12

For starters, we had all noticed that the food sump had been ripped from the ground by something, presumably a bear. This was not a night to forget to put the food up in a tree, but this proved to be unexpectedly difficult to do. It was dark and when we did find the bear-bag cable we were shocked at its height above the ground. It was way up there. Scout after Scout tried to pitch the rope over the high cable with no success. Eventually the whole crew stood there in the dark gazing forlornly at the wire high above.

"Here, let me show you how it's done," I finally said, and promptly missed three times in a row ---so much for MY mighty arm. Everyone took the problem amazingly in stride --- we would figure something, we always did. Then I did remember something. I had read it somewhere, perhaps on the Internet. I wrapped half the rope into a tight ball and said, "Who has a good arm?"

"I do," said Drew, so I handed him the ball, made sure the rest of the rope was laid out just so on the ground, and then said, "Aim 10 feet high." He gave a mighty heave and the ball sailed over the cable neat as you please. Minutes later the food was dangling high above our heads.

That left "Thorns and Roses" a nightly tradition at Philmont, where the crew gets together in the dark and each scout tells of the frustrations and triumps of his day. That night the thorns were of the morning's breakdown on the Hill of Doom, of blisters and of letting the crew down because of anger, injury or exhaustion. The roses were for the water at the end of the march, for the mine tour, and for the adventures on our mysterious road. There were also many, many roses for the teamwork that developed as the day wore on, and I could sense the crew's confidence that, in the days ahead, we would be able to cope with the challenges presented by these New Mexico mountains. Everyone was now dead sure we could do the trek, and furthermore, do it in best Philmont fashion.

It was bedtime soon enough after that. After a last look around the now quiet camp, I crawled into my tent where Clay was already breathing peacefully. I got into my sleeping bag, lay there on my back, and heard the rain start --- I had forgotten all about that possibility. But, we were safe and dry now, and the patter of the rain was, as always, nice to hear as it hit the canvas stretched taut above my head. I lay there for a minute, thinking about our very adventurous day and its excellent outcome. Then I thought about the fresh faces and clean shirts of the individuals who had posed for the crew picture at the start of the trek. That had not been a crew at all, just a bunch of guys. I wondered what the crew we had started to become would look like after 11 days of hard experience? What might it feel like to pass under the welcoming gate, when we finally made it back to Base Camp? Hell, what might we smell like! I smiled contentedly and slept.