Scout On!

Ted and I walked casually around the supply trailer in the swirling breeze and threatening sky. We were discussing cooking responsibilities for the various Scouts and rummaging through the grub box for spice and spatulas to help accomplish the task. My Co-Scoutmaster was off my left shoulder and a quarter step behind, when a mighty gust of wind whirled through the circle of red rock and hoodoos. The large back door of the trailer was caught in the gust and viciously swung around on its hinges. Like a huge fist, the door smacked me full force while missing Ted completely. “Umph!” I groaned realizing in a flash of bright lights what it must feel like to be hit by a truck. “Dang!” I said out loud while stumbling back, “that really hurt.” Ted and the Scouts watched closely and wondered if I would tear up and/or share the blasphemous comments bouncing around in my brain. Fortunately, I withheld any inappropriate remarks. I quickly became aware of several points of painful interest on my arms and legs and a growing ache in the pit of my stomach. To escape further scrutiny and to shed that tear, I continued my ill-fated journey to the back of the trailer. 

Because each of us have a shortage of boys and assistant Scoutmasters, Ted and I have merged our two troops to make a single, well-rounded unit. For months now, our mixed bag of young men has been trying to coordinate a campout. Due to an overwhelming list of other after-school and weekend activities available to the boys, it has been difficult to nail down a date where everyone could attend. We would settle on a date with the boys and then check with their parents to discover someone, somehow had something else scheduled. After many false starts, we finally just set a date and hoped for the best attendance possible. The location we choose was Recapture Pocket, which is an engaging rock-rimmed basin tucked in behind a long, undulating mesa that rests on top of the Bluff bench. Because of the fascinating hoodoo formations, restricted mine shafts, and towering rim rock, area Boy Scouts have been holding spring campouts there as far back as the earliest troops in San Juan County.

On Friday afternoon, three boys showed up at the church and loaded into Ted’s pickup truck to make the trip off the hill. The weather in Blanding was cool and overcast with a slight, intermittent drizzle on the breeze. Bluff is 1,500 feet lower in elevation, drier, and 10 degrees warmer at night. I worked a short shift at the cafe and trading post, then left Steve and the Twin Rocks team in charge to meet the troop at Recapture Pocket. The minute the boys hit the ground they were off and running, climbing, jumping into sand dunes, and gathering shiny, colorful rocks and Moki marbles. Their excited, upbeat voices reverberated about the majestic alcove. Ted and I pulled out our folding chairs and sat awhile, feeling good about having finally pulled this outing off and waiting for some of that unharnessed energy to dissipate into the surrounding landscape. When it came time to prepare a meal, all three of the Scouts proved to be chefs of the highest caliber. That night we had some of the thickest most substantial hamburgers I have ever eaten and Dutch Oven potatoes, both well-seasoned with Jet's super-secret spice mix.

I have been a Scoutmaster long enough to have a well-supplied first aid kit on hand at all times and luckily it was well stocked with Ibuprofen. My run in with the swinging door was giving me a little trouble, but it was nothing a few pain killers would not manage. The spring winds were packed with pollen and many of us were sniffling and sneezing, but it felt too good to be outside to worry about. I have also been around long enough to know that a Scoutmaster does not get much sleep on these over-nighters, and the sooner you accept that fact the better your mental state will be. That night I fell upon my cot inside the enclosed trailer and, in the light of the Coleman lantern, checked for bruising. Sure enough, I had plenty. One, the size of a dinner plate, had come to light just above my belly button. Laurie has always maintained that I go through life leading with my stomach. It seems she had a point. 

Around 9:00 p.m., we were joined by Anthony’s dad. After feeding him leftovers and chatting around the fire, we settled in for the night. Several times I roused myself from my cot and toured the perimeter of the camp to make certain the natives were at rest. I heard Ted get up and move around as well, so I knew the sheltered cove was well covered. Dawn broke over the pocket way too soon. I was cozy and comfortable in my sleeping bag and perfectly happy about being there. But, Ted was up and had a small fire going and the filtered rays of Southwestern sunlight lit the towering cliffs above us giving them a golden glow. We had breakfast to make and a five-mile hike to pull off, so I kicked at the covers and sang out reveille to get the boys going.

Breakfast was a tad gritty, but altogether enjoyable. We had refried potatoes and bacon and eggs stuffed inside hot tortillas with a choice of milk or orange juice. Yum! After eating, we cleaned up our cookware, packed our camp gear, and grabbed up our back packs. One of my contact lenses had somehow chipped in the night and was giving me trouble but opportunities like this did not come around that often; we needed to do this hike. When we asked the boys where they wanted to go, they pointed straight up. To the cliff tops, along the top of the ridge, and back through the northern drainage was their request. “Oh my,” said I, “this is going to hurt." Suffering from a smackdown, wheezing with allergies, and dealing with a lack of depth perception was causing me to feel like the hapless dog Lucky, who through life trials and tribulations has lost a leg, was blind in his left eye, missing a right ear, wagging a broken tail, and other, even worse, unmentionable maladies. No matter, it was my job to move these boys along and advance them through the ranks, and so onward and upward we went.

It turns out that Ted is a certified Mountain Goat, and those boys proved to be as agile as any kid who has grown up in Canyon Country. Although I hate to be the caboose of any train, I was relegated to that role on this occasion. Laurie and I get some exercise by walking the streets of Blanding and keeping up with that woman is a workout, so I was not completely unprepared for the task at hand. But, we all know that walking the asphalt byways is completely different than climbing cliffs and bounding down steep hillsides. I did fine on the rolling hills, but sucked wind on the uphill climb, carefully crawling around, over and under ledges and dodging rocks sent skittering down the talus slope from above. Because I was only seeing clearly out of one eye, my downhill glide was hampered; it was my turn to send rocks tumbling down around Ted and Traken. I was determined to hang in there though and prove that I was a worthy leader or, in this case, follower.

We made it back to camp around noon, a little stiff and sore from the trek, but in good spirits. Ted and I actually beat the boys back but only because they were zig-zagging about the country side chasing rabbits, lizards, and each other. I am certain the boys covered half again as much ground as we did. We followed the 5-miler up with a bountiful lunch and a discussion on what we had seen and done, passing off several requirements, then loaded up for home. After dropping my last charge off on his front porch, I pulled up to the house and began to off load the camping gear. Laurie was working in the yard coaxing all things bright and beautiful from the good earth when I arrived. She stopped long enough to help me with the chore, then suggested I go cleanse myself of the sour smell of sweat and stink of wood smoke. That I did, then laid myself out for a leisurely nap. I nodded off feeling like we had a successful camp. We left no one behind, no one was injured, except for a few scrapes and bruises, and everyone seemed to have enjoyed themselves. Next week we would begin the process again and, hopefully, I would be a little better prepared. Scout on!