Sugarloaf Mountain

The thing is, that I met and became intimately familiar with who, or what, became Ashley way back in 1977 when a British Scouter at Gilwell Park gave me the 6-foot Scout Stave when Wood Badge course NE-III-77 concluded. I served on this course, organized by the Transatlantic Council BSA, as a Coach–Counselor. For some time to come, the stave was my constant companion on every hiking and backpacking trip I made, especially after I returned to the U.S.

I figure that the stave has traveled close to 1,000 miles over these 40+ years.

And Then…

I was attacked by a proverbial Wild Hair and decided to go to Sugarloaf Mountain for a medium-long hike on a very warm mid-summer Saturday. So I gathered what I figured I'd need — including four liters of water — in my daypack and, with my trusted companion, set out for Comus, Maryland from my apartment in Laurel, Maryland. It was a beautiful day and the drive out to Sugarloaf was easy. I parked in the upper parking area and set out on the closest trail above what’s now known as the West View parking area. I passed the short, steep hike up to the peak and continued down the Norther Peaks Trail to its intersection with Mt Ephraim Road, a two-lane width country lane.

I followed this for a few miles until I met and turned uphill on the White Trail. By the time I came into the clearing by the East Parking area, I was sweating profusely and my knees were bitching (also profusely).

There was an empty bench and picnic table available under a shade tree; I accepted the invitation.

On two nearby picnic tables, I saw a group of about 12 young girls accompanied by four, possibly five, older women whom I assumed were mothers of some of the youngsters. I looked away, lit a cigarette, and opened the water bottle that still had water. It was time to rest, take in the view, and enjoy being alone and quiet. I mopped the sweat off of my face and neck with the cloth I'd brought in my pack.

In 1983 – 1987, I was the Scoutmaster for a BSA troop in Laurel—the last thing I wanted was to get involved with youth on “my” day.

“Hello, mister?” I heard a young girl say to my right side. I took my cigarette and crushed it against my left boot before I turned and answered: “Hello, ma’am.” She laughed and said she wasn’t a “ma’am”; she was a Brownie.

She asked me a lot of questions, beginning with “What were you doing?” (The girls had seen me, of course, when I emerged from the trail below the picnic ground.) My answer – hiking – was not completely satisfying, prompting other, semi-related, rapid-fire questions.

 By then, I was smiling at her, returning her smile as I answered her politely. One of her Brownie chaperones approached and I waved a friendly wave at her. I never stood or made any other move from the bench on which I sat. That must have assured the woman that I meant no harm. She told her errant charge to return to the group.

Ashley Is Born

The youngster remained, briefly, and asked me about my hiking stave. I told her it was a hiking staff, or stave, and she asked me what it was made of. I answered that it was of English Ash wood, and the young girl’s face lit up. “I know its name,” she exclaimed. “What?” I asked.

“Ashley!”, she replied as she turned, giggling, and ran back to her group.

I sat pondering and realized that the young girl was absolutely correct: my British Scout Stave was Ashley and Ashley was near and dear to me. Now more so than ever.

The girl ran back over to me, thanked me for listening to her, suddenly hugged me and gave me a rock face she’d made with her Brownie troop that day. A very small hard rock that stands on its own with two tiny “eyes” that seem to twinkle when I look at it…which I do frequently, even today.

Her chaperone, from the distance, seemed to dab her eyes as she called out to bring the Brownie back to the group.

I had to use my sweat-streaked cloth to dab my own eyes as I looked at the girl’s gift—not just of the craft she’d made but of the gift of her spontaneous friendship.