After the previous couple of days, any backpacking to the next camp was a walk in the park, and it was on to Peublano. The entire staff greeted us with a song that they came up with. Blatto, our member from New Jersey had a particular frustration and Peublano was no exception.

They had a forty-eight star flag and one of our members pointed out it's age. The staff member corrected this by stating, "I'm afraid that you are wrong about our flag. It has forty-eight stars as we refuse to recognize people from Texas and New Jersey."

Our Texan in the crew laughed, but Blatto became angry and expressed it. Another staff member realized that he was from New Jersey and said, "Oh, I'm from Jersey. You from Jersey?"

Blatto erupted with, "Only the poor and uneducated people of Jersey talks like that!" Blatto never picked up the fact, when he yelled angrily, he had that same accent. It always cracked everyone up.

At Pueblano it was the Continental Tie and Lumber Company, where you learned to make railroad ties with a broad ax and climbed the spar pole.

You tied gaffs onto your boot, belt up and with a top rope belay; you'd climb about thirty feet up the pole. At the top, you undo your belt and kick off, your belayer rappels you down. Vern was the first guy up the pole when the staff member in charge of us, told him, "Whatever you do, when you get to the top, don't yell, "Otis' mom's gay!"

Needless to say, Vern did just that, "Otis' mom's gay!" The cabin door flung open as Otis appeared, in shirtless coveralls and a derby hat. His gaffs were already on and he walked to the pole that Vern was on. Vern said, "It's a shame you don't have your climbing belt on."

Otis walked straight up the pole, looked at Vern eye to eye, and pulled Vern into the pole with his own belt. Otis walked down and was walking away when Vern, once again yelled, "Otis' mom's gay! Ha ha, I'm coming down. As Vern was rappelled down, Otis grabbed Vern's loose belt and tied him to the pole.

The staff mentioned that while we don't need a conversation project, they would like us to help out so they could have their pond for log rolling completed soon. They felt that the crews really couldn't get the job done. We volunteered and in fact, many of us were turned away. Near the end, they had a mud fight that I captured on film.

We also encountered the ranger that spilled the beans about Rick shooting his gun off. "Hi guys!"

Everyone of us just wanted to beat the shit out of him. "Hi Guys? How about fuck you! You son of a bitch! You ran your mouth in base camp and got Rick fired! You're lucky that we don't beat the hell out of you for that."

"I never meant to get anyone in trouble. Sorry guys." He left to go back to camp.

During our backpack to Ponil, we were walking on a ridge and saw a small dot coming in our direction. As it got closer, it was obvious that it was a fully laden fighter plane hugging the terrain. When the pilot's head was about an inch in appearance, one trail crew member said, "I have enough of this asshole," dropped his pants and mooned him.

As the plane passed overhead and the wash blew our ears out, the plane started rocking back and forth. Our air force guy said, "You know what that means?  He's identified you as foe and wants to come back around to put a missile up that pretty little ass of yours ... Na, he's probably laughing, thinking that he's the first fighter pilot ever mooned."


Ponil is one of Philmont's western camps and arriving early we dropped our packs and immediately had fun. First up was the cowboys teaching us roping; we were much better at roping each other then the fake cattle made of wood and pipes. Next up was using the bull whip, where we watched Blatto get himself in the calf with a back lash and start hopping around.

We already mentioned that Blatto was from New Jersey and the cowboy said, "I only saw one other person do that and he was from New Jersey. I'm from Jersey! You from Jersey?" This made Baltto even more hopping mad.

We made camp and then went for our horse ride. The horses are put in a line and just as before, I had an older one that just wanted to walk and cough. Everyone referred to my horse as, "TB." One of the cowboys was off to the side and found a rattlesnake that wanted to make his horse dance. After that we had the branding ceremony for our boots, using their mini cattle brand.

At the branding, it wasn't the story of a guy that branded his boots with his feet still in it, but a smartass and punchy cowboy that branded the guys ass when the guy dropped his pants. I was told that the brand would destroy the insulation in my boots, but I enjoyed the created cold spot to remind me of the warmth of the experience.

Since we had extra time, I took off with the Cajun and had a blast with a fighting lizard, who was intent on putting on a show of force for his territory. We were on a small rocky ridge and dropped down in front of it to get back to camp. We noticed a fresh print in the dry creek about the size of a grown mans fist with his fingers extended to the first joints.

The Cajun said, "Cool a bear print ... Wait a minute, there's no claw indentations. Shit! That's a mountain lion print." With that, he took off running back to camp.

I yelled out, "Cajun pussy!" Then I realized, chances are, that the mountain lion is up there in the rocky outcrop watching me, so I took off running back to camp as well. When I got home, I found out that mountain lion prints are much smaller and the only cat capable of making them that large is a Jaguar. While, the area is in the extinct range for them, there was a good possibility they exist there because it is in a wild life protection area.

The other highpoint of Ponil is making your way to the chuck wagons and creating a chuck wagon dinner of biscuits and beef stew. Not only did that hit the spot, but afterwards was a trip to the cantina where you could buy snacks and root beer. Our bellies seemed like they could explode, but after all of the freeze dried food, it was a good feeling.

There was a crew from Texas that many of us didn't like because of what they said to us and we decided to try to start a fight by hiding some of our personal gear and telling them that Texas took it. We had to work fast, so I grabbed Vern's pack. But we were spotted and the rest of our group chased after us.

Kip, the guy from California confronted us and told us to come down. But his tone changed, "What the hell, I smell pot! You're smoking pot, get your asses down here so we can send you home. Hell with it, let's get them!"

Our little group looked at each other with confusion and said, "Shit, someone else must be on this hill!" Kip, Norm and Vern came tearing up at us and we took off. I got run off a cliff and had my chest skewered with the scrub oak branches I fell in.

Kip wanted to search us, Vern expressed his anger, but it was the rare case when Norman was pissed. After a while, Vern got a laugh out of the idea and actually told Norman to calm his hard feelings.

A couple of trail crew members later walked up to us and said that they thought they were caught red handed and were surprised to see them tearing past them to get to us. No one was happy about this as it could have created some real trouble for us. Drugs and alcohol aren't tolerated in the back county, period.

After Ponil, it was off to Indian Writings, Philmont's archeological camp. The ranger in charge had another staff member do the tour. It was obvious that he had impaired mental functioning and personal problems when he told us, "I'm glad you're all guys, I've really been getting in trouble with my pussy talk to the girls."

I swear it all just came out, we didn't encourage him and in fact, tried to discourage him. It was more a tour of how he kept getting into trouble with the girls, instead of the archeological dig. That portion of the tour was interspersed with, "Well, that's what we found of an Indian House. That's the arrowheads they use. Oh shit, I keep forgetting what I am supposed to tell all of you fuckers."

The final point of the tour was him crouching down, "Now, this is a fire ant nest. They're mean mother fuckers and burn like hell when they sting. This is also how I got in trouble the last time. I saw this red headed girl I liked and told her, I wished this was your cunt, because this is what I would like to do!"

He then stuck his finger in the fire ant hole, and it came out with stinging fire ants as he jumped up and down, going into a cussing fit. Every Trail Crew member grabbed his pants and headed for the nearest tree hoping to get there in time. When we got back to the cabin, the ranger in charge asked us, "He didn't say this."

"Yes, he did."

"Jesus Christ! He didn't say that."

"Yes." We kept busting out laughing.

"I'm sorry about putting you with him, but I had work to do. God damn it, you know I have talked to base camp everyday about him and they told me that I just had to deal with him and the situations that he creates. Don't tell me he did the pussy thing with sticking his finger in the fire ant hole." We busted out laughing and headed for the trees again.

The ranger in charge gave us the total tour again. Considering he was also an Archeology professor at the University of Mexico, it was a very interestingly informative and expertly detailed tour. There were many stories that he shared about the artifacts and though he was frustrated with his assistant, still had a sense of humor about things.

He took us up to some Indian carvings in the rocks and thoroughly explained what they meant, also what they didn't. He pointed to a group of concentric circles etched into the stone and said:

"You will notice a hole in this particular one, it isn't because as my assistant says, some horny cowboy jerked off and shot it with his load, it was because they were on the trail and most likely being bored, decided to take a shot at this Indian supplied target with their rifles."

Back at Indian Writing's cabin, the ranger handed us our Dutch ovens for our cobbler and added, "Unlike Ponil, we have a hell of a rattlesnake problem so feel free to kill then if you see them." Unlike the, "Mighty Hunters," of the 79 trip, I knew my luck and figured, "Fat chance!"

We were walking down to the trail back to camp, when I stepped and suddenly a snake went shooting off. I estimated I stepped six inches away and looked back at Kip and Vern and asked, "That wasn't a rattlesnake, was it?"

Both of them were dead still with their mouths agape, so I figured it was and with the cry of, "Well, that means we got food!" went after him. Being a snake guy, I was impressed he didn't rattle his tail until the last minute, and how he struck my stick with a lightning fast, fully open mouth.

We dropped back and threw rocks until we hit him in the head, then I moved in and pinned his head down with a stick, to decapitate him. After we buried the head, I cut the center plates of his belly and stripped out his innards which pulled out as one long sausage.

Back at camp, after salting and splitting up the snakes hide, I mentioned that I wanted to get some flour and real oil so we could deep fry him. I was out voted and they decided to debone the snake and cook it in the oil that we had with our meal, concentrated oil called, "Vegaline". Our beast turned out over cooked and stringy, with a burnt oil taste that killed its delicate flavor.

The next day, it was the hike out of the back country, to base camp. In a sense, I was happy for it all to end, as it meant getting back to the familiar and once again enjoying your comforts. It also meant getting away from all of those people that irritated you for the last month.

Yet, despite being a put together family, there was a deep admiration and respect for everyone, which was sort of a paradox in the adventure. One will spend the next lifetime missing them and reminiscing about the adventure. The harsh climes of the experience will come back with a certain fondness to remind the person, just what is possible to get through, becoming a benchmark to further them through life's adventures.

We were to walk back to base camp, via the Tooth of Time Ridge. The tooth of time is a rock face that juts out like a tooth and is visible from base camp. At the Tooth of time, we had fun with the echoing acoustics.

It was a simple matter of walking down the ridge and back to camp, only a couple of miles were left. I pretty much figured that the adventure was over, but Norm was busy chasing away the people hiking in front of him, and saying something about his knee. All of a sudden, Norm does a complete forward roll, comes back to one foot and hops a bit, then starts walking. One had to admire the feat as the extender bar on his backpack was a foot in a half over his head.

Back at base camp, the staff director came by to welcome us back. He also had a proposition, "I wanted to invite you to the staff dance, but the rangers didn't want you to come. I stood up for all of you and finally they agreed to have you attend ... The only problem is that to go, all of you must promise not to ask the women to dance. Now I am sorry about that, but it's for the best with the rangers."

We promised and attended the dance later that night, and had to laugh at the male rangers walking in with their costumes, it was Urban Cowboy personified. It was amazing to see the female staff all dolled up and they looked wonderful. Still we enjoyed the outlay of goodies and talked amongst ourselves.

Then it was time for the music, with a band playing called, "Bill and Bonnie." Bill was a bald headed older man, who was a slap happy fellow and Bonnie, Bill's wife, was a shock as she was blind and was led to the piano. She had a flapper's appearance and played the ivories with the most incredible form of Honky-Tonk, country that I had ever heard.

The women had a different thought about things, and walked up to us wanting to know why we aren't dancing, "Well, to be able to come to the dance, we had to promise the rangers, we wouldn't ask you to dance."

"That's ridiculous! Aren't they spoiled? We'll as far as I know; there aren't any rules about us asking you to dance. Hold on guys, we'll be back."

The woman talked to several others, they all walked back up to us and asked us to dance. Though I didn't know how to two step, they encouraged me to try my hand and I found it completely enjoyable and loved the company that found me, but...

As soon as the dance was over, the staff director told every one of us, "You were told not to dance with the female staff and you have to leave. Sorry guys." What we actually promised didn't seem to matter any longer.

We left and I made a diversion to go to the bathroom, as soon as I stepped in, I found myself thrown up against the wall. My six cell Maglite also found the ranger's gut and he yelled, "You fucking asshole, weren't you told not to dance with the women!"

"Fuck you! You call us assholes here and you're the one's that act like one. You know, before I came here, I really admired all of you, but as far as I am concerned, you guys are nothing more than spoiled pussies. Go to hell! I'll bash the next one of you-s, across the head with this flashlight." I walked out and went to the next bathroom, flashlight in hand and wanting trouble.

No wonder why the real cowboys that worked on the ranch held the base camp staff in such contempt. Norm, Vern and I had planned on staying at base camp for one more day, but the staff director walked by and said, "Well, we have all of our visitors out of here and if at all possible, we would like to close the camp tomorrow. I know many planned to stay an extra day, but we would prefer you to make other arrangements to leave early.

We talked about grabbing a hotel in Albuquerque and having a good time. With the camp closed, Rick was there and decided to do just that, as he would take a couple members home on his way back to Pennsylvania.

Norm or Vern, called the bus company and they agreed to exchange the tickets for an earlier departure. I don't remember anything of the trip as I must have slept the entire time. Once in Albuquerque, Rick picked us up. What was cool, was that another trail crew member was with him, New Mexico, Mike.

We divered from our path from the hotel to check out Mike's house, an adobe rancher. Then we all planned our hotel stay and went to a Ramada Inn Hotel. It was neat, because we were behind the hotel portion, at a grouping of rooms that looked like a motel.

Crammed in with us was about a case of beer and bottle of hard liquor apiece. The partying commenced immediately and while we enjoyed life, we really didn't bother other people. The manager saw the long line of us at an ice machine, and had a few words.

"I see all of you here like this and think there is a party going on. What are you trying to do, fill up the bathtub with ice?" We all smiled. "I don't have a problem with that, but I do have a problem with all of you using one machine to do it"

"Each floor has three machines and I would like you to split up and use them so that our other guests won't run out of ice. It will also worry them less about you." It was nice to have the blessing of the manager in our endeavor, and knew if we had a problem with him, it would be our fault.

After dark, things really picked up and we had a great time. New Mexico, Mike taught us how to make the ambrosia of the desert, Tequila Sunrises. While the drinking had us hammered, we planned to enjoy it by not getting totally wasted.

One of the other members brought two girls into the room to have a drink, and I was shocked as I was looking at the girl from my school yearbook, but with her natural hair. In fact I called her by the name. I was a bit disappointed when she informed me that she wasn't that person, but the girl enjoyed the fact that she had me spooked.

Not long afterwards, our pizza arrived and it was the first 36 incher that I saw, it totally boggled my mind. What boggled everyone else's was when another member wanted to chat with the girls sitting on the other bed, and sat right in the pizza. The girls left to the outside after Vern waved at them, said, "Hi girls!" turned back around and threw up in the make-up vanity sink.

The pizza hit the spot and it only took a couple of slices to fill each of us up with a long missed food. Our dining entertainment was Vernon explaining that he never threw up, but had a piece of donut caught in his throat. Vern prided himself on never having had thrown up while drinking.

Another member announced to all of us that he is going to take the best shit of his life. We realized that might just be the case as he hadn't come out for an hour. Hoping he was alright, we checked on him, but the door was locked. We popped the lock and found him asleep, with his pants down, still sitting on the toilet.

After I took advantage of the photo opportunity, he was woken up and dragged out by the ear until he fell down outside of the bathroom. After a while, we realized we shouldn't leave him face up and kicked him over to a, face down position. The next morning he woke up saying, "It the strangest thing, I actually feel fine, but my ribs hurt like hell."

We went to the dining room for breakfast and stuffed ourselves with non-institutional, "Real food!" I had a much needed omelet, filled with a western stuffing that I would fall in love with, and we all ordered sides of French toast, pancakes, sausage and bacon.

When we got back to the hotel room, Norm and Vern were holding the house cleaning lady at bay, as they decided to do her job for her. The lady thought it was funny, since it was the first time that she was tipped for not doing work.

By the next morning, we had all of the beer killed and half of the hard liquor. Though we would be inebriated for quite a while, we were happy that we didn't get in trouble or mess things up. The tub was drained so we could get our showers, but we did leave the hotel a monument to our stay.

We had every empty beer and liquor bottle completely covering the make-up vanity sink, which really looked impressive in the mirror behind it. To be fair to the housekeeper, we had all put five dollar bills under the bottles.

It was time to say goodbye and head back home. Once home, our parents were at the airport to pick each of us up. Mom welcomed me back with tears and Dad also welcomed me for a minute and with a, "You smell like beer. They served you on the plane?"

"No we didn't drink on the plane; we just stayed in Albuquerque for a couple of days."

"Jesus Christ!" The next day, dad commented, "Jesus Christ, you still smell like beer! How much did you drink?"

"I don't know, at least a case of beer and bottle of tequila, plus a half a bottle of other stuff."

"I'm amazed that you're not dead."

"No, I didn't drink like that, because I wanted to enjoy everything." In fact, once home, I was staying up all night to process the film, and make the prints from my trip. I had a hefty photographic folder of camp life."

Personally, that experience has made any other time that I party, pale in comparison and I rarely go drinking like that anymore. You could say, just as with the drugs in 9th grade, I realized that that moment would never again be captured.

I figured that my adventuring days were over, but quickly discovered that someone had given adventure, its own pen from which to write with.