4 July 2001-2

Independence Day. For being so free, we seem to have a lot we have to do today.

It rained again, a good soaker in the afternoon. The clouds never really left.

We're going out of camp tonight, all of us. Two to prove they can survive a night in the wilderness without tent, fire or sleeping bag. It will be a cold one for them.

The rest of us are headed to join an overnight hike to the top of Monster Mountain in the hopes of seeing some of the fireworks from Fort Collins on the prairie to the east. They call this hike the "Monster Mash."

But first we have to put on our skit at the friendship campfire with several of the groups down the hill. Our boys manage to get us first on the agenda and, although short handed, they pull it off well. For those of you in the know (Hi, Trinity!), it was the "motorcycle gang" skit.

We stick around to sing a song and watch the "out of film" skit by an Albuquerque group, and then silently slip out the back to head for Monster.

While trekking down the road to the Monster gathering, I am joined by a father/son team coming from a different campfire, also bearing their backpacks for Monster.

They are raving about the skits they had seen that night. It is not pre-arranged by any means, as each group decides for themselves what skit to present, but their campfire also had the "motorcycle gang" and "out of film" skits. Weird.

A quick sign-up and head count, along with final adjustment of pack loads, and we're off. Sixty youth and about a dozen leaders and staff. We head out single file, past the adult showers and up onto the trail to Monster Mountain.

The trail begins by heading up a small lush valley. The trail is not level by any means, but instead clings to the west wall, rising and falling over rocks and into draws. One slippery bridge that clings to the hillside, a place too steep and loose for a trail in the dirt.

We are always in forest, changing from ponderosas on the high, dry slopes into Douglas fir and aspen deeper in the valley. Wildflowers are blooming everywhere, too many species to name. Eventually we move into the narrower portion, where ferns and moss dominate the forest carpet. The air is damp, the forest smells lush and fertile.

After another slippery log bridge across the stream, the trail climbs up the opposite face, switching back and forth in the rocks. The flatlanders behind me are discouraged, and one wants to quit. But I know this trail, been here five or six times before. I point to the gap in the rocks ahead, and let them know that is the end of the steep climb. They can make that.

Finally we crest out on the top of Monster. It is overcast here, but you can see lights out on the front range of Colorado. One brilliant array of lights I am sure is the massive radio antennas for WWV, the short wave station for the National Bureau of Standards. Too cloudy to see the fireworks, but there are flashes of lightning in the clouds over the prairie.

"Nature's fireworks," someone says.

The mass of people scatters over the broad, rocky top of Monster. I come up on four boys sitting on the cliff edge facing camp. One is playing with a laser, trying to hit camp. The others try to shush him as I come up, so used to lasers being treated as contraband.

But I have my laser out, too, and start trying to catch his beam with mine. Our beams cannot be seen hitting anything in camp, but we have fun testing them out on the rocks and trees below.

Rock band laser shows have nothing over a simple laser slashing through a pine forest. If you haven't done it, all I can say is the effect is neat.

There are multiple colors of glowsticks bouncing around the top of the mountain now, it's too dark to see without some light.

But lightning is dancing on the peaks around us, I count 10 seconds until the thunder. Two miles away.

Soon it is eight seconds.

We warn our boys not to bother unpacking. If the lightning gets any closer, no one will be staying up on this barren, rocky peak tonight.

Within a minute or two the word comes out.

"Pack up, we're heading down!" The lightning is less than a mile off now.

I send most of our group to the front of the line and stay back to help one eager beaver who had already selected his bed site and laid out his bedroll. We pack him up by the light of a yellow glowstick and then join the end of the line of hikers.

We weave down through the rocks single file again, with brilliant white flashes coming from all sides now.