702 PSA-2 1995

An Account of the 1995 PSA Trek

For those coming out on the 1995 Philmont Staff Association Trek, there was only one way to describe Philmont as you came down the road from Cimarron, and that was lush. The spring had been so wet that Philmont glistened in never-before-seen shades of green. More water had fallen to date than anyone could remember. Philmont had even more rain than the 1965 flood, the only difference in 1995 being it did not all come down at once.

SUNDAY - 702: As the former staff began to rendezvous and plan their trek, it was mutually agreed that two crews should be formed. One crew wanted to see the south-central country and the other crew had ideas of heading north. This is the story of 702 PSA-2 and their trek.

702 PSA-2 consisted of Steve Harmony, Dana Edwards, Mike Englert, the Schweer brothers, Mark and Dave, and Kevin Thomas. Much discussion was devoted to where everyone wanted to hike, but there was one common desire; the Valle Vidal. The Valle Vidal is land owned by the Forest Service adjacent to Philmont. Thanks to an agreement with the Forest Service, Philmont is allowed to have staffed camps in the Valle Vidal where Scouts can roam over new territory off Philmont and still have access to the Philmont experience.

A tentative itinerary was ironed out and the crew assigned a Ranger. The Ranger was Bob Busch, a second year Ranger from Michigan. It did not go unnoticed that some members of the crew served on the Philmont staff before Bob was born. Bob had his work cut out for him; Ranger training did not include techniques for handling geriatrically-inclined Philmont staff. The rest of the day was filled with PSA activities. Otherwise, the routine through Base Camp and the trek itself would begin the following day.

MONDAY - 703: A cool night brought a cool morning, and the crew gathered to begin its chores. First stop was the HEalth Lodge for medical re-checks. The crew also encountered its first dilemma. Two years ago, Mike came out for the trek but was sent home for having a blood pressure that was unacceptable. Although Mike was this time taking medication, the Health Lodge again denied Mike from hiking into the backcountry. However, the reading was borderline. It was decided that Mike was to stay in Base Camp for monitoring, and if his blood pressure moved in the right direction, he would be allowed to join the crew the next day. Otherwise, he would be sent home.

The crew quickly went through the routine of checking out tents, equipment, and food in record time, thanks to a staff in Base Camp with a get-it-dome attitude. Bob gave an informal shakedown, denying the crew any opportunity to pack axes and machetes. Lunch was eaten in the dining hall and then it was time to head out.

In planning the itinerary, the crew had faced a logistical nightmare in that for having a trek that lasted only five days and four nights, it was nearly impossible to go through the Valle Vidal on a route that was feasible. Going from point A to point B wasn't the problem; the problem was getting to point A in the first place. But the Phil-Gods heard the despair of the crew and sent unto them salvation. And salvation had a name, and his name was Beau Sill.

Beau Sill, the Chief Ranger.

Perhaps one of the neatest things about being a Chief Ranger is they give you the keys to a Phil-vehicle. Beau had to make some deliveries to the staff camps in the Valle Vidal (nudge-nudge, wink-wink) so he was more than happy to pile the crew into his truck and haul them out to point A. There is no way to describe the crews' appreciation for Beau and his generosity in transforming himself into a SWOPE bus driver for the afternoon. The crew and their Ranger loaded up, along with Mike who wanted to see the Valle Vidal.

The trek had begun!

Actually, the trk was delayed; a stop was made at the Ring Place, an old ranch settled before the turn of the century and now used by Philmont as a staffed camp. The ranch has its own history and its own place in New Mexico lore; the history of the Southwest is not restricted to Philmont. The Ring Place is itself a treasure as is Kit Carson's Rayado or French Henry's cabin.

After exploring the Ring Place, the crew climbed back into the truck and was delivered by Beau to point A, that being the Shuree Ponds, a quiet fishing area managed by the Forest Service. The truck was unloaded, packs were hoisted onto backs, and the crew was off. Thanks was given to Beau for the ride, and awkward goodbyes were made to Mike. It was not known if Mike would be joining the crew the next day or if he would be heading home. It had already been a long day and yet the crew was just hitting the trail at 4:00 in the afternoon. It was windy and quite obvious it was going to rain. The destination was Iris Park Camp.

The trail was really a jeep road, and it slowly wound its way up to the Rock Wall, a ridge that was literally miles long and topped with a rock formation that looked like an imposing wall. But the road made its way through a weak spot in the wall and the road was not difficult. When the rain came it didn't last more than 45 minutes, but it became colder and the wind kept blowing.

The crew made it to Iris Park Camp at 6:30 and checked in with the staff. Program was mountain biking so some mebers of the crew jumped on some bikes and rode for a bit, but it was late. Camp was put up and dinner cooked in little more than an hour. The cold and wind and darkness provided great motivation for gettings things done quickly.

When dinner was finished, Bob stepped in with some Ranger taining. We had the choice of washing dishes the traditional way or resorting to the human sump method. With a human sump, the idea is to clean the pots and dishes by using a little water to scrape and dissolve food particles, then drink the sludge. In the morning when you boil water for breakfast, the utensiles can then be sterilized. By doing this, you avoid soap and handling leftover food with a traditional sump and maximizing your low-impact camping. Steve volunteered to be the human sump and he cleaned the pot used for cooking dinner, drinking the sludge from the bottom after scraping it clean. It's not as bad as it sounds, but it may be recommended only for those with large bladders.

Advisor coffee hour was held at the staff cabin but somehow it was not a good coffee hour. It was just too cold and windy. Even after going to bed the wind continued to roar, only to quiet down a short time before light the next morning.

TUESDAY - 704: Morning was cold, crisp, breezy, the sky blue. Breakfast was oatmeal so boiling water made for an easy meal. The trail was a fairly level dirt road that wound through ponderosa and rich grass. After an hour or so the road forked at the edge of a huge, vast meadow where one of the two Beatty Lakes nestled down in the low part, glimmering a patented shade of blue. In the distance rose Little Costillo, covered with snow. The stunning panorama was cause to drop packs and take pictures.

Another crew came along, and finding inspiration in the view, they pulled out their Philmont-issue American flag. They then posed together as a crew while pictures of them were taken of them holding up the flag, and during the process, they sang the Star Spangled Banner, America's national anthem.

From here, the trail moved south and deadended at an old windmill that was once used to bring up water for livestock. With a little compass work and continuing due south, the crew quickly bushwhacked over to the Middle Ponil Creek and within site of the Rich Cabins. However, climbing down the bluff into the canyon was slow going as the crew scrambled over loose rocks and through scrub oak.

The RIch Cabins are another Philmont-staffed camp in the Valle Vidal, and the program was homesteading. The site had its own history of how it came to be. Philmont provided cows, burros, chickens, and pigs to round out the aura of the setting. There was also a cat. A yellow cat. The kind of cat that scoops out huge tracts of dirt and runs on diesel. With thousands of acres in the Valle Vidal, it's interesting to note the FOrest Service had designated this particular barnyard as a parking lot.

After a tour of the cabin, the crew settled down to lunch. Despite the sun being at high noon, some crew members pulled out an extra shirt to keep warm in the chilled air. The chickens took interest upon seeing crackers being served, and a long rest was taken while everyone watched another crew bushwhack down the bluff. Just as everyone loaded up their packs to continue on, the other crew marched into camp, armed with a Winchester rifle and four rounds of ammunition.

The rifle had a good, working scope on it, but was slightly weathered. Rust on the barrel gave evidence that it had been lost for a while, though it appeared a little elbow grease could make for a usuable weapon. One of the boys in the crew had found the gun, and the broken strap made speculation that it was lost while horseback riding. No one considered the possiblilty that a hunter was on the trail of a bear and was outsmarted in the end. The Winchester was turned over to the staff at the RIch Cabins and the PSA crew continued on towards Copper Park and fireworks on Baldy mountain. It was the intention of the crew to climb up Baldy in the evening and watch Fourth of July fireworks down in Eagle's Nest.

Only a few minutes of hiking from the Rich Cabins was required to reach the fenceline of the Barker Wildlife Area. With a sharp right turn, the crew started hiking up into the Baldy country, using the fence as a landmark to keep on course. There was plenty of fresh elk sign and an eeirie silence that was once broken by a flock of grackles cawing to warn the woods of the invasion.

After a day and a half of easy trails, it was time to feel the thin air and feel how inadequate it was to fill the lungs. Numerous pack breaks were taken. Periodically vistas would be reached where Baldy and its 12,000 foot plus crown could mockingly look down on the hikers who were struggling just to peak out at a mere 9,000 feet before dropping into the South Ponil below French Henry.

After a long struggle of trudging uphill, the climb leveled off as the crew neared the canyon edge of the South Ponil. Now Baldy could be seen in full view, including rain clouds. A wall of grey descended upon the crew, so ponchos and rain gear were pulled out. Like the day before, the rain lasted 45 minutes, but the cold and wind lingered. Baldy was draped with an unusual white cloud as if powdered wigs were back in style.

A way was found into the canyon, and from there it was slow going to French Henry. The trail may not have been difficult, but it was a steady uphill climb, and everyone was tired. It was 6:30 in the evening when the crew reached French Henry. And there was Mike, freed by the Health Lodge and waiting to join his crew. Mike had been dropped off at Baldy Town and had hiked over to Copper Park, but as it grew late he became concerned as to the whereabouts of the crew so he moved down into French. It had snowed in Copper Park, and a visiting Chaplain gave testimony to a snowstorm while climbing Baldy earlier. The unusual powdered wig was explained and the crew agreed it was cold as hell enough to have snowed. For the moment, however, the crew had hiked over twelve miles, a good part uphill, and it showed.

A stove was fired up and supper put on to cook, two other crews doing likewise. Suddenly there was a commotion across the creek where some Rangers, French Henry staff, and a Trail Crew spotted a bear making its way downhill into camp. In a rush they were off, ganging up on the black bear to run it out of French Henry. It would have been a disaster if the bear managed to join three different crews for dinner.

Dinner was eaten and human sumped clean, and it was getting late. But the crew was whipped. Hiking on to Copper Park wouldn't have been that bad, but being tired, cold, along with the thought of setting up camp in the dark, it was not surprising that the desire to continue on was not there. Right then, fate played a trump card and took a trick; it turned out the French Henry staff was long on hospitality and the crew was invited to spend the night in the cabin.

The offer was not declined.

Inside the cabin was warmth. The cold outside was not normal, not for this time of year, and the wind had joined in cahoots with the cold, making for a chilling team. As the former staff laid down on the floor to sleep, their limbs aching, it was apparent that the trek was planned by looking at the map with twenty year old eyes and asking middle aged feet to perform at a level no longer achievable. The crew was not going to make it up Baldy that night for a pyro-technic light show of fireworks.

Yet, the fire in the stove flickered, giving a steady stream of dancing light that played against the cabin walls. Crews were holding up the American flag and singing for their country.

It was the Fourth of July.

WEDNESDAY - 705: Morning came as it always did, however, it was different; it was cool the way it was supposed to be, not cold. Skeptics stared at the blue sky. Too much water had already come down for anyone to think that the clouds were on holiday, but the morning looked good and it felt good. Packs were hoisted up and the crew swung around to Baldy Town. The final destination was Black Horse Camp, but a side-hike up Baldy was the first order of business. All in all, it was going to be a downright leisurely stroll compared to the day before. We said goodbye to Bob the Ranger and proceeded to prepare for going up Baldy.

A pack line was formed and two day packs were loaded with rain gear, waer, and lunch. Mark and Dave carried the packs; they were the youngest of the crew and therefore the least afflicted by time. Mark and Dave were also proving to be outstanding human sumps after dinner when it was time to clean the pots. Their knees and stomaches were the envy of the crew.

What can be said about climbing Baldy that already hasn't been said? Everyone in the crew had climbed Baldy before, but there was no hesitation when the chance came to do it again. There's something about that mountain that makes you want to climb it, and it makes you glad when you do. This time there was a lot of snow on the ground. Sure, Baldy usually has snow, but no one could ever recall seeing the amount of snow that was up there this year. Especially in July.

At the top there was the usual picture taking and lunch was eaten in one of the rock shelters. It was beautiful on top, hardly any wind and no rain in sight. The clouds really were on holiday. After a while the other crews began to head down which left the PSA crew on top by themselves. Perhaps that's what made climbing Baldy special this time around. There was solitude. Quiet. It's a rare thing to have a whole mountain to call your own, even if for a short time.

A snowball fight was the highlight during the climb back down, and more food was checked out from the Baldy commissary. Black Horse wasn't far away and everyone looked forward to arriving in camp at a reasonable time. The trail worked itself away from Baldy, the area littered with remainders of the quest for gold in earlier years. Black Horse was reached at 5:00, the earliest arrival into a camp yet. The crew was feeling upbeat; there was still a little weariness from the day before and the climb up Baldy did require some sweat but it was a good feeling to be done hiking for the day, for once, before the day was over.

Blacj Horse is a trail camp with three campsites. The first two were full, so it was only natural for the crew to take the remaining site. Black Horse had only one latrine, an open-air box latrine, and it was more or less literally located in the third campsite. There were no bushes around the latrine, the latrine was not located at some strategic distance, but was in the campsite. It should also be mentioned that the other two crews were co-ed crews, loaded to the hilt with fourteen year old girls. If any girl wanted to use the latrine, well, you figure it out. The person who installed that latrine either had a missing beam in the mineshaft or envisioned a group of unshaven, unshowered, middle-aged men stuck in the woods with the Swedish Bikini Team.

However, an advisor from one of the co-ed crews came over and pointed at the girls, then pointed at the latrine, and then pointed at us. Now, a lot can be said that the Philmont experience includes making do with whatever resources are available and that the co-ed crews should have improvised with the situation at hand. Instead, the PSA crew moved up the trail away from the latrine, cooked supper, human sumped the remains, and then hiked to Miranda. In the dark.

It was a positive experience in that the crew will always be able to look back and poudly detail the time when they were on a PSA trek and got kicked out of camp.

THURSDAY - 706: Another beautiful Philmont morning greeted the crew along with a breakfast of oatmeal and the usual chew things. Today's goal was Santa Claus. Santa Claus used to be a dry camp, but a cabin was erected a few years ago along with a well. The huge camper loads suffered by the staff in the north country were alleviated to some degree with the addition of this camp. The crew passed through Maxwell Camp and stopped at the old Miranda turn-around for a rest. It was noon when Head of Dean was reached, so lunch was eaten. After Head of Dean the trail took on a monotonous tone, every Ponderosa pine looking like the next. For once the crew arrived early enough so that there was time to do nothing. Unless naps are considered doing something.

Star gazing was the prgram here, Philmont having acquired a telescope of quality. In the evening crews were treated to a wonderous display of celestial bodies being seen   up close and personal. The view of the moon was unbelievable.

FRIDAY - 707: Camp was broken in record time and everyone was on the trail by 7:30 AM. There was an afternoon bus to catch into Base and though Ponil wasn't too far away, no one wanted to miss the bus. But there was something even more important.

There was root beer at Ponil.

Hiking into New Dean and up the Dean Skyline would have been hot and sweaty, but the mere thought of root beer in Ponil provided the necessary motivation to get up and hike in the cool early morning hours. A crew riding horses came by, they being on the morning trail ride. They had scared a small bear who ran off into the scrub oak for safety. It was a good thing too; the bear was going to be in danger of its life if it was going to get in between the PSA crew and its root beer.

Eventually the trail made its way down the canyon wall into Ponil. A pack line was formed and the crew made a beeline for the cantina. It had been years since any of us had been there, but the cantina had not changed. And there was the root beer machine. It too had not changed.

The root beer machine was broken.

No root beer? No root beer!

Unbelievable. Then Mark stepped up to the bar. Mark was once the camp director at Ponil, so he had experience dealing with cantankerous root beer machines, and he proceeded to take it apart and put it back together. After a while the machine gurgled forth a brown froth and the cantina was back in business. The empty cantina was suddenly packed full of clamoring scouts who lined up to get their fill and Mark was having the time of his life. He was puttering with the root beer machine, he was running the cash register, he was selling junk food, he was runnng the cantina. Mark was home again.

The root beer machine eventually sputtered and died. In its last dying breath it was able to say good bye and Mark understood. There are times when you have to let go; Mark stepped out from behind the counter and it was suddenly 1995, and Ponil again no longer belonged to him. But it was as if an old friend hung on long enough just to make things right before giving up the ghost.

As most treks end, so did this one; a yellow bus and a ride into Base Camp. Closing campfire and arrowhead patches. The crew ate one more dinner together in Cimarron, the the leftovers went to the kitchen for processing rather than being human sumped. Then there was that moment where no one wanted to say goodbye but reluctantly did so anyway. SOmething was shared by the cre, something that goes beyond eating out of the same pot together, something beyond sharing the stars or or sleeping on the floor at French Henry. Whatever that something is, it's the driving force of the Philmont Staff Association, the need to come back or to read or hear about Philmont.

Only here can a metaphor for living be derived from a box latrine.