Up until the last couple of years, Nico carried all his own load, including a minimum of two quarts of water. The summers
when I carried baby Ruth on my back on day-hikes I couldn't carry the baby PLUS everything we needed for a day in the
mountains, so that made Nico REALLY a working dog, because he had to carry some of Ruth’s necessary gear, as well
as his own.
On one trip, Nico had to endure a painful paw. He hurt his paw and had to walk out on it because I couldn’t carry him.
The Green Mountain Club has built a number of open-fronted shelters along the trail, and these are handy places to
stay overnight. Very often on the trail there is no open space among the trees flat enough to pitch a tent anyway. We
often took a tent or tarp nonetheless, in case there was someone in a shelter who didn’t want dogs. Later on we
reduced the load to a tarp. There was one time we were very glad to have brought a tent. We took a side trail which we
thought would be a shortcut, and this turned out to be a mistake under the circumstances. There had been much rain,
and the trail was nearly impassable with large packs, wet rocks, and dogs, and growing dark too. We came to a vertical
ladder just as it was getting too dark to find a way around it or find blazes to continue the trail. So we hauled the packs
and maneuvered or hoisted the dogs, down the rocks to the bottom of the notch, where we found a flat spot to quickly
pitch a tent, just as a big rain came up. We crawled in and everyone went to sleep except me. I stayed up worrying about
the rain, because we were right under the notch, with lots of little streams around us, but it was the only place we could
find to pitch a tent in the dark. For all my worrying, no flood came to wash us away.
Nico learned to hike behind me or next to me on the trail, so in the last several years, I almost never had to leash him on
the trail. He could restrain himself from chasing critters in front of me on the trail, although he sometimes went after
chipmunks to the side, and once he went after a porcupine down the mountain. Fortunately I caught him before he
caught the porcupine (I always carried a pair of needle-nose pliers with me, as if I needed the extra weight, but
porcupines are too common in northern Vermont.) Probably he COULD have caught the porcupine but was using his
brain, unlike his half-brother Chester, who got into nine porcupines during his life. Once down in West Virginia, Nico held
a stay behind me while we watched a tiny fawn a few feet ahead of us on the trail. He couldn’t contain himself forever,
and after a long time he gave one bark, and the fawn skedaddled. Around a beaver pond he gets so excited I still have
to leash him. Sometimes I know there are critters around us in the woods that I can’t see, because I see my dogs getting
excited about a scent. I wish they could tell me.
Even at thirteen, he can still hike cheerfully and competently along the trail, bounce a little, and still have energy left
over to chase the occasional chipmunk. He looks tired sometimes, but never really distressed or unhappy. Though he
doesn't see or hear as well as he used to, he still takes an interest in the smells and sounds of the trail. I hope I can do
as well when I am in my nineties.
I have to thank my family who hiked with me at various times – my parents, brother, sister, and boyfriend, later husband.
They helped to care for my daughter when I could no longer carry her on the trail. My father did many car shuttles in the
north. My husband Charles supported Nico and me in our goal in so many ways that we could not have finished the trail
without his support.
Nico loved the Long Trail. He loves the scents and sounds of the woods and the mountains, moose, beaver, bear. We
heard moose calls and started up pheasants, walked for miles in the fresh tracks and droppings of moose. I loved it
when he was walking right next me, cheery and alert and excited by something on the trail, with his eyes bright and tail
and ears high. But maybe what he liked most was the companionship of the trail. He loved being with me on the trail, and
I loved being with him. Sometimes we hiked with various family members, and when my younger dog Fiona joined the
family, she came on most of the trips. But many times it was just me and Nico. We walked the whole thing together, the
two of us, every step of the way, and he could look at me with his eyes and communicate everything. We still have some
walks ahead of us but that was our grandest.
when I carried baby Ruth on my back on day-hikes I couldn't carry the baby PLUS everything we needed for a day in the
mountains, so that made Nico REALLY a working dog, because he had to carry some of Ruth’s necessary gear, as well
as his own.
On one trip, Nico had to endure a painful paw. He hurt his paw and had to walk out on it because I couldn’t carry him.
The Green Mountain Club has built a number of open-fronted shelters along the trail, and these are handy places to
stay overnight. Very often on the trail there is no open space among the trees flat enough to pitch a tent anyway. We
often took a tent or tarp nonetheless, in case there was someone in a shelter who didn’t want dogs. Later on we
reduced the load to a tarp. There was one time we were very glad to have brought a tent. We took a side trail which we
thought would be a shortcut, and this turned out to be a mistake under the circumstances. There had been much rain,
and the trail was nearly impassable with large packs, wet rocks, and dogs, and growing dark too. We came to a vertical
ladder just as it was getting too dark to find a way around it or find blazes to continue the trail. So we hauled the packs
and maneuvered or hoisted the dogs, down the rocks to the bottom of the notch, where we found a flat spot to quickly
pitch a tent, just as a big rain came up. We crawled in and everyone went to sleep except me. I stayed up worrying about
the rain, because we were right under the notch, with lots of little streams around us, but it was the only place we could
find to pitch a tent in the dark. For all my worrying, no flood came to wash us away.
Nico learned to hike behind me or next to me on the trail, so in the last several years, I almost never had to leash him on
the trail. He could restrain himself from chasing critters in front of me on the trail, although he sometimes went after
chipmunks to the side, and once he went after a porcupine down the mountain. Fortunately I caught him before he
caught the porcupine (I always carried a pair of needle-nose pliers with me, as if I needed the extra weight, but
porcupines are too common in northern Vermont.) Probably he COULD have caught the porcupine but was using his
brain, unlike his half-brother Chester, who got into nine porcupines during his life. Once down in West Virginia, Nico held
a stay behind me while we watched a tiny fawn a few feet ahead of us on the trail. He couldn’t contain himself forever,
and after a long time he gave one bark, and the fawn skedaddled. Around a beaver pond he gets so excited I still have
to leash him. Sometimes I know there are critters around us in the woods that I can’t see, because I see my dogs getting
excited about a scent. I wish they could tell me.
Even at thirteen, he can still hike cheerfully and competently along the trail, bounce a little, and still have energy left
over to chase the occasional chipmunk. He looks tired sometimes, but never really distressed or unhappy. Though he
doesn't see or hear as well as he used to, he still takes an interest in the smells and sounds of the trail. I hope I can do
as well when I am in my nineties.
I have to thank my family who hiked with me at various times – my parents, brother, sister, and boyfriend, later husband.
They helped to care for my daughter when I could no longer carry her on the trail. My father did many car shuttles in the
north. My husband Charles supported Nico and me in our goal in so many ways that we could not have finished the trail
without his support.
Nico loved the Long Trail. He loves the scents and sounds of the woods and the mountains, moose, beaver, bear. We
heard moose calls and started up pheasants, walked for miles in the fresh tracks and droppings of moose. I loved it
when he was walking right next me, cheery and alert and excited by something on the trail, with his eyes bright and tail
and ears high. But maybe what he liked most was the companionship of the trail. He loved being with me on the trail, and
I loved being with him. Sometimes we hiked with various family members, and when my younger dog Fiona joined the
family, she came on most of the trips. But many times it was just me and Nico. We walked the whole thing together, the
two of us, every step of the way, and he could look at me with his eyes and communicate everything. We still have some
walks ahead of us but that was our grandest.
 |
| |
 |
Carol Tenny and Nico hike the The Long Trail of Vermont
My Samoyed Nico (Copernicus Kintaro of Poohbah CGC TDI CDX NA) and I have been backpacking (dogpacking) the
entire length of the state of Vermont, a little bit each summer for eleven years. We have been hiking Vermont’s Long
Trail, a 270-mile trail that runs the length of Vermont along the spine of the Green Mountains, and we finished the trail at
the end of August 2002. Counting access miles it was about 330 miles, and Nico hiked the last 50 miles THREE WEEKS
AFTER HIS 13TH BIRTHDAY.
entire length of the state of Vermont, a little bit each summer for eleven years. We have been hiking Vermont’s Long
Trail, a 270-mile trail that runs the length of Vermont along the spine of the Green Mountains, and we finished the trail at
the end of August 2002. Counting access miles it was about 330 miles, and Nico hiked the last 50 miles THREE WEEKS
AFTER HIS 13TH BIRTHDAY.
The Long Trail, constructed by the Green Mountain Club between 1910 and
1930, is actually the oldest long-distance hiking trail in the country, and was
the inspiration for the Appalachian Trail. The southernmost third of the Long
Trail coincides with the Appalachian Trail, which then turns east near Rutland,
and heads for the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The Green Mountains
and the Long Trail continue on to the north, through a backcountry of sugar
maple, red maple, birch, beech, and hemlock at the lower elevations; and at
the higher altitudes, balsam fir, red spruce, moss, and lichens, and rocks,
always rocks. (As the old Vermonter said, ‘Nope, Vermont Don’t Lack None for
Rock’ -- the rock that drove many of the early farmers west for easier
farmland, and produced the Green Mountain Boys of legendary toughness in
the earliest history of the nation.) The trail traverses the highest peaks of
Vermont, where there is even some alpine tundra to be found, past bogs,
streams, and ponds, and travels through backcountry populated by moose,
bear, porcupine, fisher, beaver, and (rumors have it) mountain lion. (But
nobody knows for sure, the last one was shot perhaps a hundred years ago.)
Since it travels the whole length of the range, the trail also takes you over the
occasional ski area and lands you on some ski trails. It also passes by the
remains of early settlements, defunct roads and farmsteads, and stone walls
marking forgotten farms, making a small archaeological tour of a Vermont that
was once more intensely farmed than it is now. The southernmost and mildest
part of the trail, the part that overlaps with the Appalachian Trail, is fairly well-
traveled. Appalachian Trail thru-hikers come through in droves in the late
summer and early fall, the south-bounders fresh in their journey, the north-
bounders coming down the homestretch in their third pair of boots. But the
farther north you go on the real Long Trail, the less populated and more
rugged it gets. You can travel for a day or more without seeing another
person, remarkable for the eastern US. The elevation ranges from about 200
feet above sea level to about 4000 feet above sea level. In winter the trail is
too rugged for skis in many places, and too rugged even for showshoes in
other places. In spring we have the legendary black flies, and Vermont’s
unequalled mud season. (It would take another article to describe that.)
Summer hiking is pot-luck, with maybe some drought in the later part of the
summer. The fall is of course, unspeakably beautiful, but you never know
when you might get a snowstorm.
1930, is actually the oldest long-distance hiking trail in the country, and was
the inspiration for the Appalachian Trail. The southernmost third of the Long
Trail coincides with the Appalachian Trail, which then turns east near Rutland,
and heads for the White Mountains of New Hampshire. The Green Mountains
and the Long Trail continue on to the north, through a backcountry of sugar
maple, red maple, birch, beech, and hemlock at the lower elevations; and at
the higher altitudes, balsam fir, red spruce, moss, and lichens, and rocks,
always rocks. (As the old Vermonter said, ‘Nope, Vermont Don’t Lack None for
Rock’ -- the rock that drove many of the early farmers west for easier
farmland, and produced the Green Mountain Boys of legendary toughness in
the earliest history of the nation.) The trail traverses the highest peaks of
Vermont, where there is even some alpine tundra to be found, past bogs,
streams, and ponds, and travels through backcountry populated by moose,
bear, porcupine, fisher, beaver, and (rumors have it) mountain lion. (But
nobody knows for sure, the last one was shot perhaps a hundred years ago.)
Since it travels the whole length of the range, the trail also takes you over the
occasional ski area and lands you on some ski trails. It also passes by the
remains of early settlements, defunct roads and farmsteads, and stone walls
marking forgotten farms, making a small archaeological tour of a Vermont that
was once more intensely farmed than it is now. The southernmost and mildest
part of the trail, the part that overlaps with the Appalachian Trail, is fairly well-
traveled. Appalachian Trail thru-hikers come through in droves in the late
summer and early fall, the south-bounders fresh in their journey, the north-
bounders coming down the homestretch in their third pair of boots. But the
farther north you go on the real Long Trail, the less populated and more
rugged it gets. You can travel for a day or more without seeing another
person, remarkable for the eastern US. The elevation ranges from about 200
feet above sea level to about 4000 feet above sea level. In winter the trail is
too rugged for skis in many places, and too rugged even for showshoes in
other places. In spring we have the legendary black flies, and Vermont’s
unequalled mud season. (It would take another article to describe that.)
Summer hiking is pot-luck, with maybe some drought in the later part of the
summer. The fall is of course, unspeakably beautiful, but you never know
when you might get a snowstorm.
| Carol, Nico, Fiona, Charles Mt. Mansfield |
Nico and I started hiking stretches of the Long Trail in 1991, when he was one year old. I had been hiking around
northern Vermont since the 1980s, when I lived in Boston and was visiting my parents in the summer. They lived in the
northernmost tip of Vermont, about 20 miles from Quebec. My brother hiked the entire trail in one go, around 1990, and
I hiked three days with him then, before Nico. When I started hiking with Nico, we started hiking stretches of the trail
without really a plan, a few new hikes every summer, until the goal of hiking the whole thing fell in place. It was natural to
start out in the north, which is the direction less traveled. But it was a lucky thing we did, since we only had a few days at
a time to hike and we were at it for 11 years, and it meant we could save the easiest stretches of the trail for Nico to do
in his most senior years.
Those eleven, really twelve, years took Nico from adolescent to senior citizen. In those twelve years my life changed too.
I moved to Pittsburgh, got a job, got married, lost a job, adopted my daughter, and lost my brother. Our last three years
on the Long Trail were dedicated to the memory of my brother.
In the beginning Nico and I were learning to dogpack. I had been backpacking since I was two, but had never done any
dogpacking. The right place for a packing dog is behind his person on the trail. There are many good reasons for this.
You can keep the dog from chasing critters on the trail. Some of those critters you’d like to get a chance to appreciate
yourself, and some you’d rather your dog didn’t chase. (Nico once tried to pounce on a baby rattlesnake in West
Virginia.) The dog is next to you where you can grab him if necessary. (I sometimes worried about what would happen if
we had a face-to-face encounter with a moose or a bear, but it never happened. In Vermont these animals would rather
avoid people if possible, and the bear are much less forward than in the Adirondacks of northern New York State.) By
keeping your dog with you, you are assured of not losing him in the mountains. I have seen so many sad notices posted
by people who have lost their dogs while hiking. A dog carrying a pack could easily get hung up on something and
starve. If you have your dog right next to you, you can also keep a close eye on his condition. I learned to watch my
dogs’ faces closely, the length and color of tongue, color of gums, brightness of eyes, expression of ears and face, for
gauging signs of overheating. I was always worried about overheating, and I talked to vets about it often. But it’s usually
cooler in northern Vermont than in some other places, and the trail is mostly shaded, and we never got into trouble that
way, although I worried about it.
One of the most important reasons for keeping your dog next to you on the trail is so that he doesn’t scare or startle
other hikers, or tangle with other dogs on the trail. I -- and my dogs -- certainly don’t appreciate being accosted by
strange dogs bounding up the trail without their owners. More and more places are banning dogs from trails, for reasons
like this. I don’t want to lose my places to hike with my dog, so Nico and I tried to be missionaries for good public
relations for dogpackers, and to spread the word of proper dogpacking etiquette. Here’s a quick commonsense list, for
anybody who wants to get started packing with their dog:
northern Vermont since the 1980s, when I lived in Boston and was visiting my parents in the summer. They lived in the
northernmost tip of Vermont, about 20 miles from Quebec. My brother hiked the entire trail in one go, around 1990, and
I hiked three days with him then, before Nico. When I started hiking with Nico, we started hiking stretches of the trail
without really a plan, a few new hikes every summer, until the goal of hiking the whole thing fell in place. It was natural to
start out in the north, which is the direction less traveled. But it was a lucky thing we did, since we only had a few days at
a time to hike and we were at it for 11 years, and it meant we could save the easiest stretches of the trail for Nico to do
in his most senior years.
Those eleven, really twelve, years took Nico from adolescent to senior citizen. In those twelve years my life changed too.
I moved to Pittsburgh, got a job, got married, lost a job, adopted my daughter, and lost my brother. Our last three years
on the Long Trail were dedicated to the memory of my brother.
In the beginning Nico and I were learning to dogpack. I had been backpacking since I was two, but had never done any
dogpacking. The right place for a packing dog is behind his person on the trail. There are many good reasons for this.
You can keep the dog from chasing critters on the trail. Some of those critters you’d like to get a chance to appreciate
yourself, and some you’d rather your dog didn’t chase. (Nico once tried to pounce on a baby rattlesnake in West
Virginia.) The dog is next to you where you can grab him if necessary. (I sometimes worried about what would happen if
we had a face-to-face encounter with a moose or a bear, but it never happened. In Vermont these animals would rather
avoid people if possible, and the bear are much less forward than in the Adirondacks of northern New York State.) By
keeping your dog with you, you are assured of not losing him in the mountains. I have seen so many sad notices posted
by people who have lost their dogs while hiking. A dog carrying a pack could easily get hung up on something and
starve. If you have your dog right next to you, you can also keep a close eye on his condition. I learned to watch my
dogs’ faces closely, the length and color of tongue, color of gums, brightness of eyes, expression of ears and face, for
gauging signs of overheating. I was always worried about overheating, and I talked to vets about it often. But it’s usually
cooler in northern Vermont than in some other places, and the trail is mostly shaded, and we never got into trouble that
way, although I worried about it.
One of the most important reasons for keeping your dog next to you on the trail is so that he doesn’t scare or startle
other hikers, or tangle with other dogs on the trail. I -- and my dogs -- certainly don’t appreciate being accosted by
strange dogs bounding up the trail without their owners. More and more places are banning dogs from trails, for reasons
like this. I don’t want to lose my places to hike with my dog, so Nico and I tried to be missionaries for good public
relations for dogpackers, and to spread the word of proper dogpacking etiquette. Here’s a quick commonsense list, for
anybody who wants to get started packing with their dog:
Keep your dog under control; keep your dog next to you on the trail; keep your dog out of any water
supply; always ask permission before your dog approaches anyone. Before sharing a shelter or
camping space with people ask if they mind dogs. (On only one occasion did I find someone that
objected to dogs, and I put that down to some irresponsible dogpacker before me.) Keep your dog to
yourself. Don’t let him soil on the trail. Come equipped for your dog as well as yourself. Bring first aid
and food for your dog of course, but also bring WATER. I’ve seen people out on the trail without water
for their dogs, just assuming their dog would find it on the trail. But this is not good thinking, because
there may or may not be enough water on the trail, and dogs need more water than humans to keep
cool. People also get into trouble by not considering the heat; I have met hikers who found out the hard
way that dogs cannot work in as much heat as humans can. Finally, consider carefully and honestly
whether your dog’s competence and conditioning are up to the requirements of the trail. I met quite a
few Appalachian Trail thru-hikers who had started out with their dogs, but had had to send their dogs
home, because the dog couldn’t handle the hike or the heat. I’ve heard of rescuers in the White
Mountains of New Hampshire bringing down dogs from the high peaks because they just couldn’t handle
the rocky stretches, and got stuck.
supply; always ask permission before your dog approaches anyone. Before sharing a shelter or
camping space with people ask if they mind dogs. (On only one occasion did I find someone that
objected to dogs, and I put that down to some irresponsible dogpacker before me.) Keep your dog to
yourself. Don’t let him soil on the trail. Come equipped for your dog as well as yourself. Bring first aid
and food for your dog of course, but also bring WATER. I’ve seen people out on the trail without water
for their dogs, just assuming their dog would find it on the trail. But this is not good thinking, because
there may or may not be enough water on the trail, and dogs need more water than humans to keep
cool. People also get into trouble by not considering the heat; I have met hikers who found out the hard
way that dogs cannot work in as much heat as humans can. Finally, consider carefully and honestly
whether your dog’s competence and conditioning are up to the requirements of the trail. I met quite a
few Appalachian Trail thru-hikers who had started out with their dogs, but had had to send their dogs
home, because the dog couldn’t handle the hike or the heat. I’ve heard of rescuers in the White
Mountains of New Hampshire bringing down dogs from the high peaks because they just couldn’t handle
the rocky stretches, and got stuck.
These stories make it so much more impressive to me that our Samoyeds (and my Nico) can do this sort of thing.
In the beginning it was a struggle to get Nico to walk
behind me. First I tried an idea I got out of a book:
tapping him on the nose with a long stick whenever he
moved up in front of me. I gave that up fairly quickly. He
learned to dodge and come around the other side of
me, and I couldn’t hit the moving target. Besides, I was
always afraid I’d hit his eyes. Then I tried to do it by
replacing him in position by pulling him back with the
leash each time he forged ahead. Gradually over the
years, we worked it out somehow, though it did take
miles of walking with his pack banging into the backs of
my knees for days on end. We compromised on Nico
walking beside me, when there was room, not always
behind. This wasn’t like teaching the precise heeling
position of competition obedience after all. I devised a
system of hanging a leash on my belt so I could leash
and unleash him with ease as necessary.
behind me. First I tried an idea I got out of a book:
tapping him on the nose with a long stick whenever he
moved up in front of me. I gave that up fairly quickly. He
learned to dodge and come around the other side of
me, and I couldn’t hit the moving target. Besides, I was
always afraid I’d hit his eyes. Then I tried to do it by
replacing him in position by pulling him back with the
leash each time he forged ahead. Gradually over the
years, we worked it out somehow, though it did take
miles of walking with his pack banging into the backs of
my knees for days on end. We compromised on Nico
walking beside me, when there was room, not always
behind. This wasn’t like teaching the precise heeling
position of competition obedience after all. I devised a
system of hanging a leash on my belt so I could leash
and unleash him with ease as necessary.
| Dog Packing Etiquette |
| Nico and Carol heading up a fire tower |
During these years, we were also doing other kinds of training. We did obedience, learning first by the old, sometimes
heavy-handed correction methods. Sometime after Nico earned his CD, and two legs into his CDX, Nico turned off to
obedience. So we put that aside, did some sheep-herding, learned clicker training, and started agility. (Nico started
agility at seven, then earned his NA.) After that we went back to obedience, and finished the CDX the second time out.
(We actually went into the utility ring in competition once, but that was enough of that, and we retired from obedience.
That was the show where some judge asked me, ‘are you the person who was brave enough to take a Samoyed into the
utility ring?’) But the interesting question is, how has this other training affected our dogpacking? It has seemed to me
that the more work of any kind I have done with Nico, the more we understand each other and are able to act as a team.
And basic good behavior and the most basic practical obedience commands are invaluable for any situation of being
out with your dog. But I have found some specific commands useful. The stand-stay was sometimes useful for loading or
unloading a dogpack. A stay is useful if you want your dog to wait for you to get down a dicey place, before he comes
barreling down after you. And I’ve even found the command to jump useful. One thing a dog needs to learn when he
starts carrying a pack is that he is a new size and shape, and can’t fit through places he usually can. Once Nico couldn’t
figure out how to get through a crack between two rocks, but as soon as I told him to jump, he saw that he could get
over it. And agility training has been invaluable. (By the way, for anybody starting to dogpack, I always removed Nico’s
pack if there was any weight in it before jumping down any distance, to avoid the impact on his joints.)
For those of you out west who think there isn’t any rugged hiking in the east, the Long Trail (especially the northern part
that doesn't overlap the AT) has miles of trail where you can’t walk, but have to scramble up and down steep rocky
pitches the whole way. We have gone from 1400 feet up to 4400 feet and back down to 400 feet in the same day. Nico
always demonstrated the Samoyed versatility, adaptability, trust, sturdiness, independence, and good cheer. And no
fear of heights. On one of our hikes Nico had to cross a narrow suspension bridge that swayed and bounced high in the
air above a gorge. If he had refused to cross it we would have been stuck. I'm sure his agility training helped; and also
that he trusted me. He has gone up ladders, climbed over stiles, and climbed or jumped up and down steep nearly
vertical rock faces. Once, to access the trail, we rode up the mountain in a tiny gondola.
Sometimes there were places I had to lift him up or down, more as he got older. In spite of his agility training, we found
one obstacle he couldn’t do: a vertical hanging ladder. When we found one of these he had to find another way around
it. At one place on the trail where there was a hanging vertical ladder, I had to work my way along the cliff to find a place
where I could coax him halfway down and catch him the rest of the way. I took my father (who was 75 at the time –
another story) on that trip, and I was standing halfway up the cliff while my father stood below to catch us both. There
was another sort of crevasse Nico couldn't jump across, so I had to take him up the mountain a little way to where the
crack was smaller and lift him up from the bottom. Sometimes Nico has an advantage over me with his four-paw drive;
other times my opposable digit gives me the advantage.
Sometimes when we came to a very steep and rocky part of the trail, we would each have to find our own way down
independently. This would get us into a comical situation, when Nico would get ahead of me, and then remember where
he was supposed to be, and stop to wait for me, right where I couldn’t get past him. Then we’d be stuck on the top of
some boulder halfway down.
heavy-handed correction methods. Sometime after Nico earned his CD, and two legs into his CDX, Nico turned off to
obedience. So we put that aside, did some sheep-herding, learned clicker training, and started agility. (Nico started
agility at seven, then earned his NA.) After that we went back to obedience, and finished the CDX the second time out.
(We actually went into the utility ring in competition once, but that was enough of that, and we retired from obedience.
That was the show where some judge asked me, ‘are you the person who was brave enough to take a Samoyed into the
utility ring?’) But the interesting question is, how has this other training affected our dogpacking? It has seemed to me
that the more work of any kind I have done with Nico, the more we understand each other and are able to act as a team.
And basic good behavior and the most basic practical obedience commands are invaluable for any situation of being
out with your dog. But I have found some specific commands useful. The stand-stay was sometimes useful for loading or
unloading a dogpack. A stay is useful if you want your dog to wait for you to get down a dicey place, before he comes
barreling down after you. And I’ve even found the command to jump useful. One thing a dog needs to learn when he
starts carrying a pack is that he is a new size and shape, and can’t fit through places he usually can. Once Nico couldn’t
figure out how to get through a crack between two rocks, but as soon as I told him to jump, he saw that he could get
over it. And agility training has been invaluable. (By the way, for anybody starting to dogpack, I always removed Nico’s
pack if there was any weight in it before jumping down any distance, to avoid the impact on his joints.)
For those of you out west who think there isn’t any rugged hiking in the east, the Long Trail (especially the northern part
that doesn't overlap the AT) has miles of trail where you can’t walk, but have to scramble up and down steep rocky
pitches the whole way. We have gone from 1400 feet up to 4400 feet and back down to 400 feet in the same day. Nico
always demonstrated the Samoyed versatility, adaptability, trust, sturdiness, independence, and good cheer. And no
fear of heights. On one of our hikes Nico had to cross a narrow suspension bridge that swayed and bounced high in the
air above a gorge. If he had refused to cross it we would have been stuck. I'm sure his agility training helped; and also
that he trusted me. He has gone up ladders, climbed over stiles, and climbed or jumped up and down steep nearly
vertical rock faces. Once, to access the trail, we rode up the mountain in a tiny gondola.
Sometimes there were places I had to lift him up or down, more as he got older. In spite of his agility training, we found
one obstacle he couldn’t do: a vertical hanging ladder. When we found one of these he had to find another way around
it. At one place on the trail where there was a hanging vertical ladder, I had to work my way along the cliff to find a place
where I could coax him halfway down and catch him the rest of the way. I took my father (who was 75 at the time –
another story) on that trip, and I was standing halfway up the cliff while my father stood below to catch us both. There
was another sort of crevasse Nico couldn't jump across, so I had to take him up the mountain a little way to where the
crack was smaller and lift him up from the bottom. Sometimes Nico has an advantage over me with his four-paw drive;
other times my opposable digit gives me the advantage.
Sometimes when we came to a very steep and rocky part of the trail, we would each have to find our own way down
independently. This would get us into a comical situation, when Nico would get ahead of me, and then remember where
he was supposed to be, and stop to wait for me, right where I couldn’t get past him. Then we’d be stuck on the top of
some boulder halfway down.
Nico has hiked with me in every kind of weather except too
cold. (How do you find that with a Samoyed?) We’ve been
caught in thunderstorms on the trail. One time in the
middle of a thunderstorm, we were hunkering down in a low
spot waiting it out. The spot where we were hunkering was
turning into a stream and we were getting soaked through.
Both dogs were with us, and both dogs are terrified of
thunderstorms. My younger dog Fiona panicked and it was
all I could do to hang on to her. Nico just hunkered down
and tried to hide underneath me. He knows how to hunker
down, which seems to me like a kind of wisdom.
Once we wound up hiking during a record-breaking heat
wave. For the dogs’ safety, we started early in the
morning, carried extra water, moved slowly, stayed in the
shade, and dunked the dogs in every beaver pond we
could find. Nico was deliberate and good-natured as
always.
We hiked in drought. That was hard because we had to
carry a lot of extra water, on top of all our other gear, and
water is heavy.
cold. (How do you find that with a Samoyed?) We’ve been
caught in thunderstorms on the trail. One time in the
middle of a thunderstorm, we were hunkering down in a low
spot waiting it out. The spot where we were hunkering was
turning into a stream and we were getting soaked through.
Both dogs were with us, and both dogs are terrified of
thunderstorms. My younger dog Fiona panicked and it was
all I could do to hang on to her. Nico just hunkered down
and tried to hide underneath me. He knows how to hunker
down, which seems to me like a kind of wisdom.
Once we wound up hiking during a record-breaking heat
wave. For the dogs’ safety, we started early in the
morning, carried extra water, moved slowly, stayed in the
shade, and dunked the dogs in every beaver pond we
could find. Nico was deliberate and good-natured as
always.
We hiked in drought. That was hard because we had to
carry a lot of extra water, on top of all our other gear, and
water is heavy.
Nico and Carol singing together after arriving at the cabin
PostScript: Nico died in my arms in 2003, at the age of fourteen and a half. I scattered his ashes on the Long Trail.