My two dogs are black and white border collies, full of life and anxious to follow me on whatever mountain range I decide to climb. Maggie is the most loving and sweet dog I have ever owned. Ben is the smarter of the two. I saw a clear look of confusion and disappointment in Ben's eyes when I picked up camp the next morning after breakfast and loaded up my backpack, as if to say 'What's up Dad, I barely got to know this place.'
Actually though I was just moving a few hundred yards, to a campsite with a better view, and one where we wouldn't be surprised by someone coming up the trail behind us.
Within an hour I had my tent set up again and we went down and around the lake to investigate, and I caught some pink-fleshed cutthroat trout for dinner.
I could see a waterfall a half mile above camp, and hope to get back up there and explore it someday, maybe in the spring when it is flush with snowmelt.
Ben and Maggie had their hearts full of mountain air and freedom, and when we walked out a few days later I am sure we took some of the mountain with us. I don't know what exactly it is that makes us better, happier, more soulful up there. Perhaps being closer to the beauty of that lake reflection in the mornings, or seeing the last light shining on the cliffs at evening. Maybe it is the fresh clear water so near up there or the deep green spruce and fir all around that filled the air with the scent of evergreen.
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