A Long Journey

One of the hardest days of the year is the one when we have to leave our idyllic campsite in the San Juan Mountains. It's a campsite replete with an incredible view of the mountains and amazing wildflowers.

It even has a nearby cluster of six small lakes that no one else ever visits. The Runner found them by studying a very detailed USGS topo map. The Duo adores playing there! I am already looking forward to visiting again next year.

But, it was time to go, and I had a big mountain bike ride ahead of me. I was planning to ride a rugged trail through the wilderness from our campsite to a main road, where I'd meet the pack. It's a very tough ride that I've done several times in the past but I was honestly scared of it this year.

The reason is that I feel as if my body has not completely recovered from my surgery last February and the subsequent trains of cluster migraines. I'm now on medication to prevent migraines, but the medicine leaves me bone-tired and in a brain haze. Over our trip, I'd felt like a shadow of my usual self on my mountain bike rides - I was so tired all the time.

So, I seriously wondered whether I could trust my body to get me from point A to point B through a long trek of roadless wilderness when there would be NO option of turning around. I pondered it for a few days ahead of time. I tried to rest up, eat well, and get lots of sleep, and I started to feel a little better. After a couple of good shorter rides when my body felt strong, I finally decided that I was going to take on the challenge.

Due to my medical issues, my rule for the ride was to stay well below my "red line", or that threshold where the body is working too hard and can't recover quickly. I started out pedaling easily through a big meadow with the last views (for this year) of the mountain ranges that I've come to love so much. I took this photo as I looked backwards bidding them farewell. I was about to climb a ridge that would lead to the next mountain range on my bike journey.

After the initial huge meadow, the trail wended through pine forests and across numerous creeks for miles and miles. Near one creek, a hillside was covered in Columbines.

While in those forests, I couldn't see the full sky so I didn't know that thunderstorms were brewing. The forecast had called for the "usual" 20% chance of thunderstorms "in the afternoon". I took the next photo well before "afternoon". Uh oh. Regardless of the threatening clouds, I still had a very high mountain pass to cross.

The urgency of my pedaling ratcheted up a notch but I still stuck to my "no red line" rule. As I climbed, the sun would occasionally break through the clouds, and the world would look safe and cheerful, once again.

This climb is one of the hardest I've ever pedaled up. However, the wildflowers were awe-inspiring and constantly distracted me during the seemingly endless upward grind.

I had to stop every now and then to photograph the flowers. They are a natural wonder - one of the most beautiful sights I've ever seen. I wish the sun had been shining on them!

 There were even Columbines in the mix!

After almost an hour of pedaling uphill, the purples took over. The scarlet paintbrushes were like a carpet.

I lay down on the ground to look at the world through the scarlet forest.

After that short break, I kept pedaling steadily and patiently, peering upward as I rounded each curve, hoping to see the top.

Finally, I topped out with big views in all directions!!! I took a photo looking backward from the top, feeling elated to be so high. I'd started my ride on the other side of the mountain range in the distance of this photo.

I wanted to linger, rest, and enjoy the views but the clouds chose that moment to start hurling ice balls down at me. Grrr. So, I started pedaling again, now downhill, with even more urgency than before. Because I'd been so conservative with my effort level for the first half of the ride, I felt like I still had energy to spare.

And, I was going to need that energy because storms chased me for the rest of the day. The second half of the ride was a bit harrowing but I survived! I'll save the conclusion of the story for Thursday.

A new era

A wise friend once pointed out that my bonds with my dogs have always been built through our shared adventures. Many of you know that hiking in the high mountains is my favorite kind of adventure. When Shyla arrived in late August, I wasn't sure if there would be enough snow-free time to take her up high above the trees this season or not. We lucked out - it hasn't snowed substantially yet.

Before any big hikes, Shyla needed to get a little stronger and to get tougher paw pads when she arrived. Those physical changes happened very fast with our active lifestyle and her puppy metabolism. She also needed to get comfortable enough with me and with our world to venture high in the mountains. That was a slower process but our trainer and I thought that she was ready to try it. Yesterday, I began the hike with the attitude that we might need to turn around very early if Shyla wasn't happy.

It rapidly became clear that Shyla was in her element.

As always, we passed more people (maybe 15) in the first mile of the hike than any other time. I'd ask Shyla to hop up on a rock next to the narrow trail, and I'd reward her for confident and calm behavior. Every person except for one followed my requests not to pet her. The one dissenter insisted that "all dogs loved him"... and then Shyla ducked away from him as he tried to touch her. I did, however, follow my trainer's advice. I clicked as his hand descended toward her head, and then gave her a treat. The idea is to make a person reaching out to pet her into a happy event by rewarding her for a hand coming toward her every time.

Shyla forgot about it in an instant. She was in her element and nothing was going to throw off her stride. We climbed fast and soon were above treeline.

We were heading for a pass that was above Shyla's tail in the next photo, and then we planned to go further to a lake that is fed by the snowfields that you can see directly above Shyla's head in the next photo.

When we arrived at the pass, Shyla was mesmerized. Her head swiveled from side-to-side, with just too much to absorb all at once. I bet that the scents on top of the Continental Divide are incredible.

After a little while, she began to relax and her face turned very happy!

She went for a swim and seemed to discover that snow-fed lakes are cold! It was a short dip because I stopped her so she wouldn't get too cold. We hope to take her to a warmer lake with her brother soon. She didn't appear to have tons of swimming experience but chasing R into a shallow lake will be just the ticket!

Then, to commemorate our first big hike, I tried to use the self-timer on my camera to take a photo of the two of us. This series shows you what a puppy spirit Shyla has!

Kisses, kisses...

Then, a big hug in an attempt to calm her. It didn't work! It gave her another fit of kissing.

Finally, a serious one. But, Shyla had made me laugh uncontrollably so I don't look so serious!

After our funny photo series, we started down toward the trailhead... and Shyla perched on a rock to look to the west before we lost the view. The mountain peaks and lakes seemed to stretch out endlessly. The wind picked up and Shyla's ears flapped like wings. Yes, girl, these mountains are your home. After all, you are the "daughter of the mountains".

As we descended, Shyla kept looking back up at the Divide. I think that she loved it up there as much as I do!

Just before we arrived at the trailhead, the sun was barely peeking over the mountains, and Shyla glowed in its rays. A wonderful day... a start to a new era in my life.

When we arrived at the car, Shyla lay in the backseat, wearing her seatbelt, and fell asleep as rapidly and deeply as only a puppy can do. She snored softly.

A Paul Simon song ("The Boxer") came on the radio. It felt so nostalgic - the past and the future intertwined. My K had joyfully done the same hike so many times with me, and now Shyla was capturing my heart as she embraced the mountains that I love so much. Somehow, the lyrics seemed to fit my mixed up feelings.

Now the years are rolling by me, they are rockin' even me
I am older than I once was, and younger than I'll be, that's not unusual 
No it isn't strange, after changes upon changes, we are more or less the same 
After changes we are more or less the same...
Li la li...

Autumn alpine hike: the story

K and I took a hike up high on the day before her birthday as a way of celebrating our years together.

I was elated that she was able to be climbing the rocky slopes with me for, one year ago, she was having a toe amputated. She seemed to feel fabulous right from the start. When we were still down in the land of green and red vegetation, she sparkled, ready to climb high.

Alas, I rapidly realized that I was the weak partner on this hike. Every step hurt like someone putting a hot iron against my back and then sending electrical jolts down my leg. Often, however, I am surprised to find that I get better as a hike goes on. So, I kept hiking upward with my girl.

I forgot everything else as I reveled in the autumn color of the tundra and K's reddish chocolate fur.

We rapidly exceeded our highest hike of the season to that point. We gazed down upon places that we'd hiked earlier this summer.

K found snow, fresh snow that had fallen in the previous few days. She stopped at each patch to cool her belly and eat a birthday snow cone.

I was feeling a familiar high altitude happiness except for that awful soul-shaking pain. My back pain wouldn't leave me alone, not for a single step. Although I tried to ignore it, I found myself emitting loud sighs of pain which evoked worried looks from K. When we reached the point in the hike shown in the photo below, I knew that I wasn't going to be able to climb to the top of the mountain. I climbed it last year with no problem. Not this year...

K didn't seem ready to give up on the climb yet.

But, being an easy-going dog, she was also happy to play on the tundra, leaving the peak for next year.

I found the mental strength to climb up to the edge of the mountain, where it appears that the far side of mountain fell off, leaving jagged and steep cliffs, covered in a glacier that feeds turquoise lakes.

K expected that we'd keep climbing, and she focused on the peak as I tried to explain to her that I couldn't go up there.

I took lots of photos of her in the glowing alpine light. You can see the fresh snow clinging to the cracks in the mountainside to the right of K.

Finally, she turned around as I pointed us down the mountain.

Oh what amazing views. I wished that I could stay there, on top of the world, forever.

We descended as the sun fell lower in the sky. I knew that we had plenty of daylight to make it to the car but I'd brought a headlamp just in case...

We chatted with a family of marmots on our way down (we hadn't seen any humans since the trailhead parking lot). They looked fat and ready for a long winter's sleep which will undoubtedly start soon. It won't be long until this mountain gets its first real coating of snow.

As the sun fell behind a pointy mountain, I captured a soulful look from K, my gorgeous birthday girl. Despite my back pain, I was giddily happy to have spent the day above treeline with her.

On that day, I wondered which of us was aging faster. It might very well be me.

On a mountaintop

Yesterday, we climbed to the top of a Rocky Mountain, enjoying the pure air, astounding flowers, loud marmots, and views of peaks a hundred miles away.

On the lower slopes of our climb, the columbines still sang their summer song, covering entire hillsides in their pale blue and white hue.
Next to the boulder-strewn trail that led to our peak, flowers somehow eked out an existence, painting the landscape green, yellow, and white. Our peak loomed high above us.
Alpine Avens dotted the ground next to the trail at this elevation.
After more hard climbing the pyramidal peak looked almost impossible to scale and the trail appeared to drop off the other side of the saddle that we approached.
Once we reached that saddle, a view of the largest Colorado glacier met us with its lakes like turquoise jewels in the talus.
K looked happy and care-free.
R enjoyed the view and sampled the wind with his tongue.
As we lingered in that last flat spot prior to starting the hard part of the climb, we noticed a marmot gazing at the same view.
The climb challenged me. The footing was precarious with huge boulders and small rocks plus a sheer drop-off toward the glacier and its lakes on one side.
At about the point when dropoff got too close and the upward view looked like this, I tremulously said that the climb was getting too precarious for me.
The eager looks on the pups' faces were my motivation - I would climb this mountain!
Of course, R reached the peak first and propped himself to tower over us, well over 13,000'! Notice the "Devil's Gargoyles" jutting up from the knife-like ridge behind him.
The peak was calm and warm - a rare ambiance for such a rugged point. K balanced atop the world.
And gazed into the distance.
She posed with the compass pointing to other peaks, nearby and faraway, in Colorado. This plate was placed atop the mountain in 1928!
Even in the fierce environment on top of a Rocky Mountain, Alpine Spring Beauties flowered in the crevices.
On our way down, the big yellow faces of Old Men of the Mountain turned to the east, away from the late afternoon sun.
Marmots, huge rodents that weigh up to about 10 lbs, seemed to pop up from every boulder, whistling warning calls to their colonies. One colony's lookout guard appears in the middle of the photo below.
Our best sighting was when we spotted two adult marmots with a quartet of pups. Two of the pups briefly played while their guardians watched. One guardian was probably their mother, and the other might have been their father or another adult from the colony. These pups probably emerged from the den very recently and will stay with their colony until they're about 2 years old. Then, some of them will disperse to other colonies to breed. A colony usually consists of a male, several breeding females, yearlings, and young.
As we descended, a shimmering vision of the lake that the Duo swam in on our last alpine hike appeared - a truly magical sight.