Flume Canyon

“My favorite animal is the mule. He has more horse sense than a horse. He knows when to stop eating -- and he knows when to stop working.”

~Harry Truman

On day four we got an added bonus: the chance to spend three fun-filled days with a burro. Not that we wanted a burro, mind you, but we were given the opportunity none-the-less. It came with the itinerary we had picked out, and left us no choice in the matter.

We hiked back into Ponil and its' stables by 0800, determined to quickly pick up our beast of burden and get an early start on the day's hike. Unfortunately, every other trek picking up burros that day apparently got the same memo, and all converged on the corral about the same time. What we didn't realize was that there was some training involved with saddling a mule and keeping it alive for the duration of our stewardship. Who'd have thunk it?

The morning quickly slipped by as we sat through about an hour long presentation of mule care by the local wrangler, followed by an extended wait while our boys chose just the right burro to cut from the herd; the adults stood at the fence rail and shouted suggestions, such as, "get one that's small enough to push!" or "find the one who likes to walk!" and a few other completely unhelpful hints. This was followed by an even longer wait while they struggled to saddle it with the multitudes of knots and lashings that would satisfy the wrangler before he would release the beast into our care. All told, it probably took the boys three complete attempts to get the halter, saddle, and saddle bags successfully situated and secured before they got their blessing to press on.

The interesting thing about getting a pack mule as a companion on this hike was that it wasn't allowed to pack much. For some strange reason, all we could shift to this animal was 50 pounds! We thought that was kind of limiting, but at least it would cover all the food we were hauling, so we could lighten our packs. Unfortunately the blanket, saddle and satchels together weighed well over 25 lbs.! So instead of carrying all of our food, it carried a couple of our dinner meals... Another reason we were left scratching our heads about the benefit of being saddled with this beast for the next three days.

Eventually we saddled up, grabbed the reigns, positioned adequate personnel both in front pulling) and in back (pushing), and set off on the trail. As we were leaving, another trek's burro, who had stubbornly refused to budge, caught sight of Enos (yes, we named our burro!) moving out, and slowly fell into step behind him. Luckily, the other trek was heading in our direction, so they followed along for the next several miles until their path diverged from ours.

This second day of the hike was another fairly easy day. Only about four miles, and almost all of it on the road. The road was steep, and very rocky, where even a 4-wheel drive vehicle would have a fun time getting up it, but it was still a road, wide enough for a couple of people to hike side by side.

Flume Canyon campsite was an interesting site. The camp itself is located on the top of a ridge. Reached only after we dumped the burro off in a holding pen situated down on the road, and a steep climp. There seemed to be one centralized tent area which was relatively flat and out in the open with three or four cooking areas arrayed around it located among the trees

It is a legacy camp, one of the original ranch campsites set up in the 20s and 30s by Waite Philips, the man who donated the property to the Boy Scouts. The campfire circles have rock chairs set up around them, which have been preserved over the years. One of the few places where it was more comfortable to sit on the ground (i.e. rocks) than on the camp chairs we brought with us.

It was while sitting around the campfire that the one truly uncomfortable moment of the trek occurred. Another group of scouts came into camp and started setting up tents. One of the things that really stood out was the prevalent use of the "F-bomb" by both the scouts and their leaders. That was shocking enough (I just think it very unprofessional to use profanity in front of kids you are supposed to be mentoring), but in their interactions with each other, the leaders and scouts cussed each other out! The real indication of the complete breakdown in unit dynamics came when they set up their tents. One of the leaders set his tent up, and then the scouts started setting their's up, only they did it 20 or 30 yards away!

The general rule for bear procedures is to cluster your tents closely together to present an obstacle to any large animal wandering around at night. No isolated tents, no tents all in a row: they are to be grouped together with in 4-10 feet of each other.

As we sat talking around the campfire, we noticed the tents being setting up against everything our Ranger, Greg had been preaching to us. One of us mentioned it to Greg, who rather reluctantly pointed out the need to re-arrange the tents. Instead of just listening and either acknowledging the critique, or ignoring it, the leader started yelling and screaming at Greg, accusing him of knowing they were setting their tents up wrong, and waiting till they were done before saying anything. Well for one, Greg had his back to the whole thing while we were talking. For the second, the tents were stand-alone and it would have taken all of one minute or so to pull the stakes, lift a tent up and move it some place. And for the third, Greg was right and the leader and his trek completely in the wrong. The two of them traded a couple more verbal spars, with Greg, who was maybe 22 or 23 and acting YEARS older than this adult leader. By this time our adults had wandered up behind Greg and the other leader basically backed down and in a pique of petulance ordered his kids to just tear down all the tents and pile them in a pile because they, "were late for a program." What a loser.

I made the comment that they must be from either New York or Philadelphia. We found out later they were from Long Island, and already "famous" among the staff.

We ate dinner and then decided to head back down the road about a mile to Pueblano Camp, where the camp staff staged a reknowned campfire program for whoever was in camp that night. One of the nice things about staff camps is Advisor coffee. Most of the staff camps have a building with a big porch, and in the evenings the staff host all the adults onto the porch, providing coffee and cookies. No scouts allowed. Kind of our chance to relax, get some real coffee, meet other trek adults and compare notes.

While we smoozed on the porch, the scouts played a sort-of softball game called "Loggerball" against the camp staff. It is important to know, that just like the Harlem Globetrotters, the staff has never lost. Turns out the rules change as needed to keep the staff ahead. It's pretty funny to watch: 50 scouts taking the field against nine staffers. The yelling and protestations build to a fevered frenzy as the score gets more and more lopsided, never in the scouts favor.

Around 2030, the game was called using the Mercy rule, and we all filed down the hill to the campfire. Unfortunately, just as we all sat down and the first group of guys started playing guitars, the skies opened up and started pouring down on us. Everyone quickly beat feet back to the cabin, and huddled on the porch in an attempt to stay dry.

The staffers followed that old credo: "The show must go on!" so they pulled out their guitars and stood at the back of the porch and did their show as the rain cascaded down around us, periodically highlighted by flashes of lightning and crashes of thunder. A crowd favorite was the tale of Mighty Tore Torgeson, but trust me, you really had to be there to enjoy it! ("One Sving!")















The night ended with a hike back to camp in the dark. Tomorrow will be another day with Enos, some lumberjack activities, and Head of Dean. And in the distance Baldy Mountain looms...