Our group of 50 boys was broken by age into three camps. We older buckaroos had bunkhouselike cabins, each holding eight. We were kept busy with crafts, swimming, riflery, hiking, horseback activities and, of course, responsible chores like writing home to our parents and siblings. But the piece de resistance was the truck and horseback camping trips.
One memorable adventure was a four-day horse trip out of a pack station in the nearby Huachuca Mountains. We rode the trails and roads into the upper reaches of the mountains, occasionally dodging nasty wild javelina, to camp out.
The last night, we bivouacked near an old two-room cabin. We spread out our bedrolls and personal belongings on the ground at the most comfortable and convenient spot. Then it was off to the cookout and campfire camaraderie before getting an early night’s sleep. The next morning’s plan was to eat an early breakfast and then saddle up the horses and “move ’em on, head ’em up, rawhide” back to the pack station.
After the campfire our group headed back by flashlight to our bivouac. As I neared my bedroll, I heard what sounded like cicadas getting louder. With presence of mind, I shined my flashlight at the end of my bedroll.
The next thing I remember is shouting for one of the adult camp counselors at the top of my lungs: “Rattlesnake! Rattlesnake! Alden, bring your gun! Rattlesnake, rattlesnake!”
With that, every boy within ear shot was stampeding to the two-room shanty for safety, passing Alden, who was going the other way toward our bivouac.
A while later, Alden reappeared with two rattlesnakes that he had neutralized more stealthily than with a gun. (Diamondbacks are known to travel in pairs, thus the two-for-the-price-of-one.) He saved the skins and placed them in a popcorn can with the lid on tightly so that I could carry them back to The Little Outfit to make a couple of belts as an arts-and-crafts project.
No one slept that night, but we were all settled down by morning. Saddling up went smoothly until I approached my horse to secure that popcorn can. My horse and those nearby knew that subtle, sweet, pungent scent meant trouble and they became very agitated. Alden cleaned the can and coated it with citronella. That quelled the steeds who fortunately knew we were headed home, which always incites a horse’s fastest pace.
Back at home base we settled into our daily activities, which now included my making a couple of leather snakeskin-covered belts. But I still couldn’t get close to any animal with an innate sense of smell for danger. By the end of camp, I donated the belts to the crafts building.
In that summer’s rite of passage I gained confidence, maturity and knowledge of what cicadas do not sound like.
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