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Eagle We bounced up the dirt track to the top of the hill where I parked the car, and we stepped out into the heat of the warm September afternoon. The sun shone brightly on the overgrown fields of what had, 20 years before, been a high pasture. Pines circled the old grazing ground, now choked with chest high goldenrod, all abuzz with nectar hungry bees and wasps. We tightened our boots and took big drinks of water. We were dressed alike --- hiking boots, long pants and t-shirts. By happy chance, the t-shirts even matched. They were gray with black letters that read 'Philmont, 2000.' We walked along a faint trace that led toward the tree line, and a grass green snake swiveled across our path and into the weeds. "Look at that," I said, pointing to the rapidly retreating reptile. "What kind is it?" asked Al. "Oh, just a garter snake. Nothing to worry about there, but keep your eyes peeled for rattlesnakes and copperheads. This is the time of year when they are on the move, looking for places to hole up for the winter. That's one of the reasons that I asked you to wear long pants." "There are more reasons?" he said looking a bit apprehensive. "Yeah, well, I think things may get pretty interesting before it is over." "What do you mean?" "Remember when you were going for Tenderfoot and I came to your house and we sat in your bedroom and talked about being a Boy Scout?" "Yeah, my first Scoutmaster Conference. I was really worried, but it turned out to be easy." "That's right. It's not too hard to be a Tenderfoot in this life. Do you remember all the other little talks that you and I have had over the years?" "Sure, we did one for each rank --- Second Class, First Class, Star, Life and now Eagle. Each one was more complicated than the last. I remember we did the one for Life walking around a campground in the middle of nowhere. You were on me about thinking for myself and accepting blame when I screwed up. Now I'm all worried about this one. What are we going to do?" "Since this is the last of them, I thought that we would do something very special, something that you would remember all of your life. We'll talk about it in a bit, but for now, just enjoy the walk." Al was puzzled but game, and followed obediently as I ducked under a tree at the pasture's edge and entered the forest. Our route grew steep for a few yards and was cluttered with downed branches and brambles. Then we stepped onto a very old and narrow road that skirted the edge of the field. "Hey," he said, "This is an old road. Where does it lead?" "Let's follow it. Why don't you get in front now." "Ok. Boy this is a great path. You can still see old tracks, but the whole thing is so covered with pine needles that it feels like you're walking on a mattress!" "Yeah. About 150 years ago this hillside was covered with houses, without a tree anywhere in sight. Back then you could see clear across this little valley, and the path we are on was the most important road in town." "Why was a town way out here in the middle of nowhere?" "You'll see pretty soon now --- just keep walking." We ambled along the sun-dappled road, occasionally hopping a fallen tree, but having little trouble on this ancient way. In a few minutes, though, we came to a man-high cut that went right across the road and stopped our forward progress.
"Head downhill." Ten steep steps down Al saw it. "Hey, look at that! That's an iron furnace, right?" I smiled. I had known he would like this part. There, perched on the downhill slope, was a 30-foot high structure built of cut stone. "Isn't it great?" I said. "The town that was here was called Eagle Furnace. The town is gone, but the furnace remains, though there are probably not twenty people alive who know that. It was built in 1846 and used for 12 years to make pig iron. About 100 people lived here. Some of them cut trees and made charcoal from them. Some dug iron ore or mined limestone. The road we've been following was used to transport those raw ingredients to the furnace. Back then, a bridge led from the road to the top of the furnace." "Is this the interesting thing you wanted me to see, then?" said Al with some relief.
So we zigzagged down the steep hillside to the creek in the valley below. As we went, I pointed out mysterious holes in the ground where houses had formerly stood, pieces of bubbly opaque green glass called slag that was a byproduct of iron production, and other items of interest concerning the operation of the furnace. The creek was a charmer, 25 feet wide and ambling through a rock-strewn bed. We turned downstream and started picking our way along another road, and I told Al how they used to dam up Canoe Creek in the spring and build rafts on the backed up water. Once the log rafts were loaded with stacks of pig iron, they would knock the dam apart and take a wild ride on the flood of water to get their iron to market. Our way quickly became more challenging. Spider webs festooned the path, and downed trees and flotsam blocked it up where the creek had overflowed during some recent spring freshet. The valley bottom was wide just here, and we were very evidently on a bench that was the flood plain of the stream. A pine forest blocked the sun, and the dead lower limbs of the trees grabbed at us as we moved along. Al picked up a six-foot stick and used it to clear the way a little and to test the footing where we had to cross little gullies filled with standing water that cut up the bench. The world was dark and dank and filled with immediate problems.
It was better on the other side. The pines still shut out the sun, but the sandy bench was free of debris and the walking enjoyable. As we went, the valley narrowed and the pines were gradually replaced with oak, maple and spruce that let the sun filter through. The banks of Canoe Creek were increasingly crowded with Joe Pie Weed, Queen Anne's Lace and other water and sun loving plants. The bench narrowed, but a well-defined path lead onward through the high weeds, and the leafy, sun splashed forest that had completely replaced the dark pines. Just where the steep hillside pushed in from the left to touch the creek, we came to a very large and flat-topped boulder. At its base the stream had carved a deep, whale-sized hole, and here the water ran silent and deep. As we approached, a monster trout leaped from the water and fell with a splash back into the dark green pool.
"I bet it is, but today it's something else as well. This place is where you are in your life." "What do you mean?" "Let's get up on the rock and then I'll explain." We scrambled up onto the flat but sloping top of the boulder, then inched carefully across its moss-slippery surface. An old spruce leaned from the top of the rock, and we sat among its large, clutching roots, our legs dangling in space so that we could survey the pool below. The afternoon was suddenly quiet. The only sound was the gentle murmur of the stream as it discharged from the pool some distance away downstream. Once we were settled, I began to explain my idea. I found it a hard thing to do. "Up on top of the hill, when we first got out of the car, you were telling me about the other times that we've talked about your progress in Scouting. You said you were nervous at that first conference. I was too. That was your first Scoutmaster Conference, but it was also mine. I knew from books what I needed to do, but, as I am sure you know, reading about something is no substitute for actually doing that thing. I've now been the Scoutmaster in over 100 Scoutmaster Conferences, but I remember that first one nearly as well as you do. We were both learning what to do. "For weeks now I have been thinking about what today's Scoutmaster Conference should be like. I think that becoming an Eagle Scout is one of the most worthwhile things that a boy can do with his youth. Looking back on my own life, I see that earning my own Eagle badge, 35 years ago, was the first major accomplishment of my life. I have used the skills I learned in pursuing that badge over and over again as I took up other of life's challenges. All Eagle Scouts have tackled an immense job and have succeeded. It takes enormous will power, great planning skills, a love of knowledge and a willingness to work very hard to become one of the 2% of all Boy Scouts that make Eagle. Think about it. For the last four years you have been collecting the 21 required merit badges, and then, as if that wasn't enough, you needed to completely plan, fund, organize and carry out a complex Eagle Project. And even that wasn't the end of it. The very last step was to secure the recommendations of half a dozen adults who were willing to certify that you were indeed worthy of the honor. In planning for today, I quickly decided that I already think you deserve the badge, so that left me wondering what in the world to do at this, our last Scoutmaster Conference. Then something I read gave me an idea. Why not use this last meeting to explore the whole course of your life." Al was beaming. I was going to sign him off for Eagle, but as the last of my words sunk in, a puzzled look crept over his face. "What do you mean, 'explore the whole course of my life'"? "Ah, well, the thing I read was about the symbolism of a story by Earnest Hemingway called 'The Big Two-Hearted River.' The story's plot is very simple. A man gets off of a train where a town has burned to the ground and walks all day with a heavy pack to reach a forest alongside a river, where he camps and goes to sleep. In the morning, he catches grasshoppers for bait, eats his breakfast, and then fishes the river. He catches trout and cleans them. The End --- that's all there is too it, and I could have read that story a dozen times without noticing its symbolism. It took a second book to make me see that the river in this tale represented the narrator's life, and that he was fishing the upper part of it, which represented the lost paradise of his boyhood." "I don't understand," said Al. "Do you mean that this fishing hole is supposed to be my boyhood?" "No. My idea is quite a bit more detailed than Hemingway's. I agree with him that a river can be viewed as being a lot like a person's life, but the way I have things figured, that pool is your senior year in high school." Al snorted in amusement, then looked a little worried that I would take it the wrong way. I smiled though and continued. "Yeah, I know it sounds funny, and maybe the whole idea is daffy, but I am very interested in trying it out, so bear with me a bit while I explain. "The way I have your life matched up to our walk so far goes like this --- when we stepped out of my car up on the hilltop, that was when you were born into a new and sunshiny world. Your parents took care of everything at first, looking out for and warning you about the snakes of life. They led you across the pleasant meadow of babyhood, until it was time for you to start school. Then the footing was tricky and you got some scratches. Soon enough, though, you latched on to early school life and it was like walking a road that thousands had trod before you --- remember that first high road we were on? When you were 10, you joined the Scouts and heard all about how you could become an Eagle Scout. Do you understand so far?" "Yeah, I am getting it now. That was when I saw Eagle Furnace, right?"
"So here we sit at your senior year of high school, and you are like the fish that live in this hole in the creek. You have mastered your world, and all is quiet and serene." "Well," said Al, "I don't know about mastered, but anyway, I see what you mean. I suppose that even big fish in small ponds have things that bother them, things that they worry about." I smiled, pleased that he was giving my idea a chance. "Yes, I'm sure that they have their fishy worries, but you are not a fish. You just happen to be at this quiet place in your life where fish feed and dream, live and die. The fish will be here tomorrow but you will have moved on." "Moved on to where?" "Why downstream, of course! It's here at this pool where your biggest adventures begin." Al mulled that over for a minute, then said, "I wonder what my adventures will be. Everything after this year seems hazy and un-guessable. I know I'm going to some college, I even know what I want to major in, but how will college feel. And after that, what comes next? Where will I end up working? What will I do?" "Guessing the future is a chancy business, but if my idea is any good, you and I should be able to find some answers this afternoon." He thought a moment, then said, "You mean… "Yes. Let's keep walking down stream and see what your future holds." Al smiled, at least a little taken with the idea. "Ok, lead on." I smiled in turn. "No, you lead on. It's your life after all." We scrambled to our feet and clambered down off the boulder. I pointed out a little path that jigged around the upslope side of the rock, and then followed as Al lead the way --- suddenly very curious as to how this little game would play out. "Do you know where we are going?" asked Al as he picked his way along a narrow trail that followed the edge of the creek. "I've never been here before in my life." "Where will we end up?" "I have my suspicions, mostly because I have looked at a map of this country, but let's just see how things develop." The creek valley widened, the ground grew swampy and the path ended at a thick, unkempt bottomland meadow of waist-high weeds and fallen branches. We were once more in full sunlight and the land was filled with the sounds of gurgling water and busy insects. Pools of water dotted what we could see of the swamp, their surfaces alive with water striders. "Where to next?" said Al, looking about in mild puzzlement. "That's your decision, Al. It's your life, but let me give you a little advice. Often times when things look tough and you can't decide what to do it's a good idea to take a longer view. Instead of looking at the swamp at your feet, lift your eyes and look beyond. What is it that you really want? What is the best way to achieve it?" Al did look up then. He scanned the rocky hillside, but found it too steep to climb with safety. Really there were just a few choices. We could cross the width of the valley though the swamp, we could backtrack to a better crossing point, or we could continue forward through the weeds in hopes of finding good footing ahead. I watched him mull his options, and smiled when he saw what I had seen immediately. The path resumed 30 yards along; you could just see it as it came out of the swamp and ducked under an old oak. He looked at me, pointed ahead and grinned, "That-a-way." The weeds, it turned out, merely hid the path. It was there, with only an occasional puddle to jump. Visibility was limited, and we kept our eyes to the ground so as to keep our boots dry, and to guard against unwanted encounters with snakes. When we stepped out of the swamp Al turned to me and said, "Where was that do you think." I didn't understand. "What do you mean?" "Where was that swamp in my life?" "Oh. I forgot about that for a minute. Let's see --- must be some time when you are in college, I guess, since we have only come a short way." "What was it about?" "Don't ask me. Some sort of a big decision to make, perhaps. A change of majors, or deciding if you want to go to grad school, or maybe marriage. I don't know, but I think you made the right decision." "Yeah, with your help." "That's OK though. You can have my help or, more likely, your parents' help for a long time yet, if you only choose to ask for it." We tramped the thin trace. It ran along the edge of the now busy stream, under leafy branches that nodded in a gentle breeze that had sprung up. It was quiet and nice, but up ahead I saw that the stream turned away to the right, and guessed what was coming next. Sure enough, the wall of the valley pinched in and this time the trail really did end. Al stared at the ground ahead. We could just about scramble along that hillside if we worked hard at it, or we could cross the shallow stream to the flats on the other side using large gray limestone rocks that poked from the streambed and basked in the hot afternoon sun. Al started forward. I said, "Wait. Are you sure you want to do that? Have you noticed that there are high cliffs on every outside turn of this stream? See how she goes to the right here? I figure that that way will lead to trouble very quickly."
He was very kind about it. "Don't worry. I see what you mean about how the stream works in this valley. Let's cross. I think it is time for a change anyway. I think that my education must be just about complete." I laughed and felt better as we teetered easily across and into the brush on the other side. Still, I resolved to keep my mouth shut and let Al make the decisions from then on, without any anticipating on my part. If I read his trails for him, he would never learn to read them for himself. We zigzagged our trackless way among the dead lower limbs of a young patch of White Pines, but Al was thrifty in his choice of route, diverting to avoid obstacles but always returning to the line that would take us onward down the stream. Spider webs were everywhere, and he used a long dead branch to clear them away. I should have done the same --- I got my left arm into a web in such a way as to trap its maker against my skin. The little devil nailed me 10 times before I could brush it away. Now the high wall of the canyon came in from the right as the stream swung to the left. We continued on our way, but I didn't like what I saw. The stream was wide and deep below, and so there was no easy crossing. A steep hill ran along the water's edge, and 40 feet up this was a sheer 100-foot wall of muddy and much fractured limestone. I would have turned back, but this time I kept my mouth shut. Al bravely started along the precipitous hillside, about half way between the water and the cliff face. The way was slippery and treacherous, but he made good use of his stick. I followed along as best I could, frequently grabbing at rhododendron branches to safeguard against sliding into the waist deep water below. We clawed our way along for a few minutes, then Al paused and looked around. He wasn't happy about the way things were going, and was looking to improve our lot. After a minute he said, "Let's go up. Maybe there's a path that we can't see from here right at the base of the cliff." "Suits me," I said. "Can't be any worse than this." We scrambled up and found that he had been right. There, tight against the cliff, was a foot-wide deer track that, if narrow, was at least level. It reminded us both of a time at Philmont when a mule deer track had been our guide in traversing some nasty terrain. We made fairly good time along the track until we came to a place where the hill had slid away, making a five-foot wide gully. I would have gone down hill and around it, but Al hardly paused, leaping across to land safely on the other side. I still didn't like it much, but decided to follow. My leap was a little shorter than his, and, to make matters worse, I landed on a wobbly bit of rock. Without thought, Al courteously reached out and hauled me to stable ground. "Thanks," I said. "Sure," then turning to survey what came next he added, "Looks like that's pretty much the end of the cliff. Let's rest a minute." I was ready for that. We sat and talked. "So what was that last stretch about?" I asked. He had already been thinking about it, "The pine forest was my first job --- some sort of low-level position." "Yeah, probably debugging software based on the number of spiders we saw," I grinned. He smiled, "Then I take a step up and things are difficult for a while until I take another step that brings me to a satisfactory position. I can't go higher, but I am happy, until some big crisis occurs --- that's the ditch we just came across. I get past that and that brings us to here." "Sounds good to me, but I would add that along the way you start to show your management skills by solving hard problems, and your leadership abilities by helping your followers to do a better job. Hard times come to everyone, but if you handle them in an honest and trustworthy manner that will often see you through." We talked a bit more, kicking around possibilities in this game we were playing, then we stood and wandered onward --- I was beginning to tire, but Al was as cheerful as ever and eager to pursue this adventure to some logical conclusion.
Al turned right and started up the road, his hands busily cleaning weed fluff from his neck and shoulders. I had thought we would go the other way and come out at the mouth of the creek, where it disgorged into the river, but that way was another grassy mess, and so I was content to follow along. It was late afternoon now. The sun was far down in the sky and the day was cooling off. My t-shirt was drenched with sweat, and I appreciated the clean, cooling air of the river valley as it flowed around me. The dusty road quickly ended at a little-traveled line of blacktop that led us down and onto the Canoe Ripple Bridge that lifts traffic over the Clarion River. Halfway across the bridge I called a halt. Lovely views of the river stretched to either side, and the waning sunlight added just the right touch to make us feel we were somehow in the presence of God. We found ourselves speaking in hushed and reverent tones. "This is the end, Al." "What do you mean? Is this where I die?" "No, no. This is where I die if we go much further. Look upstream. See that line of rocks about 200 yards up? That's called Canoe Ripple and just below it you can see our little stream entering the river. I had thought that that would be the end of our walk but now I see that it doesn't have to be. Look downstream. See the river? That's the Clarion, and it leads to the Allegheny, the Ohio and the Mississippi. Then come the Gulf of Mexico, the Atlantic Ocean and all of the oceans of the world. "This is a pretty spot. You might be content to live here all of your life, or you may continue on to bigger and bigger adventures downstream. The choice is yours, but never doubt that you can do it if you try."
He seemed to like that idea, and I felt pleased that my scheme had worked out so well. I hope, when he comes back, he remembers me as well.
We walked back to the car on the macadam road, giving all cars that
passed a friendly wave, as is the custom in country places in this
part of the world. The return took a half-hour, whereas the walk
down had taken two. It was all up hill and Al could have taken it at
a run. Me? I was near staggering when we reached the car and was
happy to drive off toward Clarion with the prospect of a shower and
a nice nap much on my mind. |
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"There
must have been a bridge here," said Al, "What should I do?"
"No,
this is just the first thing. Let me lead for a while now."
Now
the side of the valley began to pinch in, until our way was blocked
by a sheer limestone cliff that towered an awesome 100-feet into the
air. It was un-climbable. I led the way across the stream at a noisy
rock-strewn ripple. The rocks I chose as stepping-stones were slick
with moss, wobbled as I stepped on them, and perhaps were not the
best, but Al followed loyally along behind and we both managed to
get across dry shod.
"Wow,
this looks like a great fishin' hole," said Al.
"You
got it. Remember that I explained how the furnace worked and then we
picked our way through some difficult terrain? That was your early
days as a Scout, and your entire grade school career. Those were
days filled with challenges, but you handled them all. Then, came
the biggest challenge of all, when we crossed the stream on slippery
stepping-stones. That was when you switched schools in 9th grade.
The whole landscape of your world changed as you entered high
school, but you really found the going much easier there than you
ever had in grade school. Remember being on the track team, and the
time you went away to that Math Olympics? Also, near the end, where
the weeds began fifty feet back ---
that was when you went to Philmont. 
Then
I realized what I had done. "Sorry, Al. I should not be trying to
lead your life for you. It's your decision to make."
The
cliff receded and the land below began to flatten into a delta. We
kept to the hillside for a while as things looked swampy below, then
Al climbed again and we hit an ancient overgrown road that lead down
the now bramble covered hill to the delta below. Forward was the
only choice, but it wasn't very appetizing. At the bottom we made a
false start down a path that petered out at a gas well, then
retreated a bit to more solid ground and began plowing through
brambles and weeds toward a vague gap we could see in the vegetation
ahead. Neither of us liked it much 
We
stared downstream for a while, lost in thought, then I spoke again,
"We have played an interesting game this afternoon, and sometime,
when you are old and gray, or when you need to make a big decision,
you should come back here and spend a quiet hour thinking about this
day. When you return, also think of the many good times you've had
as a Boy Scout these past four years. You have learned the lessons
that Scouting has to teach, now all you need to do is remember and
use them."