Lawrence Millman wrote a book called Our Like Will Not Be There Again. The book is about rural Ireland, but I have always liked the title and associated myself with it, especially in the outdoor setting, though I usually get the title wrong and call it Our Kind Shall Not Pass This Way Again.
I worked two summers at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. I was a Ranger, preparing scouts for their trek, teaching them wilderness survival skills, camping techniques, and going with them on the trail for the first few days. Philmont had been a scout ranch since 1938 and I enjoyed looking at the old photos of scouts, hiking in their uniform, though they were usually posed.
Perhaps easily impressed by their sharp appearance, I acquired a 1960's scout uniform and began wearing it on the trail. I would only hike with an external frame, usually opting to not use the waist strap, trying to mimic the ruck sacks the scouts use to use. I would often read about life at Philmont in the early days and would often times go hiking to explore some of the earlier camps.
Wearing 1960's Scout uniform and an external backpack while working on orienteering with a crew. Note bedroll instead of a sleeping bag and lack of use of chest strap.
Posing with black bear in 1960's Scout uniform
On one of these expeditions, I went to a place called Stony Point. Stony Point had been a day camp, a hiking destination for the scouts, back when Philmont was called Philturn. The only thing remaining of Stony Point is some old firepits and tin cans. While exploring the area, a Rocky Mountain Big Horn walked out. These were known to be in the area as the state of New Mexico had released some in the Wheeler Peak area just west of the ranch,. According to the Camp Director however, this was only the second sighting of one on the ranch he knew of. The big horn ewe came out, saw me, walked a half circle around me, and settled on a spot about 10 yards away, drinking water from the rocks. I sat there with the big horn for 15 to 20 minutes before I spoke to it, half expecting it to speak back to me with some message from these scouts of old. The ewe just looked at me, so I got up, walked a half circle around her, then departed from Stony Point, following the path of an old Jeep trail, back to the modern era.
The area was also home to several towns that were centered on mining or lumber. One of these towns, Ponil Park, exists today only as a ghost town. There are a few foundations left, the bed of the old railroad, and the graveyard. I often times visited the graveyard, studying the stones, taking pictures, and thinking about the people who lived there. Another graveyard existed in a canyon appropriately named Graveyard Canyon. I visited this graveyard, photographing it and mapping it. I once took a group of scouts to another other graveyard in the Valle Vidal near Seally Canyon that existed, though I know not what the place was called. After doing so I felt as if I had disgraced the site and verbally apologized to those who remains laid there, as if they needed it or could hear it.
Railroad bed in the North Ponil Canyon
Gravestones in Ponil Park
The land was also home to the Anasazi. There was a cave that was well rumored to exist in a box canyon that contained several artifacts from the Anasazi. I set out on an expidition to find the cave, taking information with me from those who claimed to have been there before. The expedition failed, I never found the cave, but did feel as if I was closer to these people who once called the land home.
Anasazi Petroglyphs
Wearing these clothes, choosing to not utilize the gear that modern technology offered us, and hiking in their footprints, I felt connected to a group of scouts I had never met or even seen. Perhaps connected to the people who lived on the land before the UU Bar ranch was created. Perhaps to the people who lived here before the Europeans arrived. Knowing few would tred in these footsteps again, I felt like I was the last of a people passing, as if our kind would never pass this way again. I felt I was a member of a group of people, as if only time separated me from them, as if I was born too late.
Grassy Creek in the Valle Vidal
Little Costilla
View from Mountain Lion Canyon Meadow
Our kind will not pass this way again, or perhaps our dreams will not create this reality again.
I worked two summers at Philmont Scout Ranch in New Mexico. I was a Ranger, preparing scouts for their trek, teaching them wilderness survival skills, camping techniques, and going with them on the trail for the first few days. Philmont had been a scout ranch since 1938 and I enjoyed looking at the old photos of scouts, hiking in their uniform, though they were usually posed.
Perhaps easily impressed by their sharp appearance, I acquired a 1960's scout uniform and began wearing it on the trail. I would only hike with an external frame, usually opting to not use the waist strap, trying to mimic the ruck sacks the scouts use to use. I would often read about life at Philmont in the early days and would often times go hiking to explore some of the earlier camps.
Wearing 1960's Scout uniform and an external backpack while working on orienteering with a crew. Note bedroll instead of a sleeping bag and lack of use of chest strap.
Posing with black bear in 1960's Scout uniform
On one of these expeditions, I went to a place called Stony Point. Stony Point had been a day camp, a hiking destination for the scouts, back when Philmont was called Philturn. The only thing remaining of Stony Point is some old firepits and tin cans. While exploring the area, a Rocky Mountain Big Horn walked out. These were known to be in the area as the state of New Mexico had released some in the Wheeler Peak area just west of the ranch,. According to the Camp Director however, this was only the second sighting of one on the ranch he knew of. The big horn ewe came out, saw me, walked a half circle around me, and settled on a spot about 10 yards away, drinking water from the rocks. I sat there with the big horn for 15 to 20 minutes before I spoke to it, half expecting it to speak back to me with some message from these scouts of old. The ewe just looked at me, so I got up, walked a half circle around her, then departed from Stony Point, following the path of an old Jeep trail, back to the modern era.
The area was also home to several towns that were centered on mining or lumber. One of these towns, Ponil Park, exists today only as a ghost town. There are a few foundations left, the bed of the old railroad, and the graveyard. I often times visited the graveyard, studying the stones, taking pictures, and thinking about the people who lived there. Another graveyard existed in a canyon appropriately named Graveyard Canyon. I visited this graveyard, photographing it and mapping it. I once took a group of scouts to another other graveyard in the Valle Vidal near Seally Canyon that existed, though I know not what the place was called. After doing so I felt as if I had disgraced the site and verbally apologized to those who remains laid there, as if they needed it or could hear it.
Railroad bed in the North Ponil Canyon
Gravestones in Ponil Park
The land was also home to the Anasazi. There was a cave that was well rumored to exist in a box canyon that contained several artifacts from the Anasazi. I set out on an expidition to find the cave, taking information with me from those who claimed to have been there before. The expedition failed, I never found the cave, but did feel as if I was closer to these people who once called the land home.
Anasazi Petroglyphs
Wearing these clothes, choosing to not utilize the gear that modern technology offered us, and hiking in their footprints, I felt connected to a group of scouts I had never met or even seen. Perhaps connected to the people who lived on the land before the UU Bar ranch was created. Perhaps to the people who lived here before the Europeans arrived. Knowing few would tred in these footsteps again, I felt like I was the last of a people passing, as if our kind would never pass this way again. I felt I was a member of a group of people, as if only time separated me from them, as if I was born too late.
Grassy Creek in the Valle Vidal
Little Costilla
View from Mountain Lion Canyon Meadow
Our kind will not pass this way again, or perhaps our dreams will not create this reality again.
1 comment:
Very cool post. I like your method of connecting with Philmont's past.
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