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Day: 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 | |
My watch beeped in a most unwelcome manner. It was early and, more importantly, cold. And, so, we woke around 4 a.m. from our make-shift trail camp, and prepared breakfast in the dark. It was important to get some food in us before we continued the climb to the top of Baldy. We broke camp and set out again on foot. We eventually came upon the cabin we had set out for the day before. It was in no condition to provide shelter, as I recall.
Despite our early start, the sun was coming up before we
were at Baldy's peak. Realising that there was no need to
rush things, we stopped to take a break. The trail was becoming
steeper. It was getting cold and windy, and this was slowing our pace.
As the treeline pulled away, we looked up
at the reddish face of the top of the mountain, clouds pouring over
it towards us.
By the time we neared the top, the entire valley, and all the country to the south, lay in a foggy haze.
We were almost at the top. The climb was not too steep, despite all appearances from the camera angle seen below, but the air was thin and the wind was cold, wet, and strong.
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Going up: I took this picture from foot level thinking at the time that it would give an interesting angle. I think that that is David on the right.
Flora: Roseroot, Cinquefoil, and Alpine Paintbrush
on Baldy's slope
We reached Baldy's Peak. Four days into the trek, and we were
at the highest point in Philmont, 12,441 feet. Baldy is bald, treeless,
about 7/8ths of the way up. This is thought to be due to the high
elevation. It was a cold, wet, windy day going up. We did this
in ponchos, of course. Once we reached the top, there was not much
to do except huddle against the wind breaks -- which in this case
were made of our own packs. The clouds which pool up in the valley to the
west rose up with the wind and rolled over the top of Baldy.
I stood against the wind as they blew around me.
The crew flag which I carried tied to the top of my pack twisted
furiously in the wind, and wrapped itself over my face about half the time.
The wind subsided long enough for Greg to step back and get a decent
picture of us as a group.
Looking down over the other side, we could see the town of Eagle's Nest and its lake. We were really on top of things. Greg showed us the geodetic survey marker, called a benchmark, rooted several feet down into the ground in cement. On the surface, it merely appeared to be a brass button, about the diameter of a coffee can. It's face was quite worn. The lettering which would have identified the elevation and survey date had long since been rendered illegible, though the triangle stamp in the centre was still recognisable. It was suggested that the wear was possibly due to repeated lightning strikes. I suppose anything is possible, but thousands of scouts tramping around, battering it with rocks probably helped too.
Derek and Greg On Baldy
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And there were the rocks. The north face of Baldy is a bit different than the rest. It is composed of much looser rocks, rocks that are smaller than a pillow, and that tend to slide. Greg, being the civil engineer, reminds me that such a formation is called a talus slope. It was on this loose ground that we made our way down. We would have stayed up at the top quite a while longer, but Sid and Brien kept insisting that they were about to die of hypothermia. It did not seem that cold to me, but I guess we figured that the rest of us might die from the whining. Greg insists that Brien was beginning to look a little too blue. So, we decided we needed to alter our course and get out of the wind. We began our descent down the talus slope rather than taking the longer, exposed trail down the north ridge of Baldy.
There is an old mine shaft, Deep Tunnel Mine, stuck on the north face as well... which we passed as we came down. The sun had finally broken through the clouds, and so we stopped off there to let the crew warm up.
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| Deep Tunnel Mine |
I remember "surfing" down the talus slope. At least, that's
the word we chose to describe it.
Every step we took resulted in the smooth flat rocks beneath
our feet giving way a few inches. We merely had to shuffle our feet
back and forth to move down. I am convinced this was doing terrible
disservice to the fight against erosion, but full steps resulted in
even more slippage. (Sixteen years later, I learn that my concern
was shared by others. While helping me to compile this journal,
Greg informed me that at least one staffer in Baldy Camp, upon
learning that we had come down this way, lectured
him on the fact that this was not kosher.)
As we came down the North Face, the tree line began to pick up again. We stopped here to take a break. We looked back to see just a little bit of snow still on Baldy.
We had rested enough, and did not want to lose our pace. It was time to descend the mountain. We trudged down towards Copper Park through several areas which had dead, fallen trees. Greg said that these were a result of forest fires several years ago. He knew this because, after all, he had been to Philmont's North Country the year before with his brother, John. After recently seeing the photos from their trek, I am not sure that they actually climbed Baldy. Either way, there were certainly many pictures taken of it from the lower elevations.
I had to pause a moment to think about how I got here.
A half a year earlier I would have been surprised to find myself sitting
on this mountain with these cold clouds blowing over me.
It was because of John's eagerness to go
back to Philmont that we had planned this trek.
He had really pestered me to go in spite of my initial reluctance.
I could be stubborn in those days, and I had initially declined.
He persisted, sure that I would love the place, and I came to
my senses and agreed to go. We were here, now, despite his absence.
And, I knew that I was fulfilling the agreement I made with him
by being here. He was right.
 Derek Pans for Gold at French Henry: I think we ought to dub Derek the Philmont Poster Child. |
We passed through Copper Park Camp and French Henry, old mining
and hunting establishments. They offer programmes such as gold
panning/mining, blacksmithery, and a hunting theme (no actual hunting,
fortunately). We took part in the gold panning. The area where panning
occurred was built up with several cement walls and steps. I supposed
these may actually have been from an old operation, but I was not sure.
For panning, some of the stream water was diverted into wooden channels
which then emptied back into the stream. You could peer into the
water to see any possible gold particles flowing by, or hold a pan
under the outlet to catch something. It did not take
more than about 15 minutes of sifting through sand for me to
lose interest. One of us, it may have been Robert, found a grain
of what he insisted was gold. Gold or not, the staffers placed it
in a small plastic vial for him as a keepsake. This would have been
an ideal place to have taken pictures. The creek basin was a nice
place to be. Unfortunately, I was uncertain if I'd get a chance
to buy more 110 film, and was trying to conserve. Had I known
that I'd have that opportunity soon enough, I would not have spared
the moment. Fortunately, Greg and his father were wise enough to
know a good scene, and to bring along plenty of film.
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With little more than wet clothes to show for our panning efforts, we moved on, and arrived at Baldy Camp where we made our first food pick up since the beginning of the trek. This would be enough food to last us for the next four days. At each staffed camp that is a commissary or trading post, you will usually find a big box full of swapable items such as Applets, Cotlets (which wound up in the bin more than Applets), packets of powdered drinks, etc. For the drinks, if you were unlucky all there was was the lemon favour (and that's usually all there was). If lucky, you got the apple drink. If you were really lucky, you might find a packet of real powdered milk, though more often than not it was just the artificial cornstarch milk.
The trading posts offer the opportunity to buy other supplies as well -- stove fuel, snacks, postcards, film. I bought a fresh roll of 110 film and a postcard.
Our trail led us back to Ute Meadows Camp, where we would retire for the night. On the way, it rained on us. Afternoon rains are common for the North Country. We were getting pretty used to it, and our rain gear held up. In the shower, as we were nearing our campsite, we came upon the remains of an old cabin... at least the chimney stack still stood. I am told that chimneys like these litter the basin of the Baldy area, the result of old mining and homesteading activities.
Group Photo: The Ute Meadows Chimney. The phrase,
"Take out the trash" was replaced with "Pack out the trash". At the right,
David displays the bag of trash he got stuck carrying.
Not surprisingly, this same chimney stands even today, although it has
had about three feet and a few layers of mortar knocked off it.
See
for yourself, courtesy of Chris Bradley, Houston.
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DAY 4: UTE MEADOWS |
| DAY 6: ELKHORN |  |
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