Happy day

A kaleidoscope of colors accompanied the sun as it rose yesterday.
Later in the day, the dogs swam and retrieved with wild abandon, along with their friend E.Neck and neck, K and E swam like seals toward a stick.
They carried it to shore together.
K took a leap wild leap.
And, R defied gravity, just for an instant.
Although our dogs wanted to play in the water all night long, we departed as the sky began to fade behind the mountains. Their spirit, zest, and love of life make my life so much fuller.

Sojourn in the awesome high mountains

K and I spent yesterday up high in our mountains, living in the raw alpine world on that knife's edge between fun and disaster. My hiking buddy, K, and I set out from a trailhead that sits a little higher than 10,000'. It's called "4th of July" trailhead because it's swamped in snow until Independence Day.

We started up a snaking trail that we traveled in July, when wildflowers threatened to conquer the trail, leaning over it and obscuring the path. Yesterday, flowers were rare but some still stubbornly held their heads high. Near the trailhead, berries dominated. Clusters of ruby red Elderberries (Sambucus racemosa) hung over the trail as beautiful as flowers. These succulent-looking berries are somewhat toxic to humans but the branches are known for their effectiveness in producing fire when rubbed together. The word 'elder' comes from the Old English word 'ellen' which means 'fire kindler'.
Intriguingly, as we climbed upward, more flowers bloomed than down lower. At about 11,000', fireweed brashly bloomed, daring the snow to come and spoil its party.
Just above 11,000', the conifer trees became shorter and gnarled, a type of growth called krummholz, on a broad wet plateau still covered in low leafy willows. Just a tiny bit higher, the trees vanished altogether, and expansive views opened up. The kingdom across the valley looked inviting with layers of ridges and peaks. I visualized emerald jewels of lakes nestled in the kingdom.
Our trail climbed precipitously and traversed open tundra. Many plants, including Alpine Avens and King's Crown, now had rust-colored leaves, lending the ground an autumnal hue.
I kept peeking over my shoulder to look at the path that K and I followed when we hiked here last July. The trail is etched into the hillside on the right side of the photo.Our trail climbed inexorably toward the sky. After a hairpin turn changed our orientation, I caught sight of our destination, South Arapahoe Peak. It's a peak that I've seen from afar countless times but have never explored.
We now stood at almost 13,000' on a wind-exposed and cold mountainside. Despite the harsh conditions and early fall weather, some flowers still flourished. How, I don't know.

Despite having bright red leaves, a yellow Alpine Avens stood tall.
A puffy-headed bistort swayed in the breeze.
Arctic gentians, masters of living in cold conditions, opened their petals to the sky.
Before climbing any higher, I looked at the route that K and I took in July, and I could see the mountain lake where K swam nestled below a sawtooth ridge with a snowfield still reaching its finger down into the lake.
We turned back to our trail. We were almost to a saddle where I suspected that a new world would open up below us.
But, I didn't imagine how astonishingly wild the view would be. A basin yawned open below us surrounded by the serrated gray rocky ridge that we stood on. A glacier lived in the basin, with melting mineral-laden snow feeding a turquoise glacial lake.
K seemed as enthralled as I was. I think that she wanted to go play in a part of the glacier sitting a mere 10 yards below us near the rim of the basin. I couldn't let her play because the slope was so steep that she would've slid all the way into the lake in an instant.
We paused here a long time, ate a snack, and gazed at the intricate terrain surrounding us. I find these high peaks and their valleys to be truly 'awesome'. The beauty overwhelms me, and I wish that I could live among them. Some people find their starkness to be ugly - but not me.
The storms still seemed to be stalled on nearby mountain ranges so I decided to scramble a bit higher. We weren't far from the top.
Alas, shortly after we started to clamber upward, snowflakes began drifting from the sky. I looked behind me and the view panicked me. In the blink of an eye, the storms had oozed toward us and surrounded us. I had no doubt - even though we were so close to the top - we needed to descend pronto. Besides, trying to negotiate the boulder-choked trail with a layer of snow would be precarious, to say the least.

Across the tundra, the storm aimed directly at us from close range.
Across the valley, at a greater distance from us, pointy peaks looked starkly ominous with clouds drifting among them.
Slightly further away, sunshine illuminated a ridge behind the cloud front, giving me hope that the storms might pass over us without any terrifying lightning.I noticed that all of the Arctic Gentians had closed shop - their petals had clenched tightly together to keep out the cold air and snow.Just as I took hold of the optimistic thought that the storms might drift over us, a stunning rumble of thunder shattered the thin air. My reaction was to accelerate downhill while K's reaction was to happily roll onto her back and wriggle. Our opposite actions led to a sudden leash jerk that launched my camera into the air. It landed with a loud clatter on the rocks. But, as promised by Olympus, the camera was unscathed. After that, I convinced K to hurry with me - even though she seemed completely unconcerned about the weather.

We stumbled and rushed downhill. My eyes stayed glued to the trail to pick my foot steps through the rocks carefully. After about 1000' of descent, the snow turned to rain, and, to my relief, the lightning never came close. We reached the krummholz and willow-covered plateau feeling confident that we'd make it safe and warm to the car despite the dark clouds closely circling us. Most of our remaining route was in the protection of the forest.
I felt confident enough to stop and photograph some harebells glistening with raindrops. These flowers seem so delicate that it's almost unbelievable that they survive so high in the mountains and have certainly already endured numerous frosts this season.We arrived at the car happy and tired. I love adventures in the high mountains with my best friend K. Up so high, the terrain is stark and conditions are harsh. I revel in the reigning strength of life shining through in a difficult world - in the flowers blooming, the birds foraging, the pikas drying out their plants for a winter of eating underground, and the marmots overeating to build a thick layer of fat for hibernation.

I also revel in the solitude and the need for self-reliance. Nobody but me is responsible for what happens to me up there in the thin air. Consequently, all extraneous thoughts are vanquished as I immerse myself in the alpine world.

Dodging storms up high

The sounds of play growling and gnashing of teeth have warmed my heart lately. When K is self-assured, she can play with abandon. She and R become much closer friends when she's not afraid.
This morning, we awakened to a clear day, with little chance of storms, according to the forecast. I checked our view of the Divide - and it beckoned me up for a hike with K. The season for alpine hiking will slam closed sometime soon when the first big snow hits the peaks. With that thought, I decided that today we would climb among those peaks rather than gaze at them from afar.
After leaving the high altitude trailhead, we climbed upward, toward that alpine tundra that draws me like a magnet. We arrived at a dizzying view just as the last ray of sun touched us.
Then, we hurried and scurried downward in a race with the storms. I wished that I could become a rock and let gravity do the work of pulling me down below treeline. A rock would tumble and rumble down the mountainside much faster than I was moving.
We made it without any close calls with lightning although we did hike through light snow and then rain. I'll post more about our adventure when I'm not so tired. But, perhaps my fatigue freed my psyche to produce the goofy rhyming in the previous paragraph!

Dogs in the forest

"A tired dog is a good dog" is a motto that we've espoused for the 20 years that we've lived with canines. R went running this morning in the forest, ate his breakfast, and then snoozed - the epitome of a happy and mellow dog. When R doesn't get to burn off his brimming exuberance, he becomes, shall we say, mischievous. Last October, R had serious surgery to fix elbow dysplasia. During his recovery, he could do nothing except 'potty' walks for a month and then longer walks *on leash* for two months.

That entire recovery time was difficult, for him and for us. To give him 'work' to do, we gave him all his meals from frozen stuffed kongs. We bought cases of chewing objects. We played sedentary training games with him. Despite our best efforts, he created all sorts of hobbies to amuse himself. We have a pile of extra 'dog beds' that are essentially plush carpet pieces, and R would systematically drag them, one-by-one, from their storage place to the other end of the house. Once he'd gathered them all at the other end of the house, he'd move them again, one-by-one, to someplace else in the house. If he could reach the laundry basket when it was full of clean laundry, he'd remove the clothing, piece-by-piece and carefully horde it on his bed. None of this activity looked like it was good for his elbow.

R discovered some less benign hobbies during that time that often resulted in shredded objects or important documents. In desperation, we put him on doggie downers based on our vet's suggestion. They helped him to lie still and rest his elbow. And, they helped us not to go completely nuts constantly supervising R.

When R could finally run off-leash after his long recovery, he changed, almost instantly. He could burn through his high voltage energy and be a mellow dog around the house. Some dogs, like R, truly *need* to have lots of supervised off-leash exercise.

I also realize that having dogs running off-leash on the trails impacts wildlife and other people. We try, very very hard, to train our dogs to be good citizens. We start working on recalls within days of their arrival as 8 week old puppies, and we diligently keep working on those skills, in real-life situations, for the rest of their lives. Last night, their body language suggested that invisible wildlife lurked in the forest so we practiced recalls, with wild R leading the way.
However, despite not chasing wildlife and reliably coming when called, I have no doubt that K and R stress wildlife - flushing grouse, scaring up deer and elk, and sniffing out bears. K even treed a lion once - but, in that case, I was happy with her action because he was too close to us for comfort. But, we try to mitigate the dogs' stress-inducing effects by keeping them under control.

It's a tough balancing act - trying to protect our wildlife, enjoy the forest ourselves, and give our dogs the exercise and stimulation that they need.

Now that R has no limitations on his running, he 'needs' two bouts of trail exercise a day: a morning run and an evening hike. If I'm late in starting the evening hike, R starts moving those dog beds to the far end of the house, one-by-one, just like he did when he was recuperating from elbow surgery. On our evening hike, assuming no obvious wildlife is nearby, the dogs run off-leash with me supervising them.

Yesterday evening, we hiked up to a spot that I'm starting to think of as S's lookout point, and the sun, hanging just below the mountains, still illuminated the clouds hanging over the Divide.
Over my shoulder, the almost full moon glowed in the darkening pink and blue sky.
This morning, while R ran with my husband, K and I had a joyous ride through the quiet forest. K's energy and enthusiasm seem wonderful after only a week on her new thyroid medicine. The problem is that, based on my past experience, she shouldn't be feeling *this* good after just a week. We're probably going to overshoot with medicine dosage and then be forced to readjust. Such is life with a medically complicated dog like K.

We rode through a shady green sea of aspens with splashes of yellow imperceptibly growing larger each day. I stopped in my tracks to appreciate the vibrating life in the grove. I could hear the buzzing and clicking of insects, the rustling of birds flitting in and out of the undergrowth, and the quaking of the aspen leaves.I know that this grove will look and sound as barren as it did in May within a short time.
After I dropped off K, I followed an 'old faithful' route that I love. A few flowers still bloomed but the berries dominated now. Red currants (Ribes cereum) glowed red on bushes whose leaves are fading from green to yellow. I featured these bushes back when they bloomed with tiny pink flowers frequented by hummingbirds. I'm told that these berries aren't sweet but that the bears eat them to help build an autumn layer of fat.
Behind the currants, storms brewed around a faraway towering peak. The clouds made a dramatic backdrop.I rolled along my favorite ridge, doing my usual scanning to figure out what animals had traveled this way recently. In the middle of the trail, I saw fresh bobcat scat in a depression scratched out by the wild feline. I spotted fairly recent coyote scat. And, I noted a huge hole at the base of a stump, originally dug by a bear, that someone had recently expanded. Finally, a bear cub left behind a berry seed laden scat. Wow, that's lots of activity!

And, I enjoyed watching the horizon and our beautiful mountains. I love when the sun and clouds create a patchwork of bright and dark on the rocky peaks.
I remembered to be grateful that I'm capable of pedaling through this glory. I am indeed lucky.

A clearing view and K goes to class

The smoke screen began to dissipate yesterday evening. The pup duo and I hiked up to a lookout point, one that I've been avoiding for months because I associate it with our departed S. I gazed at a mountain view that was gorgeous in a ghostly way. Moreover, I felt a hint of happiness at my memories of S visiting this spot, rather than solely sadness. Perhaps we'll start visiting this quiet lookout point more frequently now.
This morning, I arose before the sun, an event that only occurs when the days are short. K and I rolled out for a mountain bike ride just as the sun peeked over the horizon.Looking east from our local peak, I saw a hazy but gorgeous sight.And, to the west, the mountains had returned from their 'vacation' hiding behind the smoke. The purple hue partly reflected the colorful sunrise but also hinted that remnants of the smoky haze remained.
K and I enjoyed the early morning quiet and solitude on the trails. We rolled along peacefully, plunging from pockets of warm air to cold air, as we rolled from ridges to gulches.

We reveled in the deep green aspen groves, knowing that the leaves will change and fall soon.After riding, I took K to an advanced drop-in training class down in the city. I thought that her fears had dissipated to a level that would allow her to learn. But, I doubted my assessment while we were still in the driveway, and she repeatedly refused to jump into our vehicle. We have two 4Runners, and I was using my husband's for today. Subtle differences in the set-up of the seats and some cargo seemed to cause K to freak out. I acted like Temple Grandin, looking at the vehicle entrance from K's viewpoint and trying to 'fix' things that might be scaring her. Finally, after a bunch of seemingly small changes, she made the leap. But, given that simply getting out the driveway was an ordeal, I wondered if going to class was a good idea.

It turned out to be fine. Most of the dogs were younger than a year old, and K behaved confidently in the group, almost like an elder statesdog. She initiated interactions with the other dogs and acted bold. I was amazed. We've had many classes where she's hovered next to me, avoiding dog interactions, during playtime.Moreover, she was able to focus on me and follow my cues. Distance work is always hardest when she's underconfident but her stays remained solid even when I walked away. The one tell-tale sign of nervousness was that when I asked her to switch between down, sit, and stand from a distance of 15 yards or so, she'd sneak a step or two toward me each time during the transitions. That's no big deal given how fearful she was just recently.

I captured a photo of our friend Lilly, obsessing over a squirrel, but still holding her down-stay!

K's confidence and smoke-hidden mountains

In the great news category, K's fears are evaporating as fast as they appeared. Because she'd twice walked through the agility area with no signs of fear, we spent 2 minutes yesterday afternoon negotiating some obstacles. She breezed through the course with ease and enthusiasm. I didn't push my luck and stopped her while she exuded excitement and confidence. What a difference a week and a medicine change can make!

In the past, her fears of the agility course have endured longer than her other fears. After tweaking her thyroid medications, we'd see some normalcy return to her everyday life but her terror of agility endured for weeks or even months longer. Recently, I started wondering if the reason was that I kept trying to convince her to try her agility obstacles, using treats as incentives, even when she was terrified. By repeatedly letting her 'practice' being afraid of agility, I wondered if the fear became a habit that stayed strong even after her thyroid levels rose toward normal. So, this time, I took a new approach. After her first refusal to do agility, we ignored the agility equipment until she showed signs of recovery in her everyday life. This approach took a lot of self-control for me because I tend to repeatedly confront my own fears to overcome them so I unconsciously impose the same perseverance on K. But, the self-control might have been worth it if it's why she breezed through her agility course yesterday.

Yesterday afternoon, fortunately not while K and I played agility, a coyote passed close to our house. Thanks to our wildlife camera, I know that he visited even though the dogs, who were snoozing on the deck, didn't notice him. He looks young, like a dog puppy when he's growing at an unbelievable rate. The coyote's legs look too long and lanky for his body. Moreover, no savvy mountain coyote would so boldly walk through human and domestic dog territory in the middle of the day.
I've read that, at this time of year, the coyote pups start making forays around the territory alone, trying to hunt without grown-up supervision. I wonder if this is a pup who's taking his first solo expeditions. The pups aren't terribly good at hunting by themselves at first so they stay in their parents' territory for help. During this tough rite of passage, the adult pack members regularly call the pups by yipping and howling - and then provide them with food. This meal service becomes less frequent as the winter wears onward toward spring and toward the arrival of a new litter. However, some pups will stay in the territory as yearlings and help raise the new litter.

This information helps me understand why I heard so little howling in the spring and early summer. Our coyote pack's ethereal howls only restarted in late July and early August.

For today, I'd planned a hike up high in the alpine world. However, the smoke had thickened since yesterday and completely hid the mountains. In the photo below, snow fields on high mountains barely glowed through the smoke just above the green aspen trees.
This photo of K is in front of an amazing view of the Divide - not that you could see it today!
I decided against expending precious hiking miles on a day with no visibility. My spine can endure only limited hiking. Maybe the smoke will clear later this week.

I headed out for a mountain bike ride, after using my asthma inhaler for the first time in weeks. Although the medicine kept my breathing free and easy, my eyes stung and spouted tears whenever I went fast. This smoke from fires to our west is the worst that I've seen in years. The world had a tint like a haunted house that made mundane scenes look eerie.
In the midst of a smoke-darkened pine forest, arnica flowers bloomed bright yellow, catching my eye in the murkiness. Tiny flying insects crawled on their pistils, likely doing the work of pollination while drinking nectar.
Almost immediately after seeing the lingering summer wildflowers, I gazed at the first congregation of aspens turning yellow. Prior to this, I've seen single trees turning colors but no groups of yellow aspens.
Soon, the riot of yellow, orange, and red aspens will become our world. What an amazing world we live in!