On the way back down Finger Mesa looking ahead towards our Pole Mountain
A celebratory day, an excuse or perhaps a reminder to take time for what matters most. Each other, and the mountain. We must leave Alan behind today. We are incomplete hiking without him. Throughout the day, I hear the jingle of the metal tag on his collar, but he is not here. He is home. It is leaving him that is most difficult. The excitement he tries to show us when he senses we are going for a walk, is frisky, perhaps trying to tell us he is younger than we remember. He is old. That does not seem like a good reason to leave him behind. But we remember carrying him off the mountain the last time we allowed him to follow. And carrying him in the saddle, which was only a slightly easier option with a big dog. It is hard on him, hard on us. We all feel somehow less than whole as we separate.
We head up the mountain, seeing occasional tracks in the powdery dirt, and the patches of snow scattered along the trail before us. Footprints are few. Few have ascended the mountain, man or beast, in the past month or so. Rabbits, coyotes, squirrels. Mountain lion. The large cat was there just shortly before us. The tracks have not blown over where the impression was left behind in the soft soil. Around most of the snow banks, we notice how he skirts to the side. Like a house cat, perhaps, he does not like to get his feet wet. The large cats are rarely seen up here, and this one too remains elusive. It is better, I remind myself as I lead the way, to be following his tracks than having his tracks follow us. He is moving fast and far today, we suppose, crossing this last range to find himself down in lower country. Down where he may find an easier meal. How long, we wonder, will he be able to go without, when we find it hard not to grab a snack every hour or two as we hike, despite knowing the huge feast is waiting for us when we descend? For the lion, he knows how to go without. He does not complain. He survives. And strives.
The deer left the mountain well over a month ago. The elk shortly thereafter. Only at the top of the mountain in the deeper snow do we see the occasional elk track. A cow and calf here. A single bull there. The tracks cross the snow, often taking the same trail we are following, one worm and used by many for years, more often the wild ones taking the easier route than us domesticated ones seeking a challenge. The elk of the tracks we see now, they too are finding their way down and off the mountain. It is no place to spend the winter, but perhaps for us with our warm cabin and plenty of fire wood… and flour.