Book Excerpt

Chapter 39

Dufus

August 20—Day 138—Mile 1869 (Journal entry)—into Pinkham Notch Visitor Center by 9:00 a.m.—had coffee, cereal with milk, and three ice cream bars—also bought six large cookies and minestrone soup mix

He came out of nowhere.

I had left my hat sitting on the ground at Carter Dome having taken a picture of what was left there of the old fire tower. The hat usually never left my head, but for some reason, I had changed my routine. The hat was an absolute must to hide the rat’s nest of hair that I had grown back by this time. I would later refer to that profusion of tangled mass as the Kosmo Kramer cut made famous by the wily character from the television series Seinfeld . So when I discovered the hat was missing, there was no question as to whether I would go back.

After taking the photo, a sublime sense of accomplishment had permeated my being, knowing that my view to the northeast looking up the Trail was, indeed, Maine. The mountains of Maine. My spirits ran very high, and I virtually was skipping along, feeling like some kind of a worldbeater with supreme confidence and derring-do. Maine! Finally Maine! What a downer to discover the hat missing. It cannot be stressed enough how walking backward on the Trail went against every fiber in my body, where adding needless distance to such a prodigious hike just simply pissed me off. I dealt with the detour as best as possible but finally could no longer do so gracefully and had to resort to my usual stress reliever.

A resounding expletive that was screamed at the top of my lungs.

For some reason, this usually worked. I really tried to not do this on the Trail, but necessity prevailed this day and there was no stopping the urge and impulse once I had worked myself into such a state. However, my mood quickly improved as I observed the amazing fact that walking the other way was an entirely new experience. How different the scenery appeared with light on the other sides of the foliage and rocks.

In about ten minutes, I made it back to the old fire tower, straining to see if the hat was there. It was. And that pretty well corrected the inconvenience. However, life was about to change dramatically—again. He must have heard my earlier exclamation and possibly even thought that I was calling him.

A bluetick hound. A gorgeous and sweet-dispositioned animal, and it didn’t take long to realize that this wasn’t just another mutt. This was a cherished and loved and cared-for creature. He had tags and was robust and muscular and was gorgeous and full of vitality and life. However, I just did not want to complicate my already-complicated life. A dog on the Trail when thru-hiking just simply added too many logistic problems. I tried to shoo him away. He simply would not leave. I could only ignore the responsibility that was so suddenly foisted on me for so long. It was obvious within about a half hour that the owner was nowhere around. I now had a dog to care for.

I reversed my direction and again enjoyed the views of Maine and noted that the day was rapidly waning, and a certain sense of urgency set in. For a few moments, I toyed with just camping at the top of Carter Dome but decided that I needed to make a few more miles. My good mood again resumed, and the additional burden didn’t seem that bad. We made our way north. However, before the Trail dropped off the ridge, the marking was quite nebulous; and it took some backtracking to finally find the blazes among the rocks leading downward.

By this time, I had named him Rufus, not knowing any better and not bothering to check gender. I needed a name as he wandered off from time to time and there were a number of trail junctions where I would call him and it wasn’t long before he would appear. He was covering about three times the distance that I was. I finally arrived at Zeta Pass by about six and was disappointed that there was really not an acceptable spot for setting up camp. I decided that this was far enough and that it was stealth camping time again. With some mental improvisation, the Trail itself would have to do for at its junction with Carter Dome Trail seemed to be the only place level enough, an absolute priority in this business of being comfortable in a tent. The nearby water source was adequate at best, but the day was too far gone to be choosey.

Rufus would wander off from time to time but would always come wandering back, and I knew that I had a companion, at least for a little while. I hadn’t bothered to look at the tags and was envisioning a long and complicated process of locating the owner who I had prematurely assumed would be a thru-hiker from heaven knows where and probably not anywhere near the area.

Earlier in the day at the AMC Pinkham Notch Visitor Center, I had bought six huge cookies. They just looked too good to pass up, and the price was very reasonable. I hadn’t really needed the food but was in one of the constant hunger stages which was most of the time and could have sat down then and ate all six in one setting. It was now designated dog food, albeit its contents. Chocolate chips or not, Rufus would just have to bear with me. I really didn’t have anything else that could be considered nutritious and filling for a dog. Chocolate chip cookies it was. He gobbled one down like it was nothing and, of course, was looking for more. I assured him that was all there was, and he seemed satisfied and had already more or less secured his place next to the tent.

A married couple from a Deep South state had drifted into the area about the time I started to set up; and they decided that this was a suitable, if not quite perfect, place to camp and chose their magical place about seventy-five feet from where I was. They didn’t seem quite as concerned about tramping down vegetation, probably having thrown the Leave No Trace concept to the wind. Rufus wandered close by; but the lady wanted no part of taking care of a dog and, with a certain amount of success, managed to shoo him out of their area. So we fairly well cohabitated and shared some trail lore and stories of woe while eating our evening meal. They had peanut butter and bread, and I had my usual noodles with ramen. She seemed like a lady on a mission, but then weren’t we all, and her intentions to complete the hike were very strong in spite of having a chronic knee problem as did a number of the thru-hiking ladies on the Trail. It pained me to watch her hobbling around gingerly on her heavily Ace-bandaged legs and carefully choosing her steps. As with most hikers, it seemed that everything came home to roost at camp. Once back hiking and warmed up and away from camp, hikers were back striding out and making time.

They had been on the Trail somewhat longer than me, having left Springer Mountain about the middle of March. It always amazed me that for the most part, except for those young and strong hikers, I was making better time than most. So even with my extra burden of Rufus, I now felt more assured that somehow things would work out.

I fed Rufus another cookie in the morning and he seemed satisfied with that and we were out of camp by about six forty-five. However, my energy level was very low, and I struggled for the most part and having the dog just seemed to be weighing heavily on me as we slowly made our way through the thick and large boulder fields. There just were no breaks. I caught up with two male hikers with dogs of their own and relayed the story of Rufus and, as with everybody that I encountered along this stretch, wondered if they knew of anybody that had inquired about a dog and got the usual negative answer. They, being more knowledgeable about such things, also informed me that the name Rufus being of a somewhat male gender just would not accommodate the plumbing; and immediately she became Dufus, a name that seemed more appropriate and nongender.

Also it had finally occurred to me to take the time to check her tags, and it was such a relief to see NH Dog—Gorham imprinted. Suddenly what had seemed to be complicated beyond comprehension dissolved back to a fairly simply solution. I just had to get her down the mountain; and hopefully, a scraggly hiker with a dog could actually get a ride into Gorham, and hopefully, the owner would welcome me with open arms and maybe possibly even offer a reward, though it would be something that I wouldn’t take anyway.

By this time, I had become rather attached to Dufus as she provided entertainment, wondering at the trail junctions if she had chosen the correct route, which amazingly she usually did. She would have been the perfect dog to own; she was obedient, intelligent, good-natured, and just fun to be around.

It seemed strategic to detour to Imp Shelter and leave a message in the trail register. The side trail seemed forever, and arriving there, I found the caretaker mucking the privy. I underestimated the physical effort of this compacting process; he was perspiring heavily in his labors. However, after standing there for about three minutes with no response, I started to leave. He stopped me.

“What do you want?” His chest was heaving from the extreme exertion.

It finally occurred to me in my rather-agitated mood of dealing with my encumbrance that mucking the privy probably was not a lot of fun. I mellowed somewhat while explaining as succinctly as possible the situation with Dufus. He told me that he wasn’t aware of anybody looking for a dog. I told him of my intentions of leaving a note in the register, and he told me to make myself at home. I sort of apologized for my curt attitude and left on good terms. It was difficult wording the message in a vein of “to whom it may concern,” but eventually, it was done as well as could be and soon we were heading back to the main trail.

The section of the Trail dropping, literally, down to U.S. Highway 2 was rugged. A number of places, Dufus had to be encouraged to make the jumps; and it required some tricky rock scrambling, this being one of those sections where you spent more time on your butt sliding than on your feet. She obviously had done this quite a lot before and did well. I was impressed and wondered what she was thinking about all of this. She had plenty to drink as water was available almost continuously as we were paralleling a stream; the Trail actually was the stream for the most part. The name Rattle River Trail was aptly named.

A short stop at Rattle River Shelter allowed us to catch our breath somewhat and for me to make plans for Highway 2. I decided that using the bear line as a leash for her was about the only safe way of doing this. The leash worked well. However, where she had been drinking water along the Trail, no amount of persuasion could get her to do it along the highway. Having found a Styrofoam cup along the highway and adding water from my bottle, she just would not drink very much of it.

I had envisioned that some kind soul would actually pick the two of us up. I am convinced that had they known the circumstances, drivers would have been empathetic and helped me out. However, it just appeared that I was a hiker with enough chutzpah to have a dog companion and ballsy enough to attempt hitchhiking. A large dog at that. No rides.

 

We had made it about halfway into town, having covered about 2 1/2 miles, and I was becoming quite concerned about my companion. She had done so well trail hiking but the leash was alien, and not taking water, she was clearly overheating. The temperature was about eighty, and for most of the time along the highway, we were in direct sunlight. This just was not working good. I started to go by the White Birches Camp Park, a RV park on the south side of the highway, and decided that this was just far enough. The lady named Janet inside the office listened to my story intently and, clearly a bearer of Northern hospitality, soon was on the phone. She got a rather-disturbing piece of news at first, being that the rightful owner of the dog was shown on record as “living out of the country.” However, Janet was the type that was not to be denied. She pursued the ownership issue further; and after about six phone calls, she found the current owner, apparently there had been some dispute over ownership that was now resolved.

However, in the interim, Dufus had to be provided for. A veterinarian, known for being the last stop before animals that had been abandoned were to meet their demise, came to pick her up. It was with great sadness that we—for Janet had become very involved in this in a short time—watched as the vet truck drove away, wondering if that was the end of my wonderful short-time companion. I managed to wrangle a ride to town with one of the RV camp residents and was soon checking into the Royalty Inn in Gorham. I made it to my room and scattered my belongings around for drying, for inventory, and for general maintenance. I delayed the shower for some reason and hadn’t gotten around to that before the phone rang. A woman’s voice asked me to come to the lobby.

Lori proved to be a very attractive woman and the rightful owner of Dufus, actually Cally, though the exact spelling remained nebulous at best. She was ecstatic! She had pretty much given up on ever seeing her beloved dog again and could not believe that Cally was back. We talked for a long time. Lori handed me a white envelope and said, “This is for you.” I didn’t need to look inside and at the look in Lori’s eyes to know what was inside, though the amount was never known. However, my idea earlier of a reward had already been taken care of, money would just taint my good feelings.

“No, I’m not taking your money. If I would have had to pay for everything for the help that I have had along the Trail, I could not have afforded the hike.”

She implored. I declined a number of times, and finally she put the white envelope away. A warmth evolved, and an instant friendship was formed. We talked for a while, and finally Lori said, “Do you want to see her?” Of course I did.

She was in the back of Lori’s SUV. She told me that Cally had never been this exhausted before. Cally did raise her head just a little to acknowledge me; and it was so very good to see her there, safe, in loving care, the world was again very okay. Trail magic, though this time in reverse. What a wonderful feeling knowing that I could have actually helped somebody else, quite contrary to what a thru-hiker normally experiences.

Lori insisted on hugging me. My smelly, scroungy self was somewhat reluctant, but she insisted. Even in my deplorable state, I would not have declined being hugged by an attractive and grateful young woman. A hug that I will remember forever.

The story probably should have ended there. However, this was the North, and people just are not like that. Besides, my arrival in town was about to be good for the local economy, to the tune of about $600.

The next night, I had an appointment at North Country Dental with a Dr. D to attend to the filling that had fallen out at Lake of the Clouds Hut. That day I toyed with the idea of replacing my boots yet again. The pair that I had purchased at Eastern Mountain Sports in Dalton, Massachusetts, had developed a tear along one seam of my left boot; and in spite of my love of these light boots, the idea of them holding up through Maine didn’t seem too likely.

The people at Gorham Hardware & Sports Center were happy to oblige to my wishes for a new pair for a mere $100. I left there knowing that I had made the right decision and the Merrell boots would serve me well for the duration of the hike and are still going strong to this day, having also spent a lot of time surveying and doing yard work.

My visit to the good dentist also proved to be a nice experience, something not always associated with dental work. No pain, but more so was the caring of Dr. D. I didn’t realize until late into the appointment that he was the only one left in the office, having scheduled my appointment much beyond the normal hours. He worked without an assistant and spent probably more time with me than he would have with one of his regular patients, or so it seemed. About seven that evening, he had finally replaced my lost tooth with a “temporary” filling, more like a total rebuilding of a tooth. He then had to do the billing thing. We eventually had everything squared away, and I left that dental office knowing that Dr. D had gone above and beyond his normal call of duty. Gorham had a special place in their hearts for hikers, especially thru-hikers. I can still remember the remark of the receptionist as she left about six. “Take good care of that hiker now.”

The night was to continue somewhat in a chaotic state. I knew that in the morning, I would be ready to make my way to Maine, only about a day and a half away. So I wanted everything ready to go in the morning. I made a quick trip to a local pharmacy that had everything and stocked up on some food, a new camera card, and sundry items. In my haste, I left my Olympus at the drug store, and when I got back to the motel room made this discovery. I rushed back to find the camera in the good care of the woman there that had waited on me. One had to wonder at this city, a place that I would have loved to live in.

My stop back at the motel room after the dental appointment and pharmacy run is a moment that will stay with me for a long time. As I walked into the dark room, I almost tripped over a large decorative bag of stuff. Inside, carefully packed with loving attention were more goodies than thought imaginable, even for a thru-hiker. It was full of homemade cookies, Snickers bars, wonderful gourmet chocolates, granola bars—all of the things near and dear to a thru-hiker’s heart. Inside was a note from Lori thanking me again for rescuing her dog. So Cally, in her innocent way, had been catalyst between two people to form a bond that will last a lifetime.

Gorham, New Hampshire, will always hold a special place in my heart. A wondrous city of warm and caring people, a microcosm of America as we wished all places should be.