We got to the trailhead early in the morning, which is very good. Hiking in cooler temperatures is right up at the top of my list of "Important Things To Know About Backpacking". For some reason, my ability to tolerate heat while doing strenuous work is severely compromised. My thermostat must need recalibrating, and I have no idea how one goes about doing that. Ergo, I was very happy with the coolness of the air.
It was hard to keep my eyes on the trail because most of the way it looked like this:
In fact, it REALLY looked like this, because I brought up the rear on the way there, and the way back. I was in 'Turtle Speed". But by golly, I get where I'm going… eventually.
Somewhere about in here, members of our group actually broke out into a chorus of …. "The hills are alive with the sound of music…." Seriously. They did.
It's a little hard to see, but down there in the flat area, is where I live. It's hazy because somewhere south of us, there is a forest fire.
It was about in here that we noticed Ben was missing.
Ben doesn't have much of a nose. He relies on his sight to navigate. And he and the other dog, Abby, had run off into the bushes, doing whatever dogs DO in the bushes, and he couldn't see us anymore. We stood on the trail and hollered for him. I got out my really loud whistle which we had been practicing with at home with bits of cheese for rewards. I blew it over and over.
No Ben.
More hollering.
More whistling.
No Ben.
Right about then I was sliding into my "Okay, Ben has made his priorities known. Staying with the pack must not be on the list. We all have free will. Even dogs. I am NOT going to panic." mode.
Then someone said, "There he is!" And yes, there he was … WAY, WAY down the trail. I mean WAY down there. He was high tailing it towards us, thank God.
I confess I called him a Dumb A_ _. And kept blowing the whistle.
Someone made a joke about Timmy being in the well and here comes Lassie.
That was nicer than me calling him a Dumb A _ _.
Ben.
I love him.
He's a good dog.
But he's not a mountain dog.
He came wobbling up the steep hill cross country, and all but collapsed. I put the leash on him for the rest of the trip.
It's a good thing too, because it started to get seriously steep, and no way was I going back down the hill to find him again.
About here is where I had to pull a handful of Grit out of my possibles bag….
I stopped when I needed to. I drank water. I ate fruit leather and homemade cookies.
I told Ben to take pictures and write in his journal all about his trip, because it was going to be his last one on the trail.
[Oh I might change my mind later on. But not yet.]
We made it to the lake without any further excitement. Unless you want to count looking at things like this….
In fact, it REALLY looked like this, because I brought up the rear on the way there, and the way back. I was in 'Turtle Speed". But by golly, I get where I'm going… eventually.
Somewhere about in here, members of our group actually broke out into a chorus of …. "The hills are alive with the sound of music…." Seriously. They did.
It's a little hard to see, but down there in the flat area, is where I live. It's hazy because somewhere south of us, there is a forest fire.
It was about in here that we noticed Ben was missing.
Ben doesn't have much of a nose. He relies on his sight to navigate. And he and the other dog, Abby, had run off into the bushes, doing whatever dogs DO in the bushes, and he couldn't see us anymore. We stood on the trail and hollered for him. I got out my really loud whistle which we had been practicing with at home with bits of cheese for rewards. I blew it over and over.
No Ben.
More hollering.
More whistling.
No Ben.
Right about then I was sliding into my "Okay, Ben has made his priorities known. Staying with the pack must not be on the list. We all have free will. Even dogs. I am NOT going to panic." mode.
Then someone said, "There he is!" And yes, there he was … WAY, WAY down the trail. I mean WAY down there. He was high tailing it towards us, thank God.
I confess I called him a Dumb A_ _. And kept blowing the whistle.
Someone made a joke about Timmy being in the well and here comes Lassie.
That was nicer than me calling him a Dumb A _ _.
Ben.
I love him.
He's a good dog.
But he's not a mountain dog.
He came wobbling up the steep hill cross country, and all but collapsed. I put the leash on him for the rest of the trip.
It's a good thing too, because it started to get seriously steep, and no way was I going back down the hill to find him again.
About here is where I had to pull a handful of Grit out of my possibles bag….
I stopped when I needed to. I drank water. I ate fruit leather and homemade cookies.
I told Ben to take pictures and write in his journal all about his trip, because it was going to be his last one on the trail.
[Oh I might change my mind later on. But not yet.]
We made it to the lake without any further excitement. Unless you want to count looking at things like this….
