As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, I was honored to have the opportunity to serve as a program counselor at two different staffed camps in the Philmont Scout Ranch backcountry.

Ranching at Beaubien Camp

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At Beaubien in 1995, I welcomed thousands of Scouts and adult Advisors to the porch of one of the biggest and busiest camps on the ranch. I, helped our guests prepare a chuck wagon style dinner (beef stew…with real meat…which is quite a treat when you’ve been eating nothing but rehydrated dehydrated backpacking food for several days in a row), discussed cattle branding and roping, and entertained the masses with an evening campfire full of stories, poetry, and the occasional song. We were known for striking ridiculous poses whenever someone tried to take a picture during the campfire. And we may or may not have occasionally hijacked those cameras and taken some fabulous selfies before selfies were cool.

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Philmont Hymn

We closed each campfire inviting everyone to join us in singing the Philmont Hymn. The story goes that a Camper wrote this song after coming off the trail. If I remember correctly, he wrote it to the beat of the clickety-clack of the tracks on his train ride home.

Silver on the sage,
Starlit skies above,
Aspen covered hills,
Country that I love.
Philmont, here's to thee,
Scouting Paradise.
Out in God's Country
Tonight.

Wind in whisp'ring pines.
Eagles soaring high.
Purple mountains rise
Against an azure sky.
Philmont, here's to thee,
Scouting Paradise.
Out in God's Country
Tonight.

I even got to invite my dad to join us up on “stage” to sing this with us the night my Scout troop was there. It was one of those special, memorable moments.

Night Rider’s Lament

There was another song, though, that was only sung on occasion. But it really spoke to me. It’s called Night Rider’s Lament.

One night while I was out riding'
Graveyard shift, midnight 'till dawn.
Moon was as bright as a reading light
For a letter from an old friend back home.

He said, "Last night, I run into Jenny.
She's married and has a good life.
Boy, you sure missed the track
When you never came back.
She's the perfect professional's wife.

"She asked me 'Why does he ride for the money?
Why does he rope for short pay?
He ain't gettin' nowhere
And he's losing his share.
Oh, he must've gone crazy out there."

Well I read up the last of my letters
And tore off a stamp for Black Jim.
Billy rode up to relieve me.
He just looked at my letters and grinned.

He asked me, "Why do you ride for the money?
Why do you rope for short pay?
You ain't gettinn' nowhere
And you're losing your share.
Oh, you must've gone crazy out there."

But they've never seen the Northern Lights.
They've never seen a hawk on the wing.
They ain't never seen a stream
Hit the great divide.
And they've never heard ol' camp cookie sing.

I think this song meant more to me after returning from my year at Beaubien than it did while I was there. I knew exactly how that night rider felt. At that time, I had a girlfriend who didn’t understand my love affair with the Philmont backcountry. No, her name wasn’t Jenny (like in the song), but it might as well have been. She expressed the exact same sentiment. I tried to help her understand. She even visited Base Camp when my parents drove out to bring me home at the end of the summer. But she just couldn’t wrap her head around it.

Now, I’m not going to say that this was the reason we called things off, but it’s worth pointing out that we did break up shortly after I accepted a contract to return to Philmnont that next year.

But she wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand. She wasn’t the only one who said under their breath, “Oh, he must’ve gone crazy out there.” After returning to college for my sophomore year, I came to realize that none of my friends really understood what I was talking about when I tried to explain life on the Ranch. The closest people could relate was some type of summer camp experience. But Philmont is more than just a summer camp. And the backcountry staff experience is unlike any other.

I didn’t make a lot of money that summer. But I was dying to go back. And no one understood it. You just had to be there to really get it.

Logging at Crater Lake Camp

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In 1996, I was a logger at Crater Lake Camp. We educated and entertained as Campers and Advisors learned about the logging efforts of the Continental Tie & Lumber Company in the early 20th century. The highlight of the day was our nightly “company meetin,” where we’d tell the Philmont story in a way unlike any other. I’ve tried to explain it to people, but I just can’t. It was kind of a vaudeville act, kind of a show that you’d find in Branson, Missouri, or Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, kind of a variety show full of tall tales, historical fact, ridiculous humor, and amazing songs.

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Georgetown

Every night, one of our closing moments of our Crater Lake campfire was a song called Georgetown. I had never heard this song before visiting Philmont. It was written by Gerry Spehar. If I understand correctly, he’s from Colorado.

Sittin' on a white stone bridge
'Bout a mile from Georgetown, Colorado.
Lookin' at a mountain meadow that's changin'
Gold and brown to shadow.

A hundred miles behind my back is a bar
Where I'd like to go and drown my sorrow.
Carry my mind to an easier time
On the far side of tomorrow.

And the river, she flows on around the bend.
On down to Denver, where she meets a friend.
And they sail together 'til they reach the sea.
Wish I was a river, Lord.
And the river was me.

I heard there's a man up the road
Who knows just how to sing and play the guitar.
Sittin' on the edge of fame and fortune you know he
Could have made himself a very big star.

Ridin' round cities in a big Cadillac,
Showin' all the ladies a smile.
But he took all the money and he gave it right back.
Said he'd keep his happy heart a while.

And the river, she flows on around the bend.
On down to Denver, where she meets a friend.
And they sail together 'til they reach the sea.
Wish I was a river, Lord.
And the river was me.

Wish I was a river, Lord.
And the river was me.

Here’s a bootleg recording of us singing Georgetown during one of our campfires. You’ll find that it’s a little different from the original recording.

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Again, a similar message as Night Rider’s Lament. A guy could have pursued riches. But he chose something else. This hit me hard every time I sang it. Because from an outsider’s perspective, the guy was crazy. Right? Who would give up success?

Well, Philmont staffers got it. Because they still sacrifice financial success for the magic of God’s Country. Those memories I have of working at Philmont have turned to gold. They’re irreplaceable. And I know other PhilStaff feel the same way.

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