Band of Scouting Misfits Attains Eagle Ranking

But the boys in Falls Church's Viking Patrol were nothing like the straight arrows that adorn some of their sashes.

"They were a bunch of ninnies. They were still acting like Cub Scouts and babies," said Assistant Scoutmaster Peter Archibald of Falls Church, whose son, Seann, was among the 11 to attain Eagle Scout. Their first hike was a three-miler along the gently climbing Thornton River Trail in the Blue Ridge Mountains in 2001. They griped from the beginning, then quit about two miles from the trail head.

"They lay down on the trail, like railroad ties," Scoutmaster Kevin Coleman of Falls Church said. "I said, 'What are you doing?' They said, 'We're on strike.' "

Coleman, whose 17-year-old son Daniel is one of the 11 Eagle Scouts, threatened to leave them.

"I thought, 'Lord Almighty, I've got a bunch of losers on my hands,' " Coleman said.

Assistant Scoutmaster Richard Choppa, 46, a retired Army officer whose son Nicholas became an Eagle, tried a different tactic, one generally frowned upon by the code of Scout's honor: He told them there was a Dairy Queen just around the next bend. (There was not.)

All agree a turning point occurred during a 60-mile canoe trip in the Adirondack Mountains in 2003. After reaching the impassable Raquette River Falls, the boys had to carry their gear, including the canoes, about 1 1/2 miles over a mountain. Disorganized and weary, they took about twice as long as necessary.

When they finally reached camp that night -- cranky, hungry, exhausted and blistered -- they wanted to bed down without pitching tents, digging a latrine or hanging their food to avoid attracting bears. Scout leaders insisted that the boys make camp properly and left the details to them. After much bickering and complaining, the boys organized themselves. From then on, according to the leaders and the boys, the boys took the direction of the patrol into their own hands and also began contributing to the leadership of the entire troop.

Other experiences piled up. They hiked the Laurel Highlands in Pennsylvania and bicycled the length of the C&O Canal. They saw meteor showers. They slept in the snow. They heard coyotes call, ran into a bear, observed elk, saw bald eagles. They listened to Choppa explain to them the theory of how to survive an 800-foot fall without a parachute. They matured and discovered things about themselves that surprised them.

Dowell, who speaks with a stutter, became one of their most eloquent spokesmen -- so much so that the group named him chaplain.

Said Dowell: "I would just speak from my heart."

And they were a quirky lot. Campfire chats turned to the merits of Thai-Vietnamese fusion cuisine and the cinematic techniques of Ingmar Bergman or Hayao Miyazaki.