A thick cold fog surrounds us as I unload my skis and big overnight pack
from the car, getting ready for a three day ski camping trip in the
mountains. The Berner boys whirl around in the snow, chasing each other and
barking with excitement. I hope we will be able to climb high enough to get
out of the fog, but the dogs have no concerns about such unimportant details
as they jump in and out of snow drifts, waiting impatiently for us to get
ready.
I call the dogs over so I can load them up with their red dog packs.
ZenMaster Max stands proudly as I buckle the pack straps under his stomach.
I have the nagging thought that I shouldn't have him carry a pack...maybe
shouldn't bring him on this trip at all. He IS almost nine years old, and
now with every trip in the mountains I worry that it might be too hard for
him, that he will end up limping or be unable to get back on his own power.
But it breaks my heart to leave him behind, so I finish putting his pack on
him, and then let him race back to play in the snow. The Winter-boy is much
more wiggly as I try to buckle his pack - "Hurry, mom, " he urges me,
although his twisting back and forth makes it much harder to fasten the
buckles. I make sure that Winter-boy is carrying all the heavy stuff so Max
won't have to work too hard. Winter doesn't even notice the weight as he
jumps into another snow drift.
We start our trip with a long, slow uphill ski on a snowcovered
road. Our friend Craig skied in a day ahead of us to make camp, so we know
we will have his tracks to follow and a tent site waiting for us. After
skiing up the road in the fog for an hour or so, at last we see Craig's ski
tracks heading off in the woods. The ZenMaster eagerly plunges ahead of us
through the snow, following the ski tracks through the trees. Now he is
leading the way, and his red pack is like a beacon, weaving in and out of
the trees ahead as we climb.
The fog gets thinner, and as we break out of the trees we are
rewarded with sunshine! We climb higher, leaving the fog below and looking
up at the snowy peaks above. The ski tracks lead us to the edge of a
stream, and we ski along the stream bank, searching for a place to cross to
the other side. The snow is frosted with diamonds, sparkling in the
sunlight. We ski by open pools of water, crystal clear and enticing, but
the water is several feet below us and the snow banks are too steep to get
down to the water. I concentrate hard on where I put my skis, because
slipping and falling into the icy water would be disasterous. Max is
surefooted and never looks down at the water, always moving forward.
As we continue our assent, the only view I have of the ZenMaster is
his paw prints in the snow, and an occassional glimpse of his red pack far
ahead of me. The Winter-boy's herding instinct prompts him to stay close to
me to keep me with the pack. The ZenMaster has no such concerns - he is
making the path, and all I have to do is follow! My husband Chris finds the
spot to cross the stream, a narrow bridge of snow that will hopefully hold
our weight as we ski across. Max is across the snow bridge in an instant,
and scrambles easily up the snow bank on the other side.
I am more tentitive as I cautiously ease my skis across the fragile
snow crossing, and hold my breath so I won't slip as I climb up the other
side. I have lost sight of Max again, he has vanished in another patch of
forest. I continue to bring up the rear, with only Winter's occassional
company as he dutifully checks back to see that Mom is not lost. The scenery
is so beautiful that I wish I could take a picture with Max, but he is too
far ahead, making his own way. We stop to take a lunch break, and at last I
can pull out my camera. But Max is done waiting, and takes off again before
I have a chance to take a shot.
The sun shifts lower as we make our final push through the forest, up
the last steep ridge. Once again we break out of the trees at the top of the
ridge - and are welcomed by the sight of Craig's tent! He has left us a
note saying that he went to take photos of the sunset and will see us back at
camp. We drop our packs and quickly put on our own warm clothes so we, too,
can relax and enjoy the sunset.
Mother Nature does not disappoint us as the sky blushes with pink that
fades to orange, and then gradually to purple. Far below us we can see the
fog that covers the valley in a blanket of clouds. We must be the only ones
above the fog, the only ones to see this spectacular sunset. Just as the
color begins to fade, Craig skis back to camp and joins us in the tent. The
light show is not over, for no sooner have the last streaks of pink and
purple faded than a finger of light shots out from behind one of the peaks.
The moon is rising - and a full moon at that! We oohhh and ahhh as the
silver rays bath our campsite. The moon reflected on the snow is so bright
that it never really gets dark, and we continue to marvel at the mountains
and glaciers around us.
The ZenMaster is perfectly content to lie on the snow outside the
tent, bathed in moonlight. I hope he won't be too stiff the next day, but I
know for now he is precisely where he wants to be - in the snow, in his
mountains. Ever the worried mom, I finally make him come inside the tent to
sleep.
The next day blesses us with gorgeous sunshine, and once again the
valley below is filled with fog. We plan to ski up one of the peaks near
camp. As I wonder if the ZenMaster is up for another day of skiing, he
answers my question by taking off through the snow, leaving me behind again.
The only time I see him that day is when we stop for lunch - he has no time
to wait, he barks at me that I am too slow - he wants to GO! I am secretly
thrilled that I can't keep up with this almost 9 year old Berner, that he is
always out in front, that I can hear him barking his special Happiness Bark
as he flys through the snow ahead of me.
The fog catches up with us that night, and we miss the light show
of the night before. Still, we are all content with a beautiful day and
sleep soundly. The next morning we pack up, getting ready to descend back
into the fog in the valley, leaving our secret mountain paradise behind.
Amazingly, the Zenmaster shows no sign of wear and tear from the
past two days. Once we leave camp, Chris and I ski cautiously down a steep
slope with difficult snow conditions - making long, zigzagging switchbacks to
avoid falling with our heavy backpacks. Max finds our route far too indirect
and irritatingly slow, and after giving us his opinion in short exasperated
barks, he abandons both of us and takes the most direct route straight down
the mountain - leaping and plunging in and out of the snow like a dolphin in
the ocean. Winter-boy looks at us, then back at Max - and follows Max in
graceful leaps, bounding down the mountain. Chris and I stop to watch them,
marveling at their joyous descent.
We soon hook up with the ski tracks by the stream, and the
ZenMaster hits the trail headed for home. No matter how fast I ski, the
ZenMaster is always through the trees ahead of me, seldom looking back before
he races on. We finally get back to the snow covered road, and even then,
Max's red pack is just a blur on the road ahead of me. I ski back to the
car, tired after three full days of skiing, and see Max relaxing in a snow
bank, licking his paws, waiting for me at last. Maybe...just maybe...when he
turns nine I will be able to keep up with him.
- Ruth Nielsen, ZenMaster Max and the Winter-boy, happy in the
mountains and snow, North Cascades,Washington
