In a previous post about the different ways to hike into
Green Lakes, in the Three Sisters Wilderness, I wrote about how one of my dogs,
Cody, and I met up with a pit bull and proceeded to spin circles, as I tried to
keep them from tearing each other to pieces. Like this pit bull, when they misbehave,
it is usually the fault of their handler.
Most dogs I've met on the trail were kept within a few feet
of their owner and seemed to be well mannered. Most of those dogs were also
attached to a leash. A few of them have been allowed by their owner to
playfully jump on me, which I don't mind, but I've never been bit.
In other instances, I've been met by unleashed dogs. Most of
these dogs saw me coming their way and rushed down the trail to greet me, way
ahead of their owners. Fortunately, none of the dogs have ever looked like they
wanted to chew me up. Usually, their tongues are hanging and their tails are
wagging.
The closest I believe I've come to being bit was while I was
near Mt. Hood Meadows during a Mt. Hood loop hike. While trudging around a
blind corner on the trail, I nearly walked into a set of snarling teeth, framed
by the curved and quivering lips of what I immediately thought was a bear. If
it hadn't been tethered to its owner, whose heels dug into the ground and body
leaned backward like a tent stake, it would have been a formidable opponent.
As it was, the Newfoundland's owner unnecessarily expressed
that he was sorry. I'm sure I had surprised the dog and its owner as much as
they had me. The dog was never out of the owner's control. I gently eased my
way around the hairy mass without turning my back on it.
Another time, along the Patjens Lakes loop, inside the Mt.
Washingon Wilderness, a dog appeared out of nowhere. At first I presumed it to
belong to someone camped in the area. I continued to hike down the trail and it
disappeared. Awhile later it reappeared, but wanted nothing to do with me,
staying at least 40 feet from me at all times. Once again, before I returned to
the trailhead, the dog had disappeared.
Upon stopping at the Detroit Ranger Station to get a permit
to enter the Pamelia Lake area the next weekend, the woman working there
informed me it was not unusual to find dogs lost in the woods.
People don't realize that a dog's natural instincts are to
go after an animal if it sees one. People think they know there dogs well enough
to figure the animals would never leave their sides. I know better. I've seen
it too many times. Dogs left off a leash by their owners are left free to roam
an area full of temptations.
In July, 1992, my bride and I headed east to the Anthony
Lakes area in the Elkhorn Mountains. We set up camp in site 23 of the Anthony
Lake Campground, surrounded by majestic granite mountains that make up the
Elkhorn Range.
Calvin and I set out early in the next morning on the Black
Lake Trail, passing Lilly Pad and Black Lakes while skirting Gunsight Mountain
and Angels Peak. Along the way, Calvin suddenly caught onto the scent of a
deer. Having made the connection a few months earlier between the scent and the
animal that made it, Calvin instantly realized that something beyond the rock
and vegetation but near was out there to chase. Before I could even call his
name, he was gone, through the woods and out of sight, all because I didn't
have him on a leash.
I called him several times over several minutes - but no
Calvin. He was long gone.
Should I go after him, I thought, or should I stay put,
continuing to call him. Another ten minutes went by and Calvin had yet to
appear. I continued to call and then pictured myself walking into camp without
him, my wife asking where he was, and then me ruining her vacation as I told
her the story of how I lost our dog.
Then the thought of Calvin chasing a porcupine entered my
mind. What if he did come back, but with a snout full of quills? I really did
not want to make a trip to Baker City and a veterinarian.
Shortly after figuring out how to break the news to Dvenna
in the gentlest way I could think of, Calvin came plodding up the trail, tongue
hanging as low as his droopy ears. He appeared to have given the chase a
valiant effort, but his short, Cocker Spaniel legs, were certainly no match for
a deer, or whatever else he may have been chasing.
After that experience, he never hiked without a leash.
Another time, Calvin and I started down the PCT - destination
the summit of 8,744' Diamond Peak. The first mile or so was what I perceived as
somewhat of a Garden of Eden – for mosquitoes. There were several small,
shallow tarns in the area, home to many a millions of mosquitoes.
We passed the mountain's south ridge and continued on the PCT.
About a mile later I started to get a bad feeling. It seemed we had walked past
the point where we should have started climbing the mountain. Calvin and I
stopped as I studied the slopes of the mountain in search of another ridge that
would take us to the summit. I spotted a route, and although I knew it would be
strenuous, decided to go for it.
We left the trail and hiked cross country over large boulders
and steep scree slopes. On several occasions, I stopped to pick up Calvin and
carry the short legged little fur ball over large boulders. I estimated we were
about 600' from the ridge, standing along a steep scree slope, when Calvin put
his front paws on a boulder that immediately slid out from under him. The
little rascal stepped off of it in time to see it bound and bounce down the
side of the mountain. It was only then that I noticed how steep the grade that
we had been climbing actually was.
In front of us there were large beds of rock barely hanging
on to the side of the slope, ready to slide in one continuous motion down the
mountain. As we got closer to that first
bed of rock, Calvin, who was leading the way, stopped and looked back at me as
if to say, "Are you kidding me?"
He was right. On my own, I was sure I could make it. But
Calvin really had no chance unless I carried him, and that was out of the
question. So, we turned back. Burying a dog on the side of the mountain was not
something I wanted to do. Walking into camp without him would have been even
worse.
By the time we arrived back at the south ridge our water
supply was nearly gone, so I decided not to make another attempt at the
mountain. It would be there another day, and so would our dog.
