Especially for Alison, Kaitlyn, and Maxwell

Christmas is a sacred time.
Which, as Alison knows,
Is more than just a time of gifts
And packages with bows.



Christmas time helps us recall
When Jesus Christ was born
And Kaitlyn knows there was no tree
That chilly Christmas morn.



But little Maxwell hasn't learned
The story of Christ's birth.
He needs our help to understand
Why He came to earth.



So Mom and Dad will help him,



Grandma and Grandpa too;



But most of all he'll watch to see
What Alison and Kaitlyn do!



So we all need to teach him
By the things we do each day,





That Christ has meaning in our lives
Because we live the way we pray.











That's why Camille and Bryan are smiling,



And why Michelle is so elated,



And why Craig is always cheerful.



SO . . . No pouting Grandpa, or Alison or Kaitlyn.



(Especially for Alison, Kaitlyn and Maxwell
on Christmas 2008 from Grandpa Call)

The Parable of the Pilot

About 32 years ago when Barbara and I got married, he had about 20,000 hours in the air. Dad Faux was a pilot. Not just any pilot, he had flown more planes of more types than I can name, after all, 20,000 hours in the air is like ten years of regular 40 hour work weeks. He had been to Hawaii 55 times. He had flown bombing and fighting missions over Germany and France during World Ward II, had flown cargo and transport missions to Viet Nam, and hundreds of missions both secret and support in between. Last night at the viewing a few of Dad's flying friends told me that on one occasion Dad was flying a mission over Germany in WWII when 5 Messerschmidt's intercepted him. Because the P61 Black Widow night fighter was much more maneuverable and because he was a superior pilot, he was able to make a really tight turn and come back around on the Messerschmidts. He was able to shoot one down, do a quick dive and recovery and come up again under one forcing it into another nearby plane, thus taking out 3 of the 5 before heading for home. They (Bruce Despain) said that he was the best commander, a great pilot and even better person and friend.

He was not only a VFR (visual flight rules) rated pilot, but also an IFR (instrument flight rules) rated pilot. That means that he was trained to be able to fly safely avoiding other aircraft, mountains or obstacles or fly over the ocean where there are no landmarks and everything looks the same as far as the eye can see, using solely the instrument panel and radio guidance. Cruising in clouds or at night at altitudes over 30,000 feet and at speeds over 500 miles per hour he knew where he was going and how to get there safely.

Yes indeed, Dad Faux was a pilot. He would prepare and file his flight plan before taking off, taking all the necessary precautions to make his flight successful. Now flying is quite an interesting phenomenon. From the moment that the plane leaves the ground it is off course. Once airborne the pilot makes the necessary corrections and adjustments to get back on course. As he gains altitude, the winds change and again the plane is blown off course–sometimes a little, sometimes a lot. By consulting his instruments, checking his maps and monitoring his radio signal again the pilot makes the necessary corrections to get back on course. When the plane is encompassed in a cloud it is impossible for the pilot to see where he is going. During those times he must rely entirely on the instruments along with the signals emitted from the radio beacons strategically placed along the route to help with navigation. At night and in bad weather, with his radio to prompt him, he constantly adjusts and corrects to keep the plane on course. It is quite amazing that 99% of the time the plane is off course, but as long as the pilot makes the needed course corrections 100% of the time the plane makes it to the final destination.

You don't usually hear a lot from the pilot. He may welcome you aboard and give some basic instructions, maybe even point out a few interesting sights, but mostly he just quietly flies the plane. He tries to choose a route that will be least dangerous. One that won't bounce around so much as to make you air sick or spill your orange juice. He tries to make it a smooth flight.

Dad Faux has made his final earthly flight. It has been in character with his entire life. He knew his desired destination. He filed his flight plan long ago. He made the necessary course corrections by consulting with Mom, his ace co-pilot, using his maps and listening to those inspired signals. There was never any doubt if he was headed in the right direction. And what is more, he was helping all of us aboard to get our bearings right. He showed us how to use the maps and to listen for the signals. We will miss him–his strong, silent, keen sense of direction. We hope that we can remember what he taught us to make the corrections for ourselves now that he has let us fly on our own.

Our lives have been richer and our view more expansive because of you Dad and we will always remember and be grateful for all you have done for us. Among a myriad of other wonderful things, you taught us the "Parable of the Pilot" by the way you lived. Thank you. We love you.

Honoring Grandmother and Grandfather Faux

With Veterans Day approaching, and our thoughts and prayers turned to Grandmother and Grandfather Faux, it seems a good time to share memories of a conversation with them on Veterans Day in 2004, when we learned about their courage and sacrifice in protecting our country.

Grandfather was on active duty in the Air Force for ten years, and after that he was a reservist and worked as a civilian at Hill Air Force base. He logged 18,000 hours as a pilot and retired with the rank of Lieutenant Colonel. He flew a P-61 "Black Widow" fighter bomber in World War II. He flew night missions, including bombing runs and dog fights over France and Germany. As pilot, he was accompanied by a "radar" officer, who was located in the back of the plane. There were eight guns in the plane, four at the front and four in the rear. Grandfather could fire them with the touch of a button.

Grandfather said he lost four buddies in WW II, members of the group that he signed up with. (Grandmother’s aunt lost a son, and her aunt’s sister also lost a son.) Grandfather and two of his brothers fought in the war, but they all came home safely.

Grandfather said that one time when his aircraft was on the ground, the enemy bombed the area and the airplane next to his was destroyed. He participated in the ART program, where he helped to train new pilots.

Grandfather was scheduled to go to Korea, but his assignment was changed. He was also scheduled to go to Cuba during the Cuban missile crisis, but the mission was canceled just four hours before they were to leave. The Cuban missile crisis took place in 1962 during the Kennedy administration. At the time, Barbara was almost 11, Scott 13, and Nelson 15. Grandfather explained that at the time of the crisis the Russians were poised to take over Cuba and we were going to defend it. We commnted that Grandmother must have been very relieved when he didn’t have to go to Cuba, but she replied that she hadn’t even known about it because it was a secret mission. Evidently there were other secret missions that he did participate in that he couldn't talk about.

During the Vietnam war, Grandfather would switch from the reserves to active duty about every six weeks for two to three weeks or even a month at a time, to fly supply and bombing missions in Vietnam. He also carried soldiers who parachuted out over enemy territory. At the time he was a Major in the Air Force. Grandmother would be left home alone to watch over the children and handle all the decision-making and work by herself, all the while, no doubt wondering about Grandpa’s safety. It was a real sacrifice for them both.

We are very proud of you, Grandmother and Grandfather Faux, and grateful for your service to our country. We love you!

Apologies for Gifts

"Rings and other jewels are not gifts, but apologies for gifts. The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me. Therefore the poet brings his poem; the shepherd, his lamb; the farmer, corn; the miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; the girl, a handkerchief of her own sewing." (Ralph Waldo Emerson, Essay V - Gifts, 1844)


There is an old brown scarf at the very back of the shelf in the closet by the back door of Mom and Dad's home. Rather than knitting needles, it was made using big knitting sticks only slightly smaller than a horse's leg and the yarn was tripled to give it appropriate substance for the large sized stitches. It isn't really all that nice looking, but it shows evidence of being worn from time to time. It is a reminder of a Christmas long ago when our family was having a "make it" Christmas–when every gift we gave was homemade.
My dad was an architect and owned his own firm. I don't remember if it was a good year financially or not. In that business like many others there are ups and downs–some years quite good other years quite lean. One of the rules for our "make-it" Christmas was that we needed to save our own money and use it to buy all the materials for whatever we were making. We could also use things we had around the house as long as it was okay with Mom and Dad. I think I was almost a teenager and my sole source of income, as I recall, was the allowance my parents gave me for doing my responsibilities. (For some reason we did not call them chores.) Now my allowance was not particularly large, but it was adequate to buy a candy bar and go to the ten cent movie on occasion. Because it was rather meager, every penny counted. In those days there was such thing as penny candy–in fact there were some candies you could get two-for-a-penny. Mom and Dad carefully taught us how to figure our tithing: From every dime a penny, from every dollar a dime. They also taught us to save ten percent as well. Each of us children had a little bank in which to put our tithing and our savings.

Usually at Christmas time we were given a special allowance which we would use to buy gifts. Mom and Dad would split up with us kids as we would go shopping. We had to trade off parents and siblings from time to time so that we could keep each gift a secret from the intended recipient. I loved looking through the stores trying to find just the right gifts within my budget. For some reason Skaggs was one of my favorite stores. It had good bargains from my point of view and was right across the street from Woolworth's which was my second favorite store–it was a "dime store." Although I only had a few dollars it seemed that if I was careful I could get something for my brother and five sisters, my parents and a friend or two. But because this was a "make-it" Christmas, and without the special Christmas allowance, there was no way I could buy much at all. So I went downstairs into my room with the horse leg knitting needles and the brown yarn and proceeded to work on a scarf. We already had the yarn and I had learned to knit watching my sisters and mom.

As I "cast on" (I'll bet you didn't think I even knew what the term means never mind knowing how to do it.) the first row of stitches I tried to figure how wide to make the scarf, yet I also had to guess about how long to make it as well because I only had so much yarn. It turned out that there were only about 15 one-inch stitches across (Now that should tell you how large those stitches were.) and about 50 rows long. After completing the body of the scarf I put tassels on each end and voila'-- it was done. I was very proud of my accomplishment and even tried it on myself. It was warm and I thought it looked pretty good as well. Completed, I carefully folded and placed the scarf in a box, wrapped it, and hid it for Christmas.

On Christmas my parents always had great presents for us kids. We always got more than we gave and we always loved what we got. They just seemed to know just the right things to get. We would be so excited to open our gifts to see what we got, but we pretended not to be because it seemed more "grown-up" to be cool calm and collected. We would wait in the hallway and line up youngest to oldest and sing "marching ago" (I have no idea where that came from.) as we marched into the living room where the tree and presents were waiting. Again beginning with the youngest we would take turns opening gifts so we could all see what each other got and kind of celebrate together. Well this year I was excited, not so much because of what I was getting but because of what I was giving. My parents were going to be so surprised–not only because of the scarf but because I don't think they even knew that I could make something like that. Sure enough, it was just like I had imagined, when they took the gift they read "From Bruce" and they looked me in the eyes before opening it and smiled and said thank you. Then they unwrapped the box and saw the scarf. Again they looked me in the eyes and said thank you as Mom wrapped it around her neck. They were so appreciative and happy. I was so proud and my love for them seemed to almost boil over. There was a closeness that came because of that event mixed with a thousand others. I found that I wanted to do things for them to give them a pleasant surprise.

In retrospect I think about that Christmas and many others like it. It seems ironic that I used money from my allowance from Mom and Dad to get the gifts. Mom and Dad did not need the gifts. Sure they would put them to good use, but they did not need the gifts. But I, on the other hand, needed to give them. I could not bear the thought of not having a gift for them. I could just imagine what I would feel like if, after receiving and opening my gift from them, I had no gift for them. I am sure they would not have missed the gift (especially a home-made scarf made with knitting sticks), but we would not have had that meeting of the eyes and that closeness. They would have noticed, but they would not have said anything. I would have hidden myself rather than have nothing to give. In my mind's eye I could see that our relationship would become distant and I did not want that. Not because they needed the gift, nor would they be upset with me, but rather because I would have withdrawn from them. They would always be there with their "arms stretched out still!"

It was then that I had a glimpse into another relationship. One which is not all that different. We have been asked by our loving Heavenly Father to pay a simple tithe. God does not need the money. Certainly He will put it to good use through His church, but He does not need the money. On the other hand, I need to give the tithing and give it willingly. I need to feel that closeness that comes from doing what I am asked to do and knowing that He has received the gift with a warm loving smile. When I go to see the Bishop at tithing settlement, it is just that way. It is as if I am looking into the eyes of the Lord, and He calls me by name, and we feel that closeness when He says thanks; and I am glad. It is our exchange of an unspoken, "I love you." And I do not want to hide nor do I want to feel like I can't look Him in the eyes. I want to have that closeness and that unmistakable feeling of love.

The MTC is more than magical.

The atmosphere is electrifying and there is an excitement that is almost tangible when new missionaries enter the MTC and Craig was certainly no exception.

Putting on the missionary tame tag requires a certain feminine touch.

If you look closely you can see "Elder Call" and of course the name of the church in Mandarin.


After a brief welcome and introduction the missionaries filed out the door to the right and the families left on the left. Simple signage--difficult walk. It was easy to tell which were the missionaries and which were the family members, because the missionaries were all happy and enthusiastic and the family members were all teary eyed.


Elder Call will be a great missionary. Nevertheless we will miss him.

Before entering the "empty sea"

COUNTDOWN


At any given point in time it was quite a trick to know when Craig would enter the MTC in Provo--Yep, you had to somehow be close enough to see the fine print on the white board on the fridge. It was easy to see by his expression that Craig was dreading leaving home to venture into the unknown world of the mission field, especially Taiwan. On Monday before leaving Tucson, we asked Sam Rogers, recent return missionary from Taiwan, and his family over for Family Home Evening. The idea was to get a little more acquainted with the country, language, and the mission in general. We asked loads of questions including, "With all those Chinese characters, how do you look up a work in the dictionary?"

Sam responded, "One way is to count the strokes in the character, then look up the characters that have that number of strokes. There might be several hundred you will need to go through until you find the correct one."

We were aghast. "Incredible" we commented.

He said, "When you become a little more acquainted with the writing, it is also possible to identify the key 'radical' or group of strokes in the character, and then count the other strokes. That way you might have only a few characters to look through."

"If it is such a trick to look up characters, how do you get directions to find a place in the city?" we asked.

"Well, there were a few times when we never did find the place we were looking for." he responded with a smile.

With that as an appetizer Craig was ready to go and up for the challenge. He dived into the reference books he had and was starting on Mandarin characters in earnest. He will be great!


ON THE LINKS

Continuing a long established family tradition stemming way back to one other time (before Nathan left for his mission to Argentina), we ventured out for a family round of golf.

We hit the Mick Riley Golf Course on Saturday, August 2, at 9:29 a.m. (Not only did we hit the course, literally, our golf balls hit almost everything else as well.) It was easy to tell that we knew exactly what we were doing: We tried to go as a sevensome, even though only foursomes are allowed. The field marshal quickly spotted our group and had us split up to make two groups. So Camille, Bryan, Michelle, and Josh headed for the second hole even before finishing the first, while Craig, Mary Lee and I continued at hole one. We concluded that in addition to having a great time we also got a great value--We got more swings for our money than anybody else on the course. (Some of us got a much greater value than others.) We also contributed to the golf ball collections of several of the neighboring homes and often found that we hit more of the big ball (earth) than we did the little ball. Additionally we were usually too close to the ball even after we had hit it, unless of course it was on the greens where the opposite was the case. All in all it was lots of fun for us, even if the people behind us were about ready to abandon golf altogether or commit hara kiri.


THE NIGHT BEFORE

Like Craig, we were thrilled that we could have a small gathering of family and friends when Craig was set apart by Grandpa Scott the night before entering the MTC. It was doubly beneficial because each one there gave Craig one tid-bit of advice to help him in some way on his mission. It seemed that much of the advice applied in some way to each of us. We missed Nathan and Megan, and Grandma and Grandpa Faux, as well as their advice.

Grandpa Call, Josh, Bryan, Grandpa Scott, Craig, Truman Madsen, and I all participated.

Michelle, I, Craig, Camille, Bryan, and Mary Lee were all there.

Michelle (the camera gravitates to her), Teresa, Sarah, and Cathy came.

Grandma and Grandpa Call and Grandpa Scott were there.

Brother and Sister Madsen and their granddaughter Elizabeth were also there.

Now with a line-up like that you know that the advice was superb and their hearts were all in it. Elder Scott gave Craig a great blessing that was perfect preparation for his entering the MTC and thence going to Taiwan as a missionary.

It's all about Craig

Craig opened his mission call on May 9th at 6 p.m. He invited about 30 friends to his apartment, then had several use their cell phones to call various family members around the country, so they could hear when he read his call. Michelle and I were visiting friends in Prague, so Craig arranged for us to log onto Skype at 2 a.m. local time so we could participate as well. We were all thrilled when he read that he had been called to the Taiwan Taichung Mission! He will be entering the MTC on August 6th.

Shortly after receiving his call, Craig purchased a Taiwanese flag pin, which he wears proudly on his suit lapel, and a Taiwanese flag. He got out the books he had purchased several years ago on Chinese characters, and the copy of the Book of Mormon in Mandarin (part of his collection of copies in over 50 languages), and has already spent many hours using the Internet and library CD collections to begin learning Mandarin. We're not really in a position to judge :), but it sure sounds to us like he's getting those tones down!

Craig return to Tucson on June 20th. Here you can see him transitioning from the American flag bedspread he used through high school and his freshman year--now in shreds--which he recently parted with and his new affection for the Taiwanese flag.

He finds his growing knowledge of Chinese comes in handy when he works on his "To Do" list:

Craig has been entertaining us with many clogging and dancing demonstrations from his days with SPAC (Spring Performing Arts Group of the BYU Folkdancers):

On June 26th Bruce and I had the wonderful privilege of accompanying Craig when he received his endowments in the Mesa Arizona temple.



Craig is thrilled with the opportunity to attend the temple and wants to go as often as possible before he enters the MTC. The day after he received his endowments, we flew to Salt Lake for the Rutter/Call family reunion and went on a session at the Salt Lake temple with Grandpa Scott the afternoon that we arrived. This past Friday, Craig spent the better part of the day in the temple while I was helping my brother Ken who lives in Phoenix.

As in previous years, we attended the ward 4th of July breakfast the morning of Craig's birthday, then celebrated with our usual family traditions the next morning.

A week later, Craig's nursery teacher, Jessica Bullock, took us to dinner in Trail Dust Town. She likes to remind us that Craig was her "first graduate" from nursery. Sixteen years later she is still the nursery leader!

Today Craig gave his "pre-mission" talk in sacrament meeting. Nathan and Max, Camille, and Michelle, flew in for the big event. We went bowling yesterday afternoon and last night we enjoyed a few games of "Mormon" bridge.

This morning Nelson Faux, Barbara's brother, and Paula Carlson, a close family friend, drove down from Phoenix and Goodyear respectively for Craig's talk.

Dear family friends, Gayle and Mark Bowman, made a delicious cake in Craig's honor.
In sacrament meeting, the family sang "Father, Do You Love Me," a modification of the Primary song, "Teacher, Do You Love Me." Bruce explained in his introduction that he, Barbara, and I all had ancestors who lived in Nauvoo as neighbors, and the song represents how we believe they and other pioneers must have felt as they stood at the end of Parley Street looking back on their beautiful city before crossing the frozen Mississippi to begin their journey west.

Craig gave a great talk about two young men whom Joseph Smith called as "spies for Israel" and how they alerted the Prophet regarding plans to assassinate him. He also told about how in 1845 his ancestor Cyril Call, who lived outside Nauvoo, was approached by a mob. The leader said to him, "You are a good citizen and we like you. If you will renounce Momonism and Joe Smith, we will not burn your home." Cyril replied, "Joseph Smith is a prophet of God and Mormonism has been divinely instituted." The mob proceeded to burn his house down and his wife and children were forced to make their beds in a cornfield until help came.

Craig closed with his testimony of the Prophet, Joseph Smith, and the Savior and His Atonement. We are very happy and grateful that he and his siblings are following in the righteous traditions of their forefathers!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, GRANDMA SCOTT!

Today is Grandma Scott's birthday. This photo was taken the day she graduated from George Washington University in 1951. Grandma is on the right. (Her sister Venna lived in Hawaii at the time and I believe she must have sent the lei.) Great Grandma Watkins is in the middle and Grandma's sister Nina is on the right.

I called Grandpa to tell him I was thinking of him and her on Grandma's special day. I feel so very blessed to have such wonderful parents. I think of Grandma often and try to figure out how she organized her time so that she was able to focus on those things that are most important.

I remember that she found many ways to help others. When we lived in Maryland, she would take my cousins and our family out to the farm to have fun in the out-of-doors. She would make sure that the extended family gathered for holidays and other special occasions, often hosting them at our house. After moving to Utah, she would invite my cousins who were at BYU over for holiday meals and at other times, pick them up at the airport, and in other quiet ways help them, such as helping them purchase a car or talking with them when they needed a listening ear. I'm thinking especially of Shannon and Andrew, but it was true of many others as well. Shannon feels so close to Grandma that she named her daughter after her–-Janeen--though she didn't spell the name the same way.

Grandma spent many hours every week helping Grandpa's parents, Mary and Kenneth Scott, when they moved to Utah towards the end of their lives. She got their finances all organized, including all their investment accounts. For years, she would take Mary grocery shopping and do her hair weekly and many other things of which I'm not aware. As I thought about it this morning, I realized that her generosity was especially touching since, as she told me once, Mary had not helped her much with child care when her children were very young and little Richard was so sick.

I remember that she did a great deal to help Maude, an elderly neighbor, find a good retirement home and sell her own home, and helped her in many other ways.

I remember a friend of hers telling me once that Grandma would call her and invite her to go somewhere or do something and the friend would reply that she still needed to do her housework. The friend said Grandma always seemed to do hers very quickly, leaving her more time for more important things.

Another area in which she gave untold hours of critical service was in family history. I don't know how she did it–-especially before computers! She would arrange to trade child care so she could go downtown to the Library of Congress. (I remember she told me that she had seen Carl Sandburg there researching his series on Lincoln.) She used every available moment, year in and year out, to push forward the work of finding our deceased ancestors and making sure they received the temple ordinances. She would often involve Mary in going to the archives and copying down by hand the information they discovered. She told us stories about our ancestors and communicated such love for them that it burns brightly in my heart today and I long to do more to follow in her footsteps and continue her research. I realize that in order to do that, I also need to follow her example in other ways so that I can have the time available.

I remember how positive she always was. It used to bother me because when I wanted some sympathy, she was always pointing out the bright side! But now that I see things more from her perspective, I realize that looking at the bright side is truly the best way and with practice can become so internalized that we don't need someone else to do it for us :).

Grandma's love for the Lord and faith in Him was rock solid. Her devotion governed every aspect of her life. She wholeheartedly supported Grandpa in his callings, which from early in their marriage, often took him out of the home many evenings and weekends. (I think it was hard sometimes when he would be helping someone or fixing something at someone else's house, when there were tasks waiting at his own, but she didn't complain.) She rejoiced in the opportunities for travel and service his callings brought to them. Given the weight of his responsibilities, she once remarked to me that she tried to solve as many of the household issues on her own so as not to further burden him.

She studied the scriptures consistently and I remember her reading biographies of early church leaders in the evening before bed. In later life, she also read the Wall Street Journal and enjoyed sharing with me what she learned about some of her favorite topics: health and nutrition.

She was fearless in standing up for what is right. She wholeheartedly accepted the counsel of the prophets that mothers should be at the home with their children and at every opportunity she encouraged women to follow this counsel, both from the pulpit and in personal conversations. She was completely devoted to doing the Lord's will and tried to always follow His promptings to the best of her ability.

I'm looking forward to the day when you can all meet her and vice versa!

HAPPY BIRTHDAYS!

Camille was in Tucson the weekend of my birthday, so she made sure I celebrated in style. Here's her take on my reaction to her efforts:

"For my birthday I was so lucky to have Camille visiting. She made me the BEST waffles I've EVER had. YUM!"

She captured my sentiments exactly! Here we are together in the traditional birthday photo.


And here's evidence that Dad's birthday was also celebrated properly:


Many thanks to all who remembered us on our birthdays!

Alive and Ticketed

Friday night (May 23) we began our survival camp. The explorers had been planning for several months and we were prepared (or so we thought). We had done some research on wilderness survival, had learned to start a fire with only flint and steel (as long as we had some lint), had pocket knife, compass, map, emergency space blanket, MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) from army surplus, and we were pumped--we were ready. To make the event more like something we could visualize, we decided that we would act as if we were shot down behind enemy lines and we had to get back to our unit before the end of the next day. Our roles were assigned by drawing out of a hat. Adam drew commanding officer--the one to lead by example. Map and compass as his best friends, Niels drew nagivator. Steve drew medic and started right off with a patient, Josh, who drew the hunter with a broken arm. (Ironically enough, Josh is a medical doctor.) Quartermaster duties went to Andrew along with the realization that only five MREs survived the crash. Survival specialist fell on me (a fitting role since I had survived for my entire life up to this point).

Mary Lee agreed to drop us off near the top of Mt. Lemmon, so we loaded up our gear into the suburban and took off. After twenty five miles of winding roads and climbing terrain we arrived at Organization Ridge just below Palisades Ranger Station at almost 8,000 feet above sea level. We hopped out of the suburban into two inches of snow and a brisk biting breeze. The sun was covered by a thick layer of dark clouds and we all seemed to be thinking twice about our survival camp idea. May in Arizona is seldom cold and never snowy, but somehow, this day in this May was way out of the norm. It proved to be the coldest May 23 on record. Even so, we were tough. . . we were macho . . . we could handle it.

We grabbed our gear, which was pretty scant because of our crash scenario, and began our trek through slushy snow. The wind whined through the trees and whipped our faces as we zipped up our coats and held our hats. At times we couldn't tell if it was starting to sprinkle or if the wind was merely blowing the loose wet snow from the branches above. As we clustered around Niels we tried to identify on the map where we were and where we were going. Now a topographic map is one thing to look at in a classroom, but something very different in the field. Those contour lines don't look like mountains or valleys and distances on foot surely seem longer than the fraction of an inch on the map. With the compass to orient the map and us, we figured where we would likely find the trail. Down a slippery and steep slope of snow covered branches and rocks we slipped and tripped to what was proclaimed to be the trail. Miraculously nobody actually fell. So far so good. With snow on the ground everything looked similar, so the slight variation in the slope that we called a trail was a stretch of the immagination. Nevertheless it did seem to have other evidences that made it worth following. The dear tracks showed we were not alone on the mountain, and we were expecting to see squirrels and rabbits as well. We began to talk about bears and mountain lions as we marched single file behind Niels. For a young guy only about 5'-9" tall, he set a pace that we had trouble matching. At first we tried to make talk that he would want to hear, but after a while we just had to call out to him to slow down.

Our plan was to set up camp just below Mud Spring, according to the map about 2.3 miles down the trail and at an elevation of about 6,000 ft, where it was supposed to be below the snow line. When we arrived there was not a good camping place to be found so we continued down the trail for about 2 more miles. We measured our progress using the Roman soldier method--one thousand paces to the mile. (Mille being the Italian word for one thousand, and a pace being a right plus a left step.) Each of us took turns counting one hundred.

At dusk we arrived at a rocky outcropping which afforded a degree of protection from the wind and we scouted around to find a decent campsite. We found a place where we could build a fire in a rock niche where the heat would be reflected back to us and where there was no chance for the fire to spread. The terrain around the fire site was gently sloped and there were dead trees not too far away to provide an ample supply of firewood. Adam, our commanding officer, gave his approval so we began to make camp and dubbed it "Camp Awesome" because of the view.

With a few handfulls of dried grass and small tinder we made a little nest to catch the sparks from our flint and steel. We had purposefully not brought matches because we were up to the challenge to start a fire without them. As we all gathered around to shelter the sparks, Niels began striking his knife and the flint vigorously. Grass--no good. Paper napkin--no good. Cloth--no good. At last a bit of fluffed up lint from my pocket caught the spark and made a small flame which soon spread to the grass and twigs. Little by little we fed the fire with gradually larger branches until we had a modest but adequate fire. The heat bounced off the rocks just as we had hoped. As long as we used well dried material the smoke was not bad.

Hey, hey! Big success--Fire without matches. We were pretty proud of ourselves. Although Niels did most of the work we were all taking the credit for making the fire. We were mountain men--tough, independent, undaunted by the elements.

New task--prepare and eat our MREs. New challenge--six hungry guys; five MREs. With the wisdom of Solomon, and the mind of a lawyer, Andrew, our quartermaster, surveyed the situation, recognized that Niels was allergic to some of the MRE contents, and quickly gave Niels what he could eat and the rest of the food to us. It worked great. Sharing. Comradery. Well, all right, forced redistribution of resources, but at least no one got mad.

It appeared that only Adam had eaten an MRE before. They are really sort of neat. There are compact plastic pouches for each of the courses: manicotti and tomato sauce for main course, "Ranger Bar" with peanut butter for filler course, and spice cake for dessert. They even contained a little "heater" to warm the main course: In a small plastic bag just large enough to hold the main dish pouch is a dry chemical which is activated by pouring in a little water. The water and the chemical combine to make an exothermic reaction which heats up the main dish and voila', in about 5 minutes, hot manicotti and tomato sauce. We were really cookin' now.

Full (at least partly) and warm (at least partly) we figured it was time to bed down for the night. The breeze was not bad; the fire was going. We were protected by a rising cliff on the west and a falling cliff on the east. We had a defensible position and did not expect any intruders (animals or otherwise). Acting like we knew what we were doing we pulled out our emergency space blankets. They are very compact and unfold to be about 5' wide and 8' long. Trying to wrap ourselves in the flimsy blankets was akin to chasing a dandelion seed--even the slightest breeze sent it everywhere. We tried to duct tape outselves in but when we sat down the blankets shredded. No matter how you lay on it, rock is hard and uncomfortable and there is always at least one place where it pokes through everything. We had no padding at all so the poking was intolerable. Now, the stores may advertise that space blankets reflect in up to 90% of your body heat, but they don't say that space blankets don't even come close to keeping you warm. To top it off, the space blankets sounded like crushing bags of potato chips with every wiggle so after a couple of hours of pretending to sleep we began to congregate around the fire embers to weather the night. Steve was first to suggest that we could do a night hike. After all, why just sit around the fire. Niels and his dad, Andrew, somehow seemed actually to be asleep. (I just think they were better at faking it. We were pretty certain that they were indeed faking because they got up after we kicked and poked them until they couldn't fake it any longer.) Adam had learned that even though his camelback water bag was soft, it leaked when used as a pillow and he was trying to dry out a few wet spots on his jacket and pants.

On the brighter side, Steve had fixed Josh's arm so well that it was completely healed and no longer needed a splint.

After taking a vote on the night hike idea, we decided to go for it--after all we had three flashlights, did not know where we were going, had very little moonlight, and were tired of laying on worthless, crinkly, cold, space blankets on hard rock beds. We ingeniously doused the fire and made certain there were no live embers and then hit the trail again. Although it was about midnight we told ourselves that we weren't really that tired anyway.

It was no problem to get back on the trail because we had left it just a few hours earlier, but after a short distance on the trail it was becoming tough to discern just where the trail was. The ground was no longer rocky soil, rather it was solid rock or bolders. It was impossible to see a trail at all except for the markers. Someone who had gone before us (probably in the daytime) who knew where the trail was had wisely marked the trail by stacking several rocks on top of each other to show the way. Because the trail zig-zagged down the mountain it was not easy to know where to go. Furthermore, there were steep slopes and cliffs that could be a potential hazard. At times the trail was so hard to find even a couple of steps past the stacked rock markers we were uncertain where to go next. As we flashed our lights around we could see another marker in the distance or perhaps a spot of trampled grass that was a clue to proceed. If there had not been the markers we would have likely taken much longer to get down and no doubt would have had a much tougher time of it in the process. It was doubly reassuring when we would see a stack of rocks along a segment of trail which was already pretty well defined. It was like a little whisper of encouragement from our unseen friend saying we were on the right track. Adam and I led the way. At times when I was stumped often Adam's sharp eyes picked up some subtle clue that kept us moving in the right direction. Even though I am bigger than Adam, he also helped me keep from falling at some of the slippery places. By helping each other we all made it safely. With only one "power nap" at what we think was Sycamore Flat, we hiked through the night. At about 4:00 a.m. as we were making it down the mountain patting ourselves on the back at how tough we were, we happened to see a young guy and girl coming up the trail. They weren't even out of breath! By 5:00 in the morning we could see the upper reaches of Sabino Canyon and we picked up our pace. As we headed down the last stretch of trail we saw a sign on its side which read something like, "Beware of ogre on trail." We didn't give it much thought and even chuckled at it as we passed. About a half mile later we stepped past an orange section of plastic construction fencing material and placed our tired feet on level pavement. It looked like there was some construction in process but it was too early for any workmen. The heavy equipment lay silent like a massive metal ghost town against the gray dawn. We plodded on.


Although we were tempted to take another "power nap" we were so close to the end of the trail that we pushed ourselves onward. The sky was getting lighter and the birds were starting to awaken. We were zombies on automatic pilot placing one foot in front of the other. Near shuttle stop seven we noticed a green pick-up truck approaching. Although curious we did not think much of it, but it did seem a bit early for traffic at 5:30 a.m.

We continued walking right up to the truck as it slowed to a stop. A black haired female law enforcement officer in full uniform stepped out of the cab and immediately addressed Adam.
"Put down the weapon," she said commandingly as she gestured at the small crossbow in his hands. As Adam wisely complied, she asked, "What are you doing here?"
"We have been hiking down the mountain," we replied innocently.
"Did you know this is a restricted area?" she continued, "Didn't you see the signs?"
"What signs?" we said. "There were no signs."
She pointed down the canyon and said, "There is a big orange one right across the road."
"We weren't coming from that direction. We came down from Mt. Lemmon and there were no signs where we came from except an Ogre on the trail sign," we stated flatly. We didn't say it out loud but we were thinking we had finally met the ogre.
"Where are you from?" she queried looking directly at me.
"Tucson," I responded.
"Haven't you heard about parts of the canyon being closed?" she asked.
"Sure, but there are dozens of trails and only a few were supposed to be affected." I commented.
"Well this is restricted and you will have to wait here for a while." she said as she returned to her truck.

About 45 minutes later she had given each of us a ticket for a $75 fine for walking in a restricted area. Tired and now incredulous we asked, "Couldn't we at least get a ride back to the parking lot. We are beat."
She said, "There is only one way you can get a ride in my truck, and that is if you are in handcuffs."
Without even a pause, I put both hands together and extended them to her, "Put on the cuffs, I'm ready to go. And these are my accomplices." I said as I motioned at Steve and Adam. They had big grins on their faces and the lady officer just broke out laughing. Then she told us to get walking.

Rough, tough, mountain men, caught just before getting back to our unit. I hate it when that happens.

Quick get out the cell phones and call for back-up. Andrew called his wife to come get Niels and him. Steve, Adam, Josh and I ran into Mary Lee and Camille on their morning walk so we borrowed the car and headed for home.

We made it home after our 16 mile survival hike: Alive and ticketed.

(By the way our counting paces strategy worked pretty well. We measured about 15.3 miles and the map said it was 15.7 miles. Not bad. Those Roman soldiers knew what they were doing.)