Our trail this morning begins at a jeep road that passes within a few yards of the campsite, heading first west and then southwest. We move out at an easy pace but halt a few hundred yards later for pack adjustments and for water. We are particularly cautious about keeping plenty of fluids in our bodies because we know that the high elevation and low humidity can combine to bring on dehydration quickly. We move ahead but take a longer break a bit further up the trail when we reach a small patch of level ground.

This is an inviting place to shed our packs, though we haven't really covered much distance. Trees growing on either side of the trail shade us from the hot, mid-morning sun. But up ahead, where the tree canopy parts, we can see for the first time just where we are bound: up and around a massive ridge that seems to fill half the horizon.

Now the adventure truly begins. Jeff, our ranger, left us after breakfast. We are now on our own with only maps, compasses, the gear on our back and our own resources to sustain us. Once we begin ascending the ridge, it will be difficult to assess our progress because the steep slope and heavy tree growth will prevent us from seeing anything other than our immediate surroundings. However, I brought an altimeter from home and I'm hoping we can use this to tell how far we have climbed by comparing the altimeter reading to the elevation marks on the topo map. (The device works on barometric pressure: the higher you go, the less pressure exerted by the air. But if a storm front is moving in, that affects air pressure and can produce a false reading. So I'm not totally relying on it; just using it as a general guide.)

We're off and moving again now, hiking through stands of aspen, spruce and fir. Just ahead, at what the map tells us is the 9,600' contour, the jeep trail curves to the left and follows an arc to the ridge top at about 10,700'.

At Left: Trek 10 Profile

A foot trail continues straight and then veers to the right, taking a straighter course to the ridge top, where it meets the jeep trail. The foot trail looks shorter on the map, and not quite so steep. Besides, it is the recommended hiking practice at Philmont to follow foot trails when there is a choice. Foot trails usually are cooler, and they help keep jeeps and people from running into each other.

We choose the foot trail, which loses no time in plunging up a steep, rocky slope that appears to go on forever. Our pace slows appreciably here because of the leaner air mixture. Our rapid breathing shows we haven't completely acclimated yet to this high terrain.

Richard, who is leading, stops every now and then to allow crew members to catch their breath. Some take that as a signal to drop their backpacks and collapse to the ground, but we soon agree to take standing breaks to save time. In a standing break, you leave your backpack on but bend from the waist with your hands on your knees to take the strain off your back.

On we go, climbing all the while. When the land again offers us a bit of level space, we rest again and Mr. Hand, identifying the prevailing tree type here as spruce, recalls having chewed spruce gum as a boy. When asked what it was like, he pulls out his knife, moves to a spruce and, without damaging the tree, removes a resinous clump from the bark. This he pops in his mouth, chews vigorously for a while and soon he is smiling.

Everyone has to try this novel experience, so fingers soon are flying at various spruce trees in search of the raw material. Most, after trying it, said they agreed with Mr. Hand that the flavor lasted "a long, long time."

We pass the 10,000 foot mark as we continue up the trail. We haven't gotten as high as we are going, but already we are at a higher point than was reached on last year's trek. The top elevation last year was a little above 9,600', reached southwest of Black Mountain en route to Buck Creek.

Up to this point, the trail has been gaining elevation more or less through switchbacks. Now, however, it follows a rubble-strewn wash straight up the slope for several hundred yards. We hike most of that stretch, then pause for a breather. Ruben, losing his balance on a loose rock, wobbles precariously for a moment but recovers. Looking down the wash, he estimates he would have rolled a considerable distance if he hadn't caught his balance. We agree, and quickly move out before anyone else slips. Besides, there is very little shade here.

The trail's pitch becomes steeper now, but we can see, we think, some blue-gray sky just above the highest trees. And from somewhere up above comes the sound of some kind of motorized vehicle. Maybe a supply van headed for Cypher's Mine or points beyond.

The trail swings to the right and directly across the path lies a large, fallen tree which, despite its sharp angle, does provide something for weary hikers to rest briefly against. Then it is upward and onward again, and at last we top out.

We have linked up again with the jeep trail at about 10,580'. The ground is rocky and open here as though we were on the edge of the ridge. Through openings in the fir and spruce we catch glimpses to the north of what we believe to be Philmont's most famous peak: Mt. Baldy, the highest point on the ranch. Baldy should be about 12 miles away from us at this point, rising 12,441' into the sky.

Clearly it's time for a long break. For three reasons. One, It's a little past noon and the crew is hungry. Two, that was a tough climb and we are tired. Three, if we're where I think we are, either there is a minor problem with the map or we're not really where I think we are. When something like that happens, it's usually time for a break.

We rack our packs, locate the rations and sit down in the road to eat. Meanwhile, Richard and I mull over the map problem. Are we where we think we are or someplace else? It isn't unusual, we have been told, for Philmont roads and trails to be relocated and for the topo maps to be several years behind the times. That perhaps is what has happened here.

The essential question is whether we follow the jeep trail, which takes a hairpin turn to the left up the ridge, or whether we follow what appears to be a continuation of the foot trail directly oppose the point at which we intersected the jeep trail. The reason that appears to be at issue is that the map does not show the foot trail intersecting the jeep trail in the fashion that it has.

The way we handled such problems last year was to send out scouting parties for, say, five minutes' hike up disputed routes and have them return with information about what lay ahead. Thomas and Mitch volunteer to undertake that duty for us at this juncture and, after checking to see that they have at least one watch between them, we send them up the foot trail to check it out.

We are still waiting for their report when a Philmont vehicle comes zipping down the jeep trail. The driver sees us in plenty of time to make an easy stop and to exchange a friendly word or two. And what a surprise this turns out to be. Our visitor is David Bates, Philmont's senior director. I recognize him from previous trips he has made to Atlanta and introduce him to the crew members, with whom he exchanges Scout handshakes.

We take advantage of his visit to ask several questions, one of which is the obvious one: do we take the jeep trail or the foot trail? The jeep trail, he replies. Next, we ask a logistics questions we also have been debating during this lunch period. Should we attempt to do a conservation service project today en route to our scheduled stop at Red Hills Camp, or postpone that until Day 11 en route to Miner's Park.

In order to qualify for the coveted Philmont Arrowhead patch at the end of a trek, each crew must spend three hours working at a supervised conservation site. We will pass near two such sites on our trek. The one we will be near today is still several miles up the trail, and to reach it, we will have to hike 1.5 miles off route to Cypher's Mine. By the time we've put in the three hours and then hiked 1.5 miles back from Cypher's Mine, we would still have more hiking ahead to reach tonight's camp at Red Hills. The schedulers at base camp suggested we try to perform our service project here, however, reasoning we would be fresher earlier in the trek.

Mr. Bates suggests we forego the project today, since we still have much ground to cover, and instead shoot for completing it on Day 11, when our line of march appears to take us directly past the work site. That sounds to everyone like a really good idea.

Before he heads back down the jeep trail, he congratulates us on completing what he says is one of Philmont's hardest climbs and tells us the trail ahead is nowhere near as tough as where we've been. That's music to our ears.

Meanwhile, we're wondering where Mitch and Thomas are. It's been longer than five minutes and the Philmont sky is growing gray again. Richard and Ruben say they think they hear voices, so Ruben and Chip are sent in that direction to see what they can turn up. Meanwhile, Timmy and Richard go up the jeep trail a way to give us a scouting report on that part of the journey.

Soon, Chip, Ruben, Thomas and Mitch return safe and sound. The foot trail they were following was probably just a game trail and it petered out somewhere on the mountain before they realized it. Then they got slightly turned around trying to backtrack.

A few minutes later, Richard and Timmy return with the report that it's only a short haul up the jeep trail before we level out on the ridge. And the views from there, they say, are outstanding.

We saddle up again and push on, finding that it is, indeed, only a short climb until we level out on the ridge. And man, what a view! Way off behind us, Baldy rises to challenge angry rain clouds that are building in the north. To the west, far beyond Philmont's boundary, more purple peaks challenge darkening clouds for mastery of the horizon. We would like to linger here in this special place but the squall line persuades us we need to move on.

If we followed the ridge line, which forms Philmont's western boundary here, we would eventually ascend to Comanche Peak and then to Mt. Phillips. But our trek does not call for that today. Instead, we will drop below the ridge line and make our way to Red Hills Camp in a high mountain cove. Then tomorrow we will arc back up the ridge and try to conquer Mt. Phillips.

We drink in the scene just a little longer and Mr. Hand finds the words to put it all into perspective: "This must be what hiking is all about," he says.

Now we really do push on. The trail rises a bit and then begins a long descent, finally leveling off at a backcountry intersection.

The map shows three intersecting trails here, with one going to Mt. Phillips, another to Red Hills Camp and the third to Cypher's Mine. But in reality, there are four trails - not three - intersecting here. The signpost makes it clear that the trail on our right goes to Mt. Phillips and the trail on our left goes to Cypher's Mine. But which of the two middle trails is the one to Red Hills?

We send out scouting parties. While we are waiting for them to return, we encounter members of a crew we saw yesterday at Sawmill. They will be camping tonight atop Mount Phillips. While some of them begin relaying backpacks up the trail to Mount Phillips, others go to Cypher's Mine to fetch water. There is no water on Mount Phillips, as a warning notice on the signpost points out.

Our scouting parties return with some information about where the two middle trails lead, but nothing strong enough to base a decision on. Finally, we just have to assume that of the two middle trails, one is newer and therefore not shown on our maps - and therefore, not the trail we want. So, we begin hiking the other trail.

After a while we find a chain pulled across the trail. We're not sure this is a very good sign. However, there are unmistakable boot prints in the dried mud on the other side. So somebody has been this way in the not too distant past. We continue.

Beyond the chain, the trail begins a steady, uphill climb around the eastern flank of Comanche Peak, holding fairly steady at an elevation of about 10,400'. Every now and then, we are treated to glimpses of the jagged ridge line far above as we follow the undulating contours of the trail. Then the trail winds around to an incredible overlook of the whole area. It is a humbling experience. We feel very small.

Finding a hole in the cloud cover, the sun begins to beat down on us now as we continue our march through these red hills. There is no shade here. The trail has been gouged out of the mountain side, so no trees grow here to fend off the sun's intense rays. The soil is red as Georgia's famous clay, apparently derived from the pink granodiorite which occurs here.

Pushing further, we see why the trail was chained off: erosion. Water gushing down the barren mountainside has left gaping holes at the edge of the trail. And now it looks like we may be about to see some of that erosion in action. The sun has disappeared behind the clouds again and the skies are rapidly darkening. We take another break to put on raingear and pack covers. A light rain falls, then stops. It leaves the day muggy and forces us to stop and shed the raingear.

Now another hiking problem pops up. The trail deadends into an earth-and-log heap, clearly intended to force vehicles at least to divert onto a newly constructed branch to the right. A foot trail continues on the other side of the barrier, and we see boot prints there. But we also see boot prints leading up the new jeep trail to the right.

The crew decides to cross the barrier and continue on the foot trail. Only after that decision is made does Mr. Hand point out what he, alone, has noticed: a trail sign in the form of an arrow pointing toward the foot trail. I think he was planning to point it out if the crew had made any other decision. We stop to enlarge the sign to make it more visible to crews which follow. Crews such as our sister crew, in fact.

Our sister crew catches up with us a little further down the trail as we take another rest break. Scoutmaster Randy Lewis tells us they had decided to undertake the conservation program today but ran into unforeseen complications. After hiking down to Cypher's Mine, they were told the project site was even further away. He sent his Scouts out to find it, but they returned saying they missed it. So they hiked back up from Cypher's Mine, re-connected with this trail and here they are. Or, rather, there they go, striking up a marching tune and heading down the trail.

We follow soon after and begin getting great views of Black Mountain off to the east and we know that Tooth Ridge is directly east of that. It's nice to see some old familiar landmarks out here.

But we're still looking for another important landmark today - a fork to the right that will take us to Red Hills Camp. If we continue much longer on this foot trail, we'll get to Tooth Ridge long before we are scheduled to do so. At one point, we come upon a place where a massive tree has fallen across the road and spy what appears to be a branch of the trail to the right. But Holy Toledo! The thing goes straight up the mountainside at what must be a 60 or 70-degree angle. We send out a scouting party, which concludes that isn't the path we want.

On we go, past the tree, and run into our sister crew caught, as we have been for part of this day, on the horns of a dilemma. Two trails diverge here. One appears to stay at grade. The other slopes downhill. Randy and his crew are studying their maps. We stop, shed our backpacks and rest while our scouting parties go out. Our pathfinders return with the report that the top trail peters out and the lower trail is the one we want. We saddle up and head down the trail, passing our sister crew which is now taking a break. We pass on our scouting reports as we go by.

The trail narrows now and takes us perilously close to the edge of a sharply-eroded slope. We negotiate this without incident, however, and soon find the cutoff we are seeking. It's even marked with a trail sign! So up we go, following this new trail up yet another mountain slope, then topping out, then descending steeply into a lush, narrow valley with a delightful stream - Comanche Creek - running through it.

At last we are here. Red Hills Camp. A cool, high mountain glen shaded by Comanche Peak and Mt. Phillips on the west and Big Red and Bonita Peak on the east. The two crews will be the only campers here tonight, but nobody seems to mind. That simply means we can pick and choose among the campsites.

Camp is quickly set up. It is dry here now although there is a considerable amount of dampness still in the air from earlier rains. So there's no point in setting up a clothes line to dry our clothes.

It has taken us from 9 a.m. to 6 p.m. to complete the hike this day, a jaunt of only about six miles. But those were six tough miles on only our second day of real hiking. And when decisions were called for, we were fortunate enough to make the right ones, including waiting for Day 11 to tackle the conservation project.

Tomorrow will bring a tougher challenge. We'll be going up and over Mt. Phillips on our longest hiking day of the entire trek, a nine-miler. That's on our minds as we prepare supper, eat a filling meal, hang the bear bags, clean the utensils and discover that we have just a bit of daylight left to tend to blisters or tend to personal gear.

It's peaceful here, though it's growing chill in the twilight. A kind of physical glow sets in - the kind that follows a day of hard work. It's nice to think back on how far we've come and how well we have done. The crew is in good spirits. The teamwork and leadership are just terrific. As twilight fades, we hit the sleeping bags and let the cheerful, splashing sounds of Comanche Creek lull us to sleep.