Philmont Memoir

One by one, each member of Crew 622-K1 stepped off the Northwest Airlines airplane and claimed their luggage, in most cases a single backpack. Together with their sister crew they made their way out of the terminal to the curbside where the ten individuals loaded their gear and themselves onto the rented van that would take them to their first resting-place.

The crew had been traveling for six long hours. During the voyage from Cleveland to Albuquerque, New Mexico, they had watched their companions’ packs ripped apart by baggage handlers. They had been deprived of food, save the unfulfilling airline peanuts and anything that could be scrounged up from the fast-food installations and vending machines during the half-hour layover in Minneapolis. They left their families behind, knowing they would not see them for two long weeks.

Still jetlagged and in a mental state of anxiety, the conversation remained lively among the ten for the remainder of the night and everyone dreamed of pleasant things. In two days they would arrive at Philmont.

The next morning that crew woke up on the floor of the Kirtland Air Force Base gymnasium. There lay Mr. Dave Kemme, Mr. Mark Duncan, Matt Duncan, Brian Machala, Eric Drda, Drew Mulkins, Ian Duncan, Jeff Wick, Erik Kemme, and Pat Manning, thinking of one thing: breakfast. So they arose and prepared for the new day and the breakfast that awaited them at the end of the seemingly endless hike across the base. The meal that they found was not only delicious, but also well priced.

In good spirits (as always after a meal), the crew made its way to the nearby National Atomic Museum. A few hours later they returned for lunch having viewed most of the implements of mass destruction in the United State’s inventory.

It was in to town they went next where they saw an antique gun shop, the Rattlesnake museum, and a variety on native merchandise. Drew forked out too much for a large version of a Reeces peanut butter cup. On the way back to the AF Base the busload of scouts and whoever was unfortunate enough to stumble onto the same public transport got a taste of the punny styling of Erik Kemme. The first, unfortunately, of much more to come.

Upon our return to the base the crew was subjected to a quick search by the guard on duty and then allowed to move on to the gymnasium. Soon it was time for dinner, so the group walked across the street to enjoy a meal in various low-grade fast food restaurants. When everyone was full, they again returned to the gym to play basketball, Ping-Pong, and ultimately retire for the night.

Way too early they arose the next morning to get on the bus that would take them to Philmont. The bus had to be flagged down after it passed the awaiting scouts by, but eventually the crew was on its way.

Several ours later after a pleasant breakfast stop along the way, they found themselves standing at the gate of the Philmont Scout Ranch base camp. There the ten met their ranger, Dan, who would take them through the administrative hassles that are necessary before debarking upon a ten day backpacking trek. These included acquiring meal tickets for the dining hall, filing physicals, having pictures taken that would make them easier to identify in the event of search and rescue or recovery.

More time was dedicated to preparing for departure the next day, but most of the remainder of the afternoon was spent in either the cantina or trading post.

The next morning, up, fed, and ready to go, the Cleveland crew waited inside the Philmont gates for the bus that was to deposit them on the trail where their adventure would begin. At last it arrived. The transport was loaded and the trip began, narrated all the way by Ranger Dan along with the second crew’s ranger.

The trip was filled with bad jokes, stories, Philmont history, and warnings of the hazards that they would come across in the wilderness. The bumpy ride soon ended, the bus drove off, and the crew was left to plan its route for its first hike and think about the snakes, spiders, bears, mountain lions, and "mini-bears" that they had been warned about.

After a staggered start, they were on their way. A quick lunch was eaten before Matt led his team through the perilous meadow, surrounded by ominous electric water pumps, shower houses, horse trailers, and RVs. Soon the danger was past and they arrived at their first checkpoint, Ring Place. There the exceptionally "special" Bob Mosier greeted them. He provided a quick tour of the historic site and directed the hikers to an area where they could set up camp.

Dodging the roaming cows, the crew began the task. That evening everyone would enjoy a trail dinner and various individuals the staff directed nature and astronomy programs.

That night the ten members of crew 622-K1 lay in their tents, listening to the grunts and howls of the cattle and coyotes outside. They thought about where they were, how they had gotten there, and where they soon would come to be. They thought about how they, mere tenderfeet on the trail, would fare in the wilds of untamed New Mexico once their ranger had departed and they were left alone. And eventually they drifted off to sleep, one by one, until the next day when their adventure would begin anew.

The elevation is 12,441 feet above sea level. It has been five days since crew 622-K1 first set foot in the Valle Vidal. Now, with the exception of one (not to worry; Drew is happily sitting in Baldy Town with John of Crew 2), they gaze down far below them at the expanse of Philmont and beyond.

In the past five days this crew has hiked over miles and miles of rigorous terrain, been scared stiff by the haunting ghost stories of Philmont, and witnessed first hand the viciousness of a coyote attack. Ridden through the mountains on state-of-the-art mountain bikes, purified gallons of water for fun, compacted bulky trash, chased chickens, and taken a leak on Ted Turner’s 80-million dollar plot of land.

They’d survived the attack of the Cliff Bar, acquired new tent stakes from an old-fashioned blacksmith, panned for gold, and walked out of an abandoned gold mine in pitch black conditions.

Not only had they survived the Philmont wilderness, but taken it for all it was worth, and there, atop Baldy Mountain, they found a reward that cannot be equaled by any man-made trophy or monomial amount.

But even at the pinnacle of these individuals’ scouting careers, Philmont still had more to offer and it began with the long hike (not nearly as long as the hike up mind you) down Baldy.

Drew, R, and a fresh food supply were claimed back at Baldy Town and the convoy made its way back to camp for dinner and a well-earned rest.

The morning came quickly and they were on their way to Head of Dean. They came upon their destination just as quickly and were sent to set up camp and listen to a tree conservation lecture (their service project) that didn’t end very quickly at all. That night the troops were entertained by another new game, trashball.

The next day Crew 1 arrived at New Dean where camp was quickly erected and crewmembers either amused themselves with trail baseball, cards, a side hike, or a combination thereof.

During the dinner preparation, they realized the true power of the howling desert winds (not to be confused with the sound of low-flying military fighters) as it became necessary to build a small stone windbreak to prevent the pots from being blown off the burners. Dinner was followed by more baseball, a coordinated campfire, and Ian visiting the latrine a record-setting six times.

The next day the crew started up the hillside on the way toward Ponil, the final stop of the trek. A while later they stumbled happily onto level ground and collapsed onto the Ponil check-in porch.

Once they were settled in and misinformed about the program times, lunch was eaten, everyone received a lesson on leadership, and all went out to take advantage of the camp’s facilities. Some went horseback riding, most got their boots and/or hats marked with the Philmont brand, and everyone went to the cantina for a rootbeer.

A cantina show, horseshoes, and steer lassoeing followed dinner, prepared by volunteers from all the crews in camp. Finally, everyone lay down to sleep for the last time in the Philmont wilderness and dozed off.

Morning came, a chuck wagon breakfast was consumed, and the crew waited anxiously about camp for it to be time to start up the road for the bus turnaround.

The time came and they walked to the dirt lot from which they were whisked away back to base camp on a death defying, ridge clipping bus ride.

Back at camp the crew checked in, tossed their gear in their assigned tents, and surrounded themselves in the worldly goods of the cantina and trading post. Lunch, a tour of the Ville Philmonte, and the closing campfire ceremony (indoors with no actual fire) followed as the day drew to close.

With that the Philmont experience came to a grand conclusion. All that was expected of the crewmembers now was to make their way home and resume their everyday lives. However, if they had kept their ears and hearts open during their Philmont experience, they would have gained a new respect for the wilderness and found out a little more about their companions and themselves.

So even though no one really expected anything more from them, those ten individuals owed it to themselves to use that knowledge acquired on the trail to better themselves and each other. That is the true challenge of Philmont.