Summer 100: #11-20

Summer 100: #11-20

11/100

The week waned and finally Camp Director training came to a close, its sparse but impactful lessons far too fresh in our naïve brains. Looking to celebrate on our last full free-day for several weeks, we hastily threw on civvies, piled into the minivan, and barreled down highway 64 towards ever-popular Taos. The twisting mountain road snaked ahead of and behind me for miles. We rounded a corner and a sweeping view of Mt. Baldy reveals a fresh coat of snow from last night's storm atop its usually stark 12,441' peak; an unfamiliar sight. Our gasoline-powered DJ booth sped onward. The traffic sign seems to be more omen than warning. 

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12/100

Exiting the winding mountainous road from Angel Fire, we descend into Taos valley, stopping at everyone's favorite pizza joint for some much needed lunch. We chatter and joke, anxious for our Program Counselors who will be arriving tomorrow en masse, bringing with them the start of a second full week of training. First aid training, astronomy training, ATV training, our waitress asks for my order and I am pulled back into the conversation. A warm and quenching summer breeze floats lazily through the cottonwoods, cooling my damp forehead. Our afternoon's grub arrives – pizza, pesto, porter – perfection.

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13/100

With a forceful yank, I relieve my sweaty skull from the confines of my glossy black full-face helmet. Our first four hours of ATV training is proving exceptionally challenging and the unyielding sun's rays are not making our lessons any easier. Lunch break arrives and we start the long retreat back to the Dining Hall. My breathable pants *zip-zip* against my ankles while my camera collides with my kidney in-step. A small scurrying raisin/creature grabs my attention. I stooped down to discover this little guy trying to seek refuge from my lumbering shadow. He crawled into the dense grass and proceeded emulate “pebble” with great results. Gingerly with a twig, I coaxed him from his grassy enclosure. Exposed, he froze, most likely admiring his own reflection in my lens two inches away, granting me a few moments for a portrait session. The meatball sub had a hard time matching my level of satisfaction for nailing the shot.

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14/100

I feel myself start spiraling into a pit of paperwork, angst, and laundry. It is far too late to be awake. The omnipresent sodium vapor lights bathe everything in a sickly shade of orange. Jittery, I decide to check on the stars and go for a walk to calm my nerves. So far, it seems 75% of the time I look up at the sky, there are clouds, tonight being no different. Distant light from the small town of Springer feebly beams back towards the cosmos. I shuffle back towards the confines of my tent and try to forget about the lack of time and the abundance of paperwork which lies ahead of me.

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15/100

The low, scraping afternoon sun begins to set after our second full day of ATV training; only two more days remain before we earn our instructor status. My staff this year mostly consist of first years, my buddy Jimmy being the exception, who worked with me for a few weeks back in 2011 because of the fire closures. Reunited, we are stoked to spend the summer with each other and deliver awesome program. Having someone who understands you and anticipates your next move is a valuable asset to have. As Jimmy and I walk back to the mess hall, we joke about the coming summer. "We're gonna kill it", he says. I agree. Bring it on.

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16/100

In a blur, the second training week passes and we find ourselves loading up the suburbans with our worldly possessions en route to Zastrow, our home for this summer. We arrive and I hop out of the vehicle and survey my vast new land; there is much to explore. For now, we must unpack and clean. Everything. After a few hours tackling the kitchen, I take a water-in\water-out break. On my way to find a rock, my eye catches the glimmer of a winged bug. He was sitting nonchalantly in the middle of the path; something didn't feel quite right. I reach for a stick, the tried and true method, and give it the gentlest of pokes. Slowly, he wiggles his limbs. I timidly pick up the stoned bug with the stick and transport him to greener and safer pastures for a little rest. I retreat to do my business and when I return, he is no longer there. Making friends on day one. 

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17/100

I grab one of my staff, Gordon, and we leave on a small two mile hike to set up our Geocaching course. Although several days have passed since our arrival, the newness of camp has yet to wear off. The diversity of the flora at Zastrow is some of the most unique I have seen across the entire Ranch. We finish hiding a cache and our course leads us to a vista overlooking our entire home. We admire the view for a minute and head down the gully into a shaded patch of old pines. The ground is dense and sponge-like with compacted and decaying needles. I see a branch with a rotted out knot and notice a Gambel oak leaf nestled comfortably inside; something about it seems oddly poetic. I set a waypoint in the GPS. I must return.  

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18/100

Break-time ends and we leave the grove of trees. Our GPS units take us back out into the open, back out under the sun. The scenery begins changing again as we find ourselves scrambling up the side of an arid rocky hill. The pines and cottonwoods are gone, replaced by creosote bushes and rocky mountain juniper. The hill is very steep now and I turn my attention to the ground. A cactus! Not just one, but dozens of petite, ankle-sized cacti hide all around. Some species are even flowering. I make a mental note to warn all future Croc-wearers who wish to complete the course. Forests and deserts, what next?

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19/100

The sun and temperature have both reached their peaks as we finish hiding the tenth and final cache and start our return trip back to the cabin. In a small wash, I notice a bit of blue winking back at me amid the coarse gravel. Crispy like thin jerky, I find an expired Sagebrush lizard who's once brilliant azure stripes have now quickly begun losing their luster under the harsh light. I stand back up and brush the impacted grit from my fleshy kneecaps and jog to catch up with Gordon. A lone cloud lazily drifts by in the late afternoon heat. Hopefully it brings company.

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20/100

A dark and ominous gray has been swirling above camp for the last few hours. I put a few paces between me and the cabin, drinking in my surroundings. There's a coolness to the air and the wind has started to shift directions, as evidenced by the flagpoles. Down the road I notice a few visiting staff hiking-in to visit. Their timing appeared to be perfect; there's definitely a storm a brewin'. Our warning is over and a few drops begin hitting me on my scalp. The New Mexico rain is cold, bringing with it hailstones which increase in size before our eyes. The thunderous assault on the tin roof is deafening as the hailstones reach the size of Brussels sprouts. Tree limbs crack and fall under the unrelenting force, a river of water is now surging through our road. As suddenly as it came, the skies finally cease and we race out from under the safety of our porch. My province has been covered in stunning white - limited edition. Jessica and I quickly hurry to the bridge, anxious to see what camp looks like on the other side. The Rayado has grown nearly half a foot during the intense 15 minute storm.

Summer 100: #21-30

Summer 100: #21-30

21/100

After checking out the South side of camp, we about-face and head back to the cabin. Jessica decides to stay while I continue alone to go check on our water tank. Before I start the small assent up the Northern hill, I look past the pair of Ponderosas which serve as sentinels to one of our smoking areas. The ground is covered in large hailstones, a heavy fog clings to the damp coldness near the surface. I exhale deeply and see the ghost of my breath hang before me. The stillness is deafening, interrupted only by the punctuation of drips falling from distant leaves. An unfamiliar June.

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22/100

Beetles, moths, wasps, hornets, crickets, spiders, and flies, insects abound at Zastrow. Having electric lights definitely gives away our location, broadcasting beams of false hope to any bugs looking to seek shelter inside our rooms. I quickly learned to leave my lights off and my door closed during dusk, or else suffer through a night of inhaling gnats. Unidentified cicadas can be heard buzzing alongside the river bank during the heat of the day. The large rainstorm which drove back the bugs for a few days has since departed; clear skies are in the forecast.

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23/100

The sun begins to set, marking the end to our first full nine-day work week in the backcountry. Already, we have begun experiencing what it means to live and and work under the same roof; not the easiest task, especially for such a young staff. My mind wanders as I bus dinner's dishes, thinking about how meal-time is going to work when campers start spending the night. I gaze out the kitchen window and see a gargantuan creature bobbing his head furiously, each stride gaining on the cabin. As the lumbering beast nears, I quickly realize Carter has come to visit for the night, complete with boombox! After a disproportionate high-five, we power through evening chores, put the staff to bed, and start heading up the road. We reach a clearing I remember finding in the daylight and plop down and discuss our summers as they have progressed. We talk about our staff, cute girls, challenges we are scared of, everything while we remain blanketed under our metaphor. Blissfully, we chat away the moonless night. Already so much has happened, yet we have only just begun.

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24/100

It is extremely convenient and exclusive to be so close to another camp. Abreu is just over a mile away to the West and I decide to take a half-day to walk over and visit our neighboring camp. I have already been at camp for nine days and have another three to go before I can take some days off. I definitely need to give my staff a breather for the evening. The afternoon is cool from last night's heavy rainfall and though I don't require a break during the brief hike, I take one anyways under the shade of a particularly large scrub oak. Like most rocks here, the ones surrounding me are covered in lichen, these being a brilliant shade of chartreuse. I stand up, convincing my inner demons once again my visit is a hangout and not a sabbatical starting after week one.

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25/100

Completely new program is not a common occurrence on the Ranch, especially one which features motorized vehicles in the outdoors. The ATV program has been extremely controversial both for its perceived “recklessness” and for slightly non-Kosher LNT practices. I take the short hike up to the site, the 2-mile course has already been scouted out and rough-cut in the last few weeks. Currently, a wood chipper team and their beast devour the remains from the demo team's labor, lost beyond the tree line. I arrive at the middle of the meadow and face Northwest, pausing at the proposed location for the training course. Nearly the entire 214 square miles of the Ranch sprawls out in front of me, a complete view obstructed by the stunning Sangre de Cristos. It's hard to believe they conceal 315 miles of trails, double if roads are accounted for. The fervor and sheer volume of hate and outrage the Ranch has been receiving about the program is staggering. How can so many people form such harsh, uninformed opinions? I chuckle to myself, remembering we don't have the quads yet, nor any information on when the first course will be conducted. Some people must be compelled to hear the sound of their own dissenting voice.

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26/100

Conservation is one of the many departments backcountry staff have the pleasure of working with at Philmont. One of the specialty teams involves a group of guys who are solely dedicated to chipping and mulching, this year; Work Crew Whiskey. Armed with mechanized teeth and elbow grease, our destructive quartet has been preparing the ATV course for the last few days. Up just slightly after dawn, they try to work in the limited cool of the morning, returning only for a brief shade and water break during lunch. In the evenings however, they usually join us for dinner, fajita night being no exception. In they walk, clothes reeking of tree sap which thankfully masks the smell of hard manual labor. We share stories and tortillas, reminiscing about prior summers while winged insects bounce off the screen door late into the evening.

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27/100

Up until now, we have only had participants pass through our camp during the morning, none have been overnight guests. This is unique to our camp in that we only host campers on their last night in the backcountry. Ten days ago, the first crews hit the trail which means tomorrow our first crews will be asking us where they can set up their tents. I am suddenly reminded of two things. First, I have been at camp entirely too long. Second, I will be leaving my staff, alone, by themselves, for the first time, for three days. I sigh deeply and try not to over-analyze; a walk feels like a great idea. I slip out and slip into my usual rhythm and so does my mind, easing with each step I put between me and the cabin. Another species of cacti appear to be flowering, “escobaria vivipara”, the nature book later reveals, “a wide range of habitats, from Mexico all the way north to Canada“. It is less than two inches wide and sports a brilliant fuchsia flower. If it can thrive, so can I, and so can they.

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28/100

I am positively wracked with cabin-fever, but finally, my days off have arrived. I start to boil water for my morning carafe of coffee and begin cleaning the cabin with my staff. They seem quieter than usual, perhaps I am broadcasting my apprehensions on my face. I snarf down my usual peanut-buttered white toast with honey and head down to the main cabin to finish packing and go over some final details with Jimmy, who I am leaving in charge for my first three day leave of absence. We raise the flags, New Mexico's red and yellowbrightly glow in the blinding sun. I remind Jimmy about the fickle water pump and listening to the radio with keen vigilance. I couldn't be more confident he will know what to do with our first crews having worked at several other camps before. I retreat to my room, stuff my sleeping bag, wrangle and secure my camera gear, and apply generous amounts of sunscreen to my extremities. I have us all reconvene at the sundial for a 30 second pep rally. With my emotions set to “convincing/empathetic”, I tell them I know they will do a fantastic job upholding my expectations operating camp; William Wallace would have been proud of my delivery. I strap on my pack and loudly announce my departure to the entire camp. Two other Camp Directors have come to rescue me and we quickly disappear into the dense wilderness; freedom has arrived.  

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29/100

The plan is to make an expedient detour through base camp, stopping only for cold beverages and a quick trip to the lockers. Less than 15 minutes later, we are back on the road looking for the rocky and dusty turnoff, our lifeline to escape. Our exit arrives and we veer onto a dirt highway, the vehicle's basic suspension bangs and rattles sickeningly. Thankfully, the road ends and we pile out, strapping on boots and packs, disappearing quickly into the wilderness once again. Up and up, switchback after switchback, we climb. My thighs are screaming and the map confirms today's afternoon hike is nearly all uphill. I stumble over another crest, chest heaving and searching for oxygen. I turn my gaze upon the ground and spot a douglas fir seedling seemingly sprouting out of a rock. I chuckle to myself. A little uphill never killed anyone. 

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30/100

The ascent continues until we triumphantly reach the top of the mesa - a nearly silent victory - our wheezing disturbs the sound of the wind blowing through the grasses. We take a quick breather in the shade to confirm our bearings and ETA for camp this evening; at least another hour of hiking is ahead of us. The grumbling in my stomach reminds me that I need more than only toast for breakfast on hiking days. I take another sip of water and notice a large boulder nestled behind some pines. The smooth yet jutted surface has whorls like truffles, ranging in color from roast chestnut to raw cashew. It dawns on me that I have an “emergency” bag of trail-mix stashed deep in my pack. After a few handfuls we press on, the heat of the day still upon us, thankfully mottled through tall forest limbs. I think about kicking my boots off and lazily swaying on the porch swing and my pace quickens. Or maybe it was the M&M's.

Summer 100: #31-40

Summer 100: #31-40

31/100

Our road winds to an end and, from across the meadow, I spot a familiar quaint cabin. Nestled at the foot of the tree line in a spacious meadow, Urraca is one of 35 staffed backcountry camps on the Ranch, offering a challenge course and infamous evening campfire. We reach the cabin and packs are quickly dropped, boots are extracted, swings are swung, and cookies are eaten. My sweaty clothes attempt to dry while I swing back and forth. I notice their Camp Director, Jake, heading for the campfire ring, the sun beginning to set over the mesa. He epitomizes camp-staff spirit, wearing garish sweaters and responding to silly questions in equally silly voices, his positive attitude is force to be reckoned with. The show begins and I grab a seat in the front row with my back to the fire warming my still slightly damp shirt. Seems the sweater thing is practical too.

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32/100

The show comes to a close and the scouts pack up and head back to their campsites, for many of these weary traveler's bedtimes have been surpassed. For the staff, however, the night is young and quiet. I grab my jacket and head over to the storage shack where the rest of the staff has started to convene out in front. Cookies and cigarettes are being passed around in some sort of ironic attempt to negate the copious clean air and constant exercise. Silently, we scan the sky, searching for shooting stars and satellites. The milky way beams down upon us; a Cheshire Cat grin. A warm glow emanates from the local town of Cimarron, we are less than three miles away from civilization. I crunch on some stale cookies and recall I was helping raise the flags earlier today. A distant memory becoming rewritten by time and miles.

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33/100

The air and ground have gone cold, drugging us with slumber. Most of the staff have decided to turn in for the night, some still buzzing back and forth between the cabin and their tents, caught in bedtime ritual. The last light disappears behind a canvas flap and the three of us remaining take out our sleeping bags and make our way to the cabin to bed down for the evening. My tried and true plan of borrowing a pad has backfired due to the amount of guests; not an inch of free foam for miles. Painfully, I lay my bony waist and shoulders on the wooden floor. Suddenly, I am not sleepy anymore and I sense the other two aren't going to sleep for a while either. Beyond the tin roof, stars deftly streak by while we feverishly talk about camp politics and future positions. Running out of steam, the calm of sleep beings to wash over me and my comrades. I attempt to reflect on my first free day as I feel my eyelids droop with insurmountable weight.

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34/100

I wake feeling far more refreshed than I had anticipated. The sun has just barely risen over the mesa, compelling me to start packing my gear. A quick breakfast of strawberry Pop-Tarts warmed in cowboy coffee is scarfed down before we bolt. Our goal is to make it back to basecamp before 8:15 A.M., before the select few vehicles departing into different regions of the backcountry leave the dock and are gone for the day. Boots on, we smoothly and efficiently sail down yesterday's struggle, stopping only to shed warmer outer layers. I notice a caterpillar rapidly inching through the unprotected dirt, long wiry tufts wildly sprouting all over his miniature body. I smirk and figure we are ahead of schedule for early birds. The trail starts to become wider and flatter as we press onward. We are getting close.

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35/100

The four of us make it back to our parked cars in record time, still on-target to intercept the suburbans in basecamp. I make it to the dock and join up with some other recreating staffers who are planning on bumming a ride which loops through the camps in 'central country', the middle of the Ranch. I find out the driver for today's run is Stephen, one of four Backcountry Managers. He is one of my superiors and thankfully aggressively friendly. I jump at the open spare seat, knowing the ride will be nothing short of an experience. The doors slam, low gear is engaged, and we take off like Indy's Jeep, bumping, rattling, and crashing through narrow and winding dirt roads while popular 90's Disney soundtrack songs are played at eleven. I find myself sitting next to the CD of French Henry; Corey , a man with an intensity which marathons and ice hockey cannot satisfy. I poke my head and arms out of the window and enjoy the cool mountain air rushing over me. This certainly beats hiking up steep hills.

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36/100

Having made all but one delivery, the nearly empty suburban crashes toward our last camp on the schedule; Crater Lake. Nestled between Fowler Mesa and Trail Peak lies this hospitable logging camp set in the early 1900's. I met up with John to see how the summer was treating him. From the cabin we survey the lake, it is nearly the fullest it has been in three years; hopefully an indication the subsiding drought. The air is cool from the altitude, the warm sun bursts through patches in the dense puffy clouds. Although our meeting is brief, his casual demeanor tells me everything is going well. I make a mental note to pass along the positive sentiment to the CD who will most likely be at the bar tonight along with everyone else. The suburban's few passengers and I climb in and continue back towards basecamp, our excursion close to ending. It's looking like I might even have some time to take a shower today.

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37/100

The breaking sun hits my tent wall waking me instantly. Begrudgingly, I throw on my uniform and shuffle off towards the dining hall. I walk in, politely turning down familiar warm gruel from the kind and chipper staffers, making a beeline for the fresh fruit cart. I sit down at a table with a few people I recognize and hear them calmly talking about their plans for the day. Discussions of “a real breakfast, Taos, and The Gorge” pique my curiosity, and I inquire about any open seats. Fortunately there are a few and we plan to reconvene in just little over half an hour. I quickly bus my dishes, retreating to my tent to change into my civvies and grab my essentials. Wallet and sunglasses, jacket and camera, my pre-flight check is completed and I exit my tent once again. While en route to the parking lot, I spy a few white poppies sunning themselves. Not being a morning person, my last full free day has thankfully started off well.

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38/100

Bellies full of huevos rancheros and sopapillas, we leave the greasy spoon and pile back into the minivan. Our next stop is Earthships Taos, completely sustainable and eco-friendly homes intended to minimize if not eliminate man's dependence on local utilities and fossil fuels. We pay the admittance fee and take a very short self-guided tour through the magnificent structure made for the public. Most of the science and intriguing machinery which keeps the place running is kept behind closed doors with polite “Staff Only” signs. We exit and find a few houses in various stages of being built and put on our best impressions of “politely-curious tourists” to sneak a bit closer. Rammed-earth walls dense with balding tires and aluminum cans stacked in haphazard patterns seem to be the building material of choice in most of the structures. Trash sits in neatly organized piles waiting to have its purpose recognized. 

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39/100

The gang continues to inspect the roof and my attention drifts to the horizon and its contours. Walking down the steep embankment of tamped dirt, I wander out past the parked cars and trash collection heaps. The western face of Wheeler Peak distantly looms while dust devils errantly spiral into a vast cloud-covered sky. Grasshoppers loudly crack and snap, drunkenly flying from one bush to another. A warm breeze flows through my damp button up, nudging me and the group back into our van. Chatter about “The Gorge” continues to build; thankfully our next stop shall put an end to my curiosity.

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40/100

A massive bridge spans a gaping chasm as the sun shimmers and glints in a muddy ribbon of water far below us. I feel very silly when I realize we are at the Rio Grande Gorge Bridge. Parking the car, we venture out onto the magnificent steel and concrete arch. Suddenly, I become acutely aware at the lack of substantial railing between stable ground and dangerous void. My palms immediately begin sweating. Knowing that I am safe, I sit down, hang my head and feet between the bars and try to erase the bridge from my mind. Thousands upon thousands of years of evolution is responsible for the dryness in my mouth and the queasiness in my stomach. I remind myself of the simple fact I have never been scared of heights, but my subconscious isn't fooled. It seems my fear is rooted in the nothingness.

Summer 100: #41-50

Summer 100: #41-50

41/100

Gusty winds whip at my hair while passing trucks rattle and shake the concrete walkway. Grey enameled railing tells and incomplete story, marred by graffiti, glib aphorisms, and poignant memorials; it becomes increasingly obvious the bridge has had a history with suicide. Firmly, I grab the waist-high railing and peer over the edge, it looks to be over 500 feet. I immediately remember a time when I dove off a mere 15-foot cliff into moving water. Time took forever. I notice my friends taking their own moments of reflection and angst. Thankfully, the herds of geriatric tourists clutter at the edge of the bridge's span, their fears granting us an unadulterated experience of the abyss.

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42/100

Large cumulonimbus clouds heavy with rain have been forming all day. Looming, they begin to overtake the sun; the red gorge walls cease casting harsh shadows, giving us an entirely new view. I spot a distant shopping cart camouflaged among the rocks and remember the nearest grocery store must be over ten miles away. Nearly a two hour drive from camp and with rain imminent, we decide to leave early and enjoy the scenic route home. Before heading for the car, I stop and take in the grandeur a final time, planting myself at the vertical intersection of river and bridge. A modern-day solution for a stream crossing. The wind begins to gust and the temperature drops another five degrees; time to go. 

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43/100

Our winding descent back to basecamp flies by, the late afternoon sun lights up the valley. The journey ends and we pull up to the dirt parking lot and try to find an open space in a sea of dusty second-hands. We meet up with some more friends who are in the process of making dinner plans. A few more people begin trickle in while a few others toss a Frisbee back and forth. Sean, the Camp Director of Whiteman Vega, mumbles something about “later”, as he tinkers inside his currently non-operational leviathan truck. Car trouble is always a hassle, but when the nearest parts shop is an 80 mile round-trip away, fixing things becomes a headache. The sun has begun to set and I know he won't be too far behind us. 

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44/100

Jumping in the cars once again, we venture into Cimarron for another meal out; a new barbecue joint has recently opened up in town. We cruise, windows down, along the four-mile straight stretch of road, it is the main access in and out of the Ranch. Wind loudly whips through my hair and ears while setting sun-rays bathe the car and mountains in warmth. Nicole, the Camp Director at Fish Camp, has graciously volunteered to be our sober driver for the evening, a favor and chore any good staffer will reciprocate. Surprisingly, in our numerous years of shared tenure, this is the first time we have hung out socially. I suddenly realize the car is full of people who fit the same description. Most of us have to be at back at our respective camps the following afternoon. However tonight, we celebrate; our camps haven't burned down...yet. 

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45/100

We pull up along the familiar stretch of town in search of this new barbecue joint aptly referred to as “Smokehouse”. Quickly spotting it, I can't help but notice this is the third restaurant in five years to occupy the same space. Still, my hopes remain high. We park, place our orders, and wander out to the patio to wait and relax. The food and mosquitoes begin to arrive. Paperwork is bemoaned. Sauces are ranked. Days-off recounted. We finish and all give each other a knowing and silent nod; it is time for the bar. All satisfied to have found another eatery, we exit. Looking up, I notice the store adjacent to where we parked, Buffalo Nickel, bares a sign with their painted name and date, 1909. The mortar and stone have definitely seen more than three restaurant changes. 

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46/100

Plopping down atop the small table kept on the porch, I scan my hot and dusty territory. Camp operations functioned smoothly during my leave of absence, however, a few staff members haven't been getting along entirely well. Their recent flare-up has given me a unique challenge to sort out and I take some time to process. A small scout with legs black from sweat and dirt quietly rummages through the swap box, a receptacle for trading unopened and unused food. Camp is unusually calm for such a warm afternoon, perhaps crews destined for us have decided to take an extended lunch break. Noticing a small scurrying dot on the long concrete slab, I swat away buzzing flies and get down to examine close-up; eight eyes stare back at me. Although not yet large enough to tackle our overwhelming fly problem, I sweep my new friend to safety. Fortunately, my code only allows me to kill things which have wings and legs with a value greater than two.

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47/100

I awake to the clamoring sounds of departing crews on our porch. Their combined excitement, boots, and brotherhood before 7 a.m. are far too raucous without sufficient waking up. Postponing my coffee ritual, I quickly throw on my whiffy 4-day-old shirt and tattered Arborwears and take off for the quiet ATV course. Unexpectedly, the entire landscape is overcast, gray with moisture. Heavy, cool air clings to my jacket while dew sparkles and glints; nature's chandelier. Every leaf, flower, and blade of grass is covered in damp stillness. The silence I so desperately crave has finally greeted me. Good morning. 

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48/100

Finishing my walk, I pause at the fence line to catch my breath before descending into camp. I glance at my watch; everyone should be awake and functioning, but past experiences tell me I need to double-check. The newness of camp has definitely started to wear off, June gloom is upon me. I make my way back towards the cabin and try to work out a few more ideas to help my staff get along better. Coach, chef, cheerleader, counselor; these are some of the many job requirements I find myself needing on a daily basis. Entering the kitchen, I notice a few staff members absent. Grabbing an apron, I offer eggs to those who are hungry. It's time for a change.

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49/100

Crews come and go as does cloudy mornings and rainy afternoons. It seems like I blinked and July has arrived, the last six days have been long and similar. Last week's moth-in-ear-canal and today's first ATV crew are major events my mind strings together in some sort of surreal movie storyboard. Our two ATV Specialists, John and Jimmy, grab as many chest protectors as they can and prepare to head up to the course in order to instruct our first group who just arrived. I know they are as nervous as I am, but I reassure them today is going to be a fun test to prove what they already know. They disappear past the bridge and I return to a half-dozen new crews and unfilled forms which need my attention. I wish I could debrief them about how the course went, but my meeting on the 4th has forced me to leave camp a day earlier than I had planned. Eight miles of steady uphill lie ahead of me, monsoon season has just arrived and getting caught in a storm is not ideal. Camp remained intact during my last set of days and I know the same will be true for this set. My staff have started to become more confident and I don't think it's my imagination.

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50/100

Once again, I am awoken by overly zealous scouters. I lie swaddled in my sleeping bag, fearing to move my limbs. In my haste to leave camp yesterday, I neglected to bring any water or snacks. Today, I should be a veritable Tin Man. Fish Camp's double hung windows emit a dim blueish glow and I sit up to have a look outside. It's completely socked in! Slowly, I get up and dress myself and wander into the kitchen and attempt to find something to eat. Nicole confirms our departure time, the goal is to head into basecamp via Phillips Junction to meet up with a few other CD's. I decide to take a walk around camp to try and warm up my aching bones; the weather is far too inviting and mysterious to hitch a ride back to base. I walk along the Rayado, in between aspen and yarrow, my knees and back begin to loosen. The stillness is invigorating.

Summer 100: #81-90

Summer 100

Summer 100: #81-90

81/100

After finishing dinner's dishes, I wander out on Cyphers Mine's porch to snag some coffee. Everyone has started to assemble in anticipation for Stomp, an almost historically accurate musical extravaganza, which is sure to entertain. A few staff carrying lanterns and cumbersome instruments head towards the smaller cabin with dozens of people following in tow. I grab a few more cookies before making my way over, eventually finding a decent seat towards the back. With little notice, the ensemble explodes to life, the entire show interrupted only by raucous clapping and laughing from the crowd. I take my unspoken cue during the last song and begin heading back towards the main cabin as to avoid any rush. I turn around to see a mass of headlamps flickering on, illuminating the dense darkness around them. Camper exodus never lasts long.

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82/100

Since early morning, heavy clouds have been passing through camp, threatening us with rain. Only in the last half hour has their decision changed, an ever increasing pitter-patter of droplets can be heard on our tin kitchen roof. I finish my dinner and tell my staff to hold off from starting charcoal for our cobbler dutch oven feast while I scout weather conditions. A quick jaunt up to our meadow reveals just how socked in we are— looks like we are making eight cakes tonight. When a Scout has had their expectations set on cobbler for 12 days, cake is severely lacking in culinary appeal. I have had to deliver worse news though, perhaps I'll even get a small slice.

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83/100

Obligated from the immediate need to start charcoal, I decide to take advantage of the ominous silence in our secluded meadow. Four more days remain until the second Camp Director meeting; it has been hard to quiet my apprehensions. Tomorrow brings the start of August, my final set of days-off begins the day after. There are so many camps I have neglected to visit. I still need to type up the second half of my report and I have yet to hear back on my application to work during fall. I take a breath, deeply filling my lungs with clean mountain air. I try to feel support from the damp rock on which I sit, and slowly, I return to our meadow. Cake nights are insanity– loud music and teenage boys tweaked on sugar– but there is little else I would rather be doing.

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84/100

My staff are confident and comfortable with running camp in my absence and require no input before my departure. I snarf my breakfast, smear on sunscreen, and switch on my earbuds. Seven strenuous miles up the Rayado, my rendezvous point takes me along a familiar route I have hiked countless times before. Famed for a particular section of trail, “the Notch' is a perilous passage through a windy and narrow section of exposed rock. The crossing is barely wider than my arm span and I recall the stories of dynamite and labor it took to carve this mountain. Most people stop to admire the grand vista, but the rocks are more breathtaking today. 

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85/100

My trail continues upward through dense pine and heavy underbrush. I begin to descend and the scenery no longer feels foreign, a sign my destination is nearing. Radiant afternoon sun bathes the river's banks with warm hues. Swarms of gnats glint in the haze while massive bees buzz back and forth between black-eyed Susans. Trout dart upstream into shadows and crows caw upon my arrival. It would seem as though Mother Nature has granted me quite a welcoming party; I know Fish Camp and its staff will uphold her standards.

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86/100

Last night's sleep on Fish Camp's couch has completely refreshed my spirit and aching quads; I feel unstoppable. To bypass starting a fire in the wood-burner, coffee is made with water boiled on a portable backpacking stove, then slowly poured through a paper filter resting precariously on one's cup. A flash from my years spent at other interp camps reminds me that this morning's process is pure novelty. Taking care not to spill, I also grab the book I picked up yesterday and mosey outside, situating myself in 'the ring'– a 4-foot wide suspended metal ring thick enough for one person to comfortably slink against. The weather couldn't be more idyllic, hopefully it holds for our baseball game later this evening. Skimming for my place, I realize I am more than two-thirds complete. Perhaps I can finish before we leave, there isn't any room in my pack for rentals. 

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87/100

Go-time is here. I cinch my pack and hoist it onto a waiting chair, shift my weight, then my waist. My eyes fall on a small patch of wilting black-eyed Susans; miniature sundials marking the passage of time by their withering petals. I am fully aware today will be my last hiking day this summer–a fruitless notion–but one I cannot move past. We say our farewells and begin to hike, the Rayado deeply hums while trees gently sway with the breeze. I am so very far from finished. 

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88/100

After showering and scouring off the majority of my last week off, I make my way over to the Villa Philmonte's vast lawn. Softballs thwack into mitts as both sides begin to warm up, voluminous clouds effortlessly drift above our massive green; what a perfect day for a baseball game! I catch an unmistakable scent of hot dogs and popcorn, looks like dinner has been taken care of. Tonight's friendly match determines a “winner” of a two-part baseball series between Backcountry and Ranger leaderships. Our rivalry is comically overstated, but having won the first game, it is apparent the Rangers are hungry for more than just hot dogs. 

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89/100

I watch as the scoreboard is hoisted into the air, proudly displaying the game's final for all to see; it was a blowout. From the corner of my eye, I catch a water cooler-shaped blur racing towards amassing celebratory yellow shirts. In one swift motion, the entire contents is dumped onto Matt's shoulders as he lurches forward, attempting to avoid the icy torrent. Even though we lost by a fair margin, seeing the opposing team's plush mascot stolen and high-tailed across the Villa lawn into a waiting getaway minivan made for a pretty spectacular seventh-inning stretch. After all, it's all just a game; might as well have some fun.

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90/100

Boundless talks about gather during yesterday's meeting has left me feeling drained and restless. Alone in a sea of people, I wander building to building, mind racing, searching for familiar faces. Past staff members manifest momentarily, a mental mirage generated from previous summers. I desperately want to leave basecamp, but the thought of returning to camp tomorrow morning doesn't sit well either. Hopefully I find a friend going into town who wants some lunch. My days are dwindling. I must finish strong.