Nevertheless, those dual delights were, if I recall correctly, the absolute highlights, the two things I loved most of all about Boy Scout camp as a kid. Fondly do I remember the singular thrill that comes with launching a very sharp stick through the air at 200 feet per second, and then, later, spending hours either ogling the fancy Swiss Army pocketknives in the Scout store, or playing with the small blade I did own, slicing leather, carving blocks of wood and fashioning crude little totem poles. You know, as it were.

Yes, I was a Boy Scout, back in the late '70s, when the boys were categorically straight (sure they were) and more than a few of the mustachioed scoutmasters were deep in the closet and a stern 'n' manly God ruled all, and no one gave a second thought to crazy hippie concepts like diversity or tolerance or which Sauv Blanc went best with your fresh-caught river trout. Ah, what a time it was.

(Bonus factoid: My very own scoutmaster at the time was the late, infamous Jim West himself, a kind but deeply troubled man who went on to become a powerful Washington state senator, then local mayor who, it was revealed by way of a massive scandal just a few years back, had been using City Hall computers for years to troll for young gay lovers. His wretched tale is the stuff of classic GOP-hypocrisy legend. West died in 2006 of cancer, following a relentless investigation and brutal, career-ending exposé by the Spokesman-Review).

And now, well, we all know what the Boy Scouts are -- or rather, what they're not. They are not tolerant. They are not sympathetic to alternative viewpoints, religions, ideas of love and gender. They are deeply afraid of gays and atheists and probably people with tattoos and curious haircuts, people who would doubtlessly like nothing more than to force nubile American boys to sing show tunes and worship the Great God Pan while dancing around a giant flaming pentagram deep in the woods, before heading off to pitch their tents. You know, as it were.

And oh yes, one more thing: the Scouts also apparently very much hate those damnable trees.

Did you hear? Have you read all the fine and fast-multiplying tales of how Boy Scout councils nationwide, in a desperate scramble for cash brought on, not at all ironically, by their famously bigoted policies, are now clear-cutting forestlands that were kindly donated to them, on the assumption said lands would be well tended and preserved? Mmm, environmental hypocrisy. It's the new eco merit badge.

But despite the fresh scandal and the pathetic homophobia and the sad fact that the Scouts have apparently been taken over by Bush-era Republicans, I am not one to call for the end of the Boy Scouts. They are, after all, a private organization. They are free to champion ignorance and fear and insincerity all they like, and pity the boys -- and the parents -- who still hold such stifling values to be all-American and good. Really, the Scouts are doing a fine enough job racing toward oblivion all on their own.

Let us, instead, champion a new version of modern youth. A new kind of well-rounded kid, and new kind of boys-only organization to compete with the withering BSA, and let the Scouts homophobe themselves to utter and well-deserved irrelevance.

We'll take the best of what the Scouts have to offer -- and I happily acknowledge, they do offer a wealth of valuable, time-honored "boy skills" -- and modify, overhaul, inject some life and color and funky multiplicity. You think?

Because the truth is, all that classic Boy Scout handbook stuff, the bits about knives and arrows and sharp things, plant identification and good citizenry and how to navigate a trail by moonlight? That's good stuff. Essential and practical indeed, especially as we prepare for a return to agrarian society defined by violent water shortages and global food riots and increased difficulty finding a decent Wi-Fi signal in the bunker. I'm honing my archery skills already.

What's more, I am certainly not one for the elimination of gender distinctions, for turning boys into emasculated emo-lumps and girls into asexual hairballs. And I'm guessing, neither are you. Just look at the wild success of two recent books, "The Dangerous Book for Boys" and "The Daring Book for Girls," basically clever rewrites of the Boy Scout/Girl Scout handbooks, but with far more range and humor and far less fear of rainbow flags and poetry.

So then. Our new group's manifesto Ð- let's call them "Danger Lads" or "Sons of Dionysus" or maybe just "Kid Rock" Ð- it shall include all the best of the old Scouts, essential concepts of honor, good stewardship, loyalty, how to start a campfire using only dried moss and a shoelace and the cracked screen of a broken iPod Nano.

And then, more. Better. Richer. A fluidity of ideology, an open-minded, fearless spirituality, a fundamental reverence and respect not just for nature and animals and cool handmade leather belts, but also for the boys' own bodies, and the bodies of others, and all the fascinating parts that make them go.

There will be shelter building. There will be emergency first aid techniques. But there will also be meditation. Yoga. Breathwork. Text message etiquette. Tall tales of Pocohontas and Jesus and the ghost of Chief Eaglefeather told around the campfire? Sure. But also Buddha and the Banyan tree. Hanuman and the Great War. Persephone in the Underworld. Pope Alexander VI and his 500 Beloved Whores. And so on.

By the way, our handbook, it shall teach not a single thing about homosexuality, per se, but will merely advocate the obvious notion that loving any person deeply and wholly, no matter their genital makeup or what deity they believe in, is absolutely the right path to health and bliss and the making of a happy campground. Imagine.

And of course, it shall all be underscored by a very brave understanding that God does not wave just an American flag, or eat only beek beef jerky, or harbor a deep mistrust of foreigners. Nor, of course, does She secretly clear-cut pristine forests for profit, and call it good stewardship. But you already knew that.

Thoughts about this column? E-mail Mark.

Mark Morford's Notes & Errata column appears every Wednesday and Friday on SFGate.com. To get on the e-mail list for this column, please click here and remove one article of clothing. To get on Mark's personal (i.e.; non-Chronicle) mailing list (appearances, books, readings, blogs, yoga and more), please click here and remove two more.

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