam counted them, and there were sixteen switchbacks.)

During this time, another horrible hailstorm hit us, and rather than assume the lightning stance, we tried to out-run the storm. We raced down the switchbacks, hoping to get to camp before the lightning got worse. We were racing like mad, and going much faster than we should, when Lance slipped on the wet trail and almost skidded down the mountain. At this point, we called out to Matt, who was leading the pack that we had to slow down, we had to be more careful. Someone was going to get hurt.

It was during this pause, as pea-sized hailstones stung our faces and hands, and torrential rain dripped into our rain jackets, pants, arm sleeves, and shoes, that Mitchell announced that he had to poop.

"Poop?!? In a hailstorm?"

Yes, Mitchell had to poop. And so poop he did, making his way to a remote spot off the trail where he squeezed out the quickest poop ever, and became the first person I've ever known to claim the title of pooping in a hailstorm. THAT, my dear friends, is roughing it.

Over an hour later, we finally made it to Copper Canyon camp where we had to set up tents in the still pouring rain. Nerves were frayed completely at this point, and even the adults got into a nasty argument and shouting about the best way to set up camp. Tempers flared and feelings were hurt. But the boys actually rescued the situation. Remarkably, they immediately started setting up the dining fly in such a way that we could erect our tents under the fly and keep our stuff dry while the rain poured down. The boys were awesome, and illustrated to us adults what true teamwork was that day. I was very, very proud of them.

Finally, when the tents were up, the bear bags were hung, and dinner was started, the rain ended, and we decided to make a campfire. We were soaked!

The campfire had a magical effect of raising our spirits and bonding us together tighter as a crew. It was a morale restorer. We huddled around the flames, enjoying their warmth, while we dried out our sleeping bags, socks, clothes, and ourselves. I went to bed that night warm and dry, which was a blessing on this very hard day.

Tomorrow, we reach the biggest challenge of our trip, Mt. Baldy!

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Five - Whiteman Vega to Greenwood Canyon

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Sat, 30 Aug 2014 10:22:00 +0000

As we left the Vega early on day five, we left the last of the high mountain meadows of the Valle Vidal. We orienteered ourselves back to Ring Place, and then followed the trails south, south, south to Greenwood Canyon camp. This last time of orienteering and bushwhacking was our finest. We finally had it down and did it correctly, and wasted no time getting back to Ring Place for morning coffee at the staff cabin.

We hiked for many miles in the open trail, devoid of the comforting shade that we enjoyed while in the canyons. And about the time that we started climbing a bit, and the forest returned, we endured our first injury of the trek: Zach succumbed to a relentless nosebleed due to the higher altitude and dryness. Max and I were the first aid providers for the trip, and Max enthusiastically jumped at the chance to doctor his first patient. He was gleeful to use his training and help Zach with his injury, shoving tons of toilet paper up his nose like he was stuffing a Thanksgiving turkey. After a few minutes, Zach's nosebleed subsided, and he finally recovered enough that we could continue. Max was so happy!

Hiking onward, our scenery changed into more forested and cooler, as we ascended into approximately 8,500 feet elevation. The narrow and beautiful Greenwood Canyon was home to countless daisies, asters, aspens and spruce, leaving behind all the Gambel oak, Ponderosa pine, and sage grass.

The canyon was so narrow, we didn't see the storm that hit us around 1pm until it was right on us. It was a viscous thunder, lightning and hail storm that forced us for the first time to take cover and assume the lightning stance.

The lightning stance is an important trail safety measure to deal with the inevitability that you will be caught in a lightning storm during your trek, and again, you don't want to die.

Here is how it works:

First, you remove all your packs, as these have lots of metal in them. Second, you spread out along the trail, fifty feet apart from each other, so that if one of you gets hit by lightning, the others in your crew don't die. Third, you assume "the stance." The stance required is this: place your feet, heels together, at a 90 degree angle from each other. Pull up onto the balls of your feet, heels off the ground, and then crouch down, knees apart, with your elbows on your knees and your hands over your ears. Now sit like this until the storm has passed for 30 minutes. In practice, you sit like this for five minutes until your calves are burning and your knees feel like they will explode, at which point you sit your ass down upon the ground and, raising your eyes and hands up to Heaven, announce, "Take me now Lord, if you will, because I can't do that lightning stance any longer!"

During the time we were in this position, we were desperately hoping we wouldn't get hit by the multitude of lightning around us, and every time we thought it was safe, another bolt would hit close by, the closest only 50 yards or so from us. I was genuinely scared, and all the while, our rocky little trail was turning into a rushing river which I knew we would have to wade through when all this was done. Yeah, this was where the "strenuous" part of our hike came in, I guess.

Finally, the storm abated, and we were able to make it to camp. But not before passing a stark reminder of the dangers of our hike: As we passed a herd of cattle, we came upon a set of cow bones that were still fresh from the kill--they still had blood and meaty bits on them. Thinking about it for a moment, there was only one animal in the forest that could bring down a large cow. Not a bear. Not a bobcat. Not even a whole pack of coyotes. Only a mountain lion.

Sam had warned us about mountain lions, and the need to travel in pairs, especially at night, and what measures to employ if we encountered one. (Piss yourself, then run!) But the problem with mountain lions is that you don't know they are there until it is too late. They quietly stalk you and when you least expect it, they pounce! And these bones were proof that we were in mountain lion territory. I shuddered a little, and we moved on.

Finally, after what turned out to be sixteen miles of hiking with packs, our longest day yet, we reached our camp.

Exhausted completely, set up camp, ate and went to bed. Our latrine in camp was another "open-air" affair, which was majestically perched right above my tent on a high cliff. I was too tired to worry about seeing anybody up there though, and went straight to sleep.

The next morning, we head to Copper Canyon camp, where we set up a two day base camp before the pinnacle of our trip, our summiting of Mt. Baldy.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Four - Ring Place to Whiteman Vega

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Fri, 29 Aug 2014 11:01:00 +0000

On the morning of day four, homesickness set in. Sleeping in a bit, because we had a short day of hiking ahead of us, I awoke in complete despair. I wanted to go home. I had dreamed of home, and of Becky and Eddie, and even Frank, and this particular morning, I wanted none of this. No hike, no breakfast, none of it. I felt queasy and hadn't been peeing much by now. I would pee only once or twice a day, and my pee would be dark, almost brownish, and only a few drops. It would also sting a little when I tried. I was sweating all my moisture out, and my bladder and kidneys were suffering for it.

I didn't realize it until later that I was in the early phases of altitude sickness. What I should have been doing is drinking more water, much more. But I thought drinking three to four liters per day was already enough. As it turned out, it would not be.

We set another bearing for Whiteman Vega and bushwhacked our way to the next camp. Once again, we lost our bearing midway, and as you can see from the map, made a significant detour to the south, requiring us to turn left and head back into camp on the road. Thank God for roads. This orienteering stuff was a lot harder than the boys ever thought.

At Whiteman Vega, the staffers greeted us with our next assignment, a conservation project. BSA is big into conservation, so they enlist each crew coming to Philmont to do a three hour conservation project somewhere in camp. Our job was to build more trails in the remote forest. This was a job that many of the boys, especially Ethan, really took to. "You mean I get to hit rocks with a sledgehammer?! Cool!!" For my part, my altitude sickness was full on by this time, and I felt queasy and exhausted. The staffers decided I didn't look so well, so they let me nap in the conservation project staging area, while the boys set off with shovels, picks, buckets, and wheelbarrows in hand.

I napped for a solid hour, and when I awoke, I felt worlds better, both emotionally and physically. So putting an ear to the wind, I could just barely make out the sound of voices and hammers. I couldn't see where the boys had gone, but followed my ears until I found the work crew, busily pounding out a new trail. Ethan was definitely in his element. The kid beamed with all the physical labor.

After the conservation work was done, we were rewarded with a bit of mountain biking. Whiteman Vega is home to a really awesome and very challenging bike course, whereby you can zoom down the mountain at 100 miles per hour while narrowly escaping death over ramps, moguls, tabletops, and banked curves. This, apparently, is called "fun." I called it intense white-knuckled praying, and being totally honest, I was glad when it was over and I was still alive. The boys enjoyed it much more than I, since they are lower to the ground and not as prone to die on the trail as I was.

The mountain biking and conservation project added another six miles to our trek. You can decide for yourself if that mileage should be added to our total tally. Some in our group thought it should, and others thought not, since it was not mileage spent hiking with backpacks. Either way, it didn't matter to me.

After biking, as usual, we set up camp and ate dinner, then went to bed. Tomorrow, we'd have a long day, a fifteen mile day, as we wound south from Whiteman Vega to Greenwood Canyon. It would be an early start to a very long day of hiking.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Three - Cook Canyon to Ring Place

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Thu, 28 Aug 2014 10:00:00 +0000

Day three dawned, and we said good-bye to Sam, our ranger. Before leaving, Sam imparted us with some words of wisdom from his experiences at Philmont, and encouraged us, "Don't let this be the pinnacle of our scouting adventures; let it only be the beginning." (Yeah, right, I was thinking to myself. I'm getting too old for this crap!) The hardships of the trail were beginning to set in.

We set off on our own toward Ring Place. The trail took us up another thousand feet or so, and we entered 8,000 ft in elevation, with the environment changing to forests of spruce and Ponderosa pines. A fun fact about the Ponderosa pine: If you get your nose right into the bark, actually touching the bark with the tip of your nose, and deeply inhale, you'll get a strong scent of heavenly butterscotch.

Another fact, not so fun, is that most of the Ponderosa pine are under siege from an invasive beetle which is eating away at the trees, and slowly killing them all.

At the ridge, we stopped for our first view of Mt. Baldy, which seemed so very far away. In later days, we'd be hiking up and down that monster, and it was hard to imagine how far we had yet to travel.

After cresting our first big ridge, we came down into Dan Beard camp, where our lovely staffer, a pretty girl named Lily, showed the boys the COPE (Challenging Outdoor Personal Experience) course. (I was happy enough to be provided with hot coffee by the camp staffers!)

We didn't have an awful lot of time, so the boys elected to try their skill at just the scaling wall. The wall was a twenty-or-so foot tall wall whereby each boy had to get over the wall using just his own crew for support. Lily arranged the boys in order of birth-month (pseudo random), and then they had to get up and over the wall. They enjoyed this activity very much.

After a brief pause, then, we were back on the trail and headed north. Leaving Dan Beard camp, we crossed a barbed-wire fence which meant we were leaving Philmont property and headed into the ranch country of Valle Vidal. Canyons turned to high mountain meadows, and we encountered our first cattle, who were always curious to see the strange bi-peds hiking through their meadows.

It got hot in the meadows. Many of the trees had been burned in the previous years' forest fires, so we missed the coolness of shady trees. Instead, we donned bandannas like Arab sheiks and slathered on tons of sunscreen.

The meadows were gorgeous open fields with huge sky bracketed by mountains on all sides, and interspersed with windmills. The meadows were also thriving prairie dog metropolises, and you had to be careful not to drop a foot into one of the numerous holes while you hiked. The prairie dogs would pop their heads up and watch us, stone faced, as we tread past their city, making sure we didn't stop and overstay our welcome.

Just past an intermittent lake in the meadow, we decided to stop for lunch. We sat under the shade of a single pine tree, eating our fill of (you guessed it) trail mix, nuts, squirt cheese and Spam. Yuck.

Lunchtime was our first and only bear sighting for the trip, when a small black bear was seen running at remarkably high speed, away from our picnic spot. We must have scared him away with our noise.

Hiking on, we later arrived for a brief water-fill at Dan Sealy camp, where we then had a choice to make. Our final stop would be Ring Place, which was either five miles on a looping road to the west, or eight miles on a long road to the east, or we could bushwhack and make a two mile bee-line for the camp using our orienteering skills. The staff at Dan Sealy recommended the orienteering, and so we did.

Orienteering is a tricky business. Let me lay it out for you, briefly. If you are on point A on the map, and you want to get to point B, using your compass, you orient your map so that it lies in line with true-north, and then you plot the angle you wish to travel. For our purposes, it was 281 degrees, or west-northwest-ish. Then, once you start moving, you have one navigator with compass in hand, and he follows the bearing. The most practical way to do this is to find your bearing, find a landmark, such as a large tree or mountain that lies in that bearing, and hike until you reach that landmark. At this point, you find the bearing again, a new landmark, and continue until you find your destination.

That's how it works in theory. In practice, this is really hard, because there are things like mountains and ravines in your way, and you might have to detour. What's harder still is when a trail comes up, you are tempted to say, "Oh, this must be the trail we're looking for!" and you will be led away from your bearing. This is what we call "lost." And lost is what we got. After a few hours of hiking in this way, we found ourselves in an open meadow with trees all around, but no view of any landmarks by which we could relocate ourselves on the map (mountains, streams, etc.). We were lost. Following a 281 bearing after wandering off the track will do you no good, as you must find yourself on the map and strike a new bearing. But first you have to find yourself on the map, and that is hard.

The boys spent over an hour trying to figure all this out, hiking to a high point so they could find a landmark by which to navigate, while we adults quietly rested and waited for them to figure it out. Our job was not to tell them what to do, but to make sure they stayed safe. This wasn't our hike, it was their hike. So if we were lost, the boys had to fix it. (Mind you, I had a GPS, and knew all along where we were, but I would not divulge that information unless we'd been there for six hours and it became a safety issue.)

The boys finally projected another waypoint, and we set off, and found ourselves two or more miles off target from our Ring Place camp, but we found the Ring Place road, and were able to hike that back into camp and finally set up camp, much later than we liked, much more tired that we liked, but definitely with a lesson learned for the day.

Ring Place was a cowboy camp (a real cowboy camp) where horses roamed free while the cowboys camped during breaks in their cattle drives. The cowboys had trailers and RVs, and camped separately, near the corrals where they kept some of their horses, while the BSA staff cabin sat atop a hill overlooking the old Ring family ranch ruins, now a local landmark.

Our staff at this remote camp focused on another cool topic: astronomy. Once the stars came out, they brought out the gigantic 12" lens telescope and we spied several nebulae, Saturn and all its rings, and a glorious full moon. On a whim, I put my camera to the eyepiece and captured the remarkable photo below from the telescope. The good and bad of it was that while it was good to see the full moon, and it made navigation to the latrine at night an easy job, it obliterated the stars in the sky, and we desperately wanted to see the Milky Way and all the dramatic western stars. Oh well, perhaps we'd have to wait for another time.

The astronomy was a nice end to a rather long day, so having eaten well, and set up camp earlier, we all went to bed to ready ourselves for the next day's hike.

Tomorrow, it would be a short hike, just two miles, to Whiteman Vega, the northernmost point on our trek.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Two - House Canyon to Cook Canyon

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Wed, 27 Aug 2014 10:29:00 +0000

Before dawn broke, my watch alarm went off with a tiny beep-beep, beep-beep, beep-beep. During the trip, I was designated as the human alarm clock for the crew and was responsible for the much-unloved task of announcing to the crew, "It's five am!" Time to wake up. Together, we decided to rise early each day because hiking in the morning was best, before the heat of the day made hiking oppressive.

Today, we'd be hiking from House Canyon through Anasazi, Indian Writings, and Metcalf, to arrive at Cook Canyon camp. This would also be our last day with Sam, our ranger. After today, we'd be on our own.

One thing we learned this first morning in camp was that nothing dries out overnight in the desert. Those who had hung a line and set out clothes to dry soon discovered this morning that the falling dew in the desert night made everything sopping wet in the morning. This included tents, clothes, and anything left out and not under the protective dining fly. Packing up camp in the wet was absolutely no fun, as everything got dirty and muddy. Rolling a ground pad, for instance, involved catching all that moisture with all the dirt of the campsite, rolling it tightly like a burrito, and sticking it all into your pack, still wet, and still dirty. Ah, so be it. We were roughing it.

Our journey today was an eight or so mile affair down the Metcalf Road trail. Our first stop after descending from camp was the Anasazi camp, where we had a solar powered water station. Two solar panels provide just enough power to run a low-voltage pump on a tiny well. The pump runs and fills a simple aluminum tub whenever it gets below a certain water level.

The water was not potable; however, so Sam gave us instruction on using the water purification tablets to make the water safe. This included the important point of "bleeding the threads", which is a process of washing the threads of our Nalgene lids and our water suction hoses for those of us who used pack bladders. If you didn't bleed the threads, infected water could contaminate all the good water you've just received.

We were in a dry camp the night before, so we all desperately needed water this morning, and filled up with 4-5 liters per person.

After leaving Anasazi, we headed into our first staffed camp, Indian Writings. The boys again had a chance to fill up their water, use the bathrooms, and eat lunch. The camp offered a tour of archaeological ruins and Indian petroglyphs, but we didn't stay long to see them, as we wanted to make our way to Philmont's newest camp, Metcalf Station. So we pressed onward.

Metcalf Station is a faithful reproduction of a railroad station, with an track under construction that will eventually reach two miles long. The track is a reproduction of the old Cimmaron R.R. that once sat in this valley. The new track is actually being built by the boy scouts who visit the camp, and our boys got their turn at laying the ties, aligning the rails, and hammering in the spikes. Let me tell you, it looks hard, and it was hard. The boys would strike the spike twenty or thirty times, and the spike wouldn't even move a quarter of an inch. Experienced railroad workers, we were told, would use no more than eight strikes to land a single spike in the ties. Wow.

Metcalf was the first station that we realized our programmed activities would be very special at Philmont. The staff (all twenty-somethings, mostly boys, but a few girls too) would be in period dress, and be acting the part of a period role, in this case, rail workers of the 1800's. This wasn't done in a schmaltzy Disney kind of way, but in a truly authentic manner with a particular attention to historical details and facts. We even had a young man from Dublin, Ireland, named Paddy of course, who in his woolen trousers, cotton work shirt and tweed cap, you could just imagine as a new immigrant to the U.S. working the rails. The boys ate up the history and loved interacting with the older staff. Having the chance to interact with these stations was golden for them. We adults were really impressed. Good job on that, Philmont.

After Metcalf and after lunch, we hit the trail again for the last bit of hiking to Cook Canyon. Here the weather turned wet, and we hit our first afternoon storm. Donning waterproof pack covers, we hiked on in the rain until we reached camp. Setting up camp was wet work, made dirtier still by the previous day, and we quickly ate dinner and went straight to bed.

Tomorrow, the journey would continue north into the Valle Vidal.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day One - Six Mile Gate to House Canyon Camp

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Tue, 26 Aug 2014 12:00:00 +0000

I've neglected to mention to this point the facts of our coming trek. When we signed up for Philmont, the we left the decisions of the trek to the boys. Philmont has some thirty-odd treks to offer, varying from easy-peasy to strenuous to challenging. The easy treks are perhaps thirty miles and seven days, focusing mostly on having fun at the program stations. The strenuous and challenging treks focus on mileage and summits.

Our boys wanted a strenuous hike, and so they chose trek #29, which would have us travel well north of base camp, through 84 miles of the beautiful country known as the Valle Vidal. Most of this northern land is actually not part of the Philmont Scout Ranch, but actual functioning ranch land that the ranchers allow for use by the scouts. It is also some of the most beautiful and remote country I've ever seen.

At 84 miles, trek #29 is one of the most difficult treks offered by Philmont. The general rule of thumb for these treks is that a crew should expect to do about 20% more than the trek mileage stated. This is because many of the program stations and camping sites are actually located half a mile to a mile away from the central camp. Add that with extra mileage for getting lost (yep, we did that), and backtracking, and wandering around camp areas, and you easily have a lot of mileage for the trip. And, as it turned out for our crew, we clocked in at just about 100 miles in ten days--a very large number of miles! And as for elevation, the trek had us starting at 7,000 ft, and then after a few days, rising to 10,000, peaking at 12,500, back down to 10,000, and then gradually back down to 7,000--rather ideal from an acclimatization perspective.

Early on day one, our bus dropped us off at Six Mile Gate, whereupon our ranger, Sam, began a training on how to use the latrine. It may seem juvenile, but it was of paramount importance to discuss the practical matters of pooping in the open country. When available, we'd have latrines, in which you could poop, but not pee in the latrine. This was because the pee would make the compost too wet, and the whole latrine would stink horribly. (There was blessedly no smell if the latrine was properly used.) Latrines would be sprinkled throughout the camps in the backcountry, and we were mighty glad to have them when available.

Without a latrine, we'd have to dig a cat hole. That is, we'd have to dig a six inch hole in the ground, and squat over it to make our doody. This sounds simple enough, until you've tried it. The main challenge is to squat without falling over, especially when wiping, for falling over usually means falling into your own steaming pile of last night's dinner. So, Sam showed us various techniques to make this easier. If pooping solo (yeah, I said solo, more on that later), one could assume the "crab" stance, where you perch backward on all fours, like a crab at the beach. But immediately upon wiping, you remove one arm, and it becomes the hip-hop DJ stance. If you wish, you can start kicking your legs and you'll have the dancing Cossack. You can see the boys might enjoy this topic.

Even more amusing were the poop-with-a-partner stances. Yeah, that's right: Pooping in teams. One stance involved locking arms back-to-back and squatting, with each of the boys pooping. This had the advantage of only having to dig one hole for two boys. Or you could hold hands face-to-face and squat, so you can see the twinkle in your partner's eyes when you grunt out your pecan log. Needless to say, these last stances were more theoretical than practical, but again, they provided great fodder for poop-humor with the boys.

Of more importance was the poop rating scale, that being a 1-10, with a one being the drizzling shits (or liquid poop as BSA calls it) and a 10 being a perfect no-wipe-needed poop. This would actually be quite an important scale to make sure nobody got infected from drinking bad water, and that everyone was moving things along properly as we hiked. We would ask for and receive regular reports from each individual during our hikes on the quality and number-rating of each morning's poop, just to make sure everyone was staying healthy. It was a real matter of preventative first-aid.

The boys decided however that the Philmont poop scale was flawed, and came up with a better one. If one was diarrhea, and ten was perfection, the scale did not accommodate constipation. Our crew decided that the scale must be rearranged to a scale more like the pH scale, with zero being that perfect poop, and -5 begin diarrhea, while 5 would represent total constipation. Somehow, this new innovation made me very proud of my boys.

So, you can see in the backcountry, we quickly forgot the fineries of modern life, cell phones, email, television, Facebook, and focused on the basics: eating, shelter, pooping, and not dying. This would be our focus for the next ten days.

Philmont has but three rules for each trek: Rule number 1: Don't die. Rule number 2: Look good. And Rule number 3: If you do die, look good while dying. So, if you are falling off the cliff, make a big swan dive before you go. If a mountain lion pounces on you, grit your teeth and wrestle with it until you lose (and you will always lose against a mountain lion). You get the idea.

We finally set out on the trail, headed for House Canyon camp. The trail at this point was arid, hot and desert-like. We saw many prickly pear cacti, sage, scrubby grass and Gambel oaks, the small dwarf oak trees that dominate Philmont. Along the hike, we came upon our first and (thankfully) only encounter with a rattlesnake. As we were hiking along a rocky ravine, after about half our crew had passed a particular clump of rocks, we heard the tell-tale shuka-shuka-shuka of a juvenile rattlesnake. We immediately split our crew in two parts, those who had passed it, and those who had not, and the latter had to bushwhack our way back to the trail, leaving the snake a wide berth.

After our snake, we came upon our first stop of the day, the T-Rex track fossil. Apparently, this is the only fossil of a Tyrannosaurus Rex known in the world. It was pretty impressive, and this shady spot also made a good location for our first lunch, before departing again on the trail for camp.

All told, we hiked for about five miles to get to House Canyon camp. The trail this day was relatively short and level, still a day of acclimating to the distance and elevation. We were at approximately 7,000 feet of elevation, with a small 400 foot elevation at the end of the hike into camp. This last 400 feet was important, because it meant that this first camp of ours would be a dry camp--in other words, no water. So we had to pack in all the water we'd need for dinner and breakfast. Packing water is hard, since a gallon of water weighs in at eight pounds. It is the heaviest thing we carry, but also the most necessary.

Our first night in camp, Sam showed the boys how to first erect their bear bags. Because bears and mini-bears (squirrels, chipmunks, gophers) are a very real problem in the backcountry, all smellables (food, toothpaste, sunscreen, trash, first-aid kits, etc.) must be hoisted high into the trees each night to keep them out of reach of nibbling creatures. The last thing you want is to forget that piece of beef jerky in your back pocket and awaken at 3am with a black bear chewing off half your butt cheek. Believe me, it happens.

After hoisting the bear bags, Sam instructed the boys on erecting a dining fly, which is mostly for keeping packs and dining supplies dry in the night. Once the dining fly is set up, we were then free to set up our tents. After these three chores were complete each night, we would commence to making dinner, and have a few moments of relaxation before bed. This routine would become our regular practice each night upon arriving at camp: bear bags, dining fly, tents, supper, bed. In that order.

I haven't talked about trail food, but each day we had a breakfast, lunch and dinner provided by our base camp commissary. The food was split up and carried among the entire crew, and added considerable weight to each of our packs.

Breakfast was usually a granola or power bar, a package of nuts, a fruit-by-the-foot roll-up, some Gatorade powder, and a piece of meat jerky. I enjoyed this breakfast exactly once before becoming completely disgusted with it and almost unable to eat it thereafter. Later in the journey, I would have to force myself to consume even one power bar. Apparently, the altitude also plays a role in the loss of appetite, but with the altitude and the paltry breakfast, I'm amazed I had enough caloric fuel to make each day's hike.

Lunch was a similar affair, consisting of granola, nuts, trail mix, and usually some package of meat (tuna, salmon, spam) and crackers. The meat and crackers would be my focus for the lunch, and I'd usually give the rest away.

Dinner was our one "luxurious" meal, with all the same contents of nuts, trail mix, and garbage like Keebler cookies, but with the wonderful addition of a real dehydrated meal: beef stroganoff, spaghetti with meat sauce, chili mac and beans, etc. We'd boil several liters of water each night, and the boys would cook us up a nice hot meal each night for supper.

Bed came early in the camps. We'd be so exhausted from the hikes, most nights we were asleep by 7:45pm, ready for the 5am wake up for the next morning's hike.

Tomorrow, we leave House Canyon to hit our first program stations and head towards Cook Canyon.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Zero - Base Camp

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Mon, 25 Aug 2014 11:11:00 +0000

Arriving at Philmont Scout Ranch base camp was like arriving at a military deployment. As soon as you walk off the bus, you were instantly met with a coordinator who logs in your crew, and began your journey through the provisioning and training that would ready you for 10 days in the remote backcountry of New Mexico. The crew was efficiently moved from station to station: the commissary, safety, first aid, orienteering, etc. The only thing missing was a buzz cut from boot camp.

At base camp, we met our ranger, Sam Baskins, a young twenty year old scout who would take us on the first two days of hiking and camping. Sam's job was twofold: (1) to make sure we knew what we were doing, or in other words, to make sure we didn't die, and (2) to make sure we followed the rules of Leave No Trace camping. The latter was an important mantra that we would recite and follow each day of our hikes. We would pack out all of our trash. We would not pick any plants or molest any animals on the trip. The only thing we'd take would be photos. Every campsite had to be left clean as when we entered it. Pooping had to be done in either a provided latrine or we'd have to dig a cat-hole 200 feet from the nearest trail or stream. Even our foamy spit from brushing our teeth had to be swallowed and not spit out on the ground. These principles not only protected the land, but ensured that with 22,000 scouts visiting Philmont, the experience is just as good for the 19,999th scout as it is for scout number one. They take Leave No Trace very seriously, and it became religion with us too.

For the evening at base camp, we stayed in the typical canvas two-man tents. This again was a luxury that we would soon miss, as we had a cot and a three-inch mattress, and no need to erect camp. Our first task with Sam was to check out all of our supplies that we had brought. Philmont provided a list of camping supplies, including tents, sleeping bags, gloves, knives, etc., but Sam's job was to make sure we weren't complete yutzes and that we brought everything we needed.

Of course, turns out there were things needed that we didn't have. Luke and I didn't have waterproof pack covers, and Sam really, really suggested we have them. There were some of our boys who didn't have gloves, or other key items, and again Sam strongly encouraged us to visit the Tooth of Time Trading Post and pick them up (for a hefty surcharge... I mean, convenience fee). Turns out, Sam wasn't shilling for the camp store, but these items would be key in the coming days.

The weather in Philmont was pretty consistent. Desert nights were cold, and it was hot during the day. But every day, at about 1pm, it stormed. Our first day in base camp, this storm produced a beautiful rainbow, which we though was a great omen for the trip to come. (The omen being that we were going to get a hell of a lot more storms, we later found out.)

Our last night in base camp had us dining at the dining hall, and then breakfast the next morning. These would be the last of our hot-cooked meals for 10 days. Oh, how I wish I had seconds before setting out on the trail. It would be the last real food I'd see for quite some time.

Tomorrow, we'd set out from Base Camp for Six Mile Gate, our trail head, and begin our journey to our camp in House Canyon.

Philmont Scout Ranch - Day Minus-One - Travel to Colorado

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Sun, 24 Aug 2014 12:35:00 +0000

For over a year now, Luke and I, plus a crew of about 9 other scouts and parents from Troop 969, have been preparing for our epic journey to Philmont Scout Ranch. Philmont is the Mecca of the scouting religion in the United States. The ranch has been reserved as a scout's hardest and most rewarding achievement since the 1930's. My grandfather, all of my uncles, and nearly every boy who has ever been very serious in scouting has been to Philmont or desired to go. Each year, they see over 22,000 scouts, and what's remarkable is the military-like efficiency with which the camp is run. With that many people, they have provisioning, communications, search and rescue, and other critical functions down to a completely well-oiled machine, while giving the scouts an opportunity to still be completely remote and on their own in the backcountry. They do an amazing job.

Our journey to Philmont would have us hopping a Southwest 737 from Dulles and landing in Denver. We decided, for convenience and for the best value, that using a charter from Blue Sky Adventures was the most practical way to get from Denver to Cimmaron, New Mexico, a drive of several hours.

Blue Sky met us at the airport in Denver, where we hopped a bus and headed out. A bit about Blue Sky: The company is made up of scouters who really understand Philmont and the scouting bases they support. Their main business is providing transportation to scouts getting to these high adventure camps. Therefore, the charter trip is geared toward enriching the whole camp experience as a whole. That said, our first stop was Red Rocks Park in Denver. Here, we stopped for several hours and did our first hike, a two mile hike around the park. This served two purposes: (1) to show us the beautiful park, but (2) to begin to acclimate our sea-level lungs to the higher altitude. Very smart, as altitude would be a major obstacle as we hiked in the coming weeks.

After touring Red Rocks, we departed and headed to Colorado Springs, home of the United States Air Force Academy. The academy was remarkably small, and the highlight of the tour there was the iconic chapel, which from the outside is reminiscent of something aeronautical, with its aluminum spires and sweeping sharp points. Inside, it is transformed into a cathedral of light, with the stained glass providing a beautiful blue and purple glow on every pew. The main chapel is Protestant, but also housed within are separate chapels and services for Catholics, Jews, Buddhists, and Muslims, each one's size determined by the number of students typically interested in each faith service.

Once we departed the USAF Academy, we stopped in for lunch at the Country Buffet. The boys gorged themselves on the all-you-can-eat buffet, and with the thought of the calories we were soon to burn, even the parents let themselves go a little.

After lunch, we headed for our first night stop for the trip: the dormitories of the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs. Here we'd stay for the night before setting out in the morning for Cimmaron, New Mexico, home of Philmont Scout Ranch.

The dorms offered spacious and luxurious accommodations. And by luxurious, I mean we had a bed and chairs. Dining was in the student dining hall. The food there was not super, but we had no idea how good it would be compared to the weeks to come.

The highlight of our first night out was that we had full use of the student recreation center, where the boys played pick-up games of basketball and then finally we all took a long splash in the university pool, playing marco-polo til it was time for bed.

Tomorrow, we'd be arriving at Philmont, and tomorrow the journey would really begin.

End of Soccer Season - Spring 2014

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Tue, 10 Jun 2014 14:52:00 +0000

We finished another wonderful season of soccer. Luke transitioned from defensive player to playing mostly forward wing this year, a position much more suited for his speed and ability to pass and juke. We had a big team, twenty two boys, which made it challenging to get enough play time for each boy, but they played with heart nonetheless, and we ended up winning the season with a 6-2 record and second place in the county tournament!

I am a very lucky man to have coached these kids for the last 8-9 years or so. My team has grown so big, but I love working with these great guys. Thank you, Nancy, for this touching gift and a fine job of Photoshoppery.

Luke as a woodland nymph?

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Mon, 26 May 2014 23:53:00 +0000

I cannot possibly imagine why the photographer at Luke's school thought this backdrop was appropriate for a school photo. It is comically absurd!

Nice picture of him, though.

The Blog is BACK, Baby! Camping in Greenbrier

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Mon, 26 May 2014 18:22:00 +0000

After many requests from my dear friends and family, I'm bringing back the blog.

Well, bringing back the blog for photos of family and friends and such, since I'm souring more and more on keeping my entire family history on Facebook. After much haranguing from Sharon, Becky and Leslie, I decided the blog was still the way to go.

I'm a bit out of practice, though, so give me a little time to get into the habit of it.

Luke used his new machete to chop up firewood. Gladly, he still has all his limbs, and so do I.

One of my favorite parts of camping is getting up very early, five o'clock AM early, hours before anybody else rises, and making coffee and reading in the still, quiet morning. It is my heavenly 'me-time.'

Meanwhile, Becky (and the rest of the world) slumber peacefully.

Eventually, everyone gets up, and breakfast gets served. Bacon (the non-turkey variety, PLEASE!) and pancakes are the usual favorites, though Leslie and Scott make some killer breakfast burritos.

While foraging in the forest for firewood, Luke and Andrew came upon an old trash heap with some cool old bottles in them.

On Saturday, we took a nice hike from Washington Monument National Forest (this is the first monument built to George Washington, apparently. The hike is mostly along the A.T., and heads straight back to camp from there.

Dinner that evening was sheesh-kabobs of chicken, beef and vegetables with potatoes baked in the coals of the fire. Wonderful!

After dinner, a few of us enjoyed the free bluegrass concert in the Birch loop amphitheater.

Sunday was spent at the lake, sunbathing and playing frisbee. I wanted to go into the water, but with the recent rains, our camp hosts informed us that the cow manure run-off made the lake unsafe. Not that there weren't a ton of people in the water playing, but when I stepped ankle deep into the water, and could smell shit, I decided to abort my morning swim.

The last night, Sharon and Desi fixed barbecued chicken thighs, an amazing Israeli cous-cous salad, and boiled corn on the cob. For dessert, we did the traditional dutch-oven cobbler, which was met with rousing approval from all.

Another great camping trip, and this time, NO RAIN! Hooray!

Loudoun County All County Men's Chorus

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Sun, 11 Nov 2012 11:59:00 +0000

Eddie was one of about 120 kids selected from each of the high schools in the county to perform in the TTBB Men's Choir. What a great performance for a bunch of kids who had 48 hours to learn this music!!

In the video above, the playlist is as follows:

0:00 - Yo le canto todo el dia (David Brunner)
5:00 - Wir haben ihn gesehen (Beethoven, arr. Alexa Doebele)
9:03 - Rest Not (Laura Farnell) - featuring the Freshmen and Sophomores only
14:07 - Rainbow 'Round My Shoulder (arr. David Dusing)
19:50 - Homage (Z. Randall Stroope) - this one brought tears to my eyes!
26:58 - Lydia, The Tattooed Lady (arr. Jay Althouse) - You DON'T want to miss this one!

Be sure to watch in fullscreen!

(Eddie, by the way, is located on the second level, about three people to the right of the piano)

Father's Day, Soccer Day

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Sun, 17 Jun 2012 20:29:00 +0000

Today being Father's Day, we spent our time absorbed in Soccer. Luke had his soccer tournament all weekend, and the boys played really well, especially considering the higher level of competition in this All-Star league. Sadly, they ended the day with 2 games lost to 1 win, but the boys had no reason for shame. They performed really well against some very fierce competition.

Here are some of my favorite photos from the weekend. Oh, yes, and there are a couple photos of Eddie and his friend, Clara, who are inseparable.

Chesapeake Bay Swim and Civil War History Night

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Sun, 10 Jun 2012 20:35:00 +0000

Saturday night, we did an event at Antietam Battlefield, at the old field headquarters of General McClellan. The home served as a field hospital during the Civil War, and a bunch of retired military officers hold an annual event there to commemorate the spot.

We provided the whisky, while others provided cigars, folklore, and food. It was a really great night, and though I am not a smoker, I did enjoy the scent of cigars wafting in on the light evening breeze.

Then, this morning, a bunch of folks from our Masters Swim Team and I took off and did the Chesapeake Bay Swim (1 miler). It was a splendid day for the swim, and it was a great excuse to enjoy some bloody mary's after the swim!

Camping Photos and Luke's Scouting

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Fri, 08 Jun 2012 15:00:00 +0000

Haven't had much time to maintain the blog lately, but I do want to share a few photos and updates. In the update category, the boys are both finishing school for the summer today, and are very excited at the prospects of letting their brains rot for the next three months.

As the year ended, they had a bunch of tests and exams. The highlight for Eddie was his musical examinations, for which he scored very well (Superior rating, and with honors), and for Luke, on his reading SOLs, he scored a perfect score in vocabulary, comprehension and overall, with his reading level as the highest level, or PHS (post-high-school). So that is good. We got good kids who are smart. Obviously a chip off their mother's block, as I'm just good for making whiskey.

We went camping a few days ago, and here are some of my photos from the event. We had a really nice time, until the heavens opened up and we floated down the river.

Finally, a photo of Luke at his Scouting Court of Honor. He achieved the rank of Second Class, and is well on his way to achieving First Class. Should he obtain First Class, he will surpass my own achievements in scouting, and I believe he is well on his way. At this particular meeting, he also received the Robotics, Electricity, Nuclear Science, and Citizenship merit badges, which already eclipses my one lone merit badge, Basket Weaving. (I swear I am not making that up!)

Stress Free by Luke

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Thu, 07 Jun 2012 23:57:00 +0000

New York - Brandy Library

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Thu, 31 May 2012 14:24:00 +0000

Night two in New York found me in Tribecca and the lower east side. We hit six clubs last night, starting with the famous Brandy Library. Wow, what a place. Thousands of "brown spirits" from every corner of the globe. It was cool to enjoy a Manhattan IN Manhattan, made with my very own whisky. Plus, rubbing elbows with a bunch of fine folks who were genuinely excited to meet us and hear our story... very cool. I love New York!

Scott takes New York!

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Wed, 30 May 2012 14:56:00 +0000

Some photos from my first night in New York and Brooklyn. Noorman's Kil was an amazing bar in Brooklyn, with a very large (and growing) selection of some of the best whiskeys in the world. We were honored and very glad to be a part of such a fine collection.

We had a huge turnout for our tasting event, and the people were young, happy, and well lubricated... just the way we like them! What was most cool was having the Boundary Stone guys from DC (Gareth and Colin) turn up to surprise me! Along with Kirsten, some of her friends, and the Boundary Stone guys, we bar hopped the rest of the evening doing "whiskey research."

God, I am way too old for this!

BSA Second Class Requirements

noreply@blogger.com (Scott) — Tue, 24 Apr 2012 23:22:00 +0000

Luke had to do some requirements for finishing off his second class rank requirement in scouts. The two requirements he needed were showing the proper way to build a fire using standard tools, and identifying evidence of at least ten animals in his community using senses of hearing, smell, sight, etc.

These two videos record his accomplishment of these requirements.