Hill Climb with Puppy: New Year's Eve Morning

 

 

I climbed Mount Haguro on the third of June.

 

…

 

I climbed Mount Gassan on the eighth. I tied around my neck a sacred rope made of white paper and covered my head with a hood made of bleached cotton, and set off with my guide….

 

-      Matsuo Bashõ, The Narrow Road to the Deep North and other travel sketches

 

 

Bashõ’s travels (the last complete book I finished reading in 2022, #134) made appropriate reading for the morning of New Year’s Eve as I prepared to meet neighbors for their annual “climb to the cross” up on Town Hill, a summit on the ridge of foothills south of the highway. Sam and Dorothy operate Dos Cabezas Retreat, a B&B that is the ghost town’s only business; my hiking partner, Therese, decided to bring her new puppy, Yogi, along for the fun; and Bob, from down Kansas Settlement Road way, joined us, too. Counting Yogi, then, six of us started out together, but it wasn’t long before little Yogi had to be put in a backpack (worn in front) for the steep climb. 

“Don’t look down!” may be good advice on a ferris wheel, but I found stopping to look down and judge my progress immensely satisfying on this climb. Below is the view looking up from the side of the highway where I have my winter abode.

I had told myself and the others that I didn’t know if I could make it all the way but would try. As the climb proceeded, I revised my goal: I wanted to get as far as the saddle (that dip you see in the photo above, just slightly to the left of center), higher than the other time I tried the climb but shy of the summit. 

I shed my jacket and left it on a mesquite, determined to retrieve it on the way down. As a one-dollar Goodwill purchase back in 2015, that jacket has been invaluable as desert wear. It sheds thorns the way a duck’s back sheds water! So there it was, hanging on a branch, and every time I looked back down, I kept thinking at first that it was a cow – as once it was, I’m sure.

Reaching the elevation where bear grass flourished felt like a meaningful marker, telling me I had passed my old stopping place and was more than halfway to the top….

But I really wanted to reach the oaks! As I was nearing a large oak, focused on it, I could see none of my companions: Dorothy had decided to stop farther back, and the others were ahead of me and out of sight. 

By that point, every next step seemed almost impossible, but there was no way I would stop, so close to my goal – the saddle! And I made it! 

Surprise! There was Therese, who had decided the saddle was high enough for her to climb carrying her puppy. We were surprised to see each other (everyone else now out of sight, Sam and Bob over what was to us, from our vantage point, the crest of the hill, and Dorothy down below the brow) but happy to sit and rest and share fruit and laugh at Yogi, who decided she needed a nap – as if she had actually made the climb herself! 

From the saddle we could look down over the Sulphur Springs Valley spread out below to the south, with its familiar landmark buttes and distant mountains beyond. 

Nearer at hand were beautiful rocks and oaks I had never seen this close before -- these particular ones, that is.

Puppy Yogi went into the pack again for the trip down (Bob volunteered to carry the pack and pup down for Therese), but I have no more pictures of that part of the climb. For some reason, though the grass was no taller than it had been on the way up, the different angle of sunlight made it harder for me to see hidden rocks. Footing felt more treacherous. I only fell once, however, and Sam generously and patiently waited for me every step of the way down. “I never leave anyone on the mountain,” he said when I thanked him. 

Back at home, I could have used a good, long nap, but Sunny Juliet was having none of that! She had been left out of the Big Climb and was ready for some fun! Bedtime could wait until dark, as far as she was concerned! So yes, of course we went out for a walk and another one this morning, because dogs’ calendars do not recognize holidays: routine is what they like. And that is not necessarily a bad thing. 

 

My little live Norfolk pine Christmas tree did not need to be “taken down,” but I decided to remove its holiday decorations this morning in memory of my mother, whose rule was that the tree went up the week before Christmas and came down on New Year’s Day. 

There is some connection between tradition and routine, don’t you think? Just think about it. Or don't. As you like! It was rather a random thought....

We made it! We made it through another year! I made it thanks to family and friends and my little constant companion, a.k.a. my Italian motorcycle -- for those of you who remember that story....

Happy New Year from Sunny Juliet Aprilia Grath!