“Y” MOUNTAIN BOY and POPSICLE PETE

        If I said hunting knives, rattle snakes, mine cave-ins, hanging from cliffs, and crazed grizzlies, you would probably think I was talking about Grizzly Adams or Indiana Jones. But I’m talking about “Mountain Boy” or more specifically “Y Mountain Boy.”

Francis age 10. 4th Grade.

        As a youngster, my mother would feed me breakfast. Usually it consisted of mush (hot oatmeal) with a few raisins and a little brown sugar thrown in to make it edible, or eggs and bacon scrambled together to hide the “thing” (you know, the squiggly little cord that can choke or even kill innocent kids!)

        Then I was off on my own adventures for the rest of the day. It was summer, and there were things to see and places to go. The normal kids were packing lunches and heading down Ash Avenue to Wasatch School for Summer School. Can you believe it? They had just finished nine months in that place and now at last they were free and what were they doing? They were going back for more! It was like an ex-con saying “Oh, please send me back to Prison. I miss it so!” Not me! I had interesting things to do and “Y” Mountain was calling my name. But first I needed the right equipment.

        Before school had let out for the summer we were loaded with marketing propaganda, a little extra weight for our backpacks. There was one item that caught my eye, the Popsicle Pete Prize Catalogue. It contained serious toys, enough to tempt any red blooded kid to eat nothing but Popsicles all summer.

Popsicle Pete Catalogue.

        The object of my excitement was a deluxe hunting knife and hatchet combo with leather scabbard. All this for only 200 Popsicle bags. I spent hours hanging out at Carson’s Market on 9^th East, gathering bags from young kids and BYU students who stood around slurping Popsicles. I looked like a homeless kid going through the garbage cans, searching for bags. I even began to appreciate “Litter Bugs” who would just throw their bags on the ground. Kiwanis Park dumpsters were a gold mine.  It seems picnickers loved Popsicles!

Kids' Hatchet and Hunting Knife Combo with Scabbard.

       Then it finally happened. As I fingered through the piles of sticky bags I counted 198, 199, 200! I had done it. 200 bags! I’d better count them again just to make sure. I counted them two more times. There were 200 bags for sure.

Popsicle Pete "Polka Dot" bag. 

        After sending all 200 bags to the address in the catalog it became a matter of waiting. Would they really send me such a great prize for a box load of sticky trash? Time went by and, just as I was beginning to doubt, a package arrived addressed to “Francis Rogers.” There was only one thing it could be. Popping open the box and throwing out the stuffing, there they were: knife, hatchet and leather scabbard, just like in the catalog. Mountain Boy was equipped and ready for action!

        Hiking to the Y was a regular occurrence, but soon became dull. I needed more. True explorers, and Mountain Men, didn’t follow man made trails. They blazed their own. Coming down from the Block Y I decided to start blazing. I veered right toward the orange cliffs where I planned to make my way down.  From where I stood, the cliffs would be a challenge but I could do it! Carefully working my way through ravines and crevasses I was making good progress when suddenly there was nothing left but cliffs and jagged rocks below. Taking courage, I thought, I can do this! and started down.

"Y" Mountain and the zig-zag trail trail to the block "Y"

   Facing the rock, searching for hand and foot holds, I worked my way down until there were not enough hand or foot holds to go on. Now I was stuck. If I fell here no one would find me. I was off the beaten path. If I yelled, no one could hear me. There was only one choice: climb back up.

   Pulling myself up and over ledges was much harder than going down. My mind flashed back to Primary lessons on prayer. I needed all the help I could get. Looking down was a big NO! I needed to concentrate on one small move at a time. At times my feet would slip out from under me on the loose rocks, leaving me hanging and fighting for a new foothold. Totally exhausted, I finally pulled myself over the last ledge, fell on my back and let out a big sigh of relief.

    I worked my way back through the scrub oak toward the block "Y" and the safe trail down the mountain. Now the man made trail didn’t seem like such a bad idea. I bounded down the zig zag switch backs like a young buck, thankful to be alive. The great Y Mountain Boy was down safe and ready for more adventures on another day. At least I had my knife and hatchet safely secure in the scabbard on my belt.

"Y" Mountain with trail, block "Y" and orange cliffs viewed from the valley floor.

    Looking down to admire my prize, I couldn’t believe my eyes. The beautiful, shiny hunting knife I had worked so hard for was gone! Somehow in my struggles the leather snap had come undone and the knife had slipped out unnoticed. If it was on the cliff face I would never see it again, but had it fallen out while I was bounding down the trail I might find it!

    Slowly I began the long hike back to the Y searching the brush along the trail and asking hikers if they had seen my knife. No luck. I hiked back down, still searching every bush and rock along the way, then turned for home, a very sad and worn out lad. But tomorrow would be a new day with new adventures!