Far out west in the Rocky Mountains, where the golden eagle soars majestically around the pinnacles of great peaks and the quaking aspen trees quiver in the thin mountain air, a boys' camp nestles comfortably in the valley between two rocky giants. One bright day in June, the director of this camp received a letter from a charity organization in one of our large eastern cities.

. . . "And so (the letter ran) we were wondering if you would be interested in having a young man from the slum area of our city spend the summer in your camp. We will pay transportation both ways and a reasonable amount toward his maintenance. Please advise us immediately by return mail.

Three weeks later the westbound express ground to a stop to let a small, red-haired bundle of Irish energy from the slums bounce out upon the hot railroad platform of a small western town.

"Are you Jimmy Murphy?" a voice behind him said, just as he was letting the sun burn down upon him while he gazed at the near-by mountains.

"Sure," he said, hardly taking his eyes from the great ranges that hemmed them in.

"I am Mr. Thompson; if you will hop into this puddle jumper of mine we will head for camp. It is a long, hard climb and I would like to make it before dark."

Jimmy Murphy was small for his sixteen years, and as tough a boy as ever fought the gas-house gang from the other side of the tracks. All his life he had fought for what he had received, which was little enough. This was the first time he had ever been more than ten miles away from the city where he and his widowed mother lived. And so it was no wonder that he did not say much as the Model T "puddle jumper" struggled its way up a winding canyon road toward the camp. So many new experiences had been crowded into such a few days in the past week! It was almost too much for his red Irish head to deal with all at once. Thompson tried to draw his newly found companion into a conversation in the best western manner, but it did not work. If Jimmy's friends could have seen him, they would have pronounced him sick, because it was quite unlike him to sit still for any length of time, and as for not having anything to say! Well, perhaps he did not feel well.

The little car steamed into camp just before supper time. The sun had left the deep valley some time before and was putting the finishing touches on the snow-capped peaks far above. The smell of cooking food mingled with the scent of balsam greeted the pair as they drew up near the headquarters shack and bundled out. Jimmy was soon settled with his group and seated between two western boys at the table, consuming hunter's stew, bread, and fruit, with quantities of milk thrown in for good measure.

During the next few days Jimmy was busy getting accustomed to the many new things that had come into his life. For one thing, the air six thousand feet above sea level was much thinner than the dusty, smoke-laden air of the city. It took some time for his pumping apparatus to adjust itself to the change. Then there were many new things he had never dreamed of before. In the morning there was a bird that wakened him with its clear call, sounding like three notes tumbling down the scale. There were flowers, trees, snakes, insects, and a host of other living things he had never seen before. His new friends did not say so, but they were quite surprised at how little he knew about living things. And it was not only the living things that brought wonder to Jimmy. The little stream that leaped through the camp was a mystery to him. He put his hand in it and found it cold as ice. It was cold because it came from the great glaciers near the top of the mountain above them, he was told. At times he would watch this frothing stream and wonder why it did not all run by. Where did all the water come from? Surely, there was not that much snow in the world.

Snow-capped peaks tower above the glacial lake.

Every Friday some of the members of the camp, those who were approved by the camp doctor, hiked to the top of the great mountain that towered above the camp. Jimmy had watched two such groups leave early in the morning with springing steps and come back tired but happy late in the evening. He was told that the hike was a long one, fourteen miles in all, and half of it uphill all the way. The doctor convinced him that he was not yet ready to take the trip. He needed some more flesh on his bones and a better adjustment to the rare atmosphere.

Finally the day came when Jimmy was to go and he was the first one out in the morning to eat breakfast and pack his lunch in the knapsack he had borrowed from Mr. Thompson. Because of his winning Irish ways he was by now a favorite in the camp and when he asked Roy, the hike leader, if he might follow directly behind him all the way up, the request was readily granted. Roy did not know what he was getting in for, however, or he might have changed his mind. Jimmy was out to find out all about life that day. Hour after hour as they wound their way up through fields of wildflowers, past white waterfalls, and through patches of evergreens he kept a continuous stream of questions headed in the direction of the good-natured leader.

"What kind of flower is that? Who built this trail? What are Forest Rangers? How far is it to those mountains in the distance? Where do we eat lunch?" . . . and a thousand other requests for information poured forth. The unfortunate leader did his best to satisfy this unusual thirst for knowledge, but his best was none too good, for more questions immediately followed.

The group ate lunch, as usual, at Emerald Lake at the base of the great glacier that stretched up two or three thousand feet to the summit. Jimmy gasped at the size of the glacier and he now knew from where the water in that creek came. But he almost choked on a sandwich when he was told that they were to climb up over that glacier to get to the top.

The going was slow over the snow. Step by step they wound their way toward the top. Their faces and hands were covered with salve to keep from burning from the reflection of the sun on the snow. They rested at frequent intervals because the air at 12,000 feet is quite thin. Jimmy puffed much like a leaky steam engine as he plodded along behind the hike leader.

The last fifty feet of the glacier were especially difficult. The great bank of snow became steeper, and Roy had to cut separate steps so that the hikers could scale over the hard-packed snow. Therefore the summit, or at least the saddle that was the next step to the summit, came as a complete surprise to Jimmy Murphy.

The Climb to the Summit.

Roy was anxious to see what Jimmy would say when he came over the top. The great view there was a breath-taking display. All day the group had been climbing up the back of the mountain. In front of it lay the valley, seven or eight thousand feet below, almost a sheer drop. In the clear western air one could see the checkerboard of cultivated fields, the winding lines of streams and hard-surfaced roads, and, twenty-five miles to the south and west, a fresh-water lake. Far beyond this the jagged edges of the Sierra Ncvadas could be seen. The sight made a man feel mighty small and insignificant.

Jimmy struggled up over the top puffing heavily. He reached for the red bandanna handkerchief he had acquired somewhere and mopped his brow. Roy was watching him closely from his seat on a rock near by. Then Jimmy saw the great sight before him. His hand stopped on his brow and, as his eyes grew bigger and bigger, the bandanna slid loosely down to his side. Jimmy turned slowly and looked completely around him at the great expanse of western ruggedness. He looked much like a little owl sitting on a fence and turning his head slowly around. Finally the color came back to his face and he found his Irish tongue. In one sentence he expressed the wonder that had come to him during the few weeks he had been in that camp, finally climaxed by this climb to the top of a mountain.

"Gee!" he murmured. "Where has all this been?"

Only The Beginning

After trying the various activities in this book, you perhaps feel a little bit as Jimmy did on the top of that western peak, surveying the great earth below him. No doubt some new trails have been opened up to you. But this is only the beginning! There are many more worlds to conquer. Your explorations have only taken you into a small part of the rich field of leisure-time activities. With this beginning you can perhaps continue to push back your horizons and find new and more interesting things to do.

Whatever happens to your leisure time depends upon you as an individual. No one can plan it for you, if you are to get the most from it. If you use it intelligently and constructively, leisure can enrich your life in a way never dreamed of by your ancestors. Without a proper knowledge, you may stay in a narrow valley all your life, or even in a mental region comparable to the slums in which Jimmy lived before his trip west.

Find yourself a hobby horse or two and ride out into the fresh air in search of new experiences. Climb with them toward a point where your horizons will widen and your appreciation of life will be comparable to the sight that met Jimmy's eyes on that quiet day in July.

Good luck to you in your explorations!