815-PSA-1 1992
An Account of the 1992 Philmont Staff Association Trek

When a Philmont staffer goes home and talks about Philmont, he usually ends up telling people that he just "worked in a summer camp." How can you tell people what Philmont is like when they've never been there? The following article is about the crew 815-PSA-1 and their trek at Philmont during August, 1992, and the telling of the events faces a similar dilema. When you say "worked at a summer camp," the accounts here can be likened to saying "we went backpacking." If the reader doesn't completely understand what the crew experienced and shared together, it will have to be so. But for those who have been to Philmont, perhaps there will then be an understanding that you just had to be there and an appreciation may be had with the words below, no matter how inadequate these words may be.

815 - Sixtenn people arrived for the Philmont Staff Association Trek, and they formed two crews, 815-PSA-1 and 2. PSA-1 was made up of John Reynolds, Shawn Cooper, Lynn Scott, Steve Harmony, Dave Ockerman, Kevin Thomas, and Mike and Jessica Willoughby. Pete Schaad was our ranger, a fine lad who was in every way what a Philmont Ranger should be. Some of the crew had been on staff before Pete was ever born.

We ampped out an itinerary, got our equipment, and went to the St. James in Cimarron. Some things never change.

816 - When the Base Camp routine was finished, the crew drove out to the Lover's Leap turnaround, swung on their backpacks, and headed for Miner's Park. It may be a cliche' to say we were finally heading for the high country, but after all the waiting and plannig, the crunch of a Philmont trail under boots was a good feeling.

We arrived at Miner's Park, received a campsite, and began to set up camp. Then came the crew's first challenge.

During the shakedown in Base Camp, we pondered over using a Philmont-issued dining fly to reduce the amount of crew gear. Our Ranger voted to use Lynn's tarp, which was rolled up around his sleeping bag.

Lynn's tarp proved to be about 6' by 4', making it impossible for a crew to crowd underneath and cook and clean if it rained. And that's what it did as we stood there. It began to rain. 815-PSA-1 immediately sprang into action and pitched camp. It was the crew's strategy to allow their tents to become completely soaked because once everything was wet, the rain stopped.

Knowing from experience that everything would stay wet regardless of what we did, the crew decided to head up to the staff cabin for a change of scenery. After some rousing games of volleyball, the Miner's Park staff invited the crew in for dinner. It was the end of the summer and they needed to get rid of their extra food. The offer was not declined.

And there, over a dinner of steak and spaghetti, old stories were told with new stories, old staff mingled with new staff. It was a dinner eaten in a cabin in the mountains by people who "worked for a summer camp." The conversation moved like a Philmont trail, discussing the seriousness of bears and then switchbacking to whether or not there were any Gordon Lightfoot tapes to put in the cassette player.

Scouts began showing up for evening activities and the Miner's Park staff went back to work. It was hard to tell if it was the staff or the campers who were having the most fun. They kept at it until it was too dark to see, while the PSA crew cleaned up dinner and lingered on the porch, quietly watching the young staff and seeing themselves as they once were and knowing that Philmont was in good hands.

It rained all night, but the sleeping bags stayed dry.

817 - We awoke to a blue sky, but the sun was still low behind the ridges making for a cold morning. Breakfast was instant Cream of Wheat and Pemican Bars. We stole the peaches our Ranger brought for the cobbler and put them in the cereal to give breakfast a flavor. Some ate their Pemican Bars while others discussed the various industrial uses of Pemican Bars. We broke camp, and the crew was headed for Beaubien, via Trail Peak.

Trail Peak is Trail Peak, pretty much straight up and straight down. One noteworthy thing was looking down the moutain and seeing the Ranger huffing and puffing behind you. Something seemed wrong with that picture; it's not often you catch a Philmont Ranger being human.

We ate lunch at the plane wreck, bade farewell to our Ranger, and went on to Beaubien where the crew commenced to taking showers. The crew also took in the chuckwagon dinner, which was actually pretty good. Advisor coffee hour was out on the Beaubien porch and a huge storm cloud was visible towards the south. We all watched it light up and glow as the lightning danced within the cell, and the cloud turned different colors with the setting sun.

If anyone was missing their favorite TV show, they didn't say.

818 - Today was an easy hike; a food pick-up at Phillip's Junction and then up to Crooked Creek, one of the newer staff camps. The other PSA crew was also staying at Crooked Creek for the night, and with it being the end of the season, we were the last and only crews in camp.

The Crooked Creek staff gave us the rest of their food so they wouldn't have to carry it out when when they closed the camp. Baked ham, dutch-oven pizzas, desserts; to sum it up in one word, the word would be feast. But it wasn't just a night of food; having the two PSA crews meet for a rendevouz and then inviting the Crooked Creek staff down for coffee made it a night of fellowship. Crooked Creek was closing down for the year tomorrow, but that was tomorrow.

819 - PSA-1 got up to a crisp morning and moved it on out to Apache Springs via the fence line. The fence line trail provides a panoramic view of Philmont, and it leads into Garcia Park, just up the ridge behind Apache Springs. Garcia Park is a place where the eyes want to set and look, so we ate lunch in the meadow taking in the scenery before dropping down to the staff cabin.

Some of the guys too a sweat while others took it easy for a while. Today was the first day where we actually had to cook trail food for dinner. It was noted that French onion soup produced strnage effects on the body, kind of like what squeeze cheese does, only with a different flavor.

The crew went back to Garcia Park with the Apache staff to watch the sunset in the evening. Later, as the sun gave way to darkness, the crew took to star gazing. Meteors and satellites were spotted, and the Milky Way lay against the sky as if it were painted on. There was the universe before us, twinkling worlds strewn across the heavens. A philosophical mood settled upon us and we began to question the purpose of it all, drawing battle lines in a discussion of our deepest thoughts; some argued that Gordon Lightfoot was dead while others were convinced that he was still alive.

Elvis was not available to settle the issue.

820 - We took the long way to Fish Camp, hiking to Bear Canyon Camp and down to the Agua Fria. On the way the crew spooked a small herd of Elk. Bear Canyon itself proved to be a beautiful hike.

The Fish Camp staff was an amiable bunch, allowing us to stay in one of the spare cabins. It was a greatly appreciated offer in that we didn't have to set up our tents on the last night of the trek.

Mike tried unsuccessfully to catch some fish while the rest either napped or went exploring. We were the only crew at Fish Camp, and their last crew for the summer. Once again we were offered to eat whatever food was left, and we volunteered to cook a huge dinner for everyone. Just about everything edible was cooked and eaten, and it was served with as much fanfare as could be afforded.

It was the last night in the mountains for all of us, and it was another evening shared with past and present staff. It was an evening spent in Waite Phillips' fish lodge, where perhaps many such evenings progressed in much the same manner.

After dinner, a fierce storm forced its way across Philmont with lightning striking everywhere in a horrific light show. Those who watched the storm from the porch applauded whenever the canyon lit up from a surge of uncontrolled electron flow up on the ridges, where each time the violent transient undoubtably killed a tree.

The storm quickly rushed on, causing the remaining clouds to produce an eerie dusk from the disappearing sun. Memebrs of the crew who went to the sleep cabin to retrieve warmer clothes swore that there was a creature in the dark corners with fangs. Perhpas it was a creature; some speculated that it was Gordon Lightfoot, but whatever it was, it was too fast for us to catch with a beam from our flashlights.

It had been a good evening.

Tomorrow would be the day the crew hiked to the Abreu turnaround and back to the real world, and along the way there would be fresh bear tracks on the trail. The bear would never be seen, but its mark was there.

There are many such signs across Philmont, little marks, tiny tracks, evidence of what was. And so it is with Philmont staff. The day comes when they do not come back, however, they do leave a mark; the trails that were built, campfire rings where laughter rang out, a song that was written and years later is still played, are reminders that former staff who are there but no longer seen.

But, for the moment, the bear tracks didn't exist and they would not be seen until tomorrow. The Fish Camp staff would spend their last night in the lodge, together, and the PSA crew would bunk down across the creek, in a cabin, together. Though the time was short, it was not yet time to say good-bye. It has always been this way at Philmont, each crew and each staff, sharing something with each other. When the time did come to leave, there would be tracks left behind, the imprints that we left on each other, impressions of a time that we shared at Philmont.

Tomorrow could wait.