IWTGBTP

IWTGBTP: the cry of Boy Scouts everywhere. I Want To Go Back To Philmont.

It's also the cry of a grateful girl who was blessed enough to go to "Boy Scout Disneyworld". That's right, chickadees--through the tender mercies from God and only that, I got to hike Philmont's trails.

Because of my dad's stake calling in the church, he was asked to come to the Philmont Training Center for some training with David L. Beck, the general Young Men's president. We were informed that this training welcomed all family members of the men in training, so all seven of us hopped in our Suburban and drove to Cimarron, New Mexico.

I friggin love roadtrips.

Don't tell my dad I included this photo.

During the training, there were programs for all ages. I personally believe that my age group had the best program: backpacking in Philmont's backcountry for five days.

The whole process of getting out on the trail was quick and surreal. We drove into PTC (Philmont Training Center) where we were met by President Beck and Sister Rosemary Wixom, the General Primary President, who is easily one of my favorite people on the planet. We parked, I unloaded my 30+ lb. pack, changed into hiking boots, and got checked in with the mountain trekkers. I met my crew of seven other girls from all over the country, as well as my Rangers (or "trail parents"), waved goodbye to my family, went to gear inspection, and then got on the bus which took me to the trailhead of our adventure.

That day (Saturday) we hiked a grand total of one mile to Camp Abreu. The Philmont backcountry is spotted with "staff camps", which are homesteads and cabins lived-in and run by the Philmont staff. Each one has a theme and a time period with a historical background. The staff members that run the camp literally live on an old-timey homestead. The women wear petticoats and the men suspenders, there's livestock to be cared for, and no internet or cell reception. Or air conditioning. It's epic.

Abreu was a 1885 Mexican homestead. I did cool stuff there for two days.

Setting up camp

We built an adobe wall.

Burros. Burros are cool. (Please excuse me from this picture. I was off to the right shoveling this burro's excrement).

Sunday morning we slept in, ate breakfast, and chilled on the homestead until it was time for our two mile hike to Zastrow, where there's an outdoor chapel. There, I was privileged enough to partake of the Sacrament with two other mountain trek crews and an LDS scout troop that happened to be from Houston. It was beautiful and spiritual, and I cried when we sang the hymns. I was especially grateful to see Young Men exercise their priesthood power as they blessed the sacrament up in the mountains. It sent chills down my spine.

After Sacrament we chilled for a few hours. With boys.

Being honest: Something really great about being a female at Philmont is that most of the guys you meet out on the trail have been on the trail without seeing a single girl for at least a week. When the find you, they will serenade. At one point two dudes sang Les Miserables to me and my crew. It was fantastic. 

On Monday we got up early and hiked for seven hours in the rain to Fish Camp, a cabin on a river from 1929. 

The hike was beautiful, and the rain was actually quite refreshing. But when we were met at the Fish Camp trailhead by a staff member in 1920's getup, I was so happy to be done hiking that I told the guy that I was glad to see him and that he was beautiful. He tipped his hat at me and said, "Thank you, madame!" and it was just dandy.

Fish Camp cabin. TAKE ME BACK.

That night was cold, but we were invited inside the cabin to play Apples to Apples with some other scouts. After it got dark, the only light we had came from the oil lamps, making the whole cabin warm and cozy.

I ended up ditching Apples to Apples to sit out on the porch and play music with the staff. It was easily one of the top three most magical nights of my life. Everyone was happy and warm, and we sat together around an oil lamp wearing dirty wool socks on our feet and peaceful smiles on our faces. We sang so many songs, but Breakfast in Hell and Wagon Wheel were my favorites. We had a guitar, a mandolin, a uke, and a washboard, and I played my forte--the spoons. It was the best music I've ever heard.

The stars were out. The voices were loud. The people were sincere. And I swear our songs echoed through the mountains.

The Fish Camp staff were kind and let us sleep in their shack they use for teaching. My crew tells me I make "cute" noises when I sleep. 

Tuesday we got up and left for Apache Springs, an Indian homestead from the late 1800s. The hike was absolutely gorgeous, as was the camp. 

And then there was a 20 minute hail and lightning storm. And I sat in my tent with Allison and Caroline and we talked about how bad we smelled (did I mention there's no deodorant allowed at Philmont?). And it was awesome.

Beaubien was our last stop for the night on Wednesday. It was a 1933 horse ranch on a meadow, tucked away in the mountains. Looking over the meadow, you'd see a sky on fire at sunset, mountains all around you, and big brown, white and red horses running around the meadow. I loved it there. 

Arriving at Beaubien. Ranger Cassie's Igor impression knocks socks off, as does our Mountain Women 3 sign.

We did a conservation project there. I cut down a tree. It makes me feel kind of epic. 

All the treks staying at Beaubien that night slept together under the stars. I wish I had a picture, the ground looked like a sea of sleeping bags. I pretended to be asleep while I listened to a crew of young men have their evening their devotional about 40 feet from where I was. They all bore their testimonies of Jesus Christ to each other, and I felt privileged to be awake to hear it. It still makes me smile to think of those strong, young priesthood holders. Mad respect for you boys.

On our last morning--the 4th of July-- we were up at 5:00 and ready to roll by 6. To get back to base camp, we climbed Trail Peak all the way to the summit, and back down to base. A total of about 12 miles. A fantastic finale to our adventure. 

In 1942 there was a plane crash on top of Trail Peak. Seeing it on the summit gave me chills. This is the plane wing.

We sang Battle Hymn of the Republic up there. 

And then we were welcomed to base camp by President Beck and Sister Wixom, and my mom hugged me even though I smelled like backpacker. 

This is my "Hi I've been in civilization for about 5 minutes and I don't know what's going on and I cried a little bit when I hugged my mom" face. 

~~~

I've been home for almost three weeks now. And every time I open my Nalgene to take a drink I see the silly little splash guard I bought at base camp and my heart cracks a little. I miss the people, the music, the aspens and the azure skies.

I'm coming back for you, Philmont.