THE CALL OF THE WILD

By ELIZABETH GLEICK

Aaron Bacon seemed a regular rebellious kid, a 16-year-old who grew suddenly moody, as adolescents often do. His poetry took on a violent tinge; he stayed up late listening to music; and he started skipping classes at his Phoenix, Arizona, high school. More worrisome, he was smoking a lot of pot-and maybe even selling it. It was probably just a phase, though his parents, Sally and Bob, will never know for sure.

After Aaron was attacked by a gang in the school parking lot, the Bacons decided to take action. Sally, an artist and real estate agent, remembered hearing about a child who had had a good experience at a wilderness-therapy camp, North Star Expeditions, Inc. The Bacons talked with North Star's owners about the 63-day survival course in the south Utah desert. The program, the Bacons decided, could be just the thing to help their son get back on track. "I pictured Aaron sitting around campfires, being nurtured by nature," Sally Bacon explained to the Los Angeles Times. "I thought I was sending him to a little slice of heaven."

On March 1, 1994, Aaron's North Star adventure began -- an ordeal that resembled a desert hell and that ended one month later with the return of Aaron's emaciated corpse to his parents. Last month a Panguitch, Utah, judge ordered North Star's owners and some of its staff to stand trial later this year on charges of child abuse and operating a program in violation of state licensing standards. Lawyers for the owners contend that Aaron was uncooperative and refused to carry his backpack, thereby depriving himself of food and supplies. "While no one wants to use the word acceptable loss, the fact is Aaron Bacon showed up at North Star with a history of drug use and past involvement in drug sales, and he tried to control the situation with manipulation," says defense attorney Sheldon Wellins, "and very unfortunately, he died out there."

Aaron's journal, as well as diaries kept by other campers and an inquiry conducted by Garfield County deputy sheriff Celeste Bernards, tells a more harrowing story. Early in the trip he developed intense stomach pain, which an autopsy later revealed was caused by an ulcer, according to testimony by Utah chief medical examiner Todd Grey at last month's pretrial hearing. In a civil suit, Aaron's parents claim that some counselors taunted him for slowing down the group. As punishment, the suit continues, North Star took away Aaron's sleeping bag, leaving him with only a blanket in the sometimes freezing desert nights. "I am in terrible condition here," one of his final, anguished journal entries reads, "My hands are all chapped & my lips are cracking. I feel like I'm losing control of my body." On March 31, Aaron collapsed on the trail and died in the cab of a truck.

Aaron was not the first teen to lose his life on such a trip; two teenage girls died in 1990 at similar Utah camps, run by different outfits. These deaths have fueled a greater push to set national standards for such programs. About 35 therapeutic wilderness camps have formed a coalition to establish comprehensive guidelines, and groups such as the Association for Experiential Education and the Council on Accreditation of Services for Families and Children have begun putting an accreditation process in place. Says Jeff Liddle, who oversees the aee's accreditation process: "In most states anybody who can buy some backpacks and print a brochure can be out there."

Still, advocates of youth wilderness camps caution that not all programs are created equal. At their best, the camps combine the physical challenges of an Outward Bound-style experience with counseling to help troubled teens who have not benefited by more traditional intervention. At Camp E-Hun-Tee in Exeter, Rhode Island, which is run by Eckerd Family Youth Alternatives, Inc.-whose 14 camps nationwide are a model for other wilderness programs-at-risk youths spend as long as a year in the woods. "I'd rather be at home," says a 14-year-old E-Hun-Tee camper, whose mother asked that his name not be used.

He sometimes complains about staying out in the woods, but this boy, who had been taking drugs and getting into serious fights, admits the program seems to be helping. "They pay more attention to you than you would get at home," he says. His mother points out that he no longer becomes violent when he gets angry. "I knew a day program wasn't going to work because he was doing drugs at night. Being here 24 hours a day, he can't hide," she said during a recent visit to the camp. "When he was home, I could not keep him safe." The Bacons, of course, made a similar calculation-and turned out to be tragically wrong.

--Reported by Anne Palmer Donohoe/ Salt Lake City and Sharon E. Epperson/Exeter

With reporting by ANNE PALMER DONOHOE/SALT LAKE CITY AND SHARON E. EPPERSON/EXETER