Backpacking at Camp Wheeler

At the end of June, G3 and seven other scouts from his troop will be heading to Philmont, the Boy Scout Ranch down in New Mexico, for a seven day backpacking excursion. Three of the dads and I will be accompanying them. I’m not entirely sure who is looking forward to the trip more—me or G3. The twelve of us have been training—going on long hikes and a couple of backpacking trips—since last spring. With less than three months to go before departure, this weekend we headed up to Camp Wheeler, which is part of Camp Allamuchy, for a weekend backpacking trip. One of the requirements for Backpacking Merit Badge is to go on a three day backpacking trip. Over the course of three days, the scouts need to hike at least fifteen miles and sleep in two different campsites. All gear must be carried. Since we were doing the trip for training, we decided that it would be best to let the scouts knock off this requirement so they could pursue the badge if they wished.

In order to get some mileage in on Friday, we set a departure time of three o’clock. I work until 3:06. There was no conceivable way I could battle traffic, shower, and arrive on time. Therefore, I very excitedly used one of my personal days. Staying at home all day was glorious. I spent time with my cats, spoiling them with treats and cuddles, and I got to spend a nice chunk of time writing, which is something I miss. I am revising my unpublished memoir recounting my trek nearly three decades ago in Nepal. With my COVID memoir set to be published in September, it makes sense to revise another memoir. If the Stolen: Love and Loss in the Time of COVD-19 does well, maybe I can find a home for Me and the Kid from Kathmandu. Besides, getting ready to go to Philmont made me nostalgic for my first experience trekking—a time when I was extremely young, naive, and still trying to figure out who I was. 

When my son realized I was not going to work, he was not happy that he still had to go to school. He seemed to think if I was going to be home all day, he should have the same privilege. I made him go in, but he did guilt me into picking him up early. Of course, dressed as I was in my backpacking clothes, I completely embarrassed him when I signed him out. I’m not quite sure what he expected. He should be used to me by now, not to mention thankful that I did pick him up early, especially since it meant we had time to stop for ice cream on the way to our meeting point.

Of the twelve of us going to Philmont, ten of us went this weekend. Two of the scouts had prior commitments and couldn’t make it. While 3:00was the time set for departure, it was closer to 4 when we got on the road. Since traffic at that hour was inevitable, we reached Camp Wheeler at around 5 o’clock, and immediately set out on a short hike. We only covered three miles, since there were a few skills the head leader wanted to cover before it got dark. The three miles were relatively easy, and contained virtually no elevation gain. The landscape was rather dreary. It’s only early April so there was no green. The trees were all bare, and it’s not like the scout camp is terribly scenic to begin with. Even with forty-ish pounds on our backs, we made decent time. At the campsite, we dropped our backs and the head leader instructed the scouts how to raise a bear bag. Bear bags are essential in Philmont because they keep the bears from eating human food. A canvas bag needs to be hoisted up to a cable strung between two trees. The lesson took longer than it should have since the rope wasn’t strong enough to withstand the hoisting process. As one of the scouts pulled, the rope snapped. Luckily, there was extra rope.

Following the bear bag lesson, the scouts built a fire and boiled water to rehydrate our dinner. Dehydrated food is the easiest to trek with since you just need water, no fancy cooking. I did not sleep well. I never do when it’s cold. My sleeping bag and thermal underwear should keep me warm, but they don't. A chill settles into my body and there is nothing I can do to drive it away. The forecast for the weekend was not only chilly temperatures, but lots of rain as well. Though we were dreading it, we were at least prepared—mentally as well as practically.

It drizzled a bit overnight, but we woke up to dry tents—always a plus because packing up wet tents is never fun, plus the water adds weight to the pack. Breakfast consisted of instant oatmeal and coffee. A quick meal so that we could hit the trail by 8. Our plan was to hike eight miles, and if the gods were kind we’d get it in before the rain started up again. In an attempt to avoid getting stuck in a downpour, we decided we would not stop for lunch. We’d push through the eight miles and then eat where there was a hard shelter so we could be dry, and somewhat warm. While the rain didn’t completely comply, it most certainly could have been worse. We had several periods of rain, but it was never harder than a heavy drizzle. Raincoats and pack covers kept us and our gear mostly dry.

Despite the rain, the scouts remained in good spirits, joking around with each other as they pushed on ahead of us adults. They are younger, their joints are not yet beginning to fail, and as one of the dads said, “they have all of the cartilage,” so they can walk quicker than we can. It doesn’t bother me. I don’t mind being left behind. There was a time I could move more quickly, but I’m just grateful I can still get up the hills with weight on my back. The only push I feel to move faster than when I’m alone is not wanting to hold everyone up. I am the only female in the group, and as always, in primarily male dominated spaces, women need to prove they are competent enough to participate and capable enough to keep up. If I were to fall behind, it would be considered a weakness of my gender. And I certainly don’t want G3 to think he got a raw deal with me filling the role usually associated with Dads.

We paused at an overlook for pictures. It wasn’t terribly pretty, but it was a break from the dreary forest. Had it been sunny, it would have been a great spot to have lunch. But we pushed on, trying to reach the hard shelter before the drizzle got worse. We had some elevation gain. The hills going up weren’t too bad at all, but the downs, those I had to take a little slower, not only because of my knees, but because the terrain was rocky and I wanted to avoid spraining an ankle. 

Lunch was peanut butter and honey wrapped in a tortilla, along with cheddar cheese and crackers. After cutting some cheese, I closed the Swiss Army knife, but in doing so I got distracted and closed it right on my finger. Blood poured from the wound. Luckily, we had a first aid kit. One of the dads tended the injury, wiping it down with alcohol and then wrapping it tightly. It stopped the bleeding, and the pain was only minimal. I thought it might have been deep enough for stitches, but I didn’t want to leave, so I didn’t. 

Even though we completed the eight miles on our itinerary, we decided to do three more. The rain was holding off for the most part, but Sunday morning’s forecast looked bad. In completing three more miles, that left only one for Sunday. The scouts were not happy. They wanted to head to the camp for some free time, but the adults had the final say. In total, we hiked eleven miles on Saturday, that’s more than we’ll have to hike any day that we are at Philmont. Therefore, I’m optimistic that the scouts won’t have any problems this summer. 

By the time we reached camp, we were all cold and it was raining harder than it had been, but there was a shelter for us to sit under while we waited for it to subside. When it did, we set up our tents and the scouts tried to start a fire, always a challenge when the wood and kindling is wet. While the boys used toilet paper to help get it started, I went off in search of drier wood. I found it in the form of a rotting tree stump. The way it was bent in on itself, much of the wood in the center was dry. I set about pulling it apart with my hands—choosing to ignore the fact that my finger was wrapped in tape and gauze. I succeeded in bringing back enough small scraps to help the scouts get a decent fire going and then larger pieces so that we could all gather around and warm up. We ate dinner around the fire, and for the first time all day, felt cozy and comfortable.

Unfortunately, we had to put the fire out and go to bed. I was in my sleeping bag for ten solid hours and I don’t think I slept even an hour. I was too cold. No matter how many layers I put on or how I positioned myself, I could not get rid of the chill that had settled deep in my body. As promised, it rained heavily overnight. Water seeped into the tent, which got my sleeping bag wet. I’m sure that contributed to me being cold. Packing up was miserable. I hate soggy tents, but at least we were going home and didn’t have to worry about setting up a wet tent to sleep in. This summer, down in Philmont, we may not have a choice. There may be days we break down and set up again in the rain. But this morning, we got to bring the wet gear home.

We hiked our final mile back to the parking lot, and after saying goodbye to everyone, I drove directly to Urgent Care. By the time I got there, the wound was still open. It was still bleeding, but not as badly as it had been. Instead of stitches, the doctor opted to glue the wound shut. She also called in a prescription for antibiotics. 

G3 and I are now showered and warm. Kati is making potato soup for dinner and our gear is drying in the basement. The cats are happy we’re home. I think they missed us.