The first few hundred yards of trail drive straight up the slope over a bed of broken rock. After that, a couple of steep switchbacks offer some relief, but not much. We don't linger to meditate. We simply plunge ahead, our boots regularly dislodging broken chunks of rock and sending them tumbling down the trail.

We gain a bit of elevation, then pause to catch our breath. We continue, then pause some more. A closely-following crew passes by. Wonder where they are getting that surge of energy this morning? Then up and pause, up and gasp for breath, up and rest some more.

Over our shoulders, Black Mountain rises to meet the dawning day, its massive bulk now in full view. High above us and beyond the tree line on Shaefer's Peak, the sun has broken the horizon, promising a glorious day.

On we go, struggling to move our trail-sore bodies and heavy packs up what surely most be one of the hardest climbs on our trek. Thankfully, it is a relatively short one, and 45 minutes after starting, we are standing atop the chilly, wind-swept top of Shaefer's Peak with a few dozen other hikers who have preceded us this morning.

Photo at Left: Sun rise at Shaefer's Peak. Photo by my son, Chip

The view is so magnificent it almost hurts. Below us, Philmont's Central Country is shimmering in that fragile, sparkling light that comes just after dawn. The long, green valleys and the folded mountains rising above them are bathed in a dewy, pastel hue while the sun, just edging over the horizon, sets Webster Lake far below ablaze with golden fire. Deer Lake Mesa and Cimarroncito still show deep shadows, but Baldy's rocky top is easy to see.

We consider having breakfast here, but after taking many, many pictures, we decide to move further down the trail.

From Shaefer's Peak, the trail descends for a while over a trail of broken rock. We encounter one tantalizing view of the Tooth of Time, but then the landmark disappears behind the intervening land.

Initially, Tooth Ridge is quite different from what it might be imagined to be when seen from many miles away. A substantial tree cover, not readily apparent from a distance, obscures the view in places. Thus, it does not immediately leave hikers with the sense that they are traversing a towering ridge crest. But in other places, the tree cover parts and we can see for miles as we make our way across acres of broken rock piled many feet deep. Now we feel we are on Tooth Ridge with only sky above, precariously-balanced rocks below our boots and incredible views on every side. Yep. This is why we go hiking.

There is talk of hunger now, so Richard begins looking around for a likely spot. He ultimately selects a rock pile facing south. We shed our packs, grab our last remaining meal packs, and scamper up the rocks to find precarious perches overlooking North Fork Urraca, hundreds of feet below.

From here, we can see the distinctive flat top and sheer cliffs of Urraca Mesa towering like a mighty fortress above the mountain stream. Adjacent to Urraca Mesa is tree-covered Fowler Mesa, and maybe somewhere we can even see Crater Lake from here. We aren't quite sure.

A curious and hungry minibear draws our attention back to the rocks. We watch in amusement as he darts in and out of the crevices, looking for errant Cheerios from our breakfast this morning.

We eat well but do not linger. Once done with breakfast, we scramble back down the rocks, saddle up and hit the trail.

There is one place we must stop - a lookout we found last year with stunning views north to Deer Lake Mesa and beyond. Gnarled pines, hardy survivors of untold seasons here, frame the view as we take a crew picture.

We push on. Not far ahead, the trail bends to the right and wanders toward the shoulder of the ridge. There, directly ahead, turning a broad, steep rock face to the valley before, is the Tooth. It's not far as the crow flies, but we're not crows and we can't get there from this particular point. So the trail now curves back to the left and over to the other side of the ridge, where it loses a substantial amount of altitude over the next mile or so. Following that, there is an uphill climb to regain a bit of elevation.

As it turns out, we have made a wide, half-circle march around the Tooth to approach it from its easier, eastern side. And just up ahead is the point at which the trail to the top of the Tooth splits off from the main trail. Several crews already have racked packs here to make the climb up to the Tooth. A returning crew tells us it is about a half-hour hike to the top of Scouting's most famous landmark.

Everything looks "go" for us to make the ascent, too. It's only 8 a.m. We've easily got time to do the hike and still reach base camp in time for lunch in the dining hall. The weather couldn't be better. The sun is now warm but not hot. The sky is bright blue. Not a trace of bad weather anywhere!

Leaving our packs racked but taking our canteens with us, we set off up the side trail. It is a gentle slope at first but soon it becomes an adventure in bouldering. A sharp turn to the right leads us into the boulder field. For the first few hundred feet, the track is easy to follow. Boulders have been rolled aside and countless footsteps have worn a smooth path. After that, however, the trail is less distinct and there are strategic choices to be made: around this cluster of boulders or over it? Through this gap or around it? This is hand-over-hand territory, with the going hard and slow.

The advisors are stopping frequently, but the crew members scoot on ahead as if the exertion was nothing. Finally, the boulder field plays out, leaving only one last slick-rock stretch to surmount. The crew, by this time at the summit, points out the "easy" way for the advisors. And eventually, we all are atop the Tooth of Time.

We are here! We have made it! And is it so special? Yes!

For a moment, there is an awed silence as we attempt to take in the view. It is almost too much to absorb at one time.

From our tiny, rocky perch, the land falls away on all sides and gives us a panoramic view of green valleys, timbered mountains and snow-capped peaks on the horizon. We can follow the course of jeep trails meandering from the plains to the high country. We can partially trace our wanderings through the mountains. We can see clearly now the landscape that before we could only see in part. It is a thrilling moment.

And what, exactly, is at the top? Weather-worn Dacite Porphyry and two brass surveyors' benchmarks permanently cemented into the rock. It seems to be only a myth that there are markers here to commemorate the three Scouts supposed to have been struck by lightning on this exposed point.

We take many pictures and explore the top a bit.

Photo At Left: The Crew Atop The Tooth

Ruben once again manages to sum up the collective experience in an eloquent - though completely silent - gesture. Walking toward a perilous position, his back toward the crew, he stands atop a rock pile and stretches both arms up to the sky in pure exuberance.

Reluctantly, we decide it is time to descend. Back down we go over the slick-rock slope and boulder field, some of us sliding part way on our rear ends. The descent, of course, is much faster than the ascent. So before long we are back at the trail head and our packs. We are in the process of saddling up when Mr. Hand pulls out a cache of food. Obviously, a little more rest is in order here.

The smell of munchies brings a doe sauntering up from the woods. She pauses just out of reach and pretends to browse. She is, however, begging, and we all know that. Still, we have been cautioned not to feed animals lest they become dependent upon hikers for their food supply and then perish when the hikers have gone. We do not feed her.

Saddled-up again, we strike out down the trail, leaving the spectacular views behind and entering an area overhung with a thick tree canopy. The trail is rocky and descends at a steep angle. At one point, the cook pot strapped to Mitch's backpack takes it upon itself to slide off and go bouncing down into the woods. Ruben is off after it like a shot, followed quickly by Richard. The utensil is retrieved and, surprisingly, shows no sign of damage. It is securely re-fastened to the pack.

The path now brings us to a trail camp bounded at one end by a broad rock outcropping maybe 30 feet high. This is Tooth Ridge Camp, nestled snugly among the pines and gray granite. It looks perfect for camping.

The trail forks here but for some reason there are no signs to direct through-hikers. We fret over the map a bit, then set out in the direction we think is correct.

The trail gains a bit of elevation and then wanders out onto an exposed edge of the ridge. The trail narrows and comes precariously close to a steep dropoff as it rounds a bend. But we soon pass that area and find shelter from the hot sun as we reach tree cover.

Another trail splits off now and once again we pause for a minute to get a fix on things. We make our decision and find a trail sign up ahead which confirms we are on the right track.

The plant life changes as we continue down the trail and lose more elevation. Now we are in a region of juniper and low-growing shrubs, sun-baked rock and red dirt. Descending steeply, we soon reach a point where the tree canopy disappears completely and there, sprawling on the plains before us, is the place we left so many days ago.

The sight of Philmont Base Camp cheers us. As we make our way through what is now an open expanse of bushes and cactus and yucca, we think it cannot be long before we are back "home." But we are wrong.

That glimpse of Philmont is deceiving. That, of course, is our destination, but the trail does not take us straight to base. Instead, it winds down the long, tapering, easternmost side of Tooth Ridge by spiraling to the other side, rounding the point and then descending ever so slowly the side that faces base camp.

The sun is blazing now. The trail is steep and rocky. Down and around we go and now base camp is hidden from view. We see, instead, Webster Lake, our gateway to the back country long days ago. Down we go. Our toes are being pressed into the tips of our boots by the steep angle of descent. The sun continues to beat down upon us. Base camp is beginning to seem a long way off. Perhaps a mirage.

Around the corner, base camp reappears. We surely must be on the final leg. The neat rows of canvas tents come into view along with the red-roofed Philmont buildings.

Down we go, finally reaching level ground on the dry, dusty plains. We cross an arroyo and then a little stream where several crew members spot fish, and at last we pass through a gatepost where a glorious sign proclaims:

Philmont, we're back! To our left, rows of ranger tents come into view, some occupied by off-duty rangers. Several hail us and ask about our trek. We wave but do not linger. Lunch is calling our names. And before we hit the dining hall, it would be nice to get rid of our cooking gear, tents and dining fly. It's a little after 11:30 a.m. now, but we can get all of that done and out of the way if we push a bit. Then, the most troublesome part of the check-in process will be out of the way.

While Richard and Mr. Hand take the crew to the equipment check-in point, I double-time it over to the Welcome Station to obtain the check-in list we need, and to secure tent assignments in the outgoing camper area.

The check-in list is another one of those important Philmont documents. It must be stamped at 9 or 10 different places around camp before a crew can be cleared to leave. One of those places is the quartermaster's store, where the crew must hang all of the tents and the tarp for inspection and have the cooking gear looked at before any of it will be accepted for storage and our check list stamped.

We manage to get that done just in the nick of time before the staff breaks for lunch. Now we won't have to come back and do it after lunch. All the gear checks out okay. We haven't lost anything or damaged anything, so we don't have to take up a collection to replace or repair any trail equipment.

Next item of business - REAL food!

But wait - what's this? A crew ahead of us has just been turned away by a staffer at the dining hall. We wait a few paces behind as Richard goes to the staffer to get clearance to enter. He is turned away, too. It turns out we were scheduled to eat a trail lunch today and had been issued food for that purpose. Evidently, we had double rations one day without realizing it.

The matter is quickly resolved when we offer to pay for lunch, and the reasonable cost is well worth it for our first cafeteria meal in a long, long time. We do, in fact, enjoy our lunch and we make repeated trips to the juice bar. It is particularly nice to sit in chairs at a table with the food elevated above ground level. Funny what you don't realize you've missed out there on the trail.

After lunch, we return to the quartermaster's store to retrieve our packs and to get squared away in our tents for the night.

Then, it is time to do laundry, check lost-and-found, pick up our crew medical forms, pick up and pay for our crew pictures and do myriad and sundry other things. The check-in list, of course, must be stamped at each station, but that's something the advisors can do. Crew members are turned loose to shower or to visit the trading post or snack bar.

Chip, Thomas and Daniel volunteer for laundry duty. Each crew member is allowed to put a complete uniform and change of underwear in the wash, and that's it. We're just getting clean for tomorrow's return trip, not doing two weeks' worth of laundry, But that will be sufficient. The entire load is carried to the base laundry room and quarters are fed repeatedly into the washing machines and dryers until it is done.

During the afternoon, we run into Jeff, our ranger, who is in the process of readying another crew for the trail.

Also, Richard, Timmy and I head over to the Philmont Museum and Seton Library to see if they will consider placing a copy of our journal of last year's trek in their files. We were soon met by Stephen Zimmer, Philmont's director of museums, who graciously accepted a copy. He told us that in all of Philmont's 50 years, only 15 such journals had been given to the library. He suggested we might wish to send him a copy of this year's journal, too. Thus, as you read or re-read these pages, you can also know that a copy is reposing somewhere in the files of Philmont, itself.

The rest of the afternoon is given over to showering, visiting the trading post, munching-out at the snack bar and the like. Just before dressing in Class A's for dinner, we gather the crew in one of the tents and place our signatures on a freshly-purchased Philmont topo map to be framed once we return home.

Supper is a treat tonight. It's buffalo burger. Some of us suspect that a good deal of hamburger has been mixed in. Still, it is a traditional food here at Philmont and it is very good.

After supper, there is more time to kill but it does not hang heavy on us at all. Some wander down to the snack bar where, on an adjacent open-air porch, patch-traders are busy swapping. Some collect and trade only council strips. Some are interested only in Order of the Arrow pocket flaps. We watch the process with interest as traders appraise each others' goods and make offers which are sometimes accepted, sometimes not.

As twilight approaches, it is time for all outgoing crews to form at the dining hall for the short hike to the closing campfire arena. For this event, instead of crossing the highway and heading east as incoming campers do for the opening ceremony, we simply head west through tent city towards Tooth Ridge and find seats in the arena.

The master of ceremonies tonight, as last year, is Todd Conklin, a very funny radio personality from Albuquerque, who draws hearty laughter poking fun at crew leaders, crew advisors, crew members, the freeze-dried food and the bombadier seats on the trail. In between the jokes, he plays a mean, amplified acoustic guitar, mixes some rock songs with trail songs, and keeps his audience spellbound as night falls over camp.

He strikes a responsive chord with the audience when he belts out a song about New Mexico rain. We've certainly seen a good deal of that these past few days.

Then he asks crew leaders to form a semi-circle around the campfire and to bring their crew flags - miniature American flags - with them. Advisors are then asked to line up behind their crew leaders, and the crew leaders are asked to present the flags to their advisors.

The Philmont Arrowhead patches, specially designed this year with a gold border and a "50" on them, are given in bulk to representatives of each contingent - a proud moment. And then the campfire closes with everyone singing, one last time, the Philmont Hymn. As the notes fade into the darkness, we make our way to the tents to spend our final night on Philmont ground.

It seems strange to sleep on a mattress with creaky springs underneath after so many nights on the ground, and I, for one, would like a little more time to relish these final hours in a land where we've packed so much living into so little time. But sleep overtakes us and the last day is done.