During the spring of 11th Grade; Norm, Vern and I were accepted as trail crew members to Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. All we needed to do was to provide for the transportation out there. Norm wanted to hop a freight train and get contrails sponsorship in doing it.

Unfortunately, Conrail, while they said that they would love to do that, as occasionally they have helped scouts out in the past, declined as they no longer ran the cabooses at the end for the train. They did offer a reduced price, but still it would cost over $750.00.

We could have done that, but thought it best to arrange for air travel. From Baltimore-Washington International airport, we would travel to Saint Louis and then grab a connection flight to Albuquerque, New Mexico. Once there, we would grab a bus that would take use to Raton, where the camp's shuttle bus would pick us up. We all were excited and planned for the trip.

School finished up in fine fashion, with me staying behind with the teachers to clean up, organize, and get things packed in order to pull out for next year. Mr. Schwarz really got my photographic juices flowing when he offered to loan me some of the schools darkroom equipment. That meant a month of procuring extra equipment and products, and also designing and getting my father's permission to set it up in his work area.

He wasn't too happy, but reluctantly agreed anyway. He used a photographic store for his photographic purposes and couldn't believe the costs and outlay of the chemicals, paper, and other supplies. I had to completely darken his work area, and after I installed the equipment, he was completely stymied to see that I took over the entire workroom.

I tried to involve him, but his neatness and nose, really kept him away outside of just a general curiosity. He commented that he at times, thought that I was headed to summer school, but couldn't imagine in a millions years, that summer school would be at the house. Further confusing him, was the fact that I wasn't being graded for any of this.

My other spare activity was cutting the three remaining lawns, and putting in many hours working for Mrs. Fast, who was still the same person with her usual quirks. Freddie, declined somewhat and was now bedridden. With going away for a month, I arranged for friends to continue to cut my lawns.

I was still, the Senior Patrol Leader and Norm, my assistant. But the adults sort of changed up plans on us and we backed off a bit and concentrated on training for our Philmont trip. We debated whether heat and humidity would be considered an offset to the lack of altitude in Maryland's Mountains.

Norm was ever increasing in complexity, as he designed a shower system for our campsite and put two baker tents together, so that it had an automatic opening door. Norm and I worked together on Survival Merit Badge as well. Instead or simply doing two demonstrations, between us, we always did three. The guide remarked that we were the first people that could actually live out in the wilds.


We also realized the stupidity we operated from this time. Before the trip, we thought a little beer would be nice, but no one could get any this time. At the last possible minute, I scored a case of Colt 45, tall boys. We realized our stupidity at camp when Norm and Vern also made scores with a case of beer. Now we had a dilemma, what to do with it?

We decided to figure out how to cook with it. For the famed Thursday night's Patrol diner cook off, we were told that we were out of the guest loop as there were enough adults, so we decided to fry our corned beef with two cans of beer. Then we discovered that we too, had an adult as a guest, to our caught horror. He remarked the corned beef was the absolute best that he had and wanted to know our secret. We told him that we marinated the corned beef first, with, "Norm's secret spice mixture."

Norm, Vern and I donned our full packs for the troop hike, as we decided to start out ahead of them, to meet them in Little Orleans. Unlike their plan to walk the towpath, we planned to take the railroad tunnel. About a mile from that, I was asking Norm and Vern for a break. They wouldn't permit this. Within a half of a mile, with tears in my eyes, I was begging them. They told me to work through the pain as it was all in my head.

At the entrance to the tunnel, they told me it is time for the break. I immediately dropped my pack and guzzled to Norm's and Vern's surprise two of the tall boys. I then took of my boots and the tops of the socks were covered in blood. The metal parts of the lacing system cut through my feet.

After two more of those beers, the pain had finally went away and we continued on through the tunnel after taking the cans and building a pyramid with them, joking that we the adults would be jealous. Well, to our surprise the troop showed up in Little Orleans a bit quicker than expected. They too, took the tunnel as a short cut.

One adult commented that they found an interesting trail sign that lead the way to Little Orleans, "A pyramid of very cold, but empty beer cans." I jokingly said that it is a shame that someone would do it and they could be punished if caught.

The scoutmaster walked up to me, took his hat of and hit me over the head with it, saying, "Smartass." When I made it back to camp, my actions flipped everyone out, I put the shoes on a stump and went ten rounds with the lacing system and a ten pound sledgehammer.

At each summer camp, they hold a turtle race and this time, I told the troop that God will provide us with a winner. I looked down and to my surprise, there was a turtle. We scooped him up and made an official pen for him. The rest of the troop wasn't so impressed, as he stayed in his shell for the entire time.

Many other troop members, found turtles and wanted me to replace him with theirs, but I refused to permit this. Then one patrol, actually tried to train him, by pushing him with a stick. No one was impressed, but I insisted that they keep the faith.

At the gathering of troops for the main campfire, they held the race and our troop members were disparaging that at least all the other troops' turtles were moving. I said that he will be known as the, "God powered turtle." Well, they put all of the turtles in the center of the ring, under the trash can and it didn't help matters that ours was in the dead center. They lifted the can and our turtle not only took off running, made it to the outer ring first, he set a new camp record. The second turtle was only halfway to the finish line.

Not all of the animals were fun. We had one boy that slept in a hammock; find a copperhead snake at his face the first night, then a rattle snake there for the second night. We kept that one a live and took in to the next door camp and released him. By midweek, Norm was walking down the trail, suddenly stopped and yelled, "Copper-bitch!"

This was coming back for the swimming hole, so he had his tennis shoes on. Though I knew what the snake looked like, it took a good minute to find him as he blended in so well. To Norm's relief, I pinned his head and killed him, keeping the skin.

Near the end of the camping trip, Vern said that he was leaving early to get his portrait done for our school's year book and asked me if I wanted to go with him. I declined telling him that I would catch it up with the senior picture reshoot. To be honest, they also ditched those cardboard shirts and opted for clothes. I really didn't have anything good to wear at the time.


Norm, Vern and I found ourselves on a Boeing 727 in Baltimore, but this was my second airport experience. All of our parents were there, from concerned fathers to crying mothers. At this time, they could join you at the gates to see you depart.

We pushed off, in fine cattle car fashion and made it to Saint Louis, finding ourselves on a Lockheed 1011. The 1011, is a wide bodied aircraft with two rows of chairs at each window and five rows in the center, all were very spacious and comfortable. Our awe of the roominess was bolstered by the fact that for an aircraft built for 265 people, it only had fifty occupying it for the trip to Albuquerque.

Good thing too, as we were tarmacced for two hours, due to thunderstorms. It was a great place to get good rest and just about as everyone stretched across the center seats. One of our parents concerns was that there was an aircraft that crashed in Louisiana during takeoff, from a thunderstorm.

The pilot came on, to explain why we will be taking off safely in these thunderstorms. It was the way he went about this, that didn't instill confidence. Finally, he announced that, "We are now number one and cleared for takeoff. We will get you to your destination of Abergerkie as soon as possible."

We all thought the same thing, are we on the right plane and looked amongst each other and then at our tickets. The stewardesses mentioned that he must mean, "Albuquerque." We didn't have too much time to laugh over that as the pilot wasn't shitting about getting us there fast. This has been my only flight, that had me plastered in the seat until we leveled off.

It was an enjoyable flight and we even got extra food for dinner, which was a nice, warm, and complete meal. Once there, we grabbed a cab to the bus station, which was a trip in a half as the cab driver was a comedian giving us a comparative historical perspective of the difference of Albuquerque, from Baltimore.

"I know how driving is in Baltimore." He pointed to a street that was blocked of, "See, we block the streets off when we find a homeless person sleeping in the gutter." Just about every block held some new funny facet of his perspective.

Once at the bus station, we were told that there are no bus trips to Raton. We went to the ticket counter and they said the same. It wasn't until we produced the ticket, until we found out what the problem was, "Oh you mean Ra-tone!" We were pronouncing it as rattan.

On the bus we found our seats and I ended up with a smelly Hippie seated next to me. I just had to ask, "Are you going all the way to Raton."

"All the way, Dude!" This eight hour trip was spent with my hands forming a funnel, to collect the little air that I could from the window. The country side was beautiful and I love when we passed through Santa Fe. Finally we made it to, Raton and we were amazed to find it considered a city.

There we hooked up with a Canadian crew that had arrived earlier and though we called for a shuttle, we hope on their bus. Canadians are known to us as super scouters, and they were a completely enjoyable bunch.

We were dropped off at Philmont's welcome shack to check in. Since we arrived a couple of days early, we let the Canadians go first. There was this blond woman, totally frustrating the Canadian Leader. She just couldn't get anything right, and the guy assisting her just made things worse. Those poor Canadians, being thousands of miles from home and being told that they shouldn't be a Philmont.

For them, it was a welcome relief when it did get straight. The Canadian leader, wished us luck. The blond girl asked us who we were and we replied, "TC 7-22."

"So you're the new assholes!" That Canadian leader instantly became irate and started white knuckling his traditional climber's cane."

The guy assisting her said, "What are you going to do this time? The last crew, stole a ranger's truck, got drunk and wreaked it on the cattle guard. I tell you what, I told them to see me if you need anything, but you guys, better not knock on this door unless it is a real emergency. Base camp, will hate you guts anyway."

When we made it outside, the Canadian leader, expressed his anger of the welcome crew. He also told us that we should immediately complain and added, "What are you going to do about base camp hating your guts."

Vern said it best, "Well, I think that we have a reputation to live up to!"

The Canadian leader smiled and said, "Good, you do just that. As far as I am concerned they're, the camp assholes."

The base camp was a true tent city, with the tents being set up in a horseshoe shape to accommodate the crews that are constantly coming and going. It was strange, while we were always embarrassed about Norm's squeaky high pitched soprano like voice; we were used to it and felt bad about the allergies that caused it. Norm suddenly declared, "Hey guys, I think it is time to use my real voice."

As he said that, his voice dropped several octaves, and knowing that we had been had for several years, Norm's declaration had us rolling on the ground laughing. In short order, the Trail Crew rangers met us and explained that the other members will be joining us in the afternoon. Base camp, made us buy meal tickets, as we weren't officially started yet. We were getting personal comments from all of the staff.

Joining us first were two boys from California. Kip and his friends were surfer dudes with exceedingly long hair. They all commented on the harsh treatment and comments of the welcome shed and asked Norm, why Vern and myself, fell down laughing when he talked.

"They always do that. I think they have personal problems."

By dark, about half the crew was there, including Blatto, a person from New Jersey. Texas was also represented. We went to the campfire and upon our arrival at our tents, we noticed that someone stole our picnic table. What to do? Isn't theft an emergency? We immediately walked to the welcome shed and banged on the door.

"Didn't we tell you assholes not to knock on our door unless it's an emergency?"

"Well, we think that theft is an emergency! Someone stole our picnic table!"
"Christ! Then steal one yourself. Don't bother us again!" Now using the Welcome Shack logic, we decided that they meant, steal one for each of us." We did just that and were working on building a pyramid with them. We were amazed that we were pulling it off.

Norm, Vern and I were the first to get caught a man stuck his out of the tent and confronted us about taking the table. Vern, BSed him and we had him convinced that we didn't want to wake him up and needed the table of a watermelon that we have.

We were working on the third row, when security walked up and shining three MagLite on our handy work, said, "Let me guess, you're all the new Trail Crew."

We didn't need words, he had the camp issued flashlight, I turned mine on and since it was a six cell flashlight with a Krypton bulb, which illuminated the area as if the sun had been turned on. Kip explained, "Our table was stolen and we went to the Welcome Shack to report and they yelled for us to steal one yourself. We wanted to make sure that they didn't mean one apiece, but they cussed us out and slammed the door in our face."

"Yep, you're Trail Crew ... Now look, I don't want to be putting up with this crap all night long. Take down your project and return the tables where they belong. I will deal with you all if I return to more problems."

"Sir, what about our table?"

"Christ, you're not that stupid. Keep one of them for yourselves."

It was only about ten minutes, we came back to the crews camp where the man confronted us, "You can't tell me that you ate the watermelon in ten minutes."

"Sir, it was a speed eating contest."

"Well you stay right there. I know you didn't clean that table." He got out in his skivvies to check it and declared. "What's going on, it even dry!"

"Well, where trail crew and believe that you should return it in a better condition then you got it."

"Wow, all of you in the trail crew are hell of bang up guys! Hey thanks." Bang up and Hell, are good descriptions of us.


It turned out that when the mess hall, found out that we were trail crew, we didn't need the meal tickets. In fact, they served us extra food. These were crowded affairs and many of the crews heading for the trails, had their own antics. Two adult crew leaders were openly arguing and all of a sudden, one pulls out a twenty and held it in the air.

The other opened a new bottle of Tabasco Sauce and flipped the little plastic spritzer top and downed it a fine, chugging fashion. The two stared at the each other for a minute and the second the twenty got slammed on the table; it was in the others hand, which was using the other to hold his mouth before he ran outside.

During the day, more members came in and I decided to try my hand at long distance running with the Cajun member. As we ran, he talked about how hard-assed and fearless, the Cajuns are who live life with a passion. The lasted long enough, until he realized that he was running past a heard of Buffalo. Even though there was a barbed wire fence between us, he decided to turn around and run back to camp.

Kip and the other Californian decided to go into Cimarron and we didn't recognize them at first as they had all of their long hair reduced to a crew cut. They explained, "We walked past the barber, who gave us a deal that they couldn't refuse. He only charged us a dollar apiece, because he was ex-army and the difference is made up with pure satisfaction. "

Our assigned rangers would pop in from time to time as they were planning our project. We were now considered the fully assembled crew and now sat together for mess and attended the opening campfire. This was the second time that many of us attended and noticed a change in attitude of the campfire staff.

This campfire is neat as it is not only a welcoming one, but they dress up in period costumes that represent history and do a great job at acting the part. There was a crew behind us, heckling the performers. Then it went to the gunslinger, which went through his act, at which point he said, "You cross my path wrongly and I'll shoot you dead!"

Instead of shooting off to the side, he pointed his gun directly at us and pulled the trigger. Now dotted with black powder cuts, we immediately got up and charged forward. The rest of the campfire staff met us person to person and we were told to sit down and stay after the campfire.

We were automatically lectured about being Trail Crew assholes and it's lucky that they don't kick us out of Philmont. We mentioned the fact that the cowboy pointed his gun at us and fired his gun, so we told him that we will make a big deal over it in camp.

The cowboy said, "Well, those assholes were giving me a bunch of crap. I guess they enjoyed the show yesterday and wanted to cause their trouble tonight."

"It wasn't us you fucking jerk; it was the group behind us. Being hit with black powder is like being shot at with a shotgun. You're the cowboy; you don't draw on somebody unless you want to get your ass-kicked." The person in charge of the campfire apologized to us. We all stared down the cow boy until he left.

The next morning, it was the process of storing the equipment that you don't want to take, picking up your equipment and supplies and distributing it amongst crew members to carry it. Next it is the shakedown and finally you're on the bus to go to your drop off point.

In our case, it was about a five mile hike from the drop off point to Sawmill camp where we were to stay for the duration of putting in the trail. During this hike, I realized that I was in trouble.

I was losing steam and at the back of the pack with two other stragglers. One was constantly complaining about his hip and saying the he wanted to go home. Myself, I was constantly thirsty and filling my canteen at every small creek that we crossed.

After about drinking about a gallon of water, I knew I was in trouble and that I had leached out my electrolytes during the previous days run. As soon as I heard the people up ahead building camp, I dropped my pack, grabbed a pack of powdered Gatorade and hiked it to the nearest water.

It only took about fifteen minutes, for me not only to be refreshed, but fully recovered. They had to calm me down, as they saw my pack on the trail and put in our supply truck and took it to camp. I wanted to prove myself and demanded that they drop it off where they found it.

They told me to relax; no one has to prove a thing. I learned a valuable thing, as beautiful as the country is that I am in, the dangers are ever present. But we're Trail Crew!