So Long Partner – A Good Day In The Rhoda Group

Partners: Duke & Jamie
Peaks: Rhoda, Whitehead, UN 13,117

September 3, 2017:

I can hear the soft rustling of nylon against nylon coming from the tent as Jamie packs her sleeping bag into her stuff sack. I put my hood up and take a sip of the hot coffee thats just come out of the French press. I look across the dewy grass of the Deer Park basin. The sun is about to come up over the ridge to the east behind Mt. Rhoda and infuse a little warmth into this day. It’s September 3^rd and the summer hasn’t quite given up it’s grip on the year but there’s enough of a bite in the morning air that I can tell that fall is beginning to win this battle. We did our best to get past the labor day traffic on 285 and get down here to the San Juans for a weekend of hiking 13ers, camping and swimming in lakes. We rolled into Silverton late and knew that the trailhead was somewhere behind the town towards Kendal mountain. We didn’t waste a lot of time because we were hoping to have a shot at setting up our tent before the last light left the valley. A wrong left turn towards Kendal mountain took us away from our objective of the Rhoda group and on a 20 minute detour up a rough rocky 4WD road that I knew couldn’t be right. The road was getting sketchier and less friendly to my stock 4Runner the higher we went, I definitely don’t remember this from reading the trailhead beta. “It must have been that right turn.” I begrudgingly mumbled to Jamie. I found a place to turn around, made the five point turn and pointed us back downhill. So much for having any light left to set up the tent.

Sipping my coffee again, I look down at a soaking wet stuffed hedgehog. Somewhere off into the woods to the right of our campsite I can hear the clanking of metal on metal. Dukes tags are tapping against one another while he’s sniffing and sprinting between the trees, jumping over downed logs at a blinding pace. He’s darting quickly, efficiently between the trees. I catch glimpses of his black 80 pound frame as he pops out from one tree, only to be hidden by another. Suddenly he ceases his sprint, makes an immediate U turn and stops on a dime to where he thinks something is hiding. He investigates the area and decides its nothing, time to get back to work. He turns quickly again back the direction he was originally heading and he’s off in between the trees, the campsite is filled with the sound of his tags jingling against one another. I pick up his wet hedgehog. It’s soaked through to the stuffing from the morning dew. He was forced to leave it outside last night because neither Jamie or I wanted to feel the water seeping through our sleeping bags in the middle of the night as we slept. It was a minor offence and quickly forgiven this morning because he had so much other work to do.

I yell loud enough to overcome the sounds of sticks breaking in the woods: “DUKE!” He stops dead in his tracks and looks over at me. I’m holding his hedgehog in my right hand above my head. “GO GET IT” I whip the hedgehog by the tail with some force into the low dew covered grass in front of our campsite. Like an avalanche he comes crashing through the woods to retrieve his stuffy. He’s running too fast and will overrun his target if he doesn’t pump the breaks. He has a different plan, he slides to a stop, his entire body crashing to the ground and nearly rolling over. He pops immediately back up on his feet and trots proudly back over to me. He sets the hedgehog down at my feet and sits down on his back legs. He looks down at the hedgehog and then up at me a few times with real intention, he’s willing me to throw it again. I’ve learned over the years that you only start this game if you’re willing to commit to at least a few throws. The uninitiated who don’t know any better have found themselves stuck in this fetch vortex with Duke for hours, literally. The only thing that will break being stuck in that vortex is if someone else mistakenly calls him over to throw the toy. I oblige him a few more times before Jamie snaps a few pictures of us screwing around against the rising sun.

The sun is fully above the ridgeline now and it’s apparent that neither Jamie, Duke or I have any intention of getting this hike started quickly. 20 minutes later, the coffee now cold and the hedgehog thrown a sufficient number of times, we have our campsite packed up and we’re hiking into the woods. This seems like an old road at first and but eventually narrows into a recognizable trail. Soon we’re heading up the north slopes of 13,117 to gain the ridge. Our objectives for the day are the five 13ers that sit perfectly along the same ridgeline (UN 13,117, Whitehead Pk., Mt. Rhoda, Mountaineer Pk, and Spencer Pk.) The beta looks Duke friendly all day so both Jamie and I are expecting a pleasant walk in the hills today.

The work above treeline is easy going on a mixture of trail and tundra. There’s so many braded trails along this slope that we sometimes question if we’re on the correct one. Either the sheep or the goats have been working on putting in a path up here, which explains why it sometimes looks like there are 5-6 paths to choose from. I look back at Jamie and I can already see we’re well above the Molas Pass in the distance. Duke is doing his usual, trotting along the path, occasionally leaving it when he catches a scent but never straying more than 20-30 feet in front of me. We’re alone up here today and even if we weren’t, he’s too well trained to run off too far without explicit permission. I’m not totally sure who trained that into him but ever since we picked him up at the Midcoast Humane Society in Maine when he was two years old, it's a trait I’ve appreciated. We make quick work of the slope and are soon on the ridgeline. As soon as we pop onto the ridge we can see Vestal and Arrow peeking out in the distance. The remaining walk up 13,117 is pleasant and grassy along the ridge.

Duke gets to the pile of rocks that mark this summit first, stops and starts expressing his displeasure about something. I come up behind him and can see what’s got his hackles up. A lone sheep is looking up at us from a little way down the other side of the ridge. Duke is whining at me asking permission to go play. “Absolutely not, partner.” I say forcefully enough that he knows I mean business. He looks on longingly at the sheep but gets off it soon enough when he sees Jamie making her way up behind us. He prances over to greet her. I stay there for a minute recording a video of the sheep on my phone. The sheep has apparently decided it’s better to descend the other side of this peak rather than to see who’s up here whining at him. The three of us drink some water, eat a snack and look over toward Whitehead. I was feeling proud having picked yet another Duke friendly day. The entire route ahead to Whitehead looks to be all grass and what we can see of Rhoda looks pretty much the same. The only drama today is going to be the debate on weather we go to the Avalanche Brewery or make dinner at the tent later.

The three of us start down the ridge toward Whitehead and everyone assumes the same positions they took on the way up. Duke 20 feet in front of me, me in the center and Jamie cruising along behind me. The ridgeline over to Whitehead is easygoing on intermittent trail and grass and goes quicker than the first slope of the day. Soon we’re on top looking over at Rhoda. A few clouds have started to build but still look unthreatening. Our pace today is what could only be described as lollygagging. Usually, I’d be pestering to have us go faster, I hate it when I leave peaks orphaned that we’ll have to come back for later. For whatever reason I wasn’t feeling the need to push our pace today. The entire morning has been quite pleasant and besides, if we really wanted to get all five of these peaks today, we probably would have started an hour or two earlier. So I do what I should remember to do more often, settle into third position and watch as Jamie and Duke head off down the ridge to start over to Rhoda peak.

As we head over to Rhoda I admire Vestal and Arrow again. The views of them have been spectacular all day. We’ve hiked a lot of peaks around them from stony pass, from the molas side and now from here and I can’t remember ever having been on a ridgeline where they looked so impressive. This won’t be the worst place in the world to have to come back to. I’m sure we’ll probably be down here in a few years and remember that we still have those two orphans up on the ridge to go pick up. Another 20–30-minute stroll and we’re on top of Mt. Rhoda, our third and final peak today.

We sit down and have a few snacks and admire the surrounding peaks in silence. The sun peaks out from behind the building clouds. I have my DSLR with me so I force myself to put down the phone camera and use the nice one. I stack our backpacks along with some rocks to make a platform for the camera. Jamie moves in the direction the camera is pointing and get calls Duke over. He trots over and sits down with her. I set the timer for ten seconds and sprint over to get into the frame before the shutter clicks. Duke will typically look in every direction except toward the camera, so it takes a few tires to get a decent family photo. I’m impressed with the results considering the makeshift tripod, the random time of day lighting and that we got Duke to look directly at the camera.

After our photoshoot it’s time to figure out how to get back down. The saddle between Whitehead and Rhoda looked super reasonable, like it would probably be mostly grass the entire way back to the deer park basin. We dropped back down to the saddle and start down the slope between the two. Duke senses we’re heading back to the car and changes his position in the group. For whatever reason that I’ve never been able to figure out, he always insists on occupying last place on the way down. Maybe another trait his previous owner imparted upon him. The slope is uneventful until we get to a field of yellow flowers. The three of us have been on a lot of peaks together over the years and most of the time we’re descending rocky trails, defined singletrack or manky scree garbage, so it’s unexpected to find ourselves in the middle of the Sound of Music up here. We stop again and snap a few photos of the endless field of flowers, do some goofy yoga poses and take a few videos of us frolicking with the Duke through the sea of wildflowers.

We continue our descent downward to the car. I can see the two old mine buildings near where the 4Runner is parked and all that stands between us and it is the typical Colorado willows that are intent on making at least one part of this day miserable. Not seeing any reasonable way around them, we just hope that they won’t be too misery inducing. Immediately upon entering them they’re above my head. I call out to Jamie: “I’ve made a poor choice; you can do better!” She avoids my line and tries to stay a little higher on the hillside. Duke is somewhere near me rustling around. Without hands to keep the willows out of his face I always just assume he squints his eyes, goes for it and hopes for the best. After a few curse words from each of us, we emerge on the other side and a few hundred feet from the car.

We quickly change our hiking clothes for the comfort of shorts and sandals, drive back into town for a beer at Avalanche and then over to Little Molas Lake to find a camping spot for the evening. Later that night we’re all sitting by the campfire with a giant inflatable pink flamingo perched atop the 4Runner. I can’t remember why we have this thing with us, most likely a gift from someone, but why. Either way, it was the first time I decided to blow it up. I took a float on Little Molas and decided it was pretty useless as a float tube since it always seemed just on the verge of sinking if you positioned your body wrong. During this float, duke was sniffing around the edges of the lake but decided against jumping in before bedtime. He’s had too many nights where he made the opposite decision, dove in and then shivered in the tent through the night. Maybe he’s finally connecting a few of the dots after five years of doing this together. A little while later we’re all asleep and the only thing that can be heard echoing around the campsite is Duke snoring away. It was a good day down in the San Juans for sure.

February 13^th 2024:

I’m in the middle of training for the San Juan solstice and every run I’ve done this week has been interrupted at some point because I can’t stop myself from bursting into tears multiple times per run. We put Duke down today and it was heartbreaking. He’s was 14 and the days of frolicking in a sea of wildflowers were long gone. His back legs had given out and he couldn’t stand up on his own, he couldn’t walk more than a few steps without falling over and he struggled to stay in a position long enough to pee without collapsing. For the past three years since he started giving signals that his long days in the mountains were now squarely in the rearview mirror, he became my primary fishing partner. I’ve heard people say their dogs “aren’t good fishing dogs.” Duke was a great fishing dog ever since I first picked up a fly rod back in 2020. I think Duke was just happiest in life to spend time outside together and was always careful to make sure he didn't stop getting the invitations.

My friends who are well meaning and who I appreciate dearly, keep reminding me of what a great life Jamie and I had given Duke. That didn’t make getting to the decision to put him down any less shitty. We adopted Duke when he was 2. I almost didn’t take him home because he was kind of a loudmouth at the pound, however, during the first 10 minutes I got to meet him, someone at the humane society handed me a tennis ball and said this was his true love. They were right, if I ever wanted him to stop doing something I could just hold up a ball and he’d immediately change course from whatever he was up to and like a magnet, come back to the tennis ball. He was my primary hiking partner while Jamie was pursuing her Doctorate degree at the University of New England. The two of us often spent weekends alone in the white mountains and eventually ended up completing the New Hampshire 44 4,000 foot peak list together. We’ve ran thousands of trail miles with each other both training for races and just because it was nice to be outside together. After we moved back home to Colorado in 2014 he racked up over 100 13er and 14er summits, I lost count of the exact number somewhere along the way.

To say that he was just our dog would be an understatement. He was my partner. During the thousands of runs and hikes we did alone, I would often stop at a junction and ask him: “which way partner?” or "what do you think partner?" His response to this was pretty much the same, he’d run over to me, whine a little and force my hand into petting his head. After our first season in New Hampshire he started responding just as well to the word Partner as he did to Duke. Rain, snow or shine he was always wiling to go on an adventure. He was there for me when I didn’t deserve him and when I did.

Now walking in the middle of the woods in Bear Creek Lake Park, the trees dead and the colors around me muted from Februarys grip on Colorado, I’m trying to recall all the amazing sunrises we shared, all the garbage raids I came home to, and all the reasons why Duke was Duke. All that I can think of though are his last ten minutes on earth. The vet came to our home. He asked us to distract him with food while he administered the anesthesia and pain medications. These first two shots would ensure that he wouldn’t’ feel any pain and would be asleep well before the vet administered the third shot that would end his life. I sat down next to him during the first two shots and used an oversized baking spoon filled with peanut butter to distract him. I also put a bowl of crackers in between his front paws in case he didn’t want the peanut butter. He was licking the spoon for a few minutes; he was hell bent on licking all the peanut butter off the spoon. He made it through the first spoon, and I had to load up the spoon a second time. A few minutes into the second spoon his head slumped down, his nose landed in the bowl of crackers. He sprang back up and kept licking until he slumped down a second time, his head was now heavy in my hands. He fell asleep and I set aside the crackers and peanut butter. He was breathing normally, just sleeping at this point from the anesthesia. The vet administered the third shot and his breathing slowed until it was no longer there. We spent the next half hour slumped over petting him, kissing his forehead and thanking him for everything he had given us. He passed between Jamie and myself, the two people who loved him most in the world.

I’m on the trail in Bear Creek Lake Park and crying while I walk. I’m trying to get myself together enough to start running again. I stop on the trail for a minute. I force myself to think of something else, anything other than those last ten minutes. I look out at the stand of trees in the distance across a small field. I close my eyes and concentrate. I will the sound of his tags clanking together back into the world, I can hear the tags as clearly and as vividly as that morning in the Deer Park basin. My eyes are still shut, I can see him running effortlessly between the trees tracking a scent. My heart rate slows and I gradually open my eyes. As clearly and as quickly as I willed that sound back into the world, it’s gone. So long Partner, I have loved every step with you. I will see you again.

I had to write this all out because it has been helpful for me. Thanks for reading. -Aaron