4

Along about noon, we crested a last little rise and arrived at Thunder Ridge Camp, not our final destination, but at least well on the way. The mountain ridge saddled up there at 10,400 feet and in the middle of the notch the fir trees were stunted and the sky surrounded us. As we paused to plot our next move, a crew came the other way and, unexpectedly, stopped to talk with us. Where had we come from? Oh, that's where we're headed! How was the hike? What was there to see?

A girl who was part of the crew took the lead in the questioning, but most of them clustered around and listened to what we had to say. I traded one of my loathsome Pemmican bars for a delicious Wild Berry PowerBar, and we chatted about where we hailed from and our experiences so far. They told us they were on day 8, and to watch out because day 3 was the tough one. It was then that the physical strain started to be noticeable, and the emotional and crew problems started to emerge. Too true! I hoped Nate was listening.

After a bit they hit the downhill trail for Sawmill. As they rolled away, I swear I hear them start to sing. And, I wanted to go with those guys!

We found ourselves an empty campsite in an open part of the woods. The sun warmed us pleasantly, and flies buzzed about as we dug into our packs and came up with bags labeled Trail Meal - Lunch Number 4. These contained GatorAid powder, tins of ham salad, Captain Wafers, little sausages, Peanut Butter PowerBars and a packet of Oreo cookies. Mixing up the GatorAid did not appeal to us, so we just washed down the meal with the last of the water. I loved the ham salad, scooped out of the can with Captain Wafers in delicious clumps. Al hated the stuff, so I traded my small, plastic wrapped sausage for the rest of his canned ham. Then, we ate our Oreos, tucked the PowerBars away for later, and listened to Nate's plan for the afternoon.

We had a route for our trek that had been assigned to us by Philmont at the time we applied to come out here. This was recorded on a single piece of paper, called our "life."  Nate carried this very important document. It was our reservation at the various staffed camps along the route, and was needed to pick up food at the commissaries along the way --- every four days or so. It was also required to take part in certain activities such as horseback riding. For Day 3, our "life" said we were to sleep at Red Hills Camp, which was two miles south of Thunder Ridge as the crow flies. How we got there and when was completely up to us. Red Hills was next to a stream, and so we could get water when we arrived, but it looked a lonely and uninteresting place to spend an afternoon.

For days Nate had been talking about another possibility --- a side trip to Cyphers Mine. I think partly because his last name is Cyphert, but also because the prospect of touring a gold mine appealed to all of us. Thunder Ridge was where the decision had to be made, since from here trails and roads lead off to Mount Phillips and Red Hills, and down to Cyphers Mine. Philmont rules said we could go where we pleased as long as we stayed on the trials or roads, and as long as we slept where our "life" directed.

Cyphers is on the north fork of Cimarroncito Creek, and so we could no doubt get water there, and there was a decent chance that we could get a tour of the mine, even though this was not officially on our itinerary. The mine is just a long mile from Thunder Ridge, but is 1000 feet lower in altitude, so there would be a stiff climb on the way back. Still, we could leave our packs behind, and the climb would be much easier than if we were hauling all our gear. Who knew how long it might take to get a tour, but as long as we were back at Thunder Ridge by five, it should be easy enough to make Red Hills by dark. Everyone agreed with this reasoning, and so it was decided --- Cyphers Mine, here we come.