I was about halfway through the semester and not super thrilled about most of my classes. When registering for those classes before I left for Philmont, I had prioritized online and late-start classes. I figured if I did that, I wouldn’t have to worry as much about getting ready for school since I would be getting home two days before school started. Of course, those parameters narrowed down my options quite a bit and I just went with whatever would fit in my liberal arts degree and seemed somewhat interesting. By the time I had decided to come home a few weeks earlier, it wasn't worth trying to figure out what I'd rather do and rearrange my entire schedule. But at that point halfway through the semester, I started wondering why I did that. Even tho these classes technically counted toward my current declared degree, they still felt like a waste of time for the most part.
I couldn't stop thinking about what I had learned and experienced over the summer. Although reminiscing my experiences at Philmont was pretty normal, this time it was different. The WFR training, the SAR training, the fire and forest ecology, the incident command and emergency response systems. I began thinking about what I could do with all that. My first thought was forest ecology. But what would I do with that? Be a park ranger? It was an idea but wasn’t right.
One day, I was talking to Jon, who I had met at the WFR course, and he mentioned that he had heard about ski resorts who hired WFRs to work there year-round. Although I don't have much experience skiing, this idea made me excited. And even if it wasn't ski patrol, I could be a medic for a SAR team. Doing something in the medical field had never once in my life interested me. But suddenly, the idea of wilderness rescue and medicine sounded so interesting. Before I knew it, I had a whole two-year plan to go through the EMS program at school and then move somewhere where I could get more wilderness training.
This past semester, I completed the Emergency Medical Responder (EMR) course, and I’m registered for the EMT program next semester. Although my life plan is continually evolving, this last makeover has probably been the biggest to date.
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Believe it or not, this 6 part series is the shortened version of what I've written and continue to write. If you’re still interested in reading more, let me know and I’ll give you access to the longer version.
During the summer so far, there had been too many staff in base to open the staff dining hall. Now that the staff had been whittled down to only a few hundred, the staff dining hall opened for breakfast just in time for the first day of TSI crews. Another three weeks of TSI with completely new people was an overwhelming thought but the cozy atmosphere of the smaller dining hall soothed my tired and anxious self.
I headed to the Welcome Center where I was to meet my new crew. I knew not a single person on the list so I wandered around the picnic tables under the pavilion trying to figure out which group of people was mine. After asking nearly every group there if I was supposed to be with them, I finally found mine.
Armed with my day pack that was beginning to show some significant wear from the summers work, I got on the bus with my crew headed to, you guessed it, Lovers Leap. The backcountry still wasn’t cleared for overnight camping so we knew at least the first week would be day runs. I was honestly ok with that. After a day of hard physical labor in the sun, having a shower and sleeping in my own bed had become the norm and was more than welcome.
The days were long and hot but having a chainsaw seemed to help keep my mind a little more occupied so it didn’t focus on the heat quite as much. Our crew quickly bonded over laughs produced by the quick-witted and goofy people that made up the majority of the crew. We began the day with stretches and fun facts about each person (acting out our favorite vines was a personal favorite), did PI’s during lunch, and even had a movie night together at the end of the week.
The last day of the work week, some of the Philmont Staff Association (PSA) staff began what quickly became a favorite afternoon tradition. In the back of a suburban, they packed a cooler full of otter pops. It was one of, if not THE, hottest day of the summer and I was struggling. When the otter pops showed up, I grabbed a handful of them and stuck them down my shirt. My mood immediately improved as my body temperature dropped and my morale rose. With otter pops melting into warm pouches of neon-colored liquid in my shirt, I was able to finish the day off strong.
Being a sawyer wasn’t always great. At the end of the day, when the thing I wanted more than anything in the world was a shower, I still had to spend another hour sharpening and doing maintenance on my saw while hoping I’d get done before dinner closed. If I was lucky, I could get it done AND shower before dinner. This routine made for a long day and made me question if I had made the right decision to stay. The thought that I could be at home relaxing in my air conditioned house was a little painful.
The second week brought the exciting news that we would finally be staying in the backcountry overnight. This was great news until I found out that we’d be camping at Lovers Leap camp. After nearly two months of working in that area, I was ready for a change of scenery. This put me in some sort of miserable mood. The steak dinner we had been blessed with that night hardly lightened my bitterness. I angrily went to my tent to try to cool down. Melanie, one of my few friends left, stopped by to see if I wanted to hang out. I knew her humor could help my mood so I invited her in. Before we knew it, we were several hours into a funny youtube video marathon. The Philmont wifi, notorious for not working most of the time, was on our side that night to help lift my mood.
My A-frame.
Our first day back to work, we spent the first few hours setting up camp. I had been told we didn’t need to bring our own tents. What I hadn’t been made aware of is the fact that the tents available were the 20-some-year-old A-frame tents, mockingly named “Phil palaces”. I had heard of them but never actually seen or used one. As I set up my tent, surrounded by everyone else's much nicer tents, I prayed this janky thing would hold up for the week until I could get a newer one. The first night it rained and I woke up to a leak in the corner of my tent but it wasn’t much so I just ignored that warning sign. It hadn’t rained for more than a few minutes at a time all summer, after all.
Putting gas in my saw.
For the first full day of the week, we were given a special assignment to build a trail through new campsites being built at the Lovers Leap camp. I was the designated sawer for the day so I helped clear the path while everyone else worked on the trail. The change of pace in work was well welcomed. We finished the trail before the workday was over so we spent the last hour or so digging sumps in the campsites. Just as we were cleaning up and ready to head back to camp, the rain rolled in. We made it back before it really started to pick up.
Most of us crowded under the dining flies to wait out the storm. The rain came down in sheets for a good long while before letting up. When the clouds broke and the sun began to show through, a few people crawled out and went to check on our tents that were pitched in the nearby field. Ann came back bearing worrisome news that my tent was in bad shape. All I could do in response was laugh hysterically to stop myself from crying. We were only a day into the week-long run and I was so over it. I picked myself up out of my Crazy Creek chair and walked through the water that was running through our campsite toward the tents. My tent was flattened and there was plenty of water inside. To top it off, my sleeping bag was wet. After a radio call to base, a loaner sleeping bag was brought up for me and Ann let me stay in her tent with her the rest of the week.
Our Christmas tree propped on a wheelbarrow surrounded by gifts.
Midway through the week, it was July 25th--Christmas in July. For the past few days, we had looked for and chose a good Christmas tree (because our whole job was to cut them down--they were in great supply) to bring back to camp and set it up. After dinner, we gathered for our family Christmas celebration, first decorating the tree with whatever we could find (our nametags, melted otter pops, etc) and then exchanged the secret Santa gifts that we each had brought. While waiting for dinner, Regina and I had come up with a TSI parody of Jingle Bell Rock and shared it during the impromptu jam session that happened with some of the other crews.
Christmas family photo.
On top of Baldy with Ann.
My weekend off starting with a staff hike up Baldy. A train of suburbans was collected and everyone who chose to go piled in. We set off toward Copper Park where we would start the hike. I had never been to that camp before and was captivated by its beauty immediately. With instructions to return by the lofty goal of 1:45, the group set off. Ann and I decided to be hiking buddies bringing up the rear. About halfway up we decided to pass the slowest people, realizing that we really didn’t have a shot at getting back in time at the pace we were going. Just before 1, we finally summited. We spent a few minutes taking pictures and then started heading back down, knowing full well there was no way we would get back in half an hour. Dark clouds were starting to roll in so between the time and an imminent storm, we strode down the mountain in haste. The rain began near the bottom and was in full force as we reached the cars at about 3.
Cabin ruins near the top of the mountain.
My last week we finally got sent to the “real” backcountry at Miners Park. This meant we could store our food and cook in the cabin. It was also super close to our work area so we could get to our plot in less than a minute after breakfast. Our assigned plot had already been worked on but was very unfinished. We also determined that it was cursed because of all the close calls that happened. No matter how well we, the sawers, worked on a felling plan for each tree, more often than not, they would fall in an unexpected direction. This left us in sticky situations in which we had to problem solve how to get a partially felled tree out of the tree next to it or cut a chainsaw out of a tree that had pinched the bar of the saw and trapped it.
Gabe and Regina climbing on the rocks.
Evenings that week were always something to look forward to. With the porch, the crews spent more time together. One night, I braided the hair of 7 people--more guys than girls. Two of which were my TC mates in 2017 and now good friends, Daniel and Luke. Another night, a group of us from several crews hiked up to Betty’s Bra, the natural climbing rocks that are the main activity of the camp.
The last tree I felled.
My last morning in the backcountry, I gathered all my things and packed up to head to base one last time. Anna, one of the head conservationists, was visiting to check in on each crew. I had been eyeing a gnarly, intimidating looking tree for several days and really wanted to be the one to cut it down but had been too nervous given the poor track record of how felling had been going that work for everyone--especially me. This being my last day, it was my last chance to try it. I asked Anna to give me any pointers and to watch me to make sure I did it right.
After my final interview with my crew leaders, I put all my gear in Anna’s suburban and set off toward basecamp with her. She made stops at the other camps on the way back, checking on the crews and picking up other people who were leaving as well. We were stopped for a while by the wood mulcher, one of the newest additions to the TSI machinery. It was pulled by a pickup truck but took up most of the road so we watched piles of branches get demolished while we waited for our turn to pass.
When we made it back to base, I was given a few hours to wash up, return my chainsaw, and eat. Then I helped with chores in the conservation garage for the rest of the day. My final assignment was to plan how to better streamline the end of the week crew returning process. The previous week had been madness trying to get everyone's gear and extra food returned and stay organized. I made a plan and signs before dinner, excited for the challenge of helping the next day.
The crews wouldn’t be getting back until late morning so I was able to take things a little slower than I was used to. I took my time eating breakfast and starting to pack before going to set up my signs and caution tape at the Welcome Center. I had a table set up for each type of package: boxed, canned, trail meals, perishables, etc. Each crew was supposed to sort out their food as they got there. Did it work? Somewhat. But still not super well. I spent a couple hours with a few other people who volunteered to help organizing and packaging everything to return to the commissary. At 3 I was allowed to call it a day and check out.
At 6am on August 4th, I packed my trunk and other baggage in the bed of Devin’s truck. Devin was a mutual friend who I had met the previous fall at a Philmont reunion. A few weeks before, I had overheard him talking about when he was leaving which was the same day as me. So I asked if he had room for me since he would be passing through KC. He was happy to give me a ride along with another girl who lived near him. With the whole expanse of Kansas ahead of us, we set off into the sunrise.
This was my first time leaving Philmont in the morning, since trains leave in the evening. The feeling of leaving with the whole day to go was somewhat different from the past years. It wasn’t sad or hard. Just thankful and hopeful. Gratitude for what had been spared during the fire and hope that the backcountry would heal quickly. Gratitude for everyone who had worked to preserve the land and program and hope that the program would be able to resume stronger than ever the next year. Gratitude that I had been there to help and hope that I would be able to return to see the healing and growth.
Announcement TV in the dining hall welcoming us back.
Despite the miracle of being able to go back to base, our worries were far from over. Back at base, we began checking back in. Everyone who already lived in staff tent city was reassigned a new tent in camper tent city for the night. The reasoning had to do with keeping people farther away from the fire and because they were thinking about digging a fire break near staff tent city. After the dust settled in base, I spend the rest of the day working on teaching soft skills to my rangers. Again, there wasn’t much direction from upper leadership yet so my goal was to just keep training as best I could in hopes that we could still have campers arrive on time.
That continued the next day as upper leadership began forming a new plan for training. An all staff meeting was called the next afternoon. Everyone gathered on the Tooth of Time Traders lawn. A decision for the summer had been made. Several leaders talked, thanking us for our patience and giving an update on the fire. Dean Cow camp was completely gone but other than that, the rest of the structures on property were still standing. The meeting finished with Kevin Dowling who made the announcement we were waiting for. The campers planning on coming during the first half of the summer would be rescheduled or reassigned to another high adventure base. If the fire was under control and the weather cooperated by sending a decent enough amount of rain, July 15 would be the day campers would arrive.
Trash pick up along the road to Cimarron.
The next few days were spent doing jobs around base--picking up trash, cleaning the shower houses--and continuing training that could be done. The option to go to another high adventure base to work for a month had been offered and many of my rangers had applied for and got those opportunities. So, we spent a lot of our time doing personal introductions (PIs) before everyone was scattered across the country. Saying goodbye to four of my kids was bittersweet. I was excited to see them go off to serve crews who wouldn’t be coming to Philmont but I was just getting to know them and wished I had more time to teach them.
The last goodbye as our crew sent off four of our new friends to other camps.
The era of the battalion system began the day after most of the staff who took jobs off property had left. Over the past week, upper leadership had been working tirelessly to decide how to best make use of the time between now and when campers were scheduled to arrive. As the fire continued to burn through central country and head toward south country, they became worried about the start and spread of new fires. If the departments who didn’t work in basecamp (backcountry, ranger, and conservation) were to use this time to start thinning out the overgrowth of brush and trees in several places in south country, we could all get a good head start on making it safer to be in the backcountry
Green Battallion flow chart.
The battalion system, made up of three battalions, split everyone up so as to make a rotation of people in and out of base. Within the battalions, there were divisions. Each division had at least one backcountry camp, one ranger training crew, and one conservation crew. Many had more than one of each. The leadership in the divisions were made of the camp directors (CDs), RTs, and conservation foremen while the leadership in the battalions were made up of each department's upper leadership. I was put in the Green Battalion where I was part of the Division 6 leadership. The most exciting part was that Katie somehow got placed in my division so I would be able to work with her every day!
Green Division 6 flag that I painted with a couple other people in the division.
While the Red and Tan battalions were going to stay in base and do day runs, Green battalion was assigned to go to the Valle Vidal for the first 5-day set of work days. The morning of June 10, my battalion of several hundred people piled into a few school buses and headed off to the Valle. After the hour-plus bus ride, we were dropped off at McCrystal Creek camp. From there, we hiked over to Ring Place which was going to be the home base of sorts for this run. From there, my division was supposed to continue hiking over to Sealley Canyon where we were going to work for the first few days. John Celley, one of the conservation leaders, took three of the division leadership, Mary, Carrie, and me, in his truck to get us there before everyone else and explain what our project would be.
After doing a quick tour around our worksite, we sat down in the shade nearby to eat our trail meal lunch. After eating, we went back to the worksite and continued to look around. Our job was to rearrange the rocks at the bottom of a gully that had been created by erosion. The idea was that as water flowed through the gully, the rocks would catch the sediment and would begin filling the deep trench and turn it back into the small stream it was supposed to be.
Suddenly Carrie turned to John, said something that I couldn’t make out, and ran up to John’s pickup truck parked on the dirt road. We followed her and found her rummaging around our packs which were sitting in the bed of the truck. She found her pack and pulled out Benadryl which she took in haste. She then went over to a tree and propped herself against in as her breathing began to get more labored.
John explained to Mary and me that Carrie had an anaphylactic attack recently and she had started feeling another one coming on. We all crouched down around her, the panicked look on her face increased as her breathing continued to become more labored. The three of us, all WFRs, jumped right into action. Mary began taking vitals, I took notes and delivered them to John as he radioed the infirmary from his truck. The crew first aid kit, which had vials of epinephrine, was in my pack so in between taking notes, I went and got it. At that point, Carrie was panicked. The infirmary recommended epi and after assuring Carrie that it was a good idea, Mary gave her the shot. Almost instantly, Carrie started to relax, her breathing began to slow down and return to a more normal cadence.
Shortly after, the infirmary suburban came speeding down the dirt road, a trail of dust billowing behind it. Thankfully, they had been stationed at Ring Place so the drive was much shorter than if they had to come all the way from basecamp. The infirmary staff took Carrie’s vitals one more time but at this point, she was hyped up on adrenaline and back to her sassy self. They helped her into the car and loaded up her belongings to take her back to base for the night. After they drove off, John took Mary and me to the Seally Canyon yurt platform (the yurt itself was not yet set up) to meet up with our division. Because of the delay that came from the emergency, our division had already made it and begun setting up camp with the leadership of Tiff and Alex, the other RT and CD in our division.
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Rocks rearranged for stream restoration.
Many of us had slept on the yurt platform for the night. I woke up refreshed at 5am even tho the sunlight was only beginning to peek over the horizon. It was a good thing I felt so good because it was going to be a long, hot day. After breakfast, Mary and I lead our division down to our conservation site. With Carrie gone for the day, Chambers was the person who stepped up to be cons leadership but the two other girls in cons knew more about the science behind the project. This made it a group effort between the 5 of us to explain the project and organize everyone. We all worked hard for the day, digging up rocks and piling them in methodic patterns to encourage stream restoration. We worked into the heat of the afternoon until the job was done. Carrie was returned to us shortly before we were done, excited to see the work we had accomplished.
Moving rocks.
Katie and I pose with our "rock pizza slice."
Another comfy night on the platform and we were all up before the sun again. We packed up camp and began hiking over the ridge toward Ring Place. Somehow I was put in charge of navigation. I was mostly confident, but I didn’t want to admit that I had never done any real off-trail navigation before which made me a little nervous. As I made it to the top of the ridge, I spotted the Ring Place cabin and breathed a sigh of relief. The group spread out through the forest as we descended the ridge and before we knew it, we were making our way through the beautiful field that surrounds Ring Place.
Arriving at Ring Place
With little time to rest, we were briefed on the invasives species job that we’d be doing for the day, grabbed our tools, and began hiking with the other divisions to our work site. It was a several mile hike before we got there. For the rest of the workday, the 100 or so people in our large group inspected every plant in the meadow following a stream. When an invasive plant (mostly thistle) was found, it was dug up and tossed in a trash bag.
The "is it invasive?" flow chart.
The next day we returned to where we had left off, about 4.5 miles from Ring Place. With so much hiking, and in such a large group, we were only able to work for about an hour before it was lunchtime. After eating, we continued working as dark clouds began to roll in overhead, followed by bright flashes of lightning and fat raindrops. It wasn’t long before we got word to start hiking back. At first I continued to look for invasive plans as I walked, stopping to dig up thistle and houndstongue when I found any. But as the storm picked up, so did everyone else's pace. After a few miles, the rain was torrential. By the time we made it back to Ring Place, we were all spread out, just worried about getting shelter for ourselves.
Katie, Caroline, and I pose for a News and Photo staff member, Nick Castelli, after the rain had passed.
The rain stopped within an hour and everyone began regrouping as they dried off. I was near the cabin and had not yet found many of my division members when someone came running up saying that a fire had started in the Valle and that we may be evacuated. I breathed out an exasperated sigh and went quickly to my division's campsite to let everyone know. A few of the other leaders had already got the news and were there trying to get a head count. There were still a couple people who hadn’t been seen by anyone since we all got back over an hour ago.
School buses arrive to pick us up.
After a good amount of scrambling and getting information, my battalion was all gathered together and we packed up our camp. It was several more hours before the buses got there so it was nearly 10pm before we got back to base. Although it was late, the earlier-than-scheduled shower and extra night in my bed was very appreciated. Those 4 days had felt so much longer than a mere half of a week.
Slash pile.
Our run still had one more day so we were introduced to our new friend, Tree Stand Improvement or TSI. This job became the main event for working most days. It involved thinning out underbrush and trees to reduce the risk of excessively large, unhealthy fires. We were bussed to the Lovers Leap road and dropped off in an area with smaller trees and a lot of brush. Armed with bow saws and loppers, each battalion was assigned a section of land and given instructions of what to cut down. Clueless, we all walked into the brush and began hacking down anything we could find that fit the description of what we were told to cut down. There was little order and we really didn’t know how to use our tools. But we had some fun while doing it.
Our first stump.
Katie and I found a stump of a small tree that had been cut down but hadn’t been cut to the ground like we had been instructed to do. We took it upon ourselves to finish the job with a large bowsaw. The learning curve to use those saws was harder to get over than one might think so we sat there sawing at this stump with minimal luck for a good 20 minutes. We ended up getting two other people involved before it finally popped from its stubborn place in the ground. Katie and I were so proud of our first stump that we had to get a picture with it. It was the first of many. So. Very. Many.
The solid red is what property was affected. The red line shows how far the fire would have gotten if the firefighters hadn't been able to hold the southernmost line of the affected area.
June 19th, the fire was declared 100% contained. It destroyed 26,387 acres or about ⅕ of the Philmont property but the damage of structures had been surprisingly minimal. In addition to Dean Cow camp being completely gone, Harlan was in severe shape but the cabins were still standing. Several other camps had seen the effects of the fire but were still standing and expected to be operable.
Burn severity report.
One morning at breakfast, Crockett, a head consman, came up to me and asked me if I’d be interested in being a sawer. Still not fully awake and able to comprehend what all that would entail, I shrugged my shoulders and said, “Sure, why not?” He told me to be available that Saturday and Sunday night for classroom training. I nodded my head and finished pouring the milk into my cereal as he walked away.
Rockies game.
The day off schedule was roomy and left us with plenty of time to explore. But, with the backcountry closed, we had to find other places to explore. Because Jon and I had connections in Denver, we decided to go there with Katie and Teddy for the weekend. We explored downtown Denver, checkout out Red Rocks Amphitheater, and watched a Rockies game. Having 4G for a few days was super nice but spending carefree time with some of my favorite people was amazing. Getting away from the exhaustion of all things fire related lifted my spirits.
Red Rocks Amphitheater.
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Hiking into the burn area.
Several weeks after the fire had been contained and determined to be out for the most part, a couple divisions at a time began to be sent to the black for a workday. My division's turn came around soon enough. I had heard from divisions that had gone before report that it was hot and there was very little shade (for obvious reasons), as well as branches and roots pulled from the ground would spontaneously burst into flames. This all made me worried but I was still excited.
New growth was already starting to peek out of the ash.
We were dropped off at the Cito turn around where we gathered our tools and began hiking. The damage of the fire in that area was very noticeable with singed trees and no grass, but the overall damage was fairly minimal. The redroof latrine was still standing after all. Not just standing but looked untouched. It was a crudely comical sight. As we went on, the damage became increasingly noticeable.
The experience of walking into the blackened wasteland was somewhat surreal. I could imagine what it had looked like before the fire, beautiful and green--alive. I had watched this very hillside burn not even a month before. Now there was nothing but rocks, blackened tree trunks, and ash. I had expected to feel overwhelming sadness come over me but instead, a quiet, healing stillness sat in this landscape--not dead but sleeping, still breathing and already beginning to wake up. It wasn’t ugly to me, but a new kind of beauty. I finally felt at peace with the events of the past month.
Yes, it was hot. But not nearly as bad as I had expected. The work we were doing was satisfying and urgently helpful. The main water source for the village of Cimarron was at the bottom of the mountain and what water was left had become dangerously contaminated with ash and debris. We were building berms across the side of the mountain to catch the sediment so that it wouldn’t just run down the mountain when it rained. The berms were made from anything that we could find, mostly rocks, logs, and branches wedged around tree stumps and boulders that were left.
Soot-covered and ready for a shower.
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The time for an official decision of if campers would come was approaching quickly and there still had been close to no rain. The day the Morras Creek fire started was when all hope began fading fast. It was another fire that started off property but quickly spread to our borders. This time, it was eating at the edges of the south country. Trained teams and cons people worked into the night to create barriers and wrap the southernmost cabins in space blankets to protect them. Letting the fire spread into the south country would surely be the end of anything we could do that summer.
Due to the new fire, all south country work came to a halt. The first day was an invasives work day in town. My division was taken to an open area near the highway that went through town and dropped off with shovels and trash bags. We spent the day digging up the weeds in that large plot. The grass was minimal so by the time we were done, it was mostly a dust bowl.
Slash pile queen.
The next day we were sent to Chase Ranch to do TSI. Philmont has an agreement with Chase Ranch that if we care for the property, we can use it for program. Although it is a fairly dry, barren canyon, still recovering from the Ponil Complex fire, we were able to find some conifer as well as thorny bramble and wild rose to keep us busy the whole day. Though hot and dusty, we made the best of the day. I ended up on top of a pile to keep the branches in the pile. It was a fun makeshift thorny version of a trampoline. Getting off was a little scary because the pile was tippy and sharp all over. I managed to gather together enough juniper branches to pad an area for me to sit down on and slide off.
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July 5th was the set date to decide what was going to happen next concerning the rest of the season. Though there had been a few short-lived storms, the rainfall in the past month had been majorly underwhelming and nowhere near enough. With the addition of the Morras Creek fire burning, most people approached the staff gathering that morning hardly clinging to a thread of hope that any good news would come out of it. I had been preparing myself for the worst to be announced. I was ready to pack up and leave without much complaint if that was what was the only option left. In fact, I didn’t want participants to come anymore. The dire situation of the backcountry and the idea of being responsible for some many people spread out all over the property scared me. If another fire broke out, the evacuation process would be so many times more complicated. As sad as I was at the thought of not taking out crews and watching my rangers do the same, I was much more concerned about the safety of everyone involved.
The mood was somber as everyone gathered on the same lawn that we were sitting on during the previous big announcement. There was still hope back then. Today was different. There wasn’t much loud, happy talking. Just half smiles and hushed talking between friends. The suspense, what little there was, didn’t last long. It was confirmed that all treks would be canceled for the remainder of the summer, though all PTC programs would continue with needed modifications. For the first time in the 80 years of operation, the Philmont backcountry was closed to all overnight trekkers for the entire summer.
Except for all necessary operational base camp departments, all departments would be dissolved into the conservation department to continue TSI work. Everyone had the choice to stay and officially work in conservation or return home. The choice had to be made and reported by the 7th. Until then, we were all given days off to process the news and make our decisions. Initially, my reaction was of course I’d stay. I could finish my saw training and continue to do my little part in preserving my favorite place in the world. But then other options were presented to me. More and more friends made the decision to leave. First Katie, then Teddy, Jon, Miriam. So many people that I had spent all my free time with would suddenly be gone in a matter of a few days. I began liking the idea of taking the rest of the summer easy. What would I do without all my friends anyway? I was torn.
I began those days of free time interviewing my 4 rangers who were still there and calling the other ones who were still at their off-property jobs. I wrote evaluations for the rangers who had stayed. I poured out my praises for them in my writing. My appreciation and respect for them had grown as I had watched them valiantly march through the summer, cheerful and resilient. I was honored to have worked with them, feeling less as a superior to them and more as my equals. My role as an RT had been short but my love for those 10 people had blossomed easily nonetheless. I was so grateful that I had taken the job of RT.
Because the schedules were to stay the same for a little while longer, I ended up with another two days off with a day of TSI in there. I used that time to spend time with friends in any way I could. One day I went to Red River, another I climbed the Tooth. I spent time bumming around base and Cimarron. I didn’t so much care what I did as long as it was with friends, especially the ones leaving.
In the end, I decided to stay to finish saw training and keep cutting down trees. Gratefully, I was able to bring up my end date by a couple weeks. Originally I had agreed to an end date two days before school started but I knew a little more recovery time would be needed after such a different summer than I had planned on.
The completion of my saw training was soon after that decision. Two days were spent in the field learning how to fell and buck trees. After weeks of hand sawing everything, this was so satisfying. It was also quite nerve-wracking. During the classroom training, I had learned about how to safely fell these giant trees that could kill me in one blow but now that I had to actually do it and trust my judgment. I was nervous. The first day wasn’t too bad because all I did was limb and buck logs.
My first felled tree.
The second day though, my trainer picked a tree for me to fell and told me to come get him when I was done. I stood there, slightly panicked. This was it. Time to knock down a tree for the first time..but with no supervision? I surveyed the tree carefully, walking around it more times than I really needed to. I decided where to aim the tree, measured and begun to make the facecut. As soon as I popped the wedge of wood out of the cut, I realized I had cut it on the opposite side of the tree from where I needed to. I stood there, embarrassed and unsure of what to do. There was room to fell it the opposite direction of where I was planning though it wasn’t ideal given the weight distribution of the branches. But, there wasn’t much choice either at that point. I went for it and managed to get it down.
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Melanie, Miriam, and I puddle jumping.
It has started raining a little bit every day for the past few days. While I was eating dinner one evening, it down poured. The sheets of rain we had been praying for finally fell, unhindered. The storm had cleared out by the time I was done eating so I invited Miriam and Melanie, who were eating with me, to go jump in the puddles that had formed outside the dining hall. They gladly obliged. We burst out the door with all the energy we could muster and ran like little children through the water, jumping as hard as we could to make big splashes. We laughed and shrieked with pure joy. All the pent up stress and disappointment of the summer seemed to wash away in the water.
I had brought plenty of blankets to keep me warm during the cool desert nights but found that I hardly needed all of them since the nights were significantly warmer than they had been in previous years. No rain, all sun, with temperatures rising each day. In the winter of 2017-18, New Mexico had a significantly lower snowfall compared to the average snowfall. The effects of this became apparent late in the spring when the vegetation turned from young green to brown and crunchy, drying out under the harsh sun. Usually, there are snowcaps on the mountains through the spring and summer that slowly melt into streams which flow freely through the valleys in the mountain range. But this year the streams were only a trickle if they were running at all.
What the fire danger board looked like most of the summer.
Jokes quickly began to pop up among staffers about this being the year that the southern part of Philmont would be burned down from a fire. The northern part (about ⅕) of the property was destroyed by The Ponil Complex Fire 16 years ago and that land was just now starting to have some significant recovery. The forecast for this summer was trending toward a very fire-friendly temperament. The south country, nicknamed the Tinder Box for its overpopulation of trees and downfall, was in prime condition to house a wildfire. If we were to lose the south country to fire, Philmont would become desolate, uncomfortable and unpractical for backpacking. Those jokes about a fire were just jokes though. Although the possibility was high, it wouldn’t happen to us. That’s the attitude that resonated from those jokes anyway. However, in the back of my mind, the possibility still hung. After all, the leadership and conservationists of the ranch kept telling us that, “it’s not a matter of if, it’s a matter of when we’ll have a fire.” Something inside of me was preparing for the “when”, not the “if”. It was a weird feeling, knowing something was coming when there was really no way of actually knowing the “if”, “when”, and “how” of that event.
View of the smoke from Lovers Leap.
On May 31st, I took my newly formed crew of rangers out into the backcountry to start our training trek. Our first camp for the night was Crater Lake, so we were bussed and dropped off at the Lovers Leap turnaround which is one of the drop-off points in the south country. We stopped at Lovers Leap, a rocky outcropping that is a popular place for hikers to stop and explore. Although the afternoon was warm and we still had a ways to go, it was a nice spot to take a breather. After about 20 minutes, we continued on towards our camp, hiking farther into the backcountry with each step. As we crossed an open, meadowy area, I looked to my right and saw a large, oddly isolated cloud forming over Tooth Ridge, which was less than 2 miles away from us. It was growing at an alarming speed and the more I looked at it, the more I began to realize that it was no storm cloud at all but a huge pillar of smoke.
I needed to get more information but had minimal resources to do so. My cell coverage in New Mexico is spotty at best but in the backcountry, I'm lucky if I get enough connection to send a text on the peak of a mountain. Although Philmont has a large radio system, rangers are not authorized to use it so my only options were to wait for someone to come find us or get my phone to work. I pulled my phone out, hoping for a miracle. To my surprise, I did have some cell service and was able to call my ACR, Harrison, to ask about the smoke. Sure enough, a fire had just recently broken out right in the center of the property in an area called Ute Park. Harrison instructed me to continue on with my crew but be prepared to receive updates.
The hike seemed longer than I remembered. Maybe it was because none of us were in hiking shape yet. Ben, one of the boys in the crew, hadn't been feeling well for a few days and hiking wasn't helping. He kept a positive attitude and assured me that he could keep going but I could tell that he was tiring quickly. We finally arrived at Crater Lake camp, tired and hungry. The sun was already setting so we set up our backpacking stove on the terrace in front of the cabin and started cooking dinner immediately. The view from the tiny cabin is beautiful with the lake set nearby and the Tooth of Time peeking through the trees. The only difference in this view than normal was the smoke covering the pinkening sky in the sunset.
View of the smoke at Crater Lake.
Ben’s condition continued to worsen so I called Harrison back to ask for advice. Again, my cell service was working amazingly well. I updated Harrison on how Ben was feeling and we both agreed that I should monitor him through the night and decide in the morning if he needed to come off the trail. He also gave me an update on the fire: it was growing rapidly and all of the crews north of Tooth Ridge had been relocated farther south. By the time we had finished and cleaned up dinner, it was dark, so we decided to skip setting up tents and rolled out our sleeping bags under the stars as the smoke cloud, now glowing in the dark, continued to hang behind the ridge.
First thing in the morning, I called Harrison to inform him that Ben was feeling much better and to get the status of the fire. He told me that an evacuation still had not been called but was possible so we should hike on and call him before we went over the next ridge when I would undoubtedly lose cell service. We packed up and ate breakfast before starting our hike. As we sat eating on the small porch of the cabin, we could hear the radio inside busy with traffic. Cracking open the door so we could hear it better, we listened for any more news on the fire. I was going to do what I was instructed to do but I was really hoping an evacuation would be called before we got farther into the backcountry.
The uncertainty of what would happen made me nervous to lose cell service. We were about to get up to put our packs on when we heard an announcement on the radio. None of us heard exactly what it said but we definitely heard the word “evacuation”. Almost immediately, Harrison called me; the evacuation of the backcountry had just been called so he instructed me to get my crew down to the Lovers Leap turnaround where we would be picked up and brought back to base camp.
View of the smoke during our hike back.
Although it was much steeper and exposed, I made the decision to take the dirt road, as opposed to the trail. My goal was to get to the bus as quick as possible and this option would get us there the fastest. I kept the pace brisk despite the fact that I could feel hot spots forming on the bottom of my feet. In just over an hour, we made it to the bus that had just arrived at the turnaround and joined a couple of other crews who had made it there already. As I sat on the bumpy bus ride to base, I contemplated how I would tell my mom what was happening. I wanted her to hear the news from me before anyone else, but I didn’t want to scare her either. I finally found the wording I was looking for, “I don't want to freak you out but there is a big wildfire on property. We're all being evacuated and far as I know everyone is safe. I'll keep you updated. Send prayers that everything will go smoothly and we won't lose the whole property.” She answered with a flurry of questions, which I answered to the best of my limited knowledge.
Getting to base camp.
When we arrived in base, everyone was buzzing around, preparing for an evacuation. An evacuation had been called for the Village of Cimarron, but it was still not a given for us at Philmont which is only 4 miles from town. Everyone was instructed to pack a bag to last a few nights, but many people were prepared to bring all of their belongings just in case the fire did make it to basecamp. The smoke now hung above us in a thick, dark trail arching across the sky. The smell of smoke was undeniably thick. Although it was said that an evacuation would be called because of air quality and not because we were in immediate danger of the fire reaching us, I heard that people could see the flames from certain spots in basecamp. The fire was quickly destroying the land that we all loved and was now coming straight toward us. I kept my rangers near, feeling like a protective hen looking over her chicks, praying that the evacuation would happen soon.
View of the smoke from the staff parking lot.
View of the smoke from the ranger office.
At lunch, it was announced that plans were made and being put into place to move all 1100 of the staff to the Colfax County Fairgrounds in Springer. People who had cars filled their vehicles with people and luggage, while buses were arranged to take the remaining people. Two of my rangers had cars and we managed to get everyone in my crew into those two cars. The group that I was with sat for nearly an hour in the staff parking lot waiting for our turn to get out. I could see the flames licking the side of one of the ridges about a mile away. In that hour, I watched the flames climb all the way up the side of the ridge. I felt a wave of sadness come over me. One of my favorite camping spots was on the side of that ridge. Only a short hike from that camp was Window Rock, one of the prettiest views on property. That camp was now nothing but ashes and the once beautiful view would be a view of blackened tree trunks and mountainside. I knew there was a plan and that we were fairly safe, but I still felt anxious to get out of that crowded parking lot and get far away from there. Far away from the danger and the sadness.
Firefighting plane about to drop flame retardant.
View of flames from staff parking lot.
When our car finally made it out of the parking lot, we followed behind hundreds of other cars on a slow, start-and-stop 30-mile ride down the road to the fairgrounds. After a few miles of winding through the flat plains that meet the edge of the mountains, I turned around to see the smoke cloud towering over the iconic Tooth Ridge making the ridge look so tiny and insignificant. I prayed that that ridge would stay untouched. That the fire would stop in its tracks and not destroy any more of the beautiful land that meant the world to me.
Smoke behind the Tooth of Time.
The exhaustion of the day got to me and I dozed off in the back seat for the rest of the ride. I woke, mildly refreshed, as we pulled into the fairgrounds. The southern half of the property was the designated parking lot and was already lined with many parked cars. After parking, we got out, unsure of where to go or what to do. The other car with the rest of my rangers had gotten there awhile before us and they were excited to see me, wondering what they should be doing. I laughed, answering that I was just about as lost as they were. They had been setting up tents, brought from the outfitting warehouse, since they got there. The tents were set up on the east side of the property. Rows and rows of them. It looked like a refugee camp. That’s when it really started to sink in: we WERE refugees--displaced from our home--safe but lost. I was supposed to help, teach, and lead these 10 rangers, but we were so out of our normal element that I was of no real help to them. At least it felt that way. I knew that the leadership above me was only a little more informed than I was. They were making decisions on the spot to decide how to best keep over 1000 people safe, healthy, and organized. From my perspective, given the circumstances, they were doing an impressive job.
My crew waiting for instruction.
View of the rows of tents from the bandstand.
An all-staff meeting was called to explain details. Tent assignments were made, and dinner was brought from the commissary at base. As it got dark, the floodlights were turned on over the rodeo arena where the ranches wranglers and horsemen put on a “human rodeo” for entertainment. I had a meeting with my rangers to talk about logistics and debrief the day together, but I kept it quick because they were all eager to go watch the show. I sent them off and went to go talk to Teddy. We sat under the expansive starry sky and talked about how devastated we were, imagining what might be totally gone when we got back. Although the stars were bright, there was still a dark ring around the horizon: the smoke from the fire. It was a reminder that we had escaped to physical safety for now but the future was now uncertain--as uncertain as where the fire would go next. When I had arrived at the fairgrounds earlier that day, I had looked around and seen that the smoke was still nearly surrounding us, even 30 miles away. I was disappointed because I thought we had come here to escape and forget.
Support from Katie.
In the morning before breakfast, we had a leadership meeting to give us updates and plans for the day. The fire had reached an estimated 27,290 acres and the firefighters, now numbered at about 450 personnel, were unable to get it into any kind of containment. The good news was, training was going to move ahead. “Normalcy. This is still Philmont,” Robert Fudge, a head conservationist, assured everyone. And that it was, as much as was possible. Normalcy. I liked that word. It brought a sense of stability to the uncertainty of the situation at hand. We still had meals at regular times, the staff activities center staff had brought games and movies for free time, and each department continued its training.
TC photo taken in the barn.
It became the designated first aid training day for many staff training groups. Usually, this would be done throughout training trek for the rangers, but getting it done in one sitting was nice. I teamed up with two other ranger trainers to teach the 8-hour Philmont First Aid course to our rangers. Half of the day was spent in the barn and the other half in the grandstands when the barn got too crowded. Lecturing and first aid roleplay took up the day until dinnertime. Dinner was catered from the basecamp kitchen this time so we had a hot meal of hamburgers and hotdogs. The rest of the evening was relaxed with a musical show put on by many of the backcountry staff members in the barn. Spirits were high as I met with my rangers to do Philmont’s end of day tradition called Roses, Buds, and Thorns. Everyone shared their favorite and least favorite part of the day and what they were looking forward to. My crew laughed and joked, invited passersby to join us, and topped the night off with a silly rain dance. It was a relief for me to see that my crew was keeping such a high morale.
All-staff photo.
The plan for the rangers on day two of what was now being called “Springer Break” was to hike to a nearby park and practice camping skills. My crew was eager and had everything that we would need packed and ready to go when we all gathered for the 8am all-staff meeting after breakfast. The first announcement was that, although the fire was still at 0% containment, there had been significant progress in controlling the fire and rain was in the forecast. The excitement and joy rippling through the bandstand where we were gathered was exhilarating. Even the smallest glimmer of hope was all we needed to keep going.
But much to our surprise, the next announcement was that we were heading back to base camp immediately. The crowd erupted into elated screaming. A lump formed in my throat as I felt tears of happiness fill my eyes. Everyone sat, squirming in their seats as the exit plan and schedule for the rest of the day was explained. As soon as the word was given to get up and clean up camp, the mass of people rushed to their tents to pack their belongings. In under two hours, everything was packed up, put in vehicles, and a police line was formed to pick up all trash that could be found across the campground. We filled many trash bags full of trash, leaving the property better than we found it.
Handfull of trash that I picked up.
As people began to pile into cars and busses, I looked around the now empty fairground, with few signs that over 1000 people had been living there for nearly 48 hours. It was truly amazing that through the whole evacuation process, our group as a whole was prepared to handle a situation like this. With the organization of Philmont and its resources combined with the skills and training of the staff, we were able to work and even thrive in that situation. Most people had their own camping gear, knew how to pack light, and many of us learned and used camping skills for our jobs. Philmont had enough food stored to feed thousands of people for the entire summer, camping gear to supply for those without any, and there was already an accountability system set up which made it easy to keep people accounted for and informed. Although Red Cross had set up two evacuation centers to provide food and shelter for the people of Cimarron and Ute Park, the Philmont staff, which outnumbered the citizens of both Cimarron and Ute Park combined, had operated nearly independently through the whole process.
