On turning 69

At Philmont Ranch participating in age-inappropriate activities.

Today I turn 69 years old. Somehow that sounds dreadfully old. But I just don't feel all that ancient.

Whether due to willfulness or dumb luck, my physical and mental decline into abject senility and immobility seems to be fairly slow. 

• I was very proud and happy to have performed well in the Philmont backpacking trip earlier this month when my 15-year-old grandson along with 7 other Boy Scouts and 2 other adults hiked over 55 miles of mountainous terrain in rain, hail, mud, stream crossings, and rocks. I even managed to get up from my sleeping bag each morning without too much difficulty. And remarkably, I came back injury-free. Did I mention we carried pretty good sized packs and lived on energy bars?
• Next week I am flying to Europe for a long-delayed bicycle trip along the Danube River. The 8 daily routes are not long (around 25 miles each) and hopefully flat. I'm staying on a river cruiseship. I don't know what COVID restrictions will be in place, but I'll have my vaccination card at the ready and sort of take things as they come. Leaving a couple days early just in case I need testing or something. Haven't been biking much this summer so this may be a challenge.
• This October, my friend Heidi and I are signed up for a Road Scholar Hiking trip to Arcadia National Park in Maine. Maine is one of the 4 states I've never visited. We are also planning a trip to the Galapagos and Amazon rainforest this winter. I'll stay in Ecuador for a few extra weeks to avoid the worst of Minnesota's winter and get in some high altitude hiking.
• Heidi and I completed the Hiking Club Challenge this June, having hiked all the identified trails in 68 Minnesota State Parks. It took 2 years. We got badges. 
• I just finished writing a 372 page StoryWorth book I titled Memories, Lessons, and a Few Tall Tales. The book was written one short chapter a week over the past year. I am blogging still, albeit less frequently, and more and more to amuse myself and less to inform others.
• I still volunteer regularly with a local nonprofit giving rides and shopping for groceries for seniors. I'm service project chair for a local Rotary Club. I participate in outdoor recreation and bicycling groups. 
• And I still read constantly. I'm about half done with a book called Stupid Things I Won't Do When I Get Old: a Highly Judgmental, Unapologetically Honest Accounting of All the Things Our Elders Are Doing Wrong by Steven Petrow. It should be a manadatory study for anyone over the age of 60. 

 

Find the old guy. Hiking group at Ciudad Perdida, Columbia in 2015.

Way back in 2015, when I was just a young pup of 63, I asked myself whether I would be smarter playing with people more my own age. As the picture above shows, the rest of my fellow hikers were not quite at my chronological level. It was a tough, damn hike. 

Yet the more I think about it, the less foolish such adventures seem. Yes, I could have a stroke or heart attack or be eaten by less-than-discriminating bears. But I could also, much more painfully, die of boredome and enui right here at home in my recliner.

Whether physical, mental, or mission-driven, challenges, I believe they slow the trip to the crematorium. Or at least make it more interesting.

Researching a hike to El Mirador...

Is anybody NOT ready? Hiking the Philmont Boy Scout Ranch

 

15-year-old grandson and 69-year-old grandpa completed a 55+ mile backpacking trip at the 220 square mile Philmont Boy Scout Ranch in New Mexico last week. Over the 12 days on the trail, we faced swollen river crossings, 11,000+ ft mountain peaks, hail and rain, and lots of steep rugged muddy trails. All 8 boys and 3 adults completed the trek without serious issues. 

Hiking Philmont was something I have wanted to do for 50 years since I was a Boy Scout myself. The Ranch was closed in 2019 for forest fires and 2020 for COVID, so I did not get to hike with the older grandson, but grandson #2 was willing and very able!  

A few highlights from the trip:

Grandson Miles’s Scout Troop is from the Kansas City area. The long tradition of the Scouts there is to take Amtrak to Raton NM, an overnight journey. This was the first train trip for most of the boys. All of us wore our “Class A” uniforms, including me. I borrowed the shirt from my son-in-law and my daughter sewed on my old patches from when I was a Scout in the 1960s. 

Our selected “trek” was in the southern part of the massive Philmont Boy Scout Ranch. Stated mileage was 54 miles, but that did not include the occasional extra distance due to missed trails, remote campsites, and side hikes. Daily hikes ranged from 3.4 to 7.7 miles - a deceptive number when elevation, low oxygen at high altitude, weather, and trail conditions were factored in.

After a night in base camp where we completed check-in and slept on cots in mud-floored permanent tents, we hit the trail. I worried for 6 months I would not be able to pass the blood pressure test given just before we left. No problem. My pack weighed about 35 pounds fully loaded - Miles’s pack a few pounds more. The boys carried the troop gear of cooking equipment, rain fly, and most of the food. I carried the toilet paper and trowel for digging cat holes - the most valuable goods.

The first task each afternoon was setting up camp, sometimes hurrying to get tents up before the usual late afternoon rain showers. The dining fly needed to be hung, bear bags secured, and supper prepared. The boys did the work. I bought a single light weight tent since I was the odd man out with everyone else sharing their tents’ weight and the set-up work. It was cozy but kept me dry. 

After a usual 5am wake-up, the day was spent hiking. Muddy, rock-strewn trails were the norm. One boy was the “pace-setter” and a second was the navigator, jobs that rotated among the crew. Before resuming the hiking after each break, the pace-setter would call out “Is anyone NOT ready?” and if there was no response, a supervisor would call out “Hike on!”

One of our shorter days was a hike along a swollen creek. We had over a dozen crossings - the rocks over which we could walk were under water, so we just waded through in our boots. Resulting in wet footwear for a couple days afterwards. Neither Miles nor I developed blisters, thanks, I think, to double socking.

It rained at least once every day except one while on the hike - and on three days we had hail! Mostly the rains fell late in the day, but on our layover day, three big systems swept through the area, frustrating attempts to dry some hand-washed clothes. Temps ranged from hot and muggy to quite chilly some nights. I slept wearing socks and a stocking cap - and once my sweatshirt. We were to wear separate “sleep clothes” to keep bears from being attracted to any food smells our day clothes may have acquired.

Over the course of the 12 days, we gained (and lost) 11, 194 feet with our highest elevation gain at Mount Phillips, ascending 2,503 feet to our campsite just shy of the peak on our fifth day. I was not much bothered by the altitude, but some of the hikers required regular stops to catch their breath. (I got short-winded bending down to tie my shoes or pull tent stakes.) Of course, the views were breathtaking. Even our boys were in awe and expressed their appreciation of the natural beauty before them.

On our second to the last day, we ascended the “Tooth of Time”, scrambling up 1,184 feet of rocks - tough going. Everyone but me then took a side hike to the top of the rock outcropping. I enjoyed the rest and hiking along the ridgeline trail.

The packages above were a typical breakfast (or lunch). High caloric density and lightweight, usually accompanied by crackers of some kind. Some kind of jerky or meat stick (often spicy to the dismay of we older hikers whose stomachs sometimes rebelled) was part of a couple meals each day. Evening meals were half-a-dozen freeze-dried backpacking meals all combined into a single pot. Before each meal, a blessing was said.

The days went quickly, but I think most of us were happy to get back to basecamp for a last night in “civilization” having missed showers and even sleeping on cots. Besides attending a required religious service and a closing ceremony (during a horrendous hail storm), we toured Wade Phillips mansion and the Boy Scout Museum. Later that afternoon, we bussed back to Raton to catch the train now heading east…

It’s hard to say enough about what a great group this was to travel with. The boys volunteered, were cheerful, and (for the most part) got along really well. They shouldered the bulk of the work without complaint. Our adult advisors, Mr K and Mr F, were patient, knowledgeable and had high expectations of every boy. Miles and the others are fortunate to have such mentors in their lives.

And my boy, Miles? I could not be prouder of not just his physical stamina and his hiking/camping skills, but of his consistently pleasant demeanor and his willingness to always volunteer. Oh, and his ability to put up with his old grandfather who probably embarrassed him on a daily basis.

Great trip! 

Link to additional photos from the hike.

If my Squarespace editor is acting up, so here is the link to the post as a GoogleDoc.

Raising children who are better people than you are

I still read the police log in my old “hometown” newspaper. It was a habit to scan the section just to make sure my son’s name was not in it. The reason? Because I had once appeared in my own hometown’s police log, and as they say, the acorn doesn’t fall far from the tree…

In 1970 I celebrated my 18th birthday with my coworkers from the Trojan Seed Corn plant where I had a summer job. One fellow, Jim, was in his early 20s and bought a case of beer which four of us drank as he drove us around town. When the beer was gone, Jim parked in an alley behind a bar and, obviously drunk, tried to get the bar to sell him more beer. Instead, the bartender called the cops who arrived shortly after, blocking the alley entrance. The problem with drinking on my 18th birthday was that Iowa law required one to be 21 before you could drink booze of any kind so I was ticketed for underage drinking, fined $35 by the Justice of the Peace, and released. I walked back to my truck, still parked at work, and drove home to the farm. Probably still under the influence.

A week later, my dad said that he read about me in the Sac Sun, the weekly town newspaper. Seems my arrest made the police log. He said that from then on, I needed to be home by 10. I replied that I was 18 and didn’t have to follow his rules anymore. He said as long as I was living in his house, I had to follow his rules. I moved out the next day, spending the rest of the summer sleeping in an old house some buddies rented to practice as a rock and roll band. While there was an outhouse, there was no running water, so I took a long dip in a gravel pit after work everyday. I was off to college a few weeks later.

I don’t think fathers should be celebrated on Father’s Day, rather the children they may have helped raise - especially children who turned out to be better people than they themselves are. I am one of those fortunate dads who really doesn't have to skim the police log. My two adult children are:

• Loving and caring
• Emotionally stable
• Physically healthy
• In good relationships
• Wonderful spouses and parents
• Financially independent
• Engaged in rewarding occupations
• Have a sense of adventure
• Still talking to their dad

I suspect most parents would do some things differently had they a “do-over” button for raising children - more time spent, more encouragement in different types of activities, better listening skills, more attention to healthy eating and exercise, etc. But for many of us, our children turned out to be quite wonderful people, despite rather than because, of our efforts.

Dads, celebrate your kids today. I will be.