Monday, June 29, 1998.
Head of Dean to Miranda.

Monday, June 29, 1998. Head of Dean to Miranda.

I arose around 5:30 a.m. on Monday morning, again having slept rather fitfully-during the night, I thought that I had suffered a bloody nose and had bled all over my sleeping bag. I spent much of the night pinching my nostrils together and controlling my anxiety that a bear might be attracted by the scent of my bloodi My fears turned out to be unfounded; no blood anywhere when it grew light enough to see. (I'd left my flashlight outside the tent that night-because that's what we were told to do).

We had breakfast, struck camp and organized our gear far more quickly than we had on Sunday morning. Andrew had designate the three adults plus Jr. as the people with horse duty for the day. Jim and Tony volunteered to handle the pack horses, leaving Jr. and I with the task of catching, haltering, feeding and brushing the horses.
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The four of us headed over to the corral around 7:15. The pack horses, Panda and Sandia, were ready to go. Jim took Sandia and Tony took Panda and they headed back to the campsite with Dale. Jeremy handed Jr. and I six halters apiece and we walked into the corral to catch the horses.

This was a novel experience for me. Unaccustomed as I was to any large animals, walking in the midst of 12 horses was a bit unsettling. Catching them also proved to be a new experience. A few of the horses did not seem to mind being caught-Budweiser, for example. I was not certain if this was because they were older, which they tended to be, or if it was because they had figured out that the sooner they were caught, the sooner they would be fed. At least half of the horses casually avoided us-they did not run away, but they'd saunter out. of reach whenever we'd try to slip the halter around their necks (and up tight behind the ears as Jeremy had shown us). Jr. was a bit quicker catching the horses than I was, but Jeremy decided held better help if we were to get finished on time. I caught 3 or 4 horses, Jr. caught 5 or 6 and Jeremy caught the others. Once we caught them, we slipped the halters over their heads as we'd been shown and tied them snugly. Then we led them over to a fence post to tie them.

The fence in this corral was chain link with narrow, metal posts. Any of the horses could easily pull out these posts if they were startled. Rather than risk destroying an entire fence. and/or injuring people and animals, Jeremy told us simply to -loop" the halter ropes around the metal posts-not tie them. This meant that the horses were essentially free to roam about if they so desired. Fortunately, all of them stayed where we "looped" them, at least initially.

After we caught, haltered and looped the horses, Jr. and I each filled six feed bags and proceeded to strap them on the animals. As observed earlier, the horses are keenly aware of the feed bags and as soon as they sensed that we were approaching with them, several pulled free from the fence posts and walked over to Jr. and I. We learned that it is next to impossible to strap a feed bag onto one horse when another is doing his best to help himself to its contents. We handled the situation by taking each horse that had broken free back to his post and then strapping a feed bag on him. Once they were eating, all -of the horses were perfectly content to stay put.

When all of the horses were eating, Jeremy had us comb each of them to remove any dust, burrs or other matter which might cause discomfort under the saddle or the straps which would soon be placed on the animals. This was accomplished quickly-no more than 20-30 seconds per horse. As Jeremy phrased it, these were working horses and we were not trying to make them pretty for the Grand National'Competition.
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There were a large number of horseflies at this corral and they were biting the horses viciously all of the while that we were catching, combing and feeding them. On several horses I found groups of up to 15 flies clustered around a bleeding sore. Jeremy acknowledged that Head of Dean was a particularly troublesome spot for flies because of the pond close to the corral. He recalled an instance several years ago when the flies were so bad that he thought some of the horses might die from the bites. Panda was one of those horses-Jeremy remembered seeing several hundred flies on him simultaneously and how held nearly exhausted himself smashing them to a bloody pulp. Jr. and I expressed our sympathy for the horses' plight, but Jeremy was matter of fact. "It sucks being a horse," was his final word on the subject.

We got saddled and mounted pretty much on time and soon were on our way to Miranda. This ride would take us through f ar more scenic countryside than we'd encountered on the first day and we would be gaining another thousand feet or so in altitude. Miranda's elevation was approximately 9,6001.

As had been typical of the trip thus f ar, the weather was clear, dry and hot-certainly in the 80's, perhaps hotter. We were glad to be on the trail early enough to avoid the heat of the day for the most part and were looking forward to throwing tomahawks, shooting black powder rifles and learning about the life of the mountain men who traversed Philmont during the 18" and 19t' centuries. These were the activities offered at Miranda.

As we headed out of Head of Dean, Jim led Sandia and Tony led Panda, Jeremy took the lead and Dale brought up the rear of the group. Dale was a bit more talkative on this ride, having recovered from his Saturday night escapade. We learned that Dale worked at a number of different jobs during the winter, including managing a pizza restaurant, which gave him something in common with Tony, who managed a Mountain Mike's in San Francisco during a previous reincarnation.

Top Dale is a scoutmaster and would be joining his troop for a Cavalcade a few days after ours was finished. While Jeremy preferred the Northern Cavalcades because they offered the participants the opportunity to enjoy the programs offered at the various sites, Dale expressed his preference for the Southern itineraries because they were longer and gave participants more time on horseback.

During the ride we learned that Philmont keeps nearly 300 horses and that about 10 percent of these either die or are destroyed each year. The average useful work life of a horse is about 20 years. If a horse can't work, it is sold to the proverbial glue factory. When Philmont shuts down after the summer, the horses are turned out to roam on their own f or the winter. Not all of them survive the cold or the predators. The permanent Philmont cowboys drop off hay when the food supply dwindles. For the most part, however, the horses must fend for themselves during the off season.

occasionally, a horse injures itself and must be destroyed. When that occurs, one of the wranglers will shoot it and the carcass will be dragged out to a meadow and left for the coyotes, vuitures'and nature's other carrion processors.

A few weeks before the season begins, the horses are rounded up, taken back to the corral and evaluated. Apparently, they adjust quickly to the routine again.

The ranch keeps a couple of brood mares and an increasing percentage of the horse herd now consists of animals born and raised on Philmont property. The permanent Philmont cowboys raise and train the younger animals to be quarter or roping horses. In fact, Jeremy's mount, Jet, was one such horse. Often, while we were on the trail, we'd see Jeremy twirling a rope near the side of Jet's head. He explained that he did this to get Jet accustomed to what held be experiencing when he started life as a cluarter horse.

Dale also trained horses. He told us that he made a good deal of money by purchasing a young, untrained animal for $1500-2000, spending a few months training it and then selling it to a ranch as a roping horse for $5000 or more. This all seemed pretty -out there" to a cityfied attorney such as myself.
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The view of the mountains a long the ridge trail that we followed was spectacular. Miranda was only about 3 miles from Baldy Camp, our destination on Tuesday, and we had a clear view of Baldy Mountain for much of our ride. At first glance, the origin of its name becomes clear. Emerging from a mass of pine trees and other evergreens, the last 600-800 feet of Baldy Mountain is barren of any vegetation whatever. Jeremy told us that the bald pate of the mountain was a direct consequence of the mining craze which attracted so many people to the area more than a century ago. We subsequently learned that Baldy is over 12,4001 in elevation and, as such, exceeds the altitude at which trees can grow.

We all knew that we would be climbing Baldy in two days. The closer we got, the greater our anticipation.

The ride into Miranda took less than 3 hours. We made one stop to check out a scenic overlook and give the horses a respite. We encountered a junior staff, member who had driven his car up a road which Jeremy said was restricted and Jeremy wasted no time at all in ripping that young man a new orifice. (We had observed previously that most of the younger staff at both Ponil and Head of Dean, tended to walk on eggshells in Jeremy's presence. He made no bones about not countenancing fools or condoning stupidity and he had made it his personal mission to eradicate both conditions wherever he encountered them.) We reached Miranda before 11:00 a.m., took care of the horses and unloaded our gear. Jr. and I stayed behind after the others had headed off to the camp site to remove the feed bags from the horses when they'd finished, take off their halters and turn them loose into the large corral. The flies which had been so prevalent at Head of Dean, did not appear to be a problem here.

The campsite was only a short distance way from the corral-less than a 1/4 mile. Because we were getting higher into the mountains, flat ground was becoming more scarce. None of our tent sites was completely level, but we wouldn't let a little thing like that bother us. After all, I'd failed to get much sleep in flatter places than this.
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We ate lunch-peanut butter and jelly on Ritz crackers, with dried fruit, beef sticks and powdered drink mix-and set up camp. We were getting better at this and were able to carry out our various tasks in less time. We relaxed a little-a couple of the scouts decided to take a tandem flight at the Red Roof Inn-"',pilot to bombardier, you are cleared to drop"

As noted earlier, Miranda was at an elevation of nearly 9,600, and level ground was at a premium. Our campsite was about a half mile from the staff cabins, where we'd have to report to commence the program. The really great thing, however, was that the trail was all uphill. Combined with the heat and the altitude, the uphill character of the hike proved to be somewhat more challenging than we had hoped it would be. The adults were huffing and puffing quite noticeably by the time we reached the staff cabin.

Andrew checked us in-as he had at Head of Dean and was required to do at each en route destination-and we followed him back down the trail we'd just hiked for about 200 yards, turned right, walked another 75 yards or so and gathered around the "Hawk" throwing area. This was where we all would get a chance to demonstrate our skill with the tomahawk, an implement invented and used almost exclusively by mountain men.

Our instructor for this event was a young man outfitted in the clothing actually favored by mountain men. He wore a bright red shirt with a flowered print, cotton pants with suspenders and leather boots. We learned that mountain men favored bright colors and did not consider flowers to be at all feminine-given the harsh nature of their daily existence, the injection of a little color in their lives understandably was quite welcome.

We had come to throw tomahawks, however, not discuss fashion. Mountain Men threw tomahawks for no other purpose than recreation. While certain Native American tribes had carried tomahawks made of rock, these were used more as clubs and were not intended to be thrown. Fur trappers-the original mountain men-had observed the rudimentary tomahawks and created a variation of their own: the metal tomahawk. This was not, however, a weapon or even a tool; it was simply a sporting device.
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A successful mountain man soon learned the importance of not carrying weapons which would attract too much attention from the local Native Americans. otherwise, he risked being killed by a warrior seeking to build a name or reputation for himself or, at the very least, of having the weapon stolen. Metal tomahawks were not particularly sharp and truly served no particular function-no mountain man was likely to be attacked solely because he carried such an implement.

Our instructor showed us how to measure an appropriate striking distance away from our target-a 51 diameter cross section of a tree. This distance was about 20 feet. It was obvious that the target had been in use for quite a long time and our guide told us that newer wood would provide a better target. A wooden barrier approximately 6 feet high provided a back stop for the target.

The instructor demonstrated 3 throws, all of which struck the target near the center. None, however, stuck in the wood. Now it was our turn.

We all made at least three throws; a few stuck, most hit the target and bounced off and, occasionally, a tomahawk would miss the target completely, clear the wooden barrier and come to a rest in the field behind it a substantial distance away. When the last situation occurred, the thrower of the Hawk was required to scream, "Oh, Meadow Monster, please forgive me for trespassing. Miserable fool that I am, my aim was amiss and I missed my target. I beg you, do not eat me, but allow me to retrieve my errant tomahawk and I will worship you forever." -or words to that effect.

One instance is worth memorializing in detail. Most of the group had thrown the Hawks when Tony Ciak stepped up to take his turn. Chris Bosch immediately yelled out, "I've got twenty bucks that says Mr. Ciak doesn' t get any of his hawks to stick on the target." Tony looked over at Chris nonchalantly and accepted the challenge. Then with his f irst attempt, he imbedded a tomahawk right in-the center of the target. "That will be twenty dollars, please," Tony stated, looking directly at Chris.
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Chris indicated that he didn't have the money. Tony responded that he'd accept payment in kind and it was agreed that Chris would not talk until 10:00 the next morning, with the caveat that, should Chris utter a word before that time, the deadline would be extended one hour for each such infraction. Those of us who know Chris well, immediately wondered if held ever be able to satisfy the debt.

From the hawk throwing arena we hiked about 500 yards to the black powder rifle range. These guns are quite loud and we had heard them the night before while we were camped at Head of Dean, about five miles away. Our instructors, one of whom was from southern California-although it was impossible to guess this based upon the way he was dressed and the other was from Tennessee, showed us how to measure out the gunpowder, stuff in and the wadding down the rifle barrel and tamp the mini ball right on top of it. They also gave us some interesting background information concerning the history of the rifle and its evolution.

When the preliminaries were over, we were invited to place our own targets to test our accuracy. Several of the boys used neckerchiefs while others set up pieces of wood or other debris. The instructors told each of us to scream out something crazy just before we shot and we proceeded to do just that. There seemed to be an abundance of commentary about the intelligence, appearance and love interests of various members of the group. Chris Bosch's target, a bandana, had a hole in it when we finished. No one could be certain, however, whether Chris's gun made the hole.

It was a rather hot and lazy afternoon. While the boys were waiting in line to shoot the black powder rifles, I settled myself in a shady spot and dozed for awhile. Time, which se@s to be at such a premium elsewhere, was of little concern in the back country. Here, our watches were of little consequence. We got up pretty much when the sun rose and went to sleep not long after it set. We ate at reasonable intervals. Despite my difficulty in getting a comfortable night's sleep, I was truly enjoying my freedom away from artificial deadlines, traffic and the seeming need to quantify and categorize every aspect of life. Things were real out here-no virtual or paper reality. I liked the notion of getting back to the basics of life.

The third and final offering at Miranda was a presentation at the staff cabin concerning the Mountain Man Rendezvous. We haiked the half-mile or so back to this location soon after we finished with the black powder rifles. We lazed about in front of the cabin for about 30 minutes; some of us taking short naps; others played cards or talked quietly. So accustomed had we become to horses that few of us even noticed that the area we had chosen to stretch out and relax was covered with dried horse droppings. None of us cared-the droppings made a comfortable bed as far as we were concerned.

At about 4:00 p.m., we all went inside the staff cabin for the Mountain Man Rendezvous presentation. We learned that "Mountain Men- had been around practically from the dawn of time-at least since human beings arrived on the scene. Hunting and trapping were necessities, especially before technology advanced to the point where we could begin to rely on manufactured goods for clothing and other essentials.

The rangers explained that beaver skins, the tails in particular, were the primary focus of the mountain men in the Rocky Mountain area in the 1800's. European fashion trends placed a high premium on beaver tail hats. Trappers could get a good price for every beaver tail they sold and they followed the money just like their predecessors would. We learned how the traps were set and gained an appreciation for the skills the trappers had to master to ply their trade successfully.
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The heyday of the mountain men was in the mid-1800's, before the vast lands in the nation's interior had been "civilized- by the westward migration. These men spent the vast majority of their time alone while they were trapping and were very careful to conduct themselves in ways that were acceptable to the various Native American tribes which also inhabited the country. For example, the trappers chose their weapons and their mounts carefully, often selecting a plain, ordinary hunting knife instead of one far larger and more ornate and choosing a mule or burro over a horse. They learned that, by using tools/weapons and riding animals in which the young Native American warriors had little interest, they (the mountain men) had a far better chance of survival. Carrying a fancy knife or riding a fine horse was deemed the equivalent of carrying a sign reading, 'take it, if you think that you are man enough!"

I was surprised to learn that most of the mountain men were reasonably well-educated. Upon reflection, however, it made sense. After all, these men were entrepreneurs and had to have a good understanding regarding business matters in addition to their mountaineering skills. They routinely dealt with situations which most of us would have had great difficulty handling. They caught and killed their own food, made their clothes, built their shelters and lived in conditions far more extreme than most of us have experienced. They also managed to make a living-all of the while moving about either on foot or on the back of a horse or mule. We certainly felt 'soft- in comparison.

The life of the mountain man was solitary for the most part. When they encountered other human beings, the prospects were quite good that it would be a Native American, and the mountain men learned to cultivate friendships and business relationships. Consistent with the history of American business, where there was a need, some ambitious sole would attempt to f ind a way to meet it-for a profit, of course. So was born the outpost store or trading post.

The rangers acknowledged that the staff cabin which they were using to make this presentation about the Mountain Men, likely was three to four times the size of a typical Trading Post, and certainly was f ar better appointed. The genuine article was nothing more than a shack where trappers could drop off and sell their furs and buy various and sundry items-coffee, tobacco, ammunition, rifles, liquor, clothing and assorted trinkets for trade with the Native Americans.

The Mountain Man Rendezvous was nothing more than a big party. The owners of various Trading companies would organize events occasionally to encourage as many trappers as possible to come to a particular Trading Post to sell their wares, see old friends and enjoy some of the finer things that were not available to them during most of the year: things like, gambling, prostitutes and whisky in great abundance. A major rendezvous-for instance, the one in Jackson Hole, Wyoming-would attract trappers within a 500 mile radius and might last. a week or more.
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At the rendevous, the mountain men would share stories and test their skills against each other. Tomahawk throwing was but one of the competitions. They'd drink, carouse, gamble and, in general, raise hell for a week or so and then return to their lives of mostly solitude. As beautiful and interesting as the back country is, we could certainly understand that a person would need to "cut loose- once in a while; to see other human beings and take a break from the demands of mountain life. otherwise, a person could lose his mindi I think we all walked out of the presentation feeling a great deal of respect for what these men were able to do.

Dinner that evening provided further evidence that teenage boys are reluctant to learn from any experience other than their own. The adults had shown the cooks for the previous evening how to operate the backpacking stoves. Alas, there was no carryover. The boys who handled the cooking chores for this night's repast, repeated the claim of their predecessors that the stoves simply would not work; that they were broken or defective.

As was true the previous evening, the "problem" was that the boys had not put any fuel in the stoves. We advised them of the need for additional fuel and observed as they endeavored to rectify the situation. They got one stove lit and operating only to discover, some 20 minutes into the endeavor, that they had not put enough fuel in it and it went out.

All of the adults were thoroughly enjoying the boys' confusion and consternation. At last we had them in a situation where they could not simply -slide- by with a half -hearted ef fort. If they did not do something the right way, it wouldn't work-and there was not an easy way out for them. Unless they got the stoves to work, the group would not have dinner. It was amazing how, the hungrier they got, the more receptive they were to what we had to say. After all, the adults knew how to operate the stoves and, simply by following the directions which were written right on the stoves themselves, had succeeded in lighting the defective implements It was nice for the boys to experience some consequences when they attempted to take some shortcuts.

Andrew, in particular, was beginning to experience some consequences.As noted earlier, he had devised a duty roster setting forth which members of the group were supposed to handle what chores on any given day. He did not, however, post the roster anywhere nor did he make copies. Consequently, the boys were constantly seeking out Andrew prior to meals or when it was time for clean up, etc. to find out who was responsible for a given task. Of course, Jeremy and Dale-and to a lesser extent, the 3 adults-frequently prodded Andrew to ensure that the group accomplished what it was supposed to accomplish on time and in an appropriate fashion. Andrew clearly was getting stressed out and was still figuring out how to handle his leadership responsibilities.

Andrew's task was made mote difficult by the fact that the other boys in the group, for the most part, were content to view the various tasks which had to be accomplished each day as separate and distinct activities. It did not occur to them, apparently, that everything which we were doing was related-was part of the overall picture and, had they concentrated more upon getting all of the work done and less upon who was assigned to a particular task, everyone would have had more time, things would have gotten done a lot sooner and, I expect, they would have enjoyed the process. Probably a bit much to expect from boys this age this early in the trip, but something to shoot for.

Dinner was prepared and consumed without too much difficulty. Chris Bosch, uttered a few words during the meal, thus violating his Ciak imposed silence and had his "sentence" extended beyond noon on Tuesday. His bloody nose count was now well into the 20's and practically everyone we came into contact with had placed a bet as to what the final tally would be.
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After dinner, the adults excused themselves and went back to the staff cabin to get out of the boys' way for awhile. We took the crew's trash with us-there were only certain designated places where we could throw garbage away, hence the emphasis upon compaction. Between the steep grade and the altitude, the walk gave our tired bones even more reason to look forward to a good night's rest. Before turning in, however, we had the chance to listen to some more of Jeremy's guitar playing and to meet the rangers.

I cannot say enough about the caliber of the young men and women who make up the Philmont staff. Without exception, every staff person I me was a bright, energetic and supremely dedicated individual who took a strong personal interest in his or her given task. They were willing to spend whatever time necessary to ensure that our crew obtained the maximum benefit from the'lr Philmont experience.

All staff members at Philmont must be at least 18 years old. Most are college students. One of the medics at the health lodge was a first year medical school student and I met several staffers who were applying to law school. A large number of the staffers were Eagle Scouts and many were involved with scouting in their home areas.

When we reached the staff cabin, we attempted to turn in our garbage but were rebuffed. We had not compacted it sufficiently and were asked firmly but politely to do a better job. Even though we were not responsible for the poor compaction effort, the tree adults dutifully recompacted the garbage as we sipped tea and

listened to music. Otherwise, we'd have to carry it all back with us. We would pass on the information to the boys at a later time.

The evening' s entertainment ended a little before dark and we headed back to our campsites by 9:15 or so. As had become our habit, we did not linger long before turning in. Jeremy had told us that Tuesday would be our easiest ride-only about an hour's ride to Baldy Camp and we'd have the rest of the day to ourselves. A chance to get a shower, do some laundry and, most important from the'boys' perspective, buy some candy and soda. We were in bed before 10:30 p.m.
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