Blazing their trail takes no hoe down.

Byline: THE OUTSIDER By John Rezell The Register-Guard

Tyler and I just finished a long effort on the steepest part of the High Divide Trail we'd seen this day, clearing a huge downed, rotting tree plopped across the path that looked like a dump truck-load of wood chips.

We continued working up the trail, just east of Oakridge, clearing out roots and rocks and more buried dead limbs with our hoes, noticing the voices of the rest of our Northwest Youth Corps crew quickly disappearing into the forest.

Our seven-hour shift neared its end, and with the afternoon temperatures climbing into the 80s, I had pretty much had enough of my long-sleeve shirt, long pants, hard hat and heavy work gloves, all soaked with sweat.

I paused to watch Tyler, working methodically with as close an eye on detail as he had when we started at 7 a.m. in cooler, more tolerable conditions.

"I wonder if we're being a little too picky?" I asked in a rather sophomoric effort to get a quick affirmative and justification to saunter up the trail to find the others.

Tyler just kept scratching and digging with his hoe.

"No," he said, ever so sure of himself, "look how great the trail looks."

That was music to my ears. An invitation to pause a little longer and appreciate our efforts. Yep, he was right. That's one sweet trail.

We finished our section and "bumped up" to the crew. They already were about a quarter-mile up the trail, chewing through the overgrowth like a giant caterpillar on a leafy branch. Word filtered back we had about five minutes left. Everyone dug in with gusto.

Including, I thought, me.

That's when Allen sized me up.

"Pretty tired, huh?" he said with a knowing smile.

My proud psyche snapped for a second. Hey, I thought, I've hiked, biked, climbed, paddled - even sparked - for columns since January, and have yet to hit any sort of physical wall, thank you very much.

But there's something about a day of blood, sweat and tears that bonds people. And I knew better than to offer a teenager a snow job in the middle of summer.

"Yeah," I said, leaning on my hoe, "I'm getting there."

He smiled again and continued scratching out the edge of the trail. I looked up the snaking path and saw the entire gang - Allen, Tyler, Fred, John, L.J., Jake, Twitch, Leila - and even Brady and Tanger up front, nursing very recent bee stings - still digging deep into the mountain, not to mention, their souls.

It hit me that very soon, at least compared to the long workday, we'll complete the 45-minute hike carrying our equipment back to the trailhead.

Then we'll drive a mile down the mountain to their camp, spread comfortably on the shore of a beautiful, glistening pond. And I'll have to say my goodbyes.

They'll get the chance to splash in the cold, refreshing water for all of about 15 minutes before they begin the first of two educational sessions they participate in each day.

As I drive eight miles down the gravel road back to Highway 58, and back home to Eugene, they'll do their daily chores, make dinner, create an assembly line to clean dishes, do some more work around camp, spend some time talking about life and their days of hard work, and eventually climb into their tents for a well-earned eight hours of shuteye on the ground, in sleeping bags, before rising around 6 a.m. to do it all again.

Later that night I climbed into my soft, warm bed, surrounded by all the comforts of home. I didn't feel guilty, not for one second.

Nope, the only emotions pulsing through my weary muscles were envy, and pride.

Tired as I was, I'd love to spend another day with them. Because it won't be long and our future will be in the hands of kids like Allen, Tyler, Fred, John, L.J., Jake, Twitch, Leila, Brady and Tanger - teenagers who know what it takes to blaze a trail.

Learn more about this adventure Thursday online at www.registerguard.com/outsider.