As we came over the ridge from Upper Bench, we caught sight of Baldy Mountain for the first time. We stopped for pictures before continuing our hike. The mountain looks formidable even from a distance.
Further down the trail, I ran afoul of some loose rocks and lost my balance. The simple header turned into a double backflip with a triple axle. I was able to shield the contents of my pack from damage by cleverly positioning my body between the pack and a large pointy rock. I expected such a performance to be met with all tens or at least a round of applause. However, I was disappointed when the guys simply ignored my cries and continued along the trail, either distracted by their song about a yellow, cartoon sponge man or believing the sound to be the victim of an ax murderer. Brian did turn, perhaps in hopes of marking my body for future retrieval. He contented himself in offering me a hand up from my turtle-like position. I ran my hands across my anatomy but found nothing wet nor squishy, so we continued down the trail. The boys eventually stopped to wait, wondering where the old timers had tottered off to. They seemed unimpressed with the story, yawning and rolling their eyes before turning to the trail once more. With only a Tylenol for sympathy, I shrugged my shoulders and continued on.
(I realize that some may doubt the veracity of this story and I do admit to some slight embellishment. In truth, I was not hurt by the fall. At least not physically.)
Today is Davis' birthday. He turned 14 while we were canoeing at Northern Tier in 2009. Now he turns 18 on the trail at Philmont. We have a cheesecake mix for dinner tonight to celebrate his right to vote.