For a crew of backpackers, we sure have a packed truck. We are now starting on the long road to Philmont. Weird Al rings in my ear as I peer out at the endless highway before me. Brad has really taken to CB radio and I have taken up summer reading. Now heading due west--hopefully, we say goodby to The River and the folks back home. Like the old prospectors headed to the Wild West, we are off to see the elephant. As we cross the bayous and rivers, I cannot help but think that by nightfall we will have left Louisiana behind.
We now behold the great Atchafalaya Basin. The cypress and tupelo trees rise out of the muddy water to greet us as we pass. If the Mississippi River is the Father of Waters, then the Atchafalaya is his most fruitful son. I even spot a crawfisherman checking his traps amid the cypress knees. An egret flies across the sea of asphalt as if warning a sailor of nearby land.
Slowly the long fields of rice and sugar cane give way to Cajun prairies. We fly right by Lake Charles and we now approach Texas. The grass grows tall in the huge flat plains dotted with farms and tiny towns. The sky reaches out in all directions like a huge snowdome. The clouds are like the billowed white sails of a thousand ships sailing the clear blue celestial sea as they cast their shadows on the cornfields.
We have arrived at San Antonio and are visiting the Alamo. It appears to be much larger in the movies than it really is. It is like Liberty Hall to Texans though. After seeing the beauty
of this state, I can surely see why the soldiers here died for it. We have had a wonderful dinner at a Mexican restaurant and now make camp amid the cottonwood trees of a nearby KOA.
There are few signs of civilization, save the occasional truck across the way. The hills form a ring around the plains like the stands around Tiger Stadium. There is not a cloud in sight and the sun is high and bright. The blue sky lightens as it touches the tree laden hills. The winds are changing and so is the scenery. Mountains rise up into view; hill country is gone. Some are taller than the clouds. The sun is the central figure in this desert. We left luscious trees behind in Texas miles ago. Only the lonely yuccas seem to survive the torture of dryness and heat.
When we reached Carlsbad we set up camp near a troop from Covington led by Mr. Doug's former scoutmaster. Small world, hun. Our campsite is at the base of the gorgeous Guadalupe Mountains. Below the mountains there is a broad valley and near our campsite there is a ravine filled with cacti and yuccas. When the sun shines on the other side of the nearest mountain, it casts a shadow on the whole valley. From the visitors' center atop a tall mountain, we can see clear into Texas.
The bat flight was an amazing sight. We waited for a while a the natural cave entrance. Then the bats gracefully flew in line out into the night, bound for the Pecos River. There were thousands of them and the show lasted for thirty minutes. Now we go to sleep here in our mountainside Troop 136 Instant Hiltons.
Sadly, we are forced to leave this blessed place in pursuit of alien encounters. We have stopped at Roswell to see the UFO museum, but I think we scared all the aliens away. This place is a major tourist trap and the merchandise is tres cher. There is no way that I am paying ten dollars for a keychain.
Dinner has been a unique experience (not that the food was all that great). The Dairy Queen ran out of water! If I would have known they needed it, I would have brought some from home. This really limits the menu; we have found that water is a major component of most of our favorite fast food items. There is also a machine here that we used to rate our hand grips, or serious lack thereof.
It is late now and the sun is setting. As it disappears below the mountains, it leaves a pink footprint n the sky. Like ripples in water the pink spreads out to call for Selene to make her ride. Then deep blue conquers the sky, darkening with every passing moment. Finally the sky is covered by the black cloak of night, covered by countless sparkling diamonds as we fall asleep. We tent in Las Vegas (New Mexico) for the night.
We woke to coyote howls this morning, the morning of our arrival. As we reached the Philmont gates we caught our first glimpse of the beauty that would be our back country home. This is the Disneyworld of backpackers. It is what the Himalaya are to climbers and what the Matterhorn is to skiers.
Ranger Brian Lafaille checked us in and showed us around. We have received our equipment, done health checks and finalized our itinerary. Because of the risk of dehydration, we also drank six quarts of water and sampled Philmont base camp bathrooms. Brian come with us on the trail for the first few days just to get us acquainted to life here.
After dinner we went to Mass, since this would be difficult to do on the trail. The closing campfire was a very meaningful way to end our day. Then there were the last phone calls home. We tented in trail-bound tent city and took showers there. I for one am finding it hard to sleep tonight.
Brain is helping us to learn the tricks of the trail. Boy do we need it too! The hike is a rocky ascent. It sure does feel great to be as high as the birds, but I wish I had there wings to get here. Amazingly, we did not get lost. We set up camp at Vaca Camp. For lunch we have our first trail food (scrumptious spreadables) and we learned all about the bears here. Dinner was not much better. It was so soupy that I don't remember what it was supposed to have been.
Here at Philmont, while the sky is clear and azure, and rain is the farthest thing from one's mind, do not be fooled, for there are always clouds looming just behind the mountains. Swiftly they descend upon our camp. Then, after a brief skirmish with the sun, torrents fill the sky. Just as quickly as they came, the gray masses catch a breeze and float away, bringing with them the gloom.
The good ole boys in 703-F saloon are having a card game. Brad is trying to get my attention to write about him. (He thinks I haven't mentioned him yet.) Michael is enjoying his no-doubt timeless fantasy tome. Before we go to bed, we have a thorns & roses session to review the ups and downs of the day. Then to bed.
After spending a considerable amount of time finding our campsite, we settled in here at Deer Lake Mesa Camp. No one is camped here but us. There is a spring where we get our water that trickles over the rocks into the reservoir. It's water seems clear and pure, but we must treat it with our Polar Pure iodine tablets nonetheless. We have had a camp visitor as well: a chubby little chipmunk.
Brian has been finishing up the ranger training with us. We worked on orienteering skills and learned about some first aid situations that we would never experience back in Louisiana, such as frostbite. Mr. Doug explained how to use the Epi-pen injector. Brian says that he will leave us tomorrow since he has finished the training. Dinner was a little better today since we added less water, but the stoves have been acting up.
After dinner Brian shared the Philmont Wilderness Pledge with us. It was one of those special moments in every trek. Back behind the tents we spotted a mule deer. Its big ears remind me of Dumbo the Flying Elephant. We have a lot on our minds as we go to sleep. Without Brian I can imagine what might happen. Someone might kill the advisors and we would be like the children in Lord of the Flies!
We picked up new food rations at Ute Gulch and then took the trail uphill to reach Grouse Canyon. Then, while crossing a stream, I had an unexpected boot washing. We also lost our way shortly, but soon found the right trail. We were not alone in the canyon, there were wild turkeys there. The trail then brought us to a large open field, signaling to us that our day's journey was almost done.
We have arrived at Cimarroncito, our first staffed camp. That means programs! We head up the mountain to experience rock climbing and repelling. We all made it up the rock face and back down, except EJ, who took pictures. I even came down alive. Afterward we took some group pictures on the rocks.
After a favorable lasagna dinner, we decided to try Out the climbing wall near the staff cabin. Anyone who could make it all the way would win a can of peaches. Some people even had climbing shoes and gloves to maneuver around. No one in our crew went to sleep with peaches in his stomach though.
After lunch we got the rare opportunity to wash clothes and take showers. For the first time in five days, we are clean from head to toe. Cleanliness does not come without price though, for a hailstorm blew in while we showered. The storm continued for another hour and we all took refuge in our tents.
We all caught up on some needed rest. Another game of hearts and spades started up again, and EJ took up reading The Riders of the Purple Sage. Everyone felt relaxed and contented. We quickly cleaned up after dinner to and hurried over to the climbing wall for another chance at the free peaches.
Once again, no one is successful in climbing around the wall. Bobby got oh so close to the end though. So close he could almost taste those peaches; close but no cigar. Robert, Brad, and I have received some cookies as rewards for our premier spotting techniques. I hope a ll the staff camps are this great. What a day, but there is so much more to come.
We have arrived at Clark's Fork, but none of the staff is awake. The theme of this camp is clearly spelled out by the horseshoes, ropes and chuck wagons here. After a while I heard some stirring in the cabin and a lady in western clothes came out. When we had checked in, we went to the corral for the riding.
Now I have heard of the powerful kicks that horses can muster from there strong muscles, but today I saw them in action. Things were going just fine until suddenly I saw Brad's horse (hoss in Westonics) was sent to the back. Then Mr. Doug turned a strange color and dismounted rather painfully. I noticed the impression of a hoof on his leg as he came down. That concluded our horse ride for the day. Mr. Doug is being transported to base camp to be treated.
Meanwhile, we set up camp in the horse pasture, amongst piles of horse manure. We are trying to put this morning behind us. We spotted a bear, a yearling, in the campsite and we promptly scared it away. We are busy branding our boots and hiking staffs now, even though the brands are not very hot. Then Brad and I helped cook the chuck wagon dinner--beef stew, biscuits, and cobbler.
At dinner we met Brian Gannon, our new rent-a-ranger, who is serving in Mr. Doug's stead. We practiced our roping skills and threw horseshoes. The night ended with a campfire led by Scrogg, the camp director. There were cowboy songs and western tales galore. The guitarist even knew a little Hendrix, although I do not think he was around in the Wild West. We are going to bed tired tonight.
The first part of the hike is uphill to Shaeffer's pass and boy is it a killer. I am glad we are not going directly to Black Mountain by way of the steep route. We then took the path that is sending us across the Urraca River fifty-three times, but uphill trend seems to continue. This hike has been taxing on both our muscles and our morale, testing our limits.
The Urraca is the epitome of a pristine mountain stream. The water trickles down the rocks like a bride's white veil and cascades down refreshing waterfalls. River birches stand guard over the sparkling ripples and beaver dams are scattered throughout. I would love to be a beaver and make my home here, rather than just being a visitor. The plants are so lush and green here: mountain bluebells and white geraniums.
When we finally reached Black Mountain Camp, we had no time for programs. We just set up camp and had dinner. The mountain livin' campfire was something else. There were stories from the days when one might ride into town with Poncho Villa. We were even sworn into the Mountain Man Militia. Back in camp we burned some now unneeded clothes. Now the gentle mesmerizing sounds of the stream are singing me to sleep.
We must wait turn for the blacksmith's program, so we decide to take a look at the old cabin nearby. This is the most primitive camp at Philmont. The supplies for the camp are packed in by burro from Beaubien. We are throwing tomahawks too. None of us have hit the target, but we did manage to knock it down. In the blacksmith's shop we made a pot lid lifter to make trail life easier for us.
Eventually we had to hit the trail. After a long stretch of switchbacks, we stopped to get the last of our food at Phillips Junction Commissary. We are resting here now and taking showers with hot water! Brian has discovered that his pack is broken. He cannot carry much, but he thinks he can make it through the trek. We checked on Mr. Doug, but it does not look like we will see him any time soon.
We reach Buck's Creek Camp late in the afternoon. It is a trail camp so there are no programs to entertain us. I have found some amusement in the cattle that walk by. For all practical purposes, they own Buck's Creek. They just walk right in here to graze, drink and lie down. With all the cow patties around, I was not surprised. It is cold now at suppertime and we are all shivering as we eat. It has been lightly but steadily raining for hours. In light of the conditions, I am off to sleep in my long johns.
At the Jicarilla Apache life program we toured a tepee and checked out some neat Indian artifacts. We got to wear real scalps and sit in a comfy Sioux chair. (It is not quite a Lazy Boy, but there certainly are not any of those around here.) I liked the feel of the buffalo skins on the floor. We even tried are hands at being Indian women, grinding corn. EJ has gone back to Buck's Creek to retrieve a tent pole.
We are now helping to the fire to heat rocks for the sweat lodge. What an experience the sweat lodge turned out to be! In the lodge, there were places along the sides to sit and three buckets of red hot rocks. Bill served as "driver" for the sweat (he poured the water). It was a very difficult fifteen minutes as far as breathing was concerned and we sweated buckets. When we got out, we doused our purified bodies with water.
Tonight we are on a sunset tour. It is not called a sunset hike because no one who has hiked for miles to get here would want to take a hike. We could see all the highest mountains of Philmont from Apache Peak. A few elk passed by for there evening walk and on the horizon a herd of cattle was grazing in the last rays of the setting sun. We burned some more clothes and fell asleep dreaming of that magnificent view of the sunset.
Our campsite here at Fish Camp is right beside the banks of the Rayado River. We have direct access to it and great views of the wooded ridges beside its valley. We having a great time playing in the river, tanning on the rocks, racing sticks and leaves, and just getting our feet wet. That is good ole-fashioned fun. I could stay here all day just watching the river and gazing at the sky and the clouds that creep across it like a motion picture show.
After lunch we toured Waite Phillips' hunting lodge. It is a log cabin filled with all kinds of skinned animals. He even had one of the earliest Marconi radios ever made. Then we tied flies, although mine resembled a caterpillar more. Some of us went fishing with the newly made flies, while others swung on the bear rope. This evening we climbed the rock face by the campsite during advisors' coffee.
I went to sleep early, because tomorrow is our longest hike. When I woke up to take care of some late night business, I noticed the stars were out. There were billions of them, all scattered like precious diamonds on the black cloak of night. I even spotted a shooting star coming in from the west and then falling behind a tall mountain.
We are now at our last camp, New Abreu. We are all enjoying the Mexican cantina, playing hearts and poker, and guzzling root beer by the pitcher. For dinner we had some tacos and sopapillas . It was a nice break form dehydrated trail food, but it was a pain to cook and clean the grease.
Then there was the burro racing, what I had been waiting for the whole time we have been here. It was my first choice of all programs to do here. We picked the only white burro, a beautiful animal by the name of Boss Hog, to race. She pulled ahead right at the beginning and we lead her to the finish line with pride. She came out a winner by a wide margin. That pretty much set the tone for the night.
We headed to the cantina to celebrate with a free pitcher of root beer and to have a toast to Boss Hog. It is karaoke night and there was singing and card-playing all night. Some fellas even earned a free pitcher of root beer with their singing skills. More and more pitchers of root beer came sliding down the bar. Why we even closed the place down. We are finally calling it a night for our last night on the trail.
Next there was the closing campfire. The first part was mostly pemmican jokes, but then the night turned solemn. We all received our coveted arrowhead patches and ended the ceremony with the Philmont Hymn, as the moon shined down on the Tooth of Time, surrounded by dim clouds. 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.
That was perhaps the peak of the whole trek. We played a few rounds of hearts and called it a night. The winds were blowing so hard as to rival a Saharan khamsin and in the pale light, we saw the tents at tent city barraged by dust like ships lost in a storm at sea. So I went to my berth and I am trying my best to fall asleep.
We took off right after breakfast today, but not before saying good bye to Brian. As we drive off, we al take a good look at Arrowhead rock, the one on our patches. It is said that whoever sees this rock as they leave Philmont is destined to return. As I watch the mountains that I called home for a magical twelve days slowly fade out of view, I know that the memories of this experience will never fade from our hearts.
Back
to Stephen Olivier's Hompage
Get your own Free Home Page