Stories of canine hikers
Below are stories related to hiking with a dog on the trail. If you would like to submit a story about the experiences you have witnessed as you, or someone else traveled the trail with a dog, send an email with the information to: info@atmuseum.org
"In our Time" by Freyda Strackeljahn GA-Me '89
In our time, we meet people, remember place and things that influence our life. These recollections become part of who we are… and as such…these become cherished memories. One such influence was Cassie.
I had just decided to hike the Appalachian Trail, and Cassie’s first few days on the trail proved as hard as mine. Her pampered paws became raw and she began to limp. Likewise, blisters on my feet caused me to hobble. Together we made quite a team. Alan, the other member of our team and seasoned hiker, was quite adept with mole skin. He patched me up as best as possible. Cassie, however, was another case. We resorted to getting some tincture to toughen her paws. She rolled on her back and was delighted at the attention as I tenderly applied the toughening agent. I could see in her eyes the relief she felt at her little feet being taken care of. She never complained…not that I heard. She and I would walk slowly along the trail, like two kids walking down to the fishing hole.
Rain and I were not strangers on the trail. At one point the torrential rain had developed a mighty flow directly down the path. Twigs and other debris flowed by our boots as we slogged along. Suddenly, a desperate snake caught in the deluge brushed my left boot as it was being washed down the stream. I pulled the leash to bring my girl closer to protect her. I feared the snake would hang on to one of her legs - or mine for that matter. Tears of fear ran down my cheeks and I would keep asking myself, “What the hell am I doing out here”?
Cassie "The Wonderdog" had her own backpack and carried five pounds of her own food. I had carefully wrapped the precious morsels in several plastic bags to keep them from getting wet. I knew the weight was a strain on her. I stumbled as my legs clipped the bulging saddle bags. Cassie barked as she was caught off guard just as I was. Al looked back at us and walked up stream to meet us. Poor Cassie was struggling through the water, so I began to transfer some of her load to my pack. I noticed that her water cup was missing. It must have come loose as we were wading through the water. It is not easy to follow the trail during a heavy rain as the faint white blazes are obscured even more by the curtain of rain, and the drops draining into your eyes - even when the path is in a ravine. Getting off the path could have been more dangerous and both Cassie and I trusted Al’s judgment on which route to take. The rain persisted. I sometime wonder how we made it. By this time both my knees were blown out, I had lost all my toe nails, and persistent blisters made hiking difficult. I had never done any hiking like this before, so this was quite an experience for me… on many levels.
The hardest time on the trail for me was the Smokey Mountains. Those eight days would be the worst of my life. We discovered that there were no pets allowed. That meant Cassie would have to be boarded for that amount of time. My heart sank. Arrangement were made for a lady from Tennessee picked her up, and upon reaching the end of the Smokey’s, to have her brought to us. There is no way to describe my feelings as I watched her depart with a stranger. She barked, she cried, and we later found out she had thrown up in the cabin of the truck. Yes there were tears in her eyes as well as mine. The sleepless nights that followed and the restlessness I felt did not allow for even a moment of enjoyment in the Smokeys. While others were having the time of their lives chasing bears just to get a picture, I was thinking of my Cassie and how I longed to be with her. One night, the shelter was so crowded that we slept on the dirt floor. The bunks were occupied by a group of day hikers who happened to be doctors who snored most of the night. To top that off, a skunk decided to visit and marched right over our heads as we lay petrified; no one dared to move. We all knew the consequences of any alarm upsetting the animal. The rain continued. We lay in the dampness huddled together like sardines in a can… and we smelled like them too. I don’t know what was worse, the smell of a wet dog or the wet clothes of a thru hiker. All I knew was that I needed to get the hell out of there as soon as possible and I wanted my Cassie.
Sometimes there seemed to be a conflict between the weekend hikers and the thru hikers. While thru hikers wanted to get to the lean to eat and rest, the others just wanted to talk and party. There were a few confrontations which were not very pleasant. One group wanted to play the radio all night long and we wanted to get some rest. Choice words were exchanged. Loads of beer and other alcoholic beverages had taken their toll. One had the audacity to tell us how we smelled! We did reek…however, that is part of the outdoor experience. As I recall the name sayer got tossed into the small camp fire that had a few pieces of charcoal still aglow. No one was hurt, but you could see the line forming, heads were ready to roll when I yelled, “there are mice getting into the food bags!”. Everyone scattered and reviewed their food loads. The thru hikes had their food tied high between two trees, out of reach of bear and mice, but the novices were ignorant in this area. Few words were said there after. We all quietly huddled in our respective corners and fell asleep. I think some slept with one eye open. I did wake up to a raccoon digging around the grounds.
Upon exiting the park, we called the boarder to bring us our girl. Sensing how low I was, she invited us off the trail for a day of rest. We accepted her invitation and I said, “take me to my dog!” Before we could even make eye contact, I heard Cassie barking and trying to get to me as I rushed to the kennel to embrace her. Her mouth was bloodied from trying to eat through the hurricane wire fence after she caught our scent. I held her tight, loved her with all my might and promised her never to leave her again. And it was to be. She was away from me only 8 awful days of her life.
This bond between us did get her into some mischief. In Damascus, Virginia we stopped for supplies and a night’s rest. We left her at the hostel and asked her to behave. She had other ideas. When we reached the post office we turned around and found that she had gotten loose and found us. We were amazed since it was not a straight shot from the hostel. But there she was, outside the post office asking to come in. We had no idea how she found us…but then again…maybe our scent was distinguishable to her…and she followed her instincts. We were not allowed to bring her in. We scolded her severely. She ran off. We began to worry. I did not even know the way back to the hostel. After getting our mail and goodies we headed back. Not knowing what we would find or if we would find her. Terror was in our hearts. We rushed back to the hostel. She was no where to be seen. We rushed up to the second floor to drop of mail, and to our surprise we found her all snuggled up in my sleeping bag. With those beautiful soft loving eyes peering up at me, I could not scold her. All I could do was cry and hold her until she yelped. We were all baffled, yet happy. We just could not figure out how she was able to find the post office and then the hostel. Then again…she was an Australian Shepard. There was no reason to punish her, she just wanted to be with mom and dad. After being together day and night…she refused to be without us.
When it came to “yogi-ing” she seldom let us down. Any picnics are a delight for hiker scavengers like us. If lucky, we were wined and dined. And for that I thank them. Once, while were walking down the trail the heavenly scent of grilled hamburgers, and steaks tickled our olfactories. At first, we just looked at them, and started to walk away. I remember that a guy with a beer in his hand asked what kind of dog we had. She was our doorway for food begging! I recall demonstrating how well behaved she was to the interested picnic group. I asked the man for a hot dog and laid it on a stump and told her to sit. I told him she would not take it until my command was given. I was hoping she would not prove me wrong. I did not know who wanted the hot dog more, her or me, but she did not disappoint me. And so we were invited to the feast.
Another memorable occasion concluded with differing results. It occurred on Sunday over Memorial Day weekend. I don’t exactly recall where it was…but finding the opportunity, we decided to go to church, experience a little southern religion, and perhaps someone might invite us to their holiday feast afterwards. We were invited to join the service and had been given some privacy to clean up. We had washed up and put on our “best Sunday clothes”. Everyone welcomed us and said they were glad we could be there with them. We left Cassie with the backpacks and heard a wonderful sermon. Following the service be went back to get Cassie and collect our equipment. When we came out there was not a soul in sight… no preacher, no cars, nothing! The church was left open with us in it. We laughed at the “Christian generosity” and we have always wondered if we actually attended a sermon or not. People sure cleared out fast.
Al thought I may have scarred another couple during another incident. The couple was parked near a road crossing while pleasantly eating potato chips and dip. Suddenly, out of the woods comes this hiker in a tee shirt with a dirty dog. I commented to them how we were hiking and that we had hiked over 1,000 miles already and were looking forward to Katahdin in Maine. They looked at me, gave me the bag of chips and dip, and then left. A little later Al comes out of the woods with Mike. They had decided to take a scenic route to capture some other views. They were astonished at my good fortune and we shared the chips and dip.
Not only great for yogi-ing, the Shenandoah National Park also provided perfect trail conditions. Real mountains, yes, but just a beautiful park-like walk. Animals had to be kept on a leash at all times. This included Cassie. Al scavenged all the aluminum cans out of the part trash cans and took advantage of their recycling deposit program. We ended up with enough money to buy two gigantic milk shakes that were deliciously cold and refreshing. Cassie enjoyed it too!
We had to deal with the scare of Lyme’s disease that had just emerged as a perceived threat to hikers. Many did not like our dog because they thought she might be harboring deer ticks. At times hikers arrived at the shelter as darkness fell. Cassie would not bark.
She would be so tired that there wasn’t a bark left in her. We would snuggle in together in my sleeping bag. In the morning hikers were amazed to see a dog peak out from under my sleeping bag. She was my love and joy. I never developed Lyme’s Disease.
Al wanted me to turn into a tough, self-sufficient woman. Being a city girl made that a bit difficult. Lighting a small tin stove to warm water to have hot cocoa in the morning was not my way of living. Nonetheless, I got used to it, but never embraced it. So it was no surprise when Al just walked by me after I slipped on some rocks and fell face down while crossing a creek. However, I could not get up, Cassie barked, Al turned back and picked me up by my backpack. What he had not realized was that…I was bleeding profusely. I’d cut left temple on a rock. I needed help immediately. He dragged me to the far edged of the current, Cassie was whimpering and licking me. Al dropped his backpack and ran back to other hikers known to be behind us. My tee shirt was covered in blood… my bandana kept the pressure on the injury…. I was going in and out of consciousness. He found two hikers, one had some medical knowledge and immediately wrapped me in a aluminum blanket to keep me warm. Luckily they figured out we were not to far from a road. He ran down the road to locate a house with a phone to call for help. A vehicle eventually arrived. They wanted to carry me to the vehicle on a stretcher, but I insisted on walking out on my own two legs…that was the stubborn part in me, but not the practical thing to do. I don’t remember how I got the hospital, nor the stitches. When I woke up, I had the worst headache I have ever had, the side of my face was all swollen, and I had seven stitches over my left eye. I rested one day and had to take off a few others. For a few days after that, walking up mountains created a pressure that made me feel as if my head was about to explode. As a result, Al secured a ride for me with a section hiker with a car to the Pearisburg hostel where I stayed at a hostel with some priests and some crazy locals.
This hostel has a haven for hikers and street people who needed refuge. Unfortunately for me, there was one young man who was schizophrenic. He would talk to the walls, and to his boots. I slept with one eye open and one closed. Well, I could only open one eye anyway! And believe me, I held on tight to my meager belongings. Cassie stayed close to me but since Al was not there it was of little comfort to me. Al caught up with me in a few days. It took awhile before I felt good enough to hike again.
Thru all the ups and downs, there were many things I learned on this Appalachian trail hike. I found 17 uses for a bandana. Two bandanas tied together made a nice top for those times when you needed to do laundry. It also made a good bandage when I cracked my head like a walnut. I will let you discover the other uses. Life can teach us so much.
My favorite stay was at Greymore Monastary. It is the most pleasant and loving place on earth. Cassie had to say outside tied to a tree. A monk visited her and we were fortunate to capture a picture of the monk talking to Cassie. In my mind,it is one of the most beautiful pictures ever taken. There was a spiritual connection, she sat and looked straight at him as he talked. At night I could hear her soft whimpers calling for me from the area outside my window. I went to the window and assured her that she would be all right. Al had to sleep is the men’s quarters. The rooms were perfect, all the necessities were there. That night day I heard the monks singing. I asked if I could attend. I was told that no women were allowed. For some reason, an exception was made, and to my knowledge I have been the only woman allowed to sing with the monks. This was one of the highlights of my trip. I have no way of confirming that no other women have been allowed to attend. I just went with what I was told. But I know this…part of my soul remains there. They are so generous to hikes, free lodging and free food.
Feeling free and not knowing where one will wind up at night fall is a very uncomfortable experience at first. Then as one becomes one with nature, we realize that the outdoors is the true place where man belongs. Waking up in the morning in a strange place with strangers pushes our psyche to trust one another and to depend on one another. These instincts are some times forgotten. When you are out there you depend on one another. You learn your physical weaknesses and your mental strengths. You push yourself to the limit. It is not for everyone. It is definitely not for the light hearted or for those who want to prove that they are better than anyone else. It is an inner consciousness that one develops. One learns more about oneself on the AT than at any other time in their life. You give it all up…to get it all in. Al…when he proposed marriage, I said, “if we can walk the Appalachian Trail and be together for 6 months 24/7, a marriage might have a chance”. That was the challenge. That is his strength…to love me whether my knees blew out, whether Cassie’s paws hurt, whether he had to carry more than we did, he was there…and always has been. Sometimes when we create an opportunity to challenge ourselves we don’t realize how much we grow. While our baby Cassie is no longer with us…she gave me 16 years of her life…I saw her being born…and she died in my arms. Al did not experience her whole life as I, but I know he loved her just as much. I could look into her eyes and see eternity…and one day her ashes and mine will be one, sprinkled from Baxter Peak near the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.
Written by: Freyda Strackeljahn…I’m Mighty Thor! Yes, I am still mighty sore!
ACCIDENTAL HIKER DOG - Condensed from his book "Appalachian Trail Thru-Hike" by John Gignilliat
May 11th . . . Just before we were ready to leave the campground, Dr. Doolittle and her two black labs arrived in a van. As she was thanking the people for the ride, unloading her gear, and trying to keep her dogs under control; a small black camp dog ran up to greet her two dogs, Stand Up and Sit Down. This created quite a commotion, so I called the little black dog over and held her until the labs had disembarked. Without thinking, I absently scritched behind her ears while holding her. This was an act of friendliness I would remember for some days to come.
As was usually the case when leaving civilization, we got a late start and headed out on the trail not much before noon. As we began walking up the trail, I noticed that the black dog I had held earlier in the morning was following along behind us. I gave it my most stern and most commanding, “GO HOME!” and “STAY!”
Since we had just crossed a major river, it was going to be a long uphill climb out of the river gorge. As we got into our climb, we both noticed the small black dog still following us up the trail. She hung back about twenty yards; and when we stopped, she stopped; and when we started, she started. I tried to shoo her back down the trail, while I told Carol, “She probably likes to follow hikers out of camp for a while, then she'll go home.”
The wildflowers were beautiful, and it was a perfect day for hiking. The little black dog was still following us, and I chased her away again. “Give it up!” Carol said. We continued our climb out of the Nolichucky Gorge and were finding it much less difficult than we expected. Maybe we were getting in better shape. We stopped at a shelter, and I noticed a small black shape off in the bushes. “This is probably as far as the little dog goes, then she runs back to camp,” I commented.
“Right,” said Carol in an unbelieving tone of voice.
As we continued hiking, Running Wind caught up with us and stopped to say hello. “Say, did you know you've got a little black mutt following you?” He commented.
We stopped on the trail to cook a late lunch. We sat just off the trail in the shade of a small tree, and I noticed a small black shape off in the bushes. Well, it looked like we had an addition to our hiking team, whether we liked it or not. For a number of reasons, neither Carol nor I felt that a dog was appropriate on the trail, but it looked like we were going to have to forgo our convictions. Knowing there was no turning back, we offered our little black friend the meager scraps left over from our lunch.
We washed our pot, then Carol looked in the Appalachian Trail Data Book to see where our next water source was. Much to our dismay, we discovered that it would be over six miles before another water source. We were almost out of water, and at our usual rate of two miles per hour, that would be three hours on not much more than a quart of water.
The sun got hotter, the climb got steeper, and our throats got drier. We were headed to Beauty Spot Bald, so all our hiking would be uphill. We took the last sips out of our water bottle with an hour of climbing still to go; and shortly thereafter, I found myself daydreaming of root beer and banana Popsicles. Our little black friend was still following us and I felt sorry for her. Her tongue was lolling out, and she looked as thirsty as we felt.
We finally crested Beauty Spot Bald and again met Running Wind at the top. The view was true to its name, but our primary concern was for water. I left my pack with Carol and then gathered up our water pump and water bottles. With the black dog following, I began the final two tenths of a mile to a spring down the other side of the bald. When we reached the spring, the dog drank and drank and drank. I filtered enough water to slate my thirst, then filled our bottles to take this life-giving fluid back to Carol. We were not in any real peril, but this lesson taught us how important water is to survival. Carol drank long and hard when I returned.
Running Wind decided to slow down and camp with us at Beauty Spot Gap. We sat with Running Wind and shared trail stories and news of common friends. We split our dinner three ways, one share going to our little doggie friend. We all watched the sun set while swatting gnats, then crawled into our respective tents for a peaceful night's sleep. Black dog picked a spot outside our tent; and, as if standing guard, settled down for the night.
May 12th . . . We hiked the rest of the day without seeing anyone else . . . except for our cute little dog. She would race into the woods to scare up a bird or chase a chipmunk, bounding on all fours like a sheep gamboling in the field. When not off the trail following a scent, she would walk between Carol and me. But if Carol got out of sight, she would stop on the trail and wait for her to come back into view. That little black face that looked like a bear cub staring back down the trail waiting for her, quickly had Carol endured to this young pup.
We stopped for lunch, carefully picking a spot near water. It was several hundred yards down a steep embankment to the spring, but it was worth the effort as the water was cold, cool, and clean. We again split our dinner three ways. Then, feeling energized but not sated, we began our final push to the next shelter and our destination for the day. We found the marked trail to the shelter, and it led to a charming little wood structure. I cleaned out the fire ring, then collected some firewood. I noticed that every time I picked up a stick, our friendly little dog would cringe and run away. I wondered if she had been beaten by her former master. She still had marks where a collar had been, but it was hard to imagine someone beating a dog this friendly. While sitting on the edge of shelter, warmed by the fire and befriended by our dog, we watched the sun go down through the trees and a sliver moon rise. Man, woman, fire, dog, stars, moon, and sun: life was simple and good on the trail.
May 13th . . .. We were two miles from the gap where we planned to cut off the trail, and then an additional three miles to the State Park where we were to meet Todd and Kendra (Carol’s son and wife). When we reached the road leading to the state park, I stopped and cut some line from our food-hanging rope and fashioned it into a leash. A red scarf of Carol's served as a collar. Our little black dog took to this makeshift leash with no problems. We followed a dirt road out of the mountains. As the dirt gave way to pavement, we began to pass houses and cabins. The redneck joke came to mind, “If your front porch collapses and more than three dogs die, you might be a redneck!” I think we were in redneck country. Every Tennessee house and cabin on this back road seemed to have five dogs running free. It soon became obvious that our girl pooch was in heat, as we were being mobbed by male dogs. It was like running a gauntlet and, at one point, Carol actually picked up and carried our pooch.
We finally made it to a country store where we bought a can of dog food. This was consumed by our friend in one gulp. We told the woman in the store how this dog had followed us all the way from Nolichucky. She thought they might be able to help us at the state park. Before we left, she found a big end of bologna and some dog biscuits for our pup. We had both become very fond of our little friend, and we had decided that we would find a home for this dog . . . even if it was to be our own.
It was almost noon when we finally reached the state park. The county sheriff was at the park entrance, so we inquired what they could do for our stray dog. He looked at the dog and said, “Here in Tennessee we keep 'em a couple of days, then . . .” as he patted his holstered gun. That was not the response I expected, so it looked like it was our dog and our problem. We left a note for Todd and Kendra at the entrance booth and headed for our site. Todd and Kendra arrived shortly after we got our tent set up and they quickly set up their tent. We all had a good laugh at the size of their Walmart tent compared to puny little backpacking tent. They were both surprised to find a little dog tied up to the picnic table. The dog quickly won both their hearts, especially after they heard the tale of her threatened execution.
May 14th . . . Our first order of business was a short trip to the nearby town of Roan Mountain, Tennessee to get our little pup checked out at a veterinarian. The five of us piled into Todd and Kendra's car and headed to the only vet in town. When we explained our situation, Dr Jablonski, the young veterinarian, gave us a free consultation. He told us that she looked like a border collie with some chow mixed in. He also confirmed our suspicion that she was in heat (the first time) and added she was already pregnant. We knew that a pregnant dog had about zero chance for adoption, so we dug into our hiking kitty and agreed to have her spayed. The vet said he would try to find a home for her. We planned to drop her off at the vet's office Monday, after Todd and Kendra left. Then, since the trail makes a large three-day loop around the City of Roan Mountain, we would be back in town in three days to see how she was doing and if he found a home for her. We had already decided that if no home was found, we would take her. We would have to call Carol's daughter to see if she could keep her for five months while we finished our hike. She already had our two cats plus a cat of her own and a new puppy. What's one more dog?
With Todd and Kendra’s car, the four of us plus one canine were able to head out by car the 34 miles to Damascus and the Trail Days Celebration. We had arrived in Damascus just in time for the hikers' parade. Even though we had left our packs and walking sticks back at the campground, we decided to enter the parade. The Police Chief's car and local fire engines, with horns and sirens blaring, were followed by the high school band and majorettes. A restored red Corvette carrying Miss Trail Days which was followed by the most ragtag, raffish looking gaggle of thru-hikers both past and present parading down main street.
After the parade, we headed back to Roan Mountain State Park. In Damascus our little black dog had made friends with a Rottweiler, a Rhodesian Ridge Hound, two Labs, and any child that walked by. We were becoming more and more attached to this lovable mutt. We met another hiker who told us that he had tried to adopt this same dog. Apparently, he had not been to her liking, as she had returned to the Nolichucky Campground after only a half a day. We had not given her a name up to now, but he told us that he called her “Lucky.” We hoped she would be.
May 15th . . . For Todd’s birthday, we took a second day off and did a thrill-packed whitewater raft trip down the Nolichucky. Our guide, Jed did not disappoint us. We went down the rapids forwards, backwards, sideways, and whirligig; laughing, screaming, and shouting all the way down. After our rafting adventure, we retrieved our doggie from Jed's schoolbus home and headed back to Roan Mountain Campground. By now, we were becoming so attached to our little friend, we were half hoping nobody else would take her. When we got back to the campground, we fed the doggie and then helped Todd and Kendra pack up. They had a long drive back to Michigan, so they planned to get some miles in before dark and then stop for the night. We said good-bye and watched them drive off.
May 16th . . . We got up at seven, and after packing up we went to see if we could find a ride to the veterinarian's office. I approached a man washing his camping trailer and explained our situation. He listened to our story, then said to check back with him in thirty minutes. Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to our campsite with his pickup truck. I jumped in the back and held our little dog while Carol climbed into the cab with Jake. Jake began telling Carol that he had had a tough life. He grew up during the Depression and had just recently survived a brain operation for an aneurysm. His wife was recovering from heart surgery for a mitral valve replacement. He had needed the thirty minutes to find someone to sit with her while he gave us a ride.
We dropped our pup off at the vet, and Jake drove us back to the campground. Jake and his wife lived in the nearby town, but he had rented his space in the park for two weeks. He drove us around Roan Mountain Park, proudly showing off its features. He had brought his wife to the campground in the hopes that it would help her recover from her operation. There had been serious complications, and he said she was lucky to get out of the hospital alive. We sat at a picnic table outside their trailer drinking lemonade and entertaining the two of them with stories of our hiking adventures. Finally, it was time to say good-bye and be on our way. We told them that if they were ever near Bath, North Carolina, to please stop in for a visit. Jake's wife looked at us and said, “I thank you both for the offer because I know you mean it. If we ever stopped at your house, I know we would be welcome.” And they would! In our short meeting we felt a bond with these fine people. They were hard, tough mountain folk, but as good as good can be. Several months later, we received a postcard from Jake sadly informing us that his wife had passed away.
Jake graciously offered us a ride back up the mountain to the trailhead. This would save us four strenuous uphill miles, so we gladly accepted his lift. It was hard to start hiking after a few days off the trail, but we soon got into the swing of it. We both sorely missed our black, four-legged companion. We could not help thinking about her and wondering whether they would find a home for her or not.
As we climbed over one of the bare grassy balds, far away we saw two lone dogs racing down the trail towards us. “Oh, no!” we both thought, “No more dogs!” When the dogs got close and saw us, they both braked to a stop, turned around, and ran back to where they had come from. We took a close look as they retreated and realized they were Dr. Dolittle's dogs, Stand Up and Sit Down. Her dogs had fancy purebred names, but Stand Up and Sit Down were their trail names. Dr. Dolittle told us that when she was ready to start hiking, one dog would stand up and be ready to go while the other one would sit down. As soon as the one sitting down stood up, the other one would sit down, and so on. We knew Dr. Dolittle must be camping close by, but we never saw her or her dogs again.
May 17th . . . We woke up to one of the coldest mornings on the trail since leaving Georgia. It felt like it was going to snow, and the strong mountain wind whipping through the gap added to the chill. We talked to another hiker later in the day who said his little backpacking thermometer read thirty-two degrees. We stayed in our bags longer than usual and when we finally crawled out, we were wearing just about every item of clothing we had in our packs. Brrr! It was COLD!
We hiked on to our campground for the night which put us only two miles from the highway leading down to the town of Roan Mountain and the vet. We were anxious to find out if they had found a home for our dog. We decided that if she did not have a home, we would call Amy, Carol's daughter, and have her come pick up the pup. The dog would need two weeks to recover from her surgery, so we realized that we could not make her a hiker dog. Carol was now hoping we could keep her, and I felt the same. Either way, we were anxious to find out her fate.
May 18th . . . We woke up early and tried to get off before seven. According to our Data Book, we had two and six-tenth miles to hike to the road and then several more miles to the vet's office. We knew we might not catch a ride hitchhiking and have to walk the distance. We were both anxious to find out how our dog had fared and especially anxious to find out if she had a home.
We reached the highway by eight-thirty and stuck out our thumbs. Hitchhiking with a backpack is a totally different proposition than hitchhiking without a backpack. Without a pack, you were a potential rapist, murderer, escaped convict, or psychopath who would be a dangerous threat to anyone who stopped. Hitching with a pack, you were a healthy, vigorous, environmentally concerned, outdoors person needing a lift. The very first vehicle stopped to give us a ride. It was a backpacking couple from Pennsylvania who were in the area to do some hiking. They dropped us off at the vet's office, but no one was there yet.
Soon a van drove up and a young woman got out to ask if she could help us. She was the wife of the veterinarian, Dr. Jablonski, and a veterinarian herself. When she realized that we were the couple who had brought the stray dog in to be spayed, she was most helpful. It was with bittersweet relief that we heard our little canine friend had found a home. A woman with a young daughter wanting a dog had agreed to take her. The disappointment on Carol's face was obvious. We both had been wishing that nobody would take her, but it was not to be.
Dr. Pam Jablonski graciously drove us down to the store to pick up some supplies. As we were driving to the store, she told us we were not the first hikers to bring in a dog. She smiled as she related how two hikers had found an injured hound dog on the trail and carried it into town. The townspeople suggested they try calling the Jablonski's at home. The hikers called and apologized profusely for calling on a Sunday but asked if we could please look at their injured dog.
“I just couldn't turn them down,” she said.
She explained that when they first moved to Roan Mountain, they had a hound dog. It had a congenital birth defect resulting in a misshapen leg. “The dog drove us nuts,” she exclaimed, “when it wasn't running away, it set up such a howling that it drove the neighbors crazy. Eventually, it ran off and didn't return. Imagine my surprise when the 'injured' dog was our very same hound dog! The injury was the birth defect that she always had. Just like a bad penny,” she said as she laughed.
After we picked up a few supplies at the store, she drove us back to where the trail crossed the highway. We gave her our trail map of the area we had just passed through, as both she and her husband liked to hike. When she dropped us off, we thanked her again for all their assistance. We had been warned that the people of Roan Mountain were not friendly to hikers, but we had found the exact opposite to be true. Everywhere we went, people had been friendly and helpful, especially with our stray dog. When we thanked Dr. Jablonski for all her help, Carol told her that if the dog's new home did not work out, to please give us a call. (Carol got the woman's phone number and called for several years, making sure our little pooch was still happy and wanted. She quit calling when the woman told her that her daughter loved her little dog so much, it had changed from a yard dog to a house dog.) We had become attached to that little dog and we both missed her dearly. We never gave that dog a name, knowing that she might not be ours.
"In our Time" by Freyda Strackeljahn GA-Me '89
In our time, we meet people, remember place and things that influence our life. These recollections become part of who we are… and as such…these become cherished memories. One such influence was Cassie.
I had just decided to hike the Appalachian Trail, and Cassie’s first few days on the trail proved as hard as mine. Her pampered paws became raw and she began to limp. Likewise, blisters on my feet caused me to hobble. Together we made quite a team. Alan, the other member of our team and seasoned hiker, was quite adept with mole skin. He patched me up as best as possible. Cassie, however, was another case. We resorted to getting some tincture to toughen her paws. She rolled on her back and was delighted at the attention as I tenderly applied the toughening agent. I could see in her eyes the relief she felt at her little feet being taken care of. She never complained…not that I heard. She and I would walk slowly along the trail, like two kids walking down to the fishing hole.
Rain and I were not strangers on the trail. At one point the torrential rain had developed a mighty flow directly down the path. Twigs and other debris flowed by our boots as we slogged along. Suddenly, a desperate snake caught in the deluge brushed my left boot as it was being washed down the stream. I pulled the leash to bring my girl closer to protect her. I feared the snake would hang on to one of her legs - or mine for that matter. Tears of fear ran down my cheeks and I would keep asking myself, “What the hell am I doing out here”?
Cassie "The Wonderdog" had her own backpack and carried five pounds of her own food. I had carefully wrapped the precious morsels in several plastic bags to keep them from getting wet. I knew the weight was a strain on her. I stumbled as my legs clipped the bulging saddle bags. Cassie barked as she was caught off guard just as I was. Al looked back at us and walked up stream to meet us. Poor Cassie was struggling through the water, so I began to transfer some of her load to my pack. I noticed that her water cup was missing. It must have come loose as we were wading through the water. It is not easy to follow the trail during a heavy rain as the faint white blazes are obscured even more by the curtain of rain, and the drops draining into your eyes - even when the path is in a ravine. Getting off the path could have been more dangerous and both Cassie and I trusted Al’s judgment on which route to take. The rain persisted. I sometime wonder how we made it. By this time both my knees were blown out, I had lost all my toe nails, and persistent blisters made hiking difficult. I had never done any hiking like this before, so this was quite an experience for me… on many levels.
The hardest time on the trail for me was the Smokey Mountains. Those eight days would be the worst of my life. We discovered that there were no pets allowed. That meant Cassie would have to be boarded for that amount of time. My heart sank. Arrangement were made for a lady from Tennessee picked her up, and upon reaching the end of the Smokey’s, to have her brought to us. There is no way to describe my feelings as I watched her depart with a stranger. She barked, she cried, and we later found out she had thrown up in the cabin of the truck. Yes there were tears in her eyes as well as mine. The sleepless nights that followed and the restlessness I felt did not allow for even a moment of enjoyment in the Smokeys. While others were having the time of their lives chasing bears just to get a picture, I was thinking of my Cassie and how I longed to be with her. One night, the shelter was so crowded that we slept on the dirt floor. The bunks were occupied by a group of day hikers who happened to be doctors who snored most of the night. To top that off, a skunk decided to visit and marched right over our heads as we lay petrified; no one dared to move. We all knew the consequences of any alarm upsetting the animal. The rain continued. We lay in the dampness huddled together like sardines in a can… and we smelled like them too. I don’t know what was worse, the smell of a wet dog or the wet clothes of a thru hiker. All I knew was that I needed to get the hell out of there as soon as possible and I wanted my Cassie.
Sometimes there seemed to be a conflict between the weekend hikers and the thru hikers. While thru hikers wanted to get to the lean to eat and rest, the others just wanted to talk and party. There were a few confrontations which were not very pleasant. One group wanted to play the radio all night long and we wanted to get some rest. Choice words were exchanged. Loads of beer and other alcoholic beverages had taken their toll. One had the audacity to tell us how we smelled! We did reek…however, that is part of the outdoor experience. As I recall the name sayer got tossed into the small camp fire that had a few pieces of charcoal still aglow. No one was hurt, but you could see the line forming, heads were ready to roll when I yelled, “there are mice getting into the food bags!”. Everyone scattered and reviewed their food loads. The thru hikes had their food tied high between two trees, out of reach of bear and mice, but the novices were ignorant in this area. Few words were said there after. We all quietly huddled in our respective corners and fell asleep. I think some slept with one eye open. I did wake up to a raccoon digging around the grounds.
Upon exiting the park, we called the boarder to bring us our girl. Sensing how low I was, she invited us off the trail for a day of rest. We accepted her invitation and I said, “take me to my dog!” Before we could even make eye contact, I heard Cassie barking and trying to get to me as I rushed to the kennel to embrace her. Her mouth was bloodied from trying to eat through the hurricane wire fence after she caught our scent. I held her tight, loved her with all my might and promised her never to leave her again. And it was to be. She was away from me only 8 awful days of her life.
This bond between us did get her into some mischief. In Damascus, Virginia we stopped for supplies and a night’s rest. We left her at the hostel and asked her to behave. She had other ideas. When we reached the post office we turned around and found that she had gotten loose and found us. We were amazed since it was not a straight shot from the hostel. But there she was, outside the post office asking to come in. We had no idea how she found us…but then again…maybe our scent was distinguishable to her…and she followed her instincts. We were not allowed to bring her in. We scolded her severely. She ran off. We began to worry. I did not even know the way back to the hostel. After getting our mail and goodies we headed back. Not knowing what we would find or if we would find her. Terror was in our hearts. We rushed back to the hostel. She was no where to be seen. We rushed up to the second floor to drop of mail, and to our surprise we found her all snuggled up in my sleeping bag. With those beautiful soft loving eyes peering up at me, I could not scold her. All I could do was cry and hold her until she yelped. We were all baffled, yet happy. We just could not figure out how she was able to find the post office and then the hostel. Then again…she was an Australian Shepard. There was no reason to punish her, she just wanted to be with mom and dad. After being together day and night…she refused to be without us.
When it came to “yogi-ing” she seldom let us down. Any picnics are a delight for hiker scavengers like us. If lucky, we were wined and dined. And for that I thank them. Once, while were walking down the trail the heavenly scent of grilled hamburgers, and steaks tickled our olfactories. At first, we just looked at them, and started to walk away. I remember that a guy with a beer in his hand asked what kind of dog we had. She was our doorway for food begging! I recall demonstrating how well behaved she was to the interested picnic group. I asked the man for a hot dog and laid it on a stump and told her to sit. I told him she would not take it until my command was given. I was hoping she would not prove me wrong. I did not know who wanted the hot dog more, her or me, but she did not disappoint me. And so we were invited to the feast.
Another memorable occasion concluded with differing results. It occurred on Sunday over Memorial Day weekend. I don’t exactly recall where it was…but finding the opportunity, we decided to go to church, experience a little southern religion, and perhaps someone might invite us to their holiday feast afterwards. We were invited to join the service and had been given some privacy to clean up. We had washed up and put on our “best Sunday clothes”. Everyone welcomed us and said they were glad we could be there with them. We left Cassie with the backpacks and heard a wonderful sermon. Following the service be went back to get Cassie and collect our equipment. When we came out there was not a soul in sight… no preacher, no cars, nothing! The church was left open with us in it. We laughed at the “Christian generosity” and we have always wondered if we actually attended a sermon or not. People sure cleared out fast.
Al thought I may have scarred another couple during another incident. The couple was parked near a road crossing while pleasantly eating potato chips and dip. Suddenly, out of the woods comes this hiker in a tee shirt with a dirty dog. I commented to them how we were hiking and that we had hiked over 1,000 miles already and were looking forward to Katahdin in Maine. They looked at me, gave me the bag of chips and dip, and then left. A little later Al comes out of the woods with Mike. They had decided to take a scenic route to capture some other views. They were astonished at my good fortune and we shared the chips and dip.
Not only great for yogi-ing, the Shenandoah National Park also provided perfect trail conditions. Real mountains, yes, but just a beautiful park-like walk. Animals had to be kept on a leash at all times. This included Cassie. Al scavenged all the aluminum cans out of the part trash cans and took advantage of their recycling deposit program. We ended up with enough money to buy two gigantic milk shakes that were deliciously cold and refreshing. Cassie enjoyed it too!
We had to deal with the scare of Lyme’s disease that had just emerged as a perceived threat to hikers. Many did not like our dog because they thought she might be harboring deer ticks. At times hikers arrived at the shelter as darkness fell. Cassie would not bark.
She would be so tired that there wasn’t a bark left in her. We would snuggle in together in my sleeping bag. In the morning hikers were amazed to see a dog peak out from under my sleeping bag. She was my love and joy. I never developed Lyme’s Disease.
Al wanted me to turn into a tough, self-sufficient woman. Being a city girl made that a bit difficult. Lighting a small tin stove to warm water to have hot cocoa in the morning was not my way of living. Nonetheless, I got used to it, but never embraced it. So it was no surprise when Al just walked by me after I slipped on some rocks and fell face down while crossing a creek. However, I could not get up, Cassie barked, Al turned back and picked me up by my backpack. What he had not realized was that…I was bleeding profusely. I’d cut left temple on a rock. I needed help immediately. He dragged me to the far edged of the current, Cassie was whimpering and licking me. Al dropped his backpack and ran back to other hikers known to be behind us. My tee shirt was covered in blood… my bandana kept the pressure on the injury…. I was going in and out of consciousness. He found two hikers, one had some medical knowledge and immediately wrapped me in a aluminum blanket to keep me warm. Luckily they figured out we were not to far from a road. He ran down the road to locate a house with a phone to call for help. A vehicle eventually arrived. They wanted to carry me to the vehicle on a stretcher, but I insisted on walking out on my own two legs…that was the stubborn part in me, but not the practical thing to do. I don’t remember how I got the hospital, nor the stitches. When I woke up, I had the worst headache I have ever had, the side of my face was all swollen, and I had seven stitches over my left eye. I rested one day and had to take off a few others. For a few days after that, walking up mountains created a pressure that made me feel as if my head was about to explode. As a result, Al secured a ride for me with a section hiker with a car to the Pearisburg hostel where I stayed at a hostel with some priests and some crazy locals.
This hostel has a haven for hikers and street people who needed refuge. Unfortunately for me, there was one young man who was schizophrenic. He would talk to the walls, and to his boots. I slept with one eye open and one closed. Well, I could only open one eye anyway! And believe me, I held on tight to my meager belongings. Cassie stayed close to me but since Al was not there it was of little comfort to me. Al caught up with me in a few days. It took awhile before I felt good enough to hike again.
Thru all the ups and downs, there were many things I learned on this Appalachian trail hike. I found 17 uses for a bandana. Two bandanas tied together made a nice top for those times when you needed to do laundry. It also made a good bandage when I cracked my head like a walnut. I will let you discover the other uses. Life can teach us so much.
My favorite stay was at Greymore Monastary. It is the most pleasant and loving place on earth. Cassie had to say outside tied to a tree. A monk visited her and we were fortunate to capture a picture of the monk talking to Cassie. In my mind,it is one of the most beautiful pictures ever taken. There was a spiritual connection, she sat and looked straight at him as he talked. At night I could hear her soft whimpers calling for me from the area outside my window. I went to the window and assured her that she would be all right. Al had to sleep is the men’s quarters. The rooms were perfect, all the necessities were there. That night day I heard the monks singing. I asked if I could attend. I was told that no women were allowed. For some reason, an exception was made, and to my knowledge I have been the only woman allowed to sing with the monks. This was one of the highlights of my trip. I have no way of confirming that no other women have been allowed to attend. I just went with what I was told. But I know this…part of my soul remains there. They are so generous to hikes, free lodging and free food.
Feeling free and not knowing where one will wind up at night fall is a very uncomfortable experience at first. Then as one becomes one with nature, we realize that the outdoors is the true place where man belongs. Waking up in the morning in a strange place with strangers pushes our psyche to trust one another and to depend on one another. These instincts are some times forgotten. When you are out there you depend on one another. You learn your physical weaknesses and your mental strengths. You push yourself to the limit. It is not for everyone. It is definitely not for the light hearted or for those who want to prove that they are better than anyone else. It is an inner consciousness that one develops. One learns more about oneself on the AT than at any other time in their life. You give it all up…to get it all in. Al…when he proposed marriage, I said, “if we can walk the Appalachian Trail and be together for 6 months 24/7, a marriage might have a chance”. That was the challenge. That is his strength…to love me whether my knees blew out, whether Cassie’s paws hurt, whether he had to carry more than we did, he was there…and always has been. Sometimes when we create an opportunity to challenge ourselves we don’t realize how much we grow. While our baby Cassie is no longer with us…she gave me 16 years of her life…I saw her being born…and she died in my arms. Al did not experience her whole life as I, but I know he loved her just as much. I could look into her eyes and see eternity…and one day her ashes and mine will be one, sprinkled from Baxter Peak near the northern terminus of the Appalachian Trail.
Written by: Freyda Strackeljahn…I’m Mighty Thor! Yes, I am still mighty sore!
ACCIDENTAL HIKER DOG - Condensed from his book "Appalachian Trail Thru-Hike" by John Gignilliat
May 11th . . . Just before we were ready to leave the campground, Dr. Doolittle and her two black labs arrived in a van. As she was thanking the people for the ride, unloading her gear, and trying to keep her dogs under control; a small black camp dog ran up to greet her two dogs, Stand Up and Sit Down. This created quite a commotion, so I called the little black dog over and held her until the labs had disembarked. Without thinking, I absently scritched behind her ears while holding her. This was an act of friendliness I would remember for some days to come.
As was usually the case when leaving civilization, we got a late start and headed out on the trail not much before noon. As we began walking up the trail, I noticed that the black dog I had held earlier in the morning was following along behind us. I gave it my most stern and most commanding, “GO HOME!” and “STAY!”
Since we had just crossed a major river, it was going to be a long uphill climb out of the river gorge. As we got into our climb, we both noticed the small black dog still following us up the trail. She hung back about twenty yards; and when we stopped, she stopped; and when we started, she started. I tried to shoo her back down the trail, while I told Carol, “She probably likes to follow hikers out of camp for a while, then she'll go home.”
The wildflowers were beautiful, and it was a perfect day for hiking. The little black dog was still following us, and I chased her away again. “Give it up!” Carol said. We continued our climb out of the Nolichucky Gorge and were finding it much less difficult than we expected. Maybe we were getting in better shape. We stopped at a shelter, and I noticed a small black shape off in the bushes. “This is probably as far as the little dog goes, then she runs back to camp,” I commented.
“Right,” said Carol in an unbelieving tone of voice.
As we continued hiking, Running Wind caught up with us and stopped to say hello. “Say, did you know you've got a little black mutt following you?” He commented.
We stopped on the trail to cook a late lunch. We sat just off the trail in the shade of a small tree, and I noticed a small black shape off in the bushes. Well, it looked like we had an addition to our hiking team, whether we liked it or not. For a number of reasons, neither Carol nor I felt that a dog was appropriate on the trail, but it looked like we were going to have to forgo our convictions. Knowing there was no turning back, we offered our little black friend the meager scraps left over from our lunch.
We washed our pot, then Carol looked in the Appalachian Trail Data Book to see where our next water source was. Much to our dismay, we discovered that it would be over six miles before another water source. We were almost out of water, and at our usual rate of two miles per hour, that would be three hours on not much more than a quart of water.
The sun got hotter, the climb got steeper, and our throats got drier. We were headed to Beauty Spot Bald, so all our hiking would be uphill. We took the last sips out of our water bottle with an hour of climbing still to go; and shortly thereafter, I found myself daydreaming of root beer and banana Popsicles. Our little black friend was still following us and I felt sorry for her. Her tongue was lolling out, and she looked as thirsty as we felt.
We finally crested Beauty Spot Bald and again met Running Wind at the top. The view was true to its name, but our primary concern was for water. I left my pack with Carol and then gathered up our water pump and water bottles. With the black dog following, I began the final two tenths of a mile to a spring down the other side of the bald. When we reached the spring, the dog drank and drank and drank. I filtered enough water to slate my thirst, then filled our bottles to take this life-giving fluid back to Carol. We were not in any real peril, but this lesson taught us how important water is to survival. Carol drank long and hard when I returned.
Running Wind decided to slow down and camp with us at Beauty Spot Gap. We sat with Running Wind and shared trail stories and news of common friends. We split our dinner three ways, one share going to our little doggie friend. We all watched the sun set while swatting gnats, then crawled into our respective tents for a peaceful night's sleep. Black dog picked a spot outside our tent; and, as if standing guard, settled down for the night.
May 12th . . . We hiked the rest of the day without seeing anyone else . . . except for our cute little dog. She would race into the woods to scare up a bird or chase a chipmunk, bounding on all fours like a sheep gamboling in the field. When not off the trail following a scent, she would walk between Carol and me. But if Carol got out of sight, she would stop on the trail and wait for her to come back into view. That little black face that looked like a bear cub staring back down the trail waiting for her, quickly had Carol endured to this young pup.
We stopped for lunch, carefully picking a spot near water. It was several hundred yards down a steep embankment to the spring, but it was worth the effort as the water was cold, cool, and clean. We again split our dinner three ways. Then, feeling energized but not sated, we began our final push to the next shelter and our destination for the day. We found the marked trail to the shelter, and it led to a charming little wood structure. I cleaned out the fire ring, then collected some firewood. I noticed that every time I picked up a stick, our friendly little dog would cringe and run away. I wondered if she had been beaten by her former master. She still had marks where a collar had been, but it was hard to imagine someone beating a dog this friendly. While sitting on the edge of shelter, warmed by the fire and befriended by our dog, we watched the sun go down through the trees and a sliver moon rise. Man, woman, fire, dog, stars, moon, and sun: life was simple and good on the trail.
May 13th . . .. We were two miles from the gap where we planned to cut off the trail, and then an additional three miles to the State Park where we were to meet Todd and Kendra (Carol’s son and wife). When we reached the road leading to the state park, I stopped and cut some line from our food-hanging rope and fashioned it into a leash. A red scarf of Carol's served as a collar. Our little black dog took to this makeshift leash with no problems. We followed a dirt road out of the mountains. As the dirt gave way to pavement, we began to pass houses and cabins. The redneck joke came to mind, “If your front porch collapses and more than three dogs die, you might be a redneck!” I think we were in redneck country. Every Tennessee house and cabin on this back road seemed to have five dogs running free. It soon became obvious that our girl pooch was in heat, as we were being mobbed by male dogs. It was like running a gauntlet and, at one point, Carol actually picked up and carried our pooch.
We finally made it to a country store where we bought a can of dog food. This was consumed by our friend in one gulp. We told the woman in the store how this dog had followed us all the way from Nolichucky. She thought they might be able to help us at the state park. Before we left, she found a big end of bologna and some dog biscuits for our pup. We had both become very fond of our little friend, and we had decided that we would find a home for this dog . . . even if it was to be our own.
It was almost noon when we finally reached the state park. The county sheriff was at the park entrance, so we inquired what they could do for our stray dog. He looked at the dog and said, “Here in Tennessee we keep 'em a couple of days, then . . .” as he patted his holstered gun. That was not the response I expected, so it looked like it was our dog and our problem. We left a note for Todd and Kendra at the entrance booth and headed for our site. Todd and Kendra arrived shortly after we got our tent set up and they quickly set up their tent. We all had a good laugh at the size of their Walmart tent compared to puny little backpacking tent. They were both surprised to find a little dog tied up to the picnic table. The dog quickly won both their hearts, especially after they heard the tale of her threatened execution.
May 14th . . . Our first order of business was a short trip to the nearby town of Roan Mountain, Tennessee to get our little pup checked out at a veterinarian. The five of us piled into Todd and Kendra's car and headed to the only vet in town. When we explained our situation, Dr Jablonski, the young veterinarian, gave us a free consultation. He told us that she looked like a border collie with some chow mixed in. He also confirmed our suspicion that she was in heat (the first time) and added she was already pregnant. We knew that a pregnant dog had about zero chance for adoption, so we dug into our hiking kitty and agreed to have her spayed. The vet said he would try to find a home for her. We planned to drop her off at the vet's office Monday, after Todd and Kendra left. Then, since the trail makes a large three-day loop around the City of Roan Mountain, we would be back in town in three days to see how she was doing and if he found a home for her. We had already decided that if no home was found, we would take her. We would have to call Carol's daughter to see if she could keep her for five months while we finished our hike. She already had our two cats plus a cat of her own and a new puppy. What's one more dog?
With Todd and Kendra’s car, the four of us plus one canine were able to head out by car the 34 miles to Damascus and the Trail Days Celebration. We had arrived in Damascus just in time for the hikers' parade. Even though we had left our packs and walking sticks back at the campground, we decided to enter the parade. The Police Chief's car and local fire engines, with horns and sirens blaring, were followed by the high school band and majorettes. A restored red Corvette carrying Miss Trail Days which was followed by the most ragtag, raffish looking gaggle of thru-hikers both past and present parading down main street.
After the parade, we headed back to Roan Mountain State Park. In Damascus our little black dog had made friends with a Rottweiler, a Rhodesian Ridge Hound, two Labs, and any child that walked by. We were becoming more and more attached to this lovable mutt. We met another hiker who told us that he had tried to adopt this same dog. Apparently, he had not been to her liking, as she had returned to the Nolichucky Campground after only a half a day. We had not given her a name up to now, but he told us that he called her “Lucky.” We hoped she would be.
May 15th . . . For Todd’s birthday, we took a second day off and did a thrill-packed whitewater raft trip down the Nolichucky. Our guide, Jed did not disappoint us. We went down the rapids forwards, backwards, sideways, and whirligig; laughing, screaming, and shouting all the way down. After our rafting adventure, we retrieved our doggie from Jed's schoolbus home and headed back to Roan Mountain Campground. By now, we were becoming so attached to our little friend, we were half hoping nobody else would take her. When we got back to the campground, we fed the doggie and then helped Todd and Kendra pack up. They had a long drive back to Michigan, so they planned to get some miles in before dark and then stop for the night. We said good-bye and watched them drive off.
May 16th . . . We got up at seven, and after packing up we went to see if we could find a ride to the veterinarian's office. I approached a man washing his camping trailer and explained our situation. He listened to our story, then said to check back with him in thirty minutes. Thirty minutes later, he pulled up to our campsite with his pickup truck. I jumped in the back and held our little dog while Carol climbed into the cab with Jake. Jake began telling Carol that he had had a tough life. He grew up during the Depression and had just recently survived a brain operation for an aneurysm. His wife was recovering from heart surgery for a mitral valve replacement. He had needed the thirty minutes to find someone to sit with her while he gave us a ride.
We dropped our pup off at the vet, and Jake drove us back to the campground. Jake and his wife lived in the nearby town, but he had rented his space in the park for two weeks. He drove us around Roan Mountain Park, proudly showing off its features. He had brought his wife to the campground in the hopes that it would help her recover from her operation. There had been serious complications, and he said she was lucky to get out of the hospital alive. We sat at a picnic table outside their trailer drinking lemonade and entertaining the two of them with stories of our hiking adventures. Finally, it was time to say good-bye and be on our way. We told them that if they were ever near Bath, North Carolina, to please stop in for a visit. Jake's wife looked at us and said, “I thank you both for the offer because I know you mean it. If we ever stopped at your house, I know we would be welcome.” And they would! In our short meeting we felt a bond with these fine people. They were hard, tough mountain folk, but as good as good can be. Several months later, we received a postcard from Jake sadly informing us that his wife had passed away.
Jake graciously offered us a ride back up the mountain to the trailhead. This would save us four strenuous uphill miles, so we gladly accepted his lift. It was hard to start hiking after a few days off the trail, but we soon got into the swing of it. We both sorely missed our black, four-legged companion. We could not help thinking about her and wondering whether they would find a home for her or not.
As we climbed over one of the bare grassy balds, far away we saw two lone dogs racing down the trail towards us. “Oh, no!” we both thought, “No more dogs!” When the dogs got close and saw us, they both braked to a stop, turned around, and ran back to where they had come from. We took a close look as they retreated and realized they were Dr. Dolittle's dogs, Stand Up and Sit Down. Her dogs had fancy purebred names, but Stand Up and Sit Down were their trail names. Dr. Dolittle told us that when she was ready to start hiking, one dog would stand up and be ready to go while the other one would sit down. As soon as the one sitting down stood up, the other one would sit down, and so on. We knew Dr. Dolittle must be camping close by, but we never saw her or her dogs again.
May 17th . . . We woke up to one of the coldest mornings on the trail since leaving Georgia. It felt like it was going to snow, and the strong mountain wind whipping through the gap added to the chill. We talked to another hiker later in the day who said his little backpacking thermometer read thirty-two degrees. We stayed in our bags longer than usual and when we finally crawled out, we were wearing just about every item of clothing we had in our packs. Brrr! It was COLD!
We hiked on to our campground for the night which put us only two miles from the highway leading down to the town of Roan Mountain and the vet. We were anxious to find out if they had found a home for our dog. We decided that if she did not have a home, we would call Amy, Carol's daughter, and have her come pick up the pup. The dog would need two weeks to recover from her surgery, so we realized that we could not make her a hiker dog. Carol was now hoping we could keep her, and I felt the same. Either way, we were anxious to find out her fate.
May 18th . . . We woke up early and tried to get off before seven. According to our Data Book, we had two and six-tenth miles to hike to the road and then several more miles to the vet's office. We knew we might not catch a ride hitchhiking and have to walk the distance. We were both anxious to find out how our dog had fared and especially anxious to find out if she had a home.
We reached the highway by eight-thirty and stuck out our thumbs. Hitchhiking with a backpack is a totally different proposition than hitchhiking without a backpack. Without a pack, you were a potential rapist, murderer, escaped convict, or psychopath who would be a dangerous threat to anyone who stopped. Hitching with a pack, you were a healthy, vigorous, environmentally concerned, outdoors person needing a lift. The very first vehicle stopped to give us a ride. It was a backpacking couple from Pennsylvania who were in the area to do some hiking. They dropped us off at the vet's office, but no one was there yet.
Soon a van drove up and a young woman got out to ask if she could help us. She was the wife of the veterinarian, Dr. Jablonski, and a veterinarian herself. When she realized that we were the couple who had brought the stray dog in to be spayed, she was most helpful. It was with bittersweet relief that we heard our little canine friend had found a home. A woman with a young daughter wanting a dog had agreed to take her. The disappointment on Carol's face was obvious. We both had been wishing that nobody would take her, but it was not to be.
Dr. Pam Jablonski graciously drove us down to the store to pick up some supplies. As we were driving to the store, she told us we were not the first hikers to bring in a dog. She smiled as she related how two hikers had found an injured hound dog on the trail and carried it into town. The townspeople suggested they try calling the Jablonski's at home. The hikers called and apologized profusely for calling on a Sunday but asked if we could please look at their injured dog.
“I just couldn't turn them down,” she said.
She explained that when they first moved to Roan Mountain, they had a hound dog. It had a congenital birth defect resulting in a misshapen leg. “The dog drove us nuts,” she exclaimed, “when it wasn't running away, it set up such a howling that it drove the neighbors crazy. Eventually, it ran off and didn't return. Imagine my surprise when the 'injured' dog was our very same hound dog! The injury was the birth defect that she always had. Just like a bad penny,” she said as she laughed.
After we picked up a few supplies at the store, she drove us back to where the trail crossed the highway. We gave her our trail map of the area we had just passed through, as both she and her husband liked to hike. When she dropped us off, we thanked her again for all their assistance. We had been warned that the people of Roan Mountain were not friendly to hikers, but we had found the exact opposite to be true. Everywhere we went, people had been friendly and helpful, especially with our stray dog. When we thanked Dr. Jablonski for all her help, Carol told her that if the dog's new home did not work out, to please give us a call. (Carol got the woman's phone number and called for several years, making sure our little pooch was still happy and wanted. She quit calling when the woman told her that her daughter loved her little dog so much, it had changed from a yard dog to a house dog.) We had become attached to that little dog and we both missed her dearly. We never gave that dog a name, knowing that she might not be ours.