It is a steep but short hike up to where the trail more-or-less levels out, a point roughly 400 feet above the Rayado Creek. The trail will stay generally at this elevation for the entire journey through the canyon, although there will be places where it dips and rises like a roller-coaster.

We pause for a moment in a clearing to shed our sweatshirts and jackets. The day is bright, blue and sunny, and the exercise already has made us too warm to wear that gear. As we make ourselves more comfortable, we realize we have climbed high enough to begin seeing some of this spectacular canyon country.

Across from us, Lookout Peak stands guard duty over this section of the canyon, with fir trees marching up its rocky, folded slopes as far as they dare.

On we go, sometimes under the shade of forest and sometimes across rocky, barren places with no protection from the sun's glare.

Our pace is strong and steady. We seem to have found our Philmont stride after spending the first part of the trek growing accustomed to the altitude and letting our backs grow accustomed to carrying these loads. Our leg muscles seem to be growing stronger with each day on the trail.

There are, of course, some aches and pains among us. Many of us have bruises from the waist strap of the backpacks. A few of us have sore feet. But so far no blisters have been serious enough to impede our progress. We have been careful to stop and treat it whenever anyone has felt a "hot spot," which, without the use of mole skin, would become a blister.

The trail rounds a bend, gains a bit of elevation and then leads us into a clearing which offers wonderful new canyon vistas. Far below, shimmering in the sun, Rayado Creek courses its way east. We catch occasional glimpses of it through the trees densely lining its banks. Down the canyon, towering peaks and broad mesas stretch toward a blue sky as far as the eye can see. Picture- perfect is a phrase that comes to mind.

At last we press on, leaving the clearing and hiking now through a forested area which allows only occasional glimpses of the canyon. Still, those views make it difficult for us to keep our eyes on the trail ahead. And suddenly, our sister crew comes charging through, full of vim and vigor after a great re-charge day at Fish Camp.

Photo at Left: The Crags

We begin glimpsing a landmark known as "The Crags" while we are yet some distance from it. This geologic feature is composed of several jagged red cliffs jutting out from Crater Peak. Had we been here 2 million years ago, we would have seen lava erupting from a vent just behind those cliffs.

We continue hiking and take pictures of the feature from many different angles until we can no longer see it well.

The trail now leads us through a rugged boulder field, possibly the result of a landslide some time in the past. Trail crews have been at work here, clearing the boulders away from a portion of the field so that hikers can pass with little difficulty.

Up to this point, it has been difficult to tell exactly how far we have gone. Now, however, we have reached a point where the lower Rayado trail intersects the trail we are hiking. This allows us to pinpoint our location precisely on the map. It also gives us an opportunity to stop for lunch.

The lower Rayado trail leads down into the valley, where it parallels the Rayado for a couple of miles and comes out just above New Abreu. It has been closed to hikers for a number of years, we are told. It is steep and narrow, but it does serve to allow us to move off the main trail - which also is narrow - and spread ourselves out to have lunch.

This is a superb spot for lunch because of the spectacular views. We do not rush our lunch, but we do not dawdle, either. Having pinpointed our position on the map, we know we are only half-way through the hike. So when everyone is finished, we saddle up and trudge on down the trail.

After a while, we can see that the opposite rim is beginning to taper down to the plains. It won't be too many more miles! As we push on, the trail bends around a curve and takes us through the welcome shade of a pine forest. In a little glen not far away, we come to a mossy cliff with fresh water trickling down its rock face, almost like a scene from the Appalachians back home.

On we go down the trail, the shade and the forest almost making us forget that we are hiking a canyon slope. But there's no forgetting when the trail leads us abruptly into the glare of the sun on an exposed, rocky shoulder from which we can see the gorge in practically every direction. It is an odd feeling to go so suddenly from sheltering forest to chasm's brink! We find ourselves using hands to steady ourselves as the trail twists sharply to the right and climbs steeply over broken rock. A long drop seems only a few missteps away. Fortunately, however, this is not a long climb. The trail tops out by plunging through the middle of what had been a massive boulder until a notch was blasted through it years ago. Not surprisingly, this point is called "The Notch."

From the top, a view through the Notch frames a terrific view of the canyon, and we plan to take a crew picture here as we did with last year's crew. There is, however, one minor difficulty. Our sister crew has chosen this spot for lunch. They graciously uproot themselves to allow us to take our picture, and then we move on.

The trail briefly re-enters a forested area as it begins its descent from Rimrock Mesa, but as the trail wanders out to the mesa's edge, the forest gives way to a kind of jungle in which hundreds or perhaps thousands of shoulder-high oak trees are densely packed together on all sides. A Philmont trail crew, which we see just ahead of us, has thinned the trees where they were growing together across the trail. That's made our path a bit easier. No doubt over time some of the oaks will mature and others will be crowded out, leaving a shady, forested area. Already, some of our veterans think the oaks are taller than when we passed this way last year.

Down the side of the mesa we go, taking a water break under the only real shade tree we can find. We make it a short one, since we aren't very far from our destination. Besides, we can hear our sister crew not far behind us and we seem to have gotten into a kind of competition to be first into camp today.

As the descent continues, we begin wondering whether Ruben will be at New Abreu to meet us. There is some speculation that during the couple of days he spent at the health lodge, he may have gotten everyone at base camp singing "La Bamba," which is a big hit on the radio this year. Earlier in the trek, Ruben and the crew had been breaking into a rousing chorus of "La Bamba" at various points along the trail. By now, most of us can repeat at least a half- dozen of the first few words of the song in Spanish.

The trail finally reaches shade and soon we can see the Rayado about 100 feet below us, churning and foamy as it emerges from its turbulent spin through the canyon and begins settling down for a more sedate run through the wide, flat plains.

As the trail bottoms out it leads through the remnants of Rimrock Park Camp. A few concrete slabs, some twisted pipe, a rock fireplace or two and some pieces of wood are about all that is left of this place. We are told it was one of several camps _ Old Abreu was another _ devastated in 1965 when Philmont was hit by torrential rains just before camp was due to open. The swollen Rayado stormed out of its banks and destroyed everything in its path. There was damage from one end of camp to another, but South Country seemed hardest hit. As a result, Abreu camp was moved east to its present position and renamed New Abreu. Rimrock Park Camp was closed. The flood now is spoken of as "THE Flood" at Philmont, and crews setting out on treks are warned extensively of the dangers of flooding.

Our last tricky crossing of the Rayado occurs nearby, where a rock-and- log bridge requires some fancy footwork. Safely across, we stop for a long rest break since we've been pushing pretty hard to get down from the hot mesa. Our sister crew slides on past us at this point. Looks like they'll win the unspoken competition today.

Camp is only a mile or so away as we saddle up and step into a decidedly different landscape.

Down from the mountains, we are now in a region of gray soil, low- growing Pinyon Pine and reddish-brown volcanic rock; the kind of landscape you might see in black-and-white cowboy movies of the 1940s or 1950s.

The trail now has become a jeep road, and it is a bit muddy from previous rains. But it soon leads to the welcome site of New Abreu Camp, set in a broad meadow and bounded on the north by low hills that serve as stepping stones to the two big mesas beyond.

Ruben, grinning, is waiting for us at New Abreu lodge. The rangers quickly greet us and lead us to our campsite for the night. It is only 1:15 p.m., so we've got the entire afternoon before us.

New Abreu is a re-charge zone for foot-sore, trail-weary hikers. Everything seems designed for relaxation. There is, of course, the Mexican Cantina, housed in a small building made of adobe brick which has been poured and sun-baked right on the spot. It is cool inside with a few tables and chairs spread around the sawdust floor. The bar is stocked with root beer and a wide assortment of snacks.

The campsites are on the opposite bank, many of them scattered along the creek. The Rayado has lost much of its turbulence here but it still is a respectable waterway and is not to be underestimated. The terrain is rocky, but the low-growing pines provide plenty of shade for the campsites.

Ruben quickly fills us in on his adventures since we parted at Phillips Junction. The medics found that his injury was more serious than they first believed, but treated him with whirlpool baths and pronounced him fit to return to the trail.

No, he insists, he did not get everyone at base camp singing "La Bamba." But he does confide that a ranger helped him sneak into the ranger recreational facility one evening and allowed him to watch movies on a VCR and play pool.

At Left: Kickin' Back At The Cantina

Of course, Ruben also had to tough it out on a mattress for several days with a roof over his head. But that's a small price to pay.

Ruben also treats us to two cool pitchers of root beer at the Cantina. This is truly a Good Turn, since most of the rest of us have run out of trail money. The cool Cantina and the frosty root beer prove a tonic for us. Soon, we're charged up again, ready to saddle up and get the ranger to show us to our site.

Across the Rayado we go, this time on a nice plank bridge. The ranger chooses a close-in site not too far from the river. We hastily drop our gear, grab our soap and towels and zip down to the showers for our first clean-up in a real shower in five days.

The showers at New Abreu are among the best we've encountered at Philmont. The water is hot and under pressure, so these showers massage your aching muscles as well as get you clean. This is living!

Back at our campsite, we quickly set up tents and the dining fly and divide ourselves into two groups - those who want to fish and those who want to participate in the "adobe case" program here. Mr. Hand and I volunteer to do cooking chores for the evening so the Scouts will have more time for fun.

The fishermen among us discover there only are three flyrods available at New Abreu and all have been checked out. But Richard is undeterred by this news. Checking into the matter a bit further, he finds that the staffers have bits and pieces of other rods and reels that don't work. So Richard and several other crew members decide they'll just hike up to the lodge to see what they can put together from the fragments. They wind up with a couple of make-shift but usable fishing outfits. The result? Richard, Tim, Geoffrey and Ruben wind up with some pretty good fish from the Rayado, but give them to the rangers, who no doubt will dine on trout tonight.

Meanwhile, participants in the adobe casa program first listen to a lecture in the Cantina on adobe architecture, then go to a nearby pit where they combine soil, sand and water to the proper consistency and then pour the mixture into a wooden form.

The program ranger is new at this, so Mr. Hand gives her some help by explaining some of the technical aspects about how and why the ingredients combine to make a suitable building material.

We will never know whether the brick we made here turned out to be usable for some future construction project at New Abreu. The brick must bake in the sun for a week before it can be taken out of the wooden form. Some have been known to crumble at that point. Nevertheless, we inscribed our crew number in the moist material on the chance that it would endure and thus record our visit here for years into the future.

Hiking back across the river, we decide it's time to start the cooking process in order to have supper ready by 6:30 p.m. or so. Daniel and Thomas volunteer to pitch in with the chores. None of the crew members seemed interested in participating in the other major program here - burro racing. The veterans did it last year and say it's too much exertion for this late in the afternoon.

Cooking operations are well underway when a sprinkle of rain convinces us to move the whole kit and caboodle under the dining fly. Until that time, we had been watching the approaching clouds but had not been overly concerned. Now we're concerned and we step lively to get everything under cover.

The fishermen manage to join us under the fly as the sky lets loose a barrage of pea-sized hail. After five or 10 minutes, that is followed by a gut-busting downpour that turns the campsite into a swamp and makes it treacherous to do anything but crouch under the tarp.

The cloudburst lasts and lasts and, if anything, becomes more intense. Now, fierce lightning strikes join the sensory bombardment, hitting somewhere in the vicinity of Urraca Mesa. The accompanying thunder rattles off the mountain sides and echoes down the canyon. We are not happy with this. We are intensely tired of rainy weather. But there is nothing to do but sit and wait and eat a hot meal.

As we have done so many other times on this trek, we get through it. Dinner is hot and filling and it is topped off with cream pie, a real treat. Dishes are done. The tents, however, have not all made it through the drenching in good shape. Timmy and Daniel's tent is flooded. So Daniel moves his sleeping gear in with Mitch and Geoffrey, while Timmy moves in with Richard and Ruben. It's crowded - but dry.

That done and the rain now slackening, we hike back across the rain- swollen and angry Rayado to the main building. Mr. Hand and I join other advisors for coffee on the front porch. The crew members head over to the Cantina. We learn from the rangers that we should take extra precautions with our smellables tonight because a mother bear and two cubs - all wearing radio tags - have been detected in the general vicinity.

After an hour or so, a drizzly darkness falls over camp. Mr. Hand and I make our way over to the Cantina to drag the crew members back to camp.

Oh, but what's this? The rangers just happen to have a tape player and a copy of the "La Bamba" tape. Ruben for the past few minutes has been singing along with the tape, and now the "barkeep" wants to hear it one more time in exchange for a free glass of root beer. Ruben turns in a stirling performance that draws cheers and applause from our guys and several other crews helping close the place down.

The "barkeep" is a friendly guy, and our crew lingers a bit after the others have left. Somehow, they get him talking about Urraca Mesa which is looming behind us. He notes that there was supposed to be some big gathering of rangers atop the mesa tonight, but supposes that has been rained out. The event is supposed to happen monthly when there is a full moon. Why? Because of the ghost stories woven about this prominent Philmont landmark.

One story involves the Lost Scout, who disappeared on Urraca Mesa in the 1950s. Then there is a story about a bull with blue eyes. Finally, there is the story of the Urraca Mesa campers who, wondering about a campfire on a nearby peak, wandered over there only to discover they were back where they had begun. Some sort of time warp, I suppose.

After hearing about these ghost stories, someone suddenly remembers an experience we had just today. Back in the Rayado Canyon, we all heard what sounded like a Scout calling out. We could not tell from which direction the sound came, but some thought it might have come from down below at the creek. We spent a little time calling out and even blowing a whistle, but we got no response and heard no more sounds, and after a while we pushed on. Maybe there's a little something to that story about the Lost Scout.

But now it's time to go. Rain is falling again as we set off back to camp. We have only one flashlight among us. Lightning is flashing again over Urraca Mesa. Thunder echoes down the canyon.

We still must hang the bear bags. Once that is done, we have a little more excitement when Chip and Thomas declare they have just seen a skunk run under the dining flight. A cautious peak discloses it now is gone.

And so to bed. Tomorrow, we return to the high country and the hike doesn't look easy. We go to sleep with rain drumming against our tents and thunder crashing somewhere out in this wild, untamed country.