I searched for that white stone bridge near Georgetown, Colorado. Now I have questions.
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As I’ve mentioned before on this blog, I was honored to have the opportunity to serve as a program counselor at two different staffed camps in the Philmont Scout Ranch backcountry.
Ranching at Beaubien Camp
At Beaubien in 1995, I welcomed thousands of Scouts and adult Advisors to the porch of one of the biggest and busiest camps on the ranch. I, helped our guests prepare a chuck wagon style dinner (beef stew…with real meat…which is quite a treat when you’ve been eating nothing but rehydrated dehydrated backpacking food for several days in a row), discussed cattle branding and roping, and entertained the masses with an evening campfire full of stories, poetry, and the occasional song. We were known for striking ridiculous poses whenever someone tried to take a picture during the campfire. And we may or may not have occasionally hijacked those cameras and taken some fabulous selfies before selfies were cool.
Philmont Hymn
We closed each campfire inviting everyone to join us in singing the Philmont Hymn. The story goes that a Camper wrote this song after coming off the trail. If I remember correctly, he wrote it to the beat of the clickety-clack of the tracks on his train ride home.
Silver on the sage, Starlit skies above, Aspen covered hills, Country that I love. Philmont, here's to thee, Scouting Paradise. Out in God's Country Tonight. Wind in whisp'ring pines. Eagles soaring high. Purple mountains rise Against an azure sky. Philmont, here's to thee, Scouting Paradise. Out in God's Country Tonight.
I even got to invite my dad to join us up on “stage” to sing this with us the night my Scout troop was there. It was one of those special, memorable moments.
Night Rider’s Lament
There was another song, though, that was only sung on occasion. But it really spoke to me. It’s called Night Rider’s Lament.
One night while I was out riding' Graveyard shift, midnight 'till dawn. Moon was as bright as a reading light For a letter from an old friend back home. He said, "Last night, I run into Jenny. She's married and has a good life. Boy, you sure missed the track When you never came back. She's the perfect professional's wife. "She asked me 'Why does he ride for the money? Why does he rope for short pay? He ain't gettin' nowhere And he's losing his share. Oh, he must've gone crazy out there." Well I read up the last of my letters And tore off a stamp for Black Jim. Billy rode up to relieve me. He just looked at my letters and grinned. He asked me, "Why do you ride for the money? Why do you rope for short pay? You ain't gettinn' nowhere And you're losing your share. Oh, you must've gone crazy out there." But they've never seen the Northern Lights. They've never seen a hawk on the wing. They ain't never seen a stream Hit the great divide. And they've never heard ol' camp cookie sing.
I think this song meant more to me after returning from my year at Beaubien than it did while I was there. I knew exactly how that night rider felt. At that time, I had a girlfriend who didn’t understand my love affair with the Philmont backcountry. No, her name wasn’t Jenny (like in the song), but it might as well have been. She expressed the exact same sentiment. I tried to help her understand. She even visited Base Camp when my parents drove out to bring me home at the end of the summer. But she just couldn’t wrap her head around it.
Now, I’m not going to say that this was the reason we called things off, but it’s worth pointing out that we did break up shortly after I accepted a contract to return to Philmnont that next year.
But she wasn’t the only one who didn’t understand. She wasn’t the only one who said under their breath, “Oh, he must’ve gone crazy out there.” After returning to college for my sophomore year, I came to realize that none of my friends really understood what I was talking about when I tried to explain life on the Ranch. The closest people could relate was some type of summer camp experience. But Philmont is more than just a summer camp. And the backcountry staff experience is unlike any other.
I didn’t make a lot of money that summer. But I was dying to go back. And no one understood it. You just had to be there to really get it.
Logging at Crater Lake Camp
In 1996, I was a logger at Crater Lake Camp. We educated and entertained as Campers and Advisors learned about the logging efforts of the Continental Tie & Lumber Company in the early 20th century. The highlight of the day was our nightly “company meetin,” where we’d tell the Philmont story in a way unlike any other. I’ve tried to explain it to people, but I just can’t. It was kind of a vaudeville act, kind of a show that you’d find in Branson, Missouri, or Pigeon Forge, Tennessee, kind of a variety show full of tall tales, historical fact, ridiculous humor, and amazing songs.
Georgetown
Every night, one of our closing moments of our Crater Lake campfire was a song called Georgetown. I had never heard this song before visiting Philmont. It was written by Gerry Spehar. If I understand correctly, he’s from Colorado.
Sittin' on a white stone bridge 'Bout a mile from Georgetown, Colorado. Lookin' at a mountain meadow that's changin' Gold and brown to shadow. A hundred miles behind my back is a bar Where I'd like to go and drown my sorrow. Carry my mind to an easier time On the far side of tomorrow. And the river, she flows on around the bend. On down to Denver, where she meets a friend. And they sail together 'til they reach the sea. Wish I was a river, Lord. And the river was me. I heard there's a man up the road Who knows just how to sing and play the guitar. Sittin' on the edge of fame and fortune you know he Could have made himself a very big star. Ridin' round cities in a big Cadillac, Showin' all the ladies a smile. But he took all the money and he gave it right back. Said he'd keep his happy heart a while. And the river, she flows on around the bend. On down to Denver, where she meets a friend. And they sail together 'til they reach the sea. Wish I was a river, Lord. And the river was me. Wish I was a river, Lord. And the river was me.
Here’s a bootleg recording of us singing Georgetown during one of our campfires. You’ll find that it’s a little different from the original recording.
Again, a similar message as Night Rider’s Lament. A guy could have pursued riches. But he chose something else. This hit me hard every time I sang it. Because from an outsider’s perspective, the guy was crazy. Right? Who would give up success?
Well, Philmont staffers got it. Because they still sacrifice financial success for the magic of God’s Country. Those memories I have of working at Philmont have turned to gold. They’re irreplaceable. And I know other PhilStaff feel the same way.
That white stone bridge near Georgetown, Colorado
Earlier this year, Dad approached us with a proposal: let’s have an extended family vacation in Breckenridge, Colorado. It sounded like a lot of fun. We always get together around Christmas and feel like it’s never enough time. So why not add some more family time with some of my favorite people?
A few months before our trip out west, I came to the realization that Georgetown, Colorado, is right in the middle of the drive from Denver to Breckenridge. I knew what I had to do. A stop in Georgetown, Colorado, was in order. I didn’t care what else we did. I had to visit this town and find that white stone bridge.
Lori and I worked together at Beaubien and have continued to keep in touch over the years. I told her about my goal of sitting on that white stone bridge. “I’ve got bad news,” she said. She had visited Georgetown, Colorado, with her family and looked all over for the storied white stone bridge. They never found one.
I mentioned this to my dad, because I’d remembered that he had visited Georgetown some time in the late ’90s. “Yeah. I never found one, either,” he said.
I was crushed. My dream of sitting on that white stone bridge in (or near) Georgetown, Colorado, were dashed.
Exploring Georgetown, Colorado
I still hoped to make pilgrimage to Georgetown, Colorado, just to see the town that inspired the song that has meant so much to me over the years. I’m sure that Christy, God bless her, didn’t fully understand my connection to this place. She probably still doesn’t. But she lovingly humored my longing to visit Georgetown and made sure we stopped along the way to Breckenridge. Of course, we had to visit the Welcome Center
I had no idea, but it turns out that Georgetown, Colorado, basically began as a boom town during the Colorado gold rush. But that was short-lived. Fortunately for the town, silver was soon discovered. By the 1870s, the silver mines in the area produced millions of dollars worth of silver ore. It ultimately became an economic center.
But none of that really mattered to me. Georgetown, Colorado, was special to me in in its own little way. So I made sure to take a few photos during our brief stop.
We had an appointment to keep in Breckenridge, so we couldn’t stay very long. But as we drove away, we agreed to return to Georgetown, Colorado, on our way back to the Denver airport. There are some quaint little restaurants in the tiny town and the idea of supporting the local small businesses was more appealing than spending too much money on food at the airport.^
Of course, I spent the rest of the week humming, singing, or listening to Georgetown.
Georgetown, Colorado, revisited
We did visit Georgetown again. I didn’t really look for the white stone bridge, though. Don’t get me wrong. I did keep an eye out for one. But that wasn’t my mission.
I did wind up seeing a brownish concrete overpass. Does that count? I guess it’ll have to do. For now.
We took a road up a mountain and looked out over the town. It was breathtaking.
We also ate lunch at the Alpine Restaurant and Bar, which is located in the old train depot. Their meatballs are huge (and tasty), by the way. We also swung by Pho Bay III on the way out of town so Mihret could try some boba tea. She gave the drink a thumbs-up.
I also saw the river. And boy, did she ever flow.
OK. This technically isn’t a river. It’s Clear Creek. So…is there even a river that flows through Georgetown, Colorado? I don’t think there is.
Now I have so many questions for Mr. Spehar.
- Where on earth is that white stone bridge?
- Is the bar that was behind you still there?
- Who’s the guy who knows just how to sing and play the guitar? Is it you? I bet it’s you. Because you gave up your career to become a family man. It’s you.
- The river that flows down to Denver. Is it really Clear Creek and you just called it a river because it flows better lyrically? Pun may/may not be intended.
- When’s the last time you visited Georgetown, Colorado?
- Do you know how meaningful this song is to so many Philmont staff?
So many questions! So, if you happen to read this, Mr. Spehar, let’s chat!
Was it worth the trip? Absolutely! Will I go back? Sure! This place is still hallowed ground for me, even if the town is not at all what I expected.
endnotes
*Philstaff was known to change “camp cookie” to “Rod Taylor,” which fit. You see, Rod was the ranch’s full time cowboy. And he also sang quite a toon. Oh, and he has also been in a movie or two. Of course, you don’t have to go to Philnont in order to hear ol’ Rod Taylor sing anymore. You can listen to him online.
^We still wound up spending too much money on food at the airport. But we wound up coming home with a box of Voodoo Doughnuts. So it wasn’t as awful as you might think.
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