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"Killing Ticks at Camp Murrin"
How A Lesson Learned Turned One Scout ...
Before the age of white gas and propane grills, Troop 32 prepared meals the “old fashioned way” –
matches and wood. Our traditional camping spot lay only 16 miles from downtown Ft. Worth as a
secret oasis off the beaten path. Camp Murrin was a wonderful donation of land that provided
a wilderness setting and close proximity for Troop 32 weekend camping. Scouts would arrive
Friday evening at the Scout hut (downtown Ft. Worth, Tx), top off the Coleman water containers,
load up the wood paneled Ford station wagon and head out in a car caravan for a camping spot
just shy of Aledo, Texas. The 7 ½ acre parcel of land was known for a quaint creek, infestation
of ticks and a stream that represented the southern border of the camp. Although we frequently
visited, every Scout had yet to explore the measure of the camps limits.
That evening, the sack lunch everyone was told to bring didn’t last long as excitement kept
building until they reached that familiar bend on a lonely Texas Farm road that meant – Adventure
was just beginning!
There was no sign at the time, you had to approach the entry with care as the gravel stretch
of road was marred by potholes from the latest rain or from unknown vehicles using it as a
turnaround. Your car, laden with Scouts and equipment, would bottom out unless you slowed
down, eased gently onto the gravel entry that dropped to five feet below the farm road.
Since the metal gate was at an angle, the truck and trailer would have to pass the camp,
turnaround and enter from the opposite direction so it wouldn’t “jacknife.”
A simple master lock prevented entry to anyone other than our gatekeeper Joe Cosgrove.
Scouter Joe Cosgrove was a hero to every scout of the 1970’s because there were usually
only 2 men who religiously camped with our Scouts – legendary John Edward “Ole Man” Gillespie
and Joe Cosgrove. To a Troop 32 Tenderfoot Scout of the 1970’s, Joe was the man who towed
the trailer that had patrol chuckboxes, troop tents and occasionally fit some personal
equipment when families couldn’t drive. He will forever be remembered as our faithful
guide who had a favorite expression for every predicament we might find ourselves in –
“I’ll be dogged!” Once said, his wisdom was uncanny in untangling the most onerous
debacle a first year Scout might find himself in.
On one spring weekend crisp with the smell of newly bloomed flowers, we arrived
and set camp before sunset Friday evening. Scoutmaster Gillespie set up a table and laid out
a generous portion of cheese, salami, bologna, crackers, Kool Aid drink, bread,
peanut butter/jelly – what we called a traditional “Crackerbarrel.” Whether
he feared a “sack lunch” wasn’t ever enough for a dinner meal or not, he
always saw everything eaten before reminding our Scouts that “Taps” was approaching.
His final act Friday evening was making a “tent check” with the Senior Patrol leader
to ensure each tent was tied shut with 2 sleeping Scouts.
With a troop brimming with over 40 Scouts, we had 4 patrols who would hike their
gear to 4 different camping spots across the creek or another section of level
land. However, this weekend, Scouts of the Viking Patrol sported several Tenderfoot
who hadn’t relished “lugging” heavy patrol boxes about 500 feet away. They decided
to camp on the edge of a meadow about 200 feet directly within eyesight of the
veteran “staff” camp and only a few steps from the Troop Trailer. Now what their
Tenderfoot minds didn’t know is that this guaranteed an exceedingly higher rate of
verbal “mentoring” from the knowledgeable staff who witnessed every misdeed in their camp.
Needless to say, a “surprise” inspection of the Viking patrol Saturday morning
found untidy personal equipment, tents tied to trees (with stakes laying on the
ground), and sticks laying haphazardly next to a blazing fire. With great “joy,”
the staff began a familiar diatribe that would be the envy of any drill seargent.
Viking clothes, soiled and wet, were thrust into backpacks … sticks were kicked
aside, and one hapless Viking was sent to fill the fire buckets.
Fire buckets were a normal accessory for each tent since the 1950’s … One number 10
can full of water and one full of sand in front of every tent. Even the veteran
Scouts wondered why a good portion of our trailer space was taken up by rusted fire
buckets that may have been there for a decade. “That’s just the way it’s done” was
the traditional answer to a question by a 1970’s Tenderfoot Scout in Troop 32.
However, in an age before plastic water guns that could shoot streams of water 20 feet,
water buckets were usually the fuel for countless water fights.
Morning dew turned to afternoon heat as the Scouts progressed through the days
activities. Capture the Flag was the favorite afternoon activity before dinner
as sore muscles and “grumbling tummies” ended the game before a victor could
be proclaimed.
For the enterprising Scouts trying to outwit the enemy by “bushwacking” across
the thicket of small tress and brush, exasperation ensued as a number of small
“ticks” now struggled to remain inconspicuous. Their tiny feet on 11 year old
skin revealed their presence and were quickly eliminated. Matches were lit
and used to "encourage" these pesky invaders to leave. The Scouts could
probably call a local expert for the reason why Camp Murrin was suddenly infested
by ticks (because it had not always been this way), but all a Tenderfoot Scout
really cared about was evicting them before they found a home.
A whisper of heat from the coals in the fire pit could be felt by the Scout
responsible for building a cooking fire for dinner. Soon, flames leapt
skyward as the cooks prepared the meal and our nameless Scout kept adding
tinder and charcoal to the fire.
Meanwhile, across the grassy field, every member of the staff became preoccupied
with the tasty meal that veteran chefs had prepared. The patrol of Tenderfoots
smelled the “gourmet” food and had sent an emissary inquiring for leftovers but
they were quickly dismissed. It seemed that they had endured the barrage of
insults throughout the day and an attitude set in. Their cooking pots had
blackened food caked on them, the meal hadn’t quenched their hunger and the
prospect of cleaning was the last thing on their minds. Meanwhile, the entire
staff had retired from dinner to prepare for the evening campfire as 2 senior
Scouts sat next to the pot of hot water washing dishes.
One of the senior Scouts glanced over to the advanced state of disarray that
the Viking patrol had perfected with a mental note for the future. He noticed
1 or 2 were jumping around excitedly pointing down the embankment toward the
creek only 6 feet below their nearest tent. Although we couldn’t hear, we knew
they were distracted by another adventure out of our eyesight at the creekbed.
One senior Scout commented to the other, “at least their dishwashers were still at it.
Four Scouts down to two and then the last loyal dishwasher could not contain
his curiosity and disappeared down the embankment.
Whether it was fate or a mischevious Lord, a brief whisper of breeze blew ashes
into the eyes of the 2 senior dishwashers. As they both wiped their faces clean
with dishpan hands and staggered clear of the soot, one glanced toward the Viking
patrol and thought he saw orange where there should have been green. He bent over
peering through the sprinkles of ash falling and confirmed a scene of horror – Fire!
Transfixed, both senior Scouts hollered at once – Fire! Fire! Dishwater pots still
populated with silverware and metal cups were on their way in the hands of 2 Scouts
with the greatest fear they had encountered in their short lives.
Apparently, the neat stack of bark, tinder, and logs in the morning had turned
into a smorgasbord of combustibles strewn around the dinner fire. To the
knowledgeable eye, one could see the trail of fire that started as a small flame
into something teetering on disaster. However, the dishwasher firemen “flew”
the 200 feet, dumped the dirty water on burning grass, and shouted for help.
Flames branched out into 3 directions as the fire was fueled by the perfectly
timed gust of wind. The 2 dishwater firemen saw it all unfolding before them …
flames moving across the prairie grass were almost upon the nearest tree, a
second flame was licking at a tent flap billowing in the breeze, and the kindling
exploding into 3 or 4 fires beside the fire pit. Coffee cups, silverware and a
shower of soapy water tried to subdue the fire climbing 2 feet onto the first tree.
The senior Scout grabbed a nearby hot pad and patted the flames to extinction.
Simultaneously, the second senior Scout had tackled the hole that was making
the Wall tent more of an antique as each second passed. The resilient flame
continued as he grabbed a water bucket and clumsily pushed a half filled bucket
of water at the problem. Sand rained down from behind him as the flap blew
some particles in his eyes, his hands grasped for the tent flap to “pat it out”
as he struggled to see. One hand felt the sting of hot fire while the other
wiped his eyes.
He checked his hands for burns as the pounding of feet and shouts of alarm
caught up to the loud noise of his beating heart. He braced for more
action as branches flew against both legs from Scouts attempting to kick
unburnt fuel away and throw sand on the kindling still lit. Several red-faced
Tenderfeet appeared through the smoke and ash with the picture of extreme
exasperation and shame. They knew they were in for it!
Although it was a near thing, the eventual “Scout who almost burned down
Camp Murrin” received instantaneous ridicule for never leaving a fire unattended.
After the guilty Scout received a diatribe from staff members unmatched in
any recollection, Scoutmaster Gillespie took the Scout aside and mended the
tortured heart with kinder words and a new job for him – Camp Firemaster!
Several years later and the nickname “pyro” or “Scout who almost burned
down Camp Murrin” was replaced by Senior Patrol Leader. Yes, this act
crystallized the Vikings who would never be found last place in any standard
and propelled one Scout to overcome an adversity that could not defeat his
latent leadership ability. The “Scout who almost burned down Camp Murrin”
was an exemplary boy who attended the 1977 National Jamboree, earned the
Ad Altare Dei Religious Scouting Award, led 2 Philmont Treks, became a
perennial MC at Troop Court of Honor’s and organized annual Brazos River
Canoe Treks so that each Scout could realize the dream Baden Powell
envisioned for each Scout.
Even now, in the age of political correctness, this former Senior Patrol
Leader now refers to the incident as his way of “Killing Ticks at Camp
Murrin.” Fortunately, St Patrick drove the snakes out of Ireland and
our anonymous Scout was foiled in his attempt to rid us of Ticks!
Click image for larger view
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(Top Left) Camp Murrin sat on 7 1/2 acres of land against
the bend of this stream near Aledo, Texas.
(Bottom Left) Imagine a grouping of 3 tents just inside the trees with a fire pit for cooking ... 200 feet
away and in line of site of Troop 32 Staff members.
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John Ryan receives no compensation for this offering.
Cost for providing this website is $150 a year.
I provide this website as a tribute to my first Scoutmaster and mentor,
John Edward “Ole Man” Gillespie,
Ole Man Gillespie Tribute
so that you may also strive to honor those who make dreams come true.
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