The Tall, the Short, the Skinny, the Fat, the Good, the Bad


There were many activities that as a Boy Scout I was able to go on such as:
1.      Mt. Charleston 
2.      Boulder Beach 
3.      Fort Piute. & Hansen Mine
4.      Fortification Mountain
5.      Potosi Mine
6.      Mexico 
7.      Ringbolt Rapids
Bishop Bert Whitney
We were taken on all of these activities by Bert Whitney who was the Scoutmaster. I’m sure that he was not always enamored with the way we acted, but he hung in there working with us. He was later to become the bishop of the ward, and I’m sure it was even less enjoyable for him to have to keep track of us then.

Mt Charleston
What a wonderful place Charleston was. It was one of the few places in Southern Nevada that you could play in the snow. We rented sleds there and we could get in the back of a pick up and go way up the Mountain and then ride the sleds down on a trail for a couple of miles. We did this until we weren’t able to feel our hands. We would then stand by the fire in an old oil barrel and warm them up. I still remember how my hand felt, hurting until the blood got back into circulation in them. After several runs and warming up, we rode up as far as the pick-up could go and then started hike up and around on an old snow-covered dirt road. After awhile we could look down on the parking lot, and we could see Bert’s car. That is what we called him when he couldn’t hear us. I should have been much more respectful. He was to later become my father-in-law.
Mt. Charleston Nevada
We had come across and old hood of a car and thought it would be fun to turn it up side down and ride in it like a sled down the mountain, so we did. It was a ride to remember, or forget. We jumped in as it started to move down the mountain, and the first part was great fun. Then to our surprise there loomed just ahead of us a ski jump. We had wandered off into the ski resort’s jump. Well, some of us stayed on, and some abandoned ship. I stayed upside down, which was right side up for those of us still in the hood. When it came down, there was a thud, and most everyone that was still in the hood was thrown free. Unfortunately, I was not. My hand was caught in part of the frame that was intended to give the hood strength. I was dragged along for a while, and then I was able to get back in the hood and rode it on down the hill. There were a couple of others that stayed in the hood, but I’m not sure who they were. Everyone else walked on down through the deep snow to where we were. Of course, even though in pain, we had to tell them that it was too bad that they had jumped off the hood, because they had missed the greatest ride that could ever be. Which it really was even though we got banged up a bit. I had torn the pad of my thumb pretty badly, but a little tape fixed it back on. 
That pretty much ended the trip, which was really fun. The only bad thing that happened at the end of the trip was when Hugh Scott lit a firecracker in the station wagon and tried to throw it out the window. You guessed it. It didn’t go out the window but went off inside of the station wagon. Instead of going out the window it blew back and went off close enough to the ceiling of the car that it blew a hole in the upholstery of the ceiling. These were the young men that soon-to-be Bishop Whitney would be responsible for in the not too far future. 
I have already written about Ringbolt Rapids and now, about Mt. Charleston, I will write about the others on the list in the future.

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