Click on the name to see details
  • Black Beret
  • Official Head Gear for the Field Uniform, the black beret is worn sloped to the right- not like a mushroom. When not on your head, it is tucked under the shoulder loop on the left hand side so as not to interfere with the Merit Badge sash.

  • Closing Prayer
  • Scouts gather in a circle and join hands (right over left) leaving a gap by the newest scout for any other Scouts to join our circle
    May the Great Master
    Of all good Scouts
    Be with us
    Until we meet again
      (Scout Sign)
    Be us preparedus
      (Fold Arms)
    We are us preparedus
      (choice of Be Prepared in a foreign language)
         German - seien vorbereitet Sie
         Spanish - este preparado
         French - soyez prepare
         Italian - sia preparato
         Latin - semper paratus

  • Dunking your head in the lake (or river)
  • A tradition started on the Upper Lena Lake trip of 2008- when frustrated attempting to summit Mt Lena (bad weather) we hiked to Milk Lake, where everyone present proceeded to dunk their heads in the icy water. Since then we have endeavored to find a water body for head dunking on every backpacking trip since-

    Current List: Milk Lake, Winter Camp, Quinnault River, Lake Margaret (Low Divide), Flapjack Lakes

  • Fat Smitty's
  • Traditional stop on the return trip from hikes in the northern Olympics- this restaurant lets you 'mark' your passage by leaving a dollar with the Troop's name written on it pinned to the wall or ceiling (there are currently 3 there now with Troop 1539 written on them).It is a right of passage to have a Fat Smitty's burger
    Fat Smitty's
    Fat Smitty's
    Fat Smitty's Fat Smitty's
    Fat Smitty'sFat Smitty's
    Fat Smitty's

  • Hunter Farms
  • Along the south shore of the Hood Canal- excellent stop for Ice Cream when heading back from a climb or hike in the Southern Olympics

  • Light of Scouting (song)
  • To the tune of Scotland the Brave



    We are the light of scouting

    We give flight to eagles

    We are the light of scouting all over the world

    We'll never be hiked under

    LISTEN TO OUR SCOUTING THUNDER!

    We are the light of scout all over the world!

  • Neckerchief Slide
  • The Turks Head Knot

    a.k.a. The WoodBadge Woggle

    woggle Place the braid around three fingers of the left hand, palm up. The working end of the braid known as "X" and the stationary end as "Y".
    woggle Bring end x over the stationary end Y (fig 1) and around the back of the hand.
    woggle Thread end x over A and under Y thus forming B (fig 2-3).
    woggle Turn the hand over, palm down.
    woggle Loop A over B and B under A. Hold in position by placing the forefinger of the left hand between A and B.
    woggle Thread end X under B through the crisscross loop thus formed by A and B.
    woggle Thread end X under B (fig 6) over A and under B again (fig 7-8).
    woggle Turn the hand over, palm up (fig 9). Bring end X along side of and parallel to end Y by threading the strand under A and over B (fig 9-10). Follow the direction of the dotted arrow.
    woggle The Turk's head neckerchief slide is formed by following this strand Y around three times; i.e., until there are three braided strands parallel to each other all around the slide (figs 10, 11, 12)
    woggle The second time around is indicated in fig 11 as well as the beginning of the third time around. Fig 12 indicates end X on the completion of its third time around.
    woggle In doing this it may be necessary to take in the slack from time to time in order that there will be a sufficient amount of material to complete the slide.
    woggle It is important to adjust the slide so that it will be neat as well as the right size. Then, too, it will be necessary to remove the slide from the fingers when you thread end X around the for second and third time (fig 11-12).
    The slide ends at the same point at which it was begun (Y). This completes the neckerchief slide.

  • On Practicing
  • From Stephen Colbert's "I am America (and so can you!)- from Stephen Speaks for me (God) - A question that everyone usually asks Me: 

    ----------------------------- If I'm so all-powerful, why don't I answer everyone's prayers? 

    The answer: I used to. 

    Back in the day, fewer people prayed for me to do things for them. There was a lot more thanksgiving, and it's less time-consuming to answer prayers that are praising you for things. Those were the good old days. Now it's gimme, gimme, gimme. 

    It especially shows up in sports. Used to be, you never had both sides pray for victory. One team max, and 9 times out of 10 that team was Notre Dame. Now, you're guaranteed to have counteracting prayers. What am I supposed to do? For Me, it's literally a no-win situation. I usually have no choice but to answer the prayer of whichever team is better. 

    Of course, I can't get caught playing favorites. So if I do help a team, it's not going to be with something cool and dramatic like a line drive that suddenly lifts up and carries over the fence. Instead, I usually just go back in time and make the winning team have practiced more. 


  • Peninsula Foods
  • Downtown Quilcene- a great stop for Ice Cream after a climb or hike in the Central Hood Canal area - e.g. Mt Walker, Mt Townsend, etc. - we were once given $25 from a man who was pleased to see scouts on an outing there-

  • Philmont Grace
  • For food, for raiment
    For life, for opportunity
    For friendship and fellowship
    We thank thee, O Lord

  • Scout Vespers
  • Sing with reverence.
    Sing to tune of: "Oh Christmas Tree"


    Classic Words:

    Softly falls the light of day,
    While our campfire fades away.
    Silently each Scout should ask
    Have I done my daily task?
    Have I kept my honor bright?
    Can I guiltless sleep tonight?
    Have I done and have I dared
    Everything to be prepared?

    Listen Lord, oh listen Lord,
    As I whisper soft and low.
    Bless my mom and Bless my dad,
    These are things that they should know.
    I will keep my honor Bright,
    The oath and law will be my guide.
    And mom and dad this you should know,
    Deep in my heart I love you so.

  • Scoutmaster Poetry - Cremation of Sam McGee
  • by Robert Service
    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.

    Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
    Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
    He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
    Though he'd often say in his homely way that "he'd sooner live in hell."

    On a Christmas Day we were mushing our way over the Dawson trail.
    Talk of your cold! through the parka's fold it stabbed like a driven nail.
    If our eyes we'd close, then the lashes froze till sometimes we couldn't see;
    It wasn't much fun, but the only one to whimper was Sam McGee.

    And that very night, as we lay packed tight in our robes beneath the snow,
    And the dogs were fed, and the stars o'erhead were dancing heel and toe,
    He turned to me, and "Cap," says he, "I'll cash in this trip, I guess;
    And if I do, I'm asking that you won't refuse my last request."

    Well, he seemed so low that I couldn't say no; then he says with a sort of moan:
    "It's the cursed cold, and it's got right hold till I'm chilled clean through to the bone.
    Yet 'taint being dead--it's my awful dread of the icy grave that pains;
    So I want you to swear that, foul or fair, you'll cremate my last remains."

    A pal's last need is a thing to heed, so I swore I would not fail;
    And we started on at the streak of dawn; but God! he looked ghastly pale.
    He crouched on the sleigh, and he raved all day of his home in Tennessee;
    And before nightfall a corpse was all that was left of Sam McGee.

    There wasn't a breath in that land of death, and I hurried, horror-driven,
    With a corpse half hid that I couldn't get rid, because of a promise given;
    It was lashed to the sleigh, and it seemed to say: "You may tax your brawn and brains,
    But you promised true, and it's up to you to cremate those last remains."

    Now a promise made is a debt unpaid, and the trail has its own stern code.
    In the days to come, though my lips were dumb, in my heart how I cursed that load.
    In the long, long night, by the lone firelight, while the huskies, round in a ring,
    Howled out their woes to the homeless snows-O God! how I loathed the thing.

    And every day that quiet clay seemed to heavy and heavier grow;
    And on I went, though the dogs were spent and the grub was getting low;
    The trail was bad, and I felt half mad, but I swore I would not give in;
    And I'd often sing to the hateful thing, and it hearkened with a grin.

    Till I came to the marge of Lake Lebarge, and a derelict there lay;
    It was jammed in the ice, but I saw in a trice it was called the "Alice May."
    And I looked at it, and I thought a bit, and I looked at my frozen chum;
    Then "Here," said I, with a sudden cry, "is my cre-ma-tor-eum."

    Some planks I tore from the cabin floor, and I lit the boiler fire;
    Some coal I found that was lying around, and I heaped the fuel higher;
    The flames just soared, and the furnace roared-such a blaze you seldom see;
    And I burrowed a hole in the glowing coal, and I stuffed in Sam McGee.

    Then I made a hike, for I didn't like to hear him sizzle so;
    And the heavens scowled, and the huskies howled, and the wind began to blow.
    It was icy cold, but the hot sweat rolled down my cheeks, and I don't know why;
    And the greasy smoke in an inky cloak went streaking down the sky.

    I do not know how long in the snow I wrestled with grisly fear;
    But the stars came out and they danced about ere again I ventured near;
    I was sick with dread, but I bravely said: "I'll just take a peep inside.
    I guess he's cooked, and it's time I looked;" . . . then the door I opened wide.

    And there sat Sam, looking cool and calm, in the heart of the furnace roar;
    And he wore a smile you could see a mile, and he said: "Please close that door.
    It's fine in here, but I greatly fear you'll let in the cold and storm-
    Since I left Plumtree, down in Tennessee, it's the first time I've been warm."

    There are strange things done in the midnight sun
    By the men who moil for gold;
    The Arctic trails have their secret tales
    That would make your blood run cold;
    The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
    But the queerest they ever did see
    Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
    I cremated Sam McGee.

  • Scoutmaster Poetry - Rindercella
  • Once upon a time in a coreign fountry, there lived a geautiful birl, and her name was Rindercella. Now Rindercella lived with her mugly other and her two sad blisters.

    Also, in this same coreign fountry, there was a very prandsome hince. And this prandsome hince was going to have a bancy fall. He invited the people from riles amound, eapecially the pich reople.

    Now Rindercella's mugly uother and her two sad blisters went out to buy some drancy fesses to wear to this bancy fall, but Rindercella couldn't go, so she just cat down and sried. She was dittin there srying when all at once there appeared before her her gairy mudfather.

    Her gairy mudfather touched her with a wagic mand and there appeared before her a kig boach and hix white sorses to take her to the bancy fall. But she said, "Rindercella, be sure and be home before midnight, or I'll purn you into a tumpkin."

    When Rindercella arrived at the bancy fall, the prandsome hince met her at the door because he had been watching behind a widden hindow. Rindercella and the pransome hince nanced all dight until midnight and they lell in fove. Finally the midclock struck night and Rindercella stanced down the rairs. Just as she beached the rottom, she slopped her dripper.

    The next day the prandsome hince went all over this coreign fountry looking for the geautiful birl who had slopped her dripper. Finally he came to Rindersella's house. He tried the dripper on her mugly uother, and it fidn't dit. He tried it on her two sad blisters, and it fidn't dit. Finally, he tried it on Rindercella and it fid dit. It was exactly the sight rise.

    So the prandsome hince and Rindercella were married and lived everly after happer. Now the storal of the mory is this: If you ever go to a bancy fall, and you want a prandsome hince to lall in fove with you, don't forget to slop your dripper.

  • Scoutmaster Poetry - The Ballad of East and West
  • by Rudyard Kipling

    OH, East is East, and West is West, and never the twain shall meet,
    Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
    But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
    When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth!

    Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the Border side,
    And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the Colonel's pride:
    He has lifted her out of the stable-door between the dawn and the day,
    And turned the calkins upon her feet, and ridden her far away.

    Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a troop of the Guides:
    "Is there never a man of all my men can say where Kamal hides?"
    Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of the Ressaldar,
    "If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye know where his pickets are.

    At dusk he harries the Abazai-at dawn he is into Bonair,
    But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place to fare,
    So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird can fly,
    By the favor of God ye may cut him off ere he win to the Tongue of Jagai,

    But if he be passed the Tongue of Jagai, right swiftly turn ye then,
    For the length and the breadth of that grisly plain is sown with Kamal's men.
    There is rock to the left, and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
    And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where never a man is seen."

    The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw rough dun was he,
    With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell, and the head of the gallows-tree.
    The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid him stay to eat
    Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits not long at his meat.

    He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as he can fly,
    Till he was aware of his father's mare in the gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
    Till he was aware of his father's mare with Kamal upon her back,
    And when he could spy the white of her eye, he made the pistol crack.

    He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the whistling ball went wide.
    "Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show now if ye can ride."
    It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown dust-devils go,
    The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare like a barren doe.

    The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged his head above,
    But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars, as a maiden plays with a glove.
    There was rock to the left and rock to the right, and low lean thorn between,
    And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho' never a man was seen.

    They have ridden the low moon out of the sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
    The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the mare like a new-roused fawn.
    The dun he fell at a water-course-in a woeful heap fell he,
    And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and pulled the rider free.

    He has knocked the pistol out of his hand small room was there to strive,
    "Twas only by favor of mine," quoth he, "ye rode so long alive:
    There was not a rock for twenty mile, there was not a clump of tree,
    But covered a man of my own men with his rifle cocked on his knee.

    If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it low,
    The little jackals that flee so fast, were feasting all in a row:
    If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I have held it high,
    The kite that whistles above us now were gorged till she could not fly."

    Lightly answered the Colonel's son:-"Do good to bird and beast,
    But count who come for the broken meats before thou makest a feast.
    If there should follow a thousand swords to carry my bones away,
    Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more than a thief could pay.

    They will feed their horse on the standing crop, their men on the garnered grain,
    The thatch of the byres will serve their fires when all the cattle are slain.
    But if thou thinkest the price be fair, thy brethren wait to sup,
    The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn, howl, dog, and call them up!

    And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer and gear and stack,
    Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight my own way back!"
    Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him upon his feet.
    "No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when wolf and gray wolf meet.

    May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or breath;
    What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at the dawn with Death?"
    Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold by the blood of my clan:
    Take up the mare for my father's gift- by God, she has carried a man!"

    The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and nuzzled against his breast,
    "We be two strong men," said Kamal then, "but she loveth the younger best.
    So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my turquoise-studded rein,
    My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver stirrups twain."

    The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it muzzle-end,
    "Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he; "will ye take the mate from a friend?"
    "A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a limb for the risk of a limb.
    Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my son to him!"

    With that he whistled his only son, that dropped from a mountain-crest
    He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he looked like a lance in rest.
    "Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who leads a troop of the Guides,
    And thou must ride at his left side as shield on shoulder rides.

    Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and board and bed,
    Thy life is his thy fate it is to guard him with thy head.
    So thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and all her foes are thine,
    And thou must harry thy father's hold for the peace of the border-line.
    And thou must make a trooper tough and hack thy way to power
    Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I am hanged in Peshawur."

    They have looked each other between the eyes, and there they found no fault,
    They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on leavened bread and salt:
    They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,
    On the hilt and the haft of the Khyber knife, and the Wondrous Names of God.

    The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's boy the dun,
    And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where there went forth but one.
    And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full twenty swords flew clear
    There was not a man but carried his feud with the blood of the mountaineer.

    "Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son. "Put up the steel at your sides!
    Last night ye had struck at a Border thief, tonight tis a man of the Guides!"

    Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never the two shall meet,
    Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great Judgment Seat;
    But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor Breed, nor Birth,
    When two strong men stand face to face, tho' they come from the ends of the earth.

  • Scoutmaster Poetry - The Men That Don't Fit In
  • by Robert Service

    There's a race of men that don't fit in,
    A race that can't stay still;
    So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
    And they roam the world at will.
    They range the field and they rove the flood,
    And they climb the mountain's crest;
    Theirs is the curse of the gypsy blood,
    And they don't know how to rest.

    If they just went straight they might go far;
    They are strong and brave and true;
    But they're always tired of the things that are,
    And they want the strange and new.
    They say: "Could I find my proper groove,
    What a deep mark I would make!"
    So they chop and change, and each fresh move
    Is only a fresh mistake.

    And each forgets, as he strips and runs
    With a brilliant, fitful pace,
    It's the steady, quiet, plodding ones
    Who win in the lifelong race.
    And each forgets that his youth has fled,
    Forgets that his prime is past,
    Till he stands one day, with a hope that's dead,
    In the glare of the truth at last.

    He has failed, he has failed; he has missed his chance;
    He has just done things by half.
    Life's been a jolly good joke on him,
    And now is the time to laugh.
    Ha, ha! He is one of the Legion Lost;
    He was never meant to win;
    He's a rolling stone, and it's bred in the bone;
    He's a man who won't fit in.

  • Song - The Last Saskatchewan Pirate
  • By the Arrogant Worms


    Well, I used to be a farmer and I made a living fine
    I had a little stretch of land along the C. P. line
    But times got tough, and though I tried, the money wasn't there
    The bankers came and took my land and told me, "Fair is fair"
    I looked for every kind of job, the answer always no
    "Hire you now?" they'd always laugh, "We just let twenty go!" (Ha ha!)
    The government, they promised me a measly little sum
    But I've got too much pride to end up just another bum

    Then I thought, who gives a damn if all the jobs are gone
    I'm gonna be a pirate on the river Saskatchewan! (Arr!)

    And it's a heave (ho!) hi (ho!), coming down the plains
    Stealing wheat and barley and all the other grains
    And it's a ho (hey!) hi (hey!), farmers bar yer doors
    When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina's mighty shores

    Well, you'd think the local farmers would know that I'm at large
    But just the other day I found an unprotected barge
    I snuck up right behind them and they were none the wiser
    I rammed the ship and sank it and I stole the fertilizer
    Bridge outside of Moose Jaw spans a mighty river
    Farmers cross in so much fear, their stomach's are a-quiver
    'Cause they know that Captain Tractor's hiding in the bay
    I'll jump the bridge, and knock 'em cold, and sail off with their hay

    Well, Mountie Bob he chased me, he was always at my throat
    He'd follow on the shoreline 'cause he didn't own a boat
    But the cutbacks were a-comin' and the Mountie lost his job
    So now he's sailing with me and we call him Salty Bob
    A swingin' sword, a skull-and-bones, and pleasant company
    I never pay my income tax and screw the GST (Screw it!)
    Prince Albert down to Saskatoon, the terror of the sea
    If you wanna reach the co-op, boy, you gotta get by me! (Arr!)

    Well, the pirate life's appealing but you don't just find it here
    I hear in north Alberta there's a band of buccaneers
    They roam the Athabasca from Smith to Fort MacKay
    And you're gonna lose your Stetson if you have to pass their way
    Well, winter is a-comin' and a chill is in the breeze
    My pirate days are over once the river starts to freeze
    I'll be back in springtime, but now I've got to go
    I hear there's lots of plunderin' down in New Mexico

    {Refrain}

    When you see the Jolly Roger on Regina's mighty shores! (2x)

  • Thorns, Buds and Roses
  • Thorns and Roses is a wonderful way to bond your crew together. Having used the technique over the years I cannot begin to tell you of the things I have learned or the great reception it gets from the guys, as they get used to it.
    We use the technique with all our Philmont Crews and begin at the troop level. Actually, we use Roses, Thorns and Buds. The rules are simple. Everything is fair game, what is said in the circle, "stays in the circle" (As a sidelight I go to great lengths to make sure everyone understands that this is not a secret thing, they can tell their parents or any body for that matter), by staying in the circle I mean that people can air grievances about each other, and know that it will not be talked about or gossiped about outside of the immediate group.
    This is a great technique for people to praise each other, or maybe more importantly, to air a problem. The rule is that no names are used, everyone, or at least the offending parties, should know what is going on, and there is no discussion from any one in the group until it is their turn.
    As was explained, a Rose is something good, great, new, exciting that the person has newly experienced.
    A Thorn is something that caused irritation, was not good, etc. Often this can be where personality problems can be aired. For instance, "Someone in the group has offensive BO, and I am ready to stop tenting with him, I wish he would bathe." {OK, hokey, but you get the point, actually this has happened-;))}
    A Bud is an expectation of something to occur in the future, which one expects to be a rose.

    This site is run by Troop 1539, Orca District, Chief Seattle Council, Boy Scouts of America
    It is not an official BSA site