TROOP 104 ASCENDS MOUNT WHITNEY

It was Friday morning on the 22nd of May. Across the street, kids walked through the gates of Porter Middle School. We weren't going to school today. We had bigger, better things planned. As the scouts of Troop 104 gathered in the parking lot of St. Stephen's Church, we loaded up our packs in Mr. Lopez's truck, and then hopped in the cars to head over to the Lopez's house to pick up Julian, Nicholas, and their Uncle Steve before we can head out. After a few minor setbacks thanks to some misplaced gaiters, Narayan, Matt, Mr. Liebeskind, Mr. Yaffee (a friend of Mr. Liebeskind) and Mr. Krueger hopped into the KruegerVanMobile and the rest of us piled into the Lopez's beast of a truck, and then we headed out.

About three and a half hours later, we arrived at the Mt. Whitney Visitor's center, which was actually nowhere near the mountain, but actually in the middle of the desert basin that below it. Here, we picked up our poop bags and got some important information before we headed up to the portal camp.

As we drove up to the portal with the windows down and the wind in our hair, we felt the temperature drop quite a few degrees from when we were down at the visitor center. At the portal, we set up camp and began to explore the area. In the portal store, we found inflated bags of candy from the altitude and a wide array of everything you might have forgotten in preparing for trekking up Mt. Whitney. Near our campsite was a stream which seemed to run all the way off the mountain, and on the other side of it was a trail which we followed for maybe a mile or two, burning off some energy and getting acclimated. Back in camp, we climbed some rocks and ate a hearty meal of delicious pasta and meat sauce for lunch and dinner. We built a campfire, which became the gathering point for the whole camp, as neighboring campers came and joined us by the fire. That night, I found that I had to make sure I didn't rush or push my body too fast when I threw up for laying down too fast to go to sleep. In the morning, we awoke as the sun began to rose through the trees. We ate breakfast packed up, and then set out on the trail.

We followed the trail higher and higher up the side of the valley we had stayed in the night before. The first thing that surprised me was the amount of other hikers on the trail with us. When they say that Mt. Whitney is a popular place, they aren't kidding. People going on day trips, people planning on staying the night like us, people with kids, and people with dogs, passed us by, heading both ways. As we hiked, we crossed little streams and water falls that trickled by, and to our left we could see the forest of the Mt.Whitney portal and the desert that stretched out beyond that. On the other side, the mountains that surround Death Valley rose from the flat Earth to meet the clouds. Soon, we came to the first patch of snow that we could touch, and a small snowball fight followed. We breaked often because of the thin air, and often found ourselves next to beautiful waterfalls and scenic views.

We intended to stop at 10,000 feet to take a picture, but we found a spot at 10,070 feet that looked nicer, so we took a picture there instead.

We continued on our way up, stopping at a spot with a plethora of snow to readjust our packs and climb the snow drifts and then slide back down, we continued from there to our lunch stop, singing camp songs (and a little bit of "Hotel California) along the way. We stopped for lunch at what is called "Outpost Camp", and as we feasted, we admired the beauty of the area, particularly the nearby waterfall that had carved it's way through the snow, which we filled our water bottles from before we set out again.

Within an hour, we had left the tree line behind, and we hiked on giant granite slabs that jutted out of the snow. We stopped to admire the view and the marmots who had made their home up there. Within a few minutes, it began to snow. Undaunted, we put on our jackets and kept hiking. We crossed a few snow drifts and headed over one more crest and we reached Trail Camp.

Trail camp sits in a basin at the foot of the peak of Mt. Whitney, at about 11,000 feet. It is made up of granite slabs that stick up out of the mountain, and people pitch their tents wherever there is flat space. Little rock walls protected the tents from the wind, and the area around the granite is covered in snow. Nearby was a small pond and lake which had partially frozen over. Little black specks, which turned out to be people, climbed the snow in the distance to reach the summit because the switchbacks were frozen and snowed over. Dinner was warm that night, and the sleeping bags were warmer.

The next morning, I got up to go to the bathroom in a T-shirt and some plain old scout pants. Other campers in the area were all wrapped up in down jackets and thermals, holding hot cups of coffee as they stared at me when I walked by. I didn't understand why they were looking at me so funny, since the breeze wasn't even that cold. On my way, I stepped in a puddle, which then cracked and shattered. It was frozen. I guess it was colder than it felt. After breakfast, we headed over to the nearby lake, which was well frozen. Nick, Julian, and Matt went out on stood on the ice, and I stood on a rock next to it. I don't like cold water in my boots. After, we climbed up a smaller snow chute than the one we had seen the specks on the day before and reached about 12,000 feet before we let ourselves slide back down and then walked back to camp.

The hike down was far less strenuous that the hike up the day before, with the acceptation of the slippery snow drifts we had to cross. On the way down, we saw hang gliders drifting amongst the clouds. Compared with the air at 11,000 feet, the amount of oxygen at our disposal on the way down was much appreciated. We stopped for lunch at outpost camp again before we headed the rest of the way down. Back at the portal, ,we loaded up the cars and went home.

Right now, you are probably wondering, "hey, what about going to the summit?" The way to the summit of Whitney was all snow and ice, with pointy rocks to break your fall. We didn't have the proper gear to make it to the top safely, so we'll just have to do it next time.

On the way back, Mr. Krueger's van began to overheat thanks to a gash in the radiator hose. We duct taped the hose up and refilled the radiator with the pure mountain water in our nalgenes, and it lasted long enough to get off of the freeway. Unfortunately, gas stations don't sell car parts any more, only food, so we couldn't fix the problem. We called AAA and took Matt home in the truck, leaving the Narayan, Mr. Krueger, Mr. Yaffee, and Mr. Liebeskind to get home at a later time.

All in all, it was a good trip. The area was beautiful and the hikers were polite. We all agree that we are going to go again, and next time, we will make it to the top. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go enjoy a lunch that wasn't freeze-dried and cooked in a pouch.

--Jonathan

CAMPOREE 2009 AT TEJON RANCH

The sun began to set as Troop 104 rolled up to what was supposed to be their campsite. Although the view was lovely, for we had been given a spot atop a hill overlooking the lake on one side and the rest of the Camporee on the other, there was also a nasty slant and cow pies every where, courtesy of the cows grazing on the same parcel of land that we were to play on the next day. Troop 104 didn't like that, so we found a new campsite down in the valley, with the normal people, and set up as the darkness fell around us. While some scouts grabbed tents and patrol boxes, others grabbed propane tanks and lanterns, and soon our site was bathed in light. We set up the tents in our signature horseshoe formation, with the SPL's at the head, while the adults camped off to the side. Next, the patrol boxes went up, and as our SPl, Julian L., left to go to the cracker barrel, a few particulary determined scouts went to work on setting up the troop sign in sub-freezing temperatures in front of the campsite for the Judges the next morning.




The next morning, the scouts competed for space in the sun while they waited to go down to the main camp for uniform inspections and breakfast.




The entire camp was called together for the opening flag ceremony. I am pretty sure that the crowd of people could have been seen from space, because there were allot of scouts. Webelos, Venturers, and just plain old Boy Scouts massed together for the last time until campfire that night. After the colors were raised, one of the head of the Camporee climbed to the top of a tower that was lashed together ahead of time, and he shouted at the mass of frozen, sleepy-eyed teenagers, "Which troop here is the best?"

Before he could finish his sentence, Troop 104 exploded into a cacophony of voices, each trying to be louder than the last. The other troops attempted to assert themselves as well, but they were drowned out by the battle cries of 104. Our uniforms in pristine condition compared to the competition, shooting medals glistening on our manly, muscular, bulging chests, we roared and cheered, I stood in the front, and lifted the Spirit Stick high into the air so all could see. An hour earlier, we were certain that we would not keep the Spirit Stick after this Camporee, due to the fact that all of our old, experienced Boys had Eagled out, and most of the Boys in the Troop were young and unexperienced (we blame no one, it is just how the cycle of greatness works). Now, our doubts were almost nearly removed, as the other Troops stared in horror at our enthusiasm. With a wave from the hand of the man in the lashing tower, the crowd was silenced, but the Spirit Stick remained just high enough to be seen by everyone.



As the day went on, the Boys of Troop 104 dove headfirst into every challenge that they were presented, and that was not a metaphor. The Rubber Duckies set the first notable record of the day at the Five Man Snowshoe competition, which was 3:01, beating the previous best of 6:35. It was shortly beaten by the Bottle Rockets (who came in first at the end of the day) with 54 seconds. They sang as they set the record, thanks to Matt G. and the bottomless pit of Marine Corps Cadence in his head. Meanwhile, the Grease Monkeys, Small Macs, and Rubber Duckies took on other competitions with notable awesomeness, but not as much as the Bottle-Rocket-singing-victory. Toward the end of the day, Keith K., despite his illness, beat the shooting record that was held the whole day (88/100, held by the Grease Monkeys and a patrol from another Troop) with a score of 92, ensuring that the top spot on the shooting competition stayed 104-exclusive.




The campfire that night featured Mr. Nuckolls' famous "Cowboy Shoot Out" skit, a quick flag retirement ceremony, and ended in the call-out for the candidates for the order of the arrow. The next morning, we gathered for a Scouts Own by an actual minister, and then the handing out of awards. At least one patrol from Troop 104 in every competition, except for the "Poison River" event, which we protested because we did not want to participate in an event where the instructions appear to be translated from Japanese by a very bad translating program. For the most part, it was Bottle Rockets first, Rubber Duckies second. Finally, it came down to the end, and it was time to announce the winners of the Spirit Stick. As the same man who had asked the crowd who was the best Troop the morning before prepared to announce the winners of the Spirit Stick, Julian humbly made his way through the crowd to present it to the winning Troop. The man unfolded the paper and declared "The winner is..."

In case you didn't hear the screams all the way in the Valley, TROOP 104 won the Spirit Stick. Julian withdrew back from the open, and into the crowd of 104 Scouts. Above our cries, he shouted,

"TROOP 104, WHAT IS YOUR PROFESSION?!"


We responded with a hearty,"AH-OO, AH-OO, AH-OO!!"


in perfect unison, our voices ecoing throughout the valley. We walked back to our campsite with broad smiles on our faces, and we posed like we were raising the Flag on Iwo-Jima with the Spirit Stick. All in all, it was a good weekend, and possibly one of the best Camporees I have ever gone too.





--Jonathan Reader

Troop 104 White Water Rafting 2009

Late last Friday afternoon, 17 Scouts (including myself) and Adults from Troop 104 gathered in the parking lot of Saint Stephen's Church, gearing up for their next big adventure. We loaded up the backpacks, the food, the water coolers, patrol boxes, and ever so important tents into the truck Mr. Martine had borrowed and left dreaming of the next day, when we would go white water rafting. On the way we passed through Antelope Valley and watched the sun set as we drove on. It turns out that the Tejon Ranch actually owns all of the land between where we go for summer camp and where the Antelope Valley begins, and a considerable amount of land in the Valley itself (in short, it's freaking HUGE). At one point, I glanced at the odometer and noticed that it read "104.0 miles", and thought it would make a good picture, but it came out blurry. Fast forward to an hour later, and we arrived at the camp site and began to set up in the dark. Once the lanterns were up, we set up the tents (the newer Scouts and Parents had some help from the old ones) and we crashed.

I awoke the next morning to the beautiful sight of Nick P., my tent buddy, sleeping on his face.




Outside, other campers were waiting for Matthew P. to make a fire for his advancement requirements. Once he got that going, the campers turned to a breakfast of nearly unlimited hot chocolate courtesy of all the good scouts who left their extra hot chocolate in the bin and either oatmeal or omelets in a bag. After cleanup, the older boys began to teach the new ones all they needed to know for the totin' chip and some knots for a Tenderfoot Rank requirement. The knot class culminated in a test involving a hammock held up by the knots the younger scouts had tied, which they then had to lie in to see if they had tied them right. Meanwhile, some other scouts headed across the river to check out the cars that some millionaires had driven into town for breakfast. There was one Porsche, one Lotus, and more Ferraris than you could shake a stick at.

After lunch, we headed over to the place where the company we were going rafting with was going to get us suited up. We got the full wet suits this time, with those awesome jackets that keep you dry and special little booties for everybody, except for Spencer Jensen (they didn't have a big enough size for him), then they gave us paddles and life jackets (no helmets, though) and loaded us up on a bus and took us up stream.

After a short training class, we splashed through the freezing water and into our boats, and began to paddle down stream. I ended up with all of the older scouts and our guide took us down the Kern River in every direction but forwards. Water splashed everywhere as we took on the small but entertaining rapids we broad smiles on our faces, pretending that we didn't have as much water in places there wasn't supposed to be water as there was. We reached the bottom and loaded up the rafts, then headed up river to go again.

The second time, a prolonged water fight broke out, ending in Grady going Navy Seal and silently diving into the freezing water, only to pull other scouts from other boats in to the water with him. I was almost launched from the raft as we hit a jackpot (a spot where the water flows over a rock and creates a place where the water is lower than everywhere else, also known as a BUMP). Spencer J. was on the side that went over the jackpot first, and his weight acted like a fulcrum as the part of the raft I was on went vertical. Towards the bottom, another splash battle resulted in several shivering scouts and me losing the feeling in the left side of my face.

After we dried off and changed into some dry clothes, we went across the bridge and into town, where we got some ice cream and held a 'how-far-can-you-jump-off-the-swing contest' in the park, which ended with Keith K. being Number 1 for farthest flying (of course) and Grady breaking and dislocating his arm not on the landing, but ON THE TAKEOFF!! Thereby keeping up the tradition of 104 Scouts getting more injured in public parks designed for safety than when they go white water rafting or careening down a steep and narrow mountain trail filled with rocks on their mountain bikes. Grady received immediate medical attention from the local Fire Department, and then was driven to the hospital. Our best wishes are with him.

Meanwhile, the physically intact scouts went back to camp, where we started a fire, broke down the incident in the park so we could know exactly what happened and put our minds at rest, played some cards, and got started on dinner. Keith L. , under the "wise" guidance of a certain older scout whose name will go unmentioned, cooked all of the pasta we had brought, which filled the whole pot. Meanwhile, Nick P. cooked up some delicious stir-fry.




There was plenty of food to go around, and everybody feasted on both dinner entrées and some s'mores around the camp fire later. In the morning, we packed up camp in a little bit over an hour, had a short Scout's Own on the river bank, then jumped in the cars and headed home. On the way, we stopped for some Sonic Burger for lunch (a first for many of us) and then came home.

All in all, it was a great trip with the exception of Grady's unfortunate injury, and I've already got the perfect cover story for him, Alligator Wrestling!


Jonathan R.
Troop 104 Historian

Troop 104 Historical Blog

Troop 104 in Mission Hills is now online with its own Historical Blog to document its events and outings. The Troop Historian will be contributing most of the writing to this blog and we will try to create links to our photos as well.

--- Michael Part
Scoutmaster