Creature Discomforts

minutes, okay? Two minutes maximum. I don’t know what’s up the old trail, and I don’t want any surprises, so you’re going to wait here for practically no time. Got it? What no one needs is another fall on anything. I’m going to reconnoiter and be right back and—Jesus. Déjà vu.”
    But vu was wrong. Vu is seen. What was the French word for hitched? Not as in marriage, of course. Well, déjà whatever it was, when we got close to the two little oaks, the damage to both was obvious. Each displayed a recent, raw band where the young bark had been worn away. Leaves and branches had been tom. Worse, both little trees were bent as if by a violent hurricane. Beyond one of the oaks, a patch of brilliant red peeked out from behind a small boulder: Rowdy’s saddlebags. He’d dumped his pack the last time I’d tied him here, either before or after he’d freed himself by almost uprooting the tree. Kimi had loosed herself without losing her backpack. Déjà hitched. I’d tied the dogs here before. Yesterday. Before my fall.
    I’d left the dogs. And look what had happened! Leaving Rowdy’s saddlebags where they were, I ripped Kimi’s from their Velcro fasteners and dumped them in the clearing. Then I headed for the abandoned trail, the dogs eagerly bounding with me. Like the lone hiker, the three of us climbed the slope. What opened up here above the main trail was a large area of wide, broad rocky ledge stretching ahead of us and to our left, in the direction of the cliff. The trails up Dorr that we’d traversed so far were, of course, stone-paved trails and staircases, and paths worn hard and flat by the feet of millions of hikers. Here, on the great stretches of ledge, cairns marked the trail: In place of a visible footpath or blazes of bright paint, piles of stones directed the hiker across the granite surface and, I assumed, toward the summit of Dorr. Moving slowly, speaking calm words to Rowdy and Kimi, I headed away from the cairn-marked trail and to our left, toward what had to be the top of the cliff. I soon stopped. I’d seen enough. Yes, Norman Axelrod could have climbed up here. Easily? No. But only because he’d been unfit. The entire climb up Dorr must have been difficult for him. Malcolm Fairley, his companion, had said so. This last stretch would have been no more difficult than the steep staircases. To reach the edge of the cliff, he’d have had to do no more than amble. So, he could have reached this spot and gone beyond it. He’d obviously done so. No wonder Fairley hadn’t found Axelrod! This abandoned portion of the Ladder Trail appeared on none of the maps I’d studied. Even my detailed hiking guide said nothing about it. If I hadn’t seen the lone hiker leave the main trail, I’d never have guessed it existed. So why had Norman Axelrod taken this abandoned trail, veered left, and made his way to the top of the cliff?
    I reversed direction. I’d seen what was to be seen up here. What would obviously not appear no matter how much prowling I did was the answer to the big question: Why? Why had Axelrod taken the abandoned trail? Why had he left it to go to the edge of the cliff?
    Descending to the upper stretch of the Ladder Trail, I was once again tempted to hitch the dogs so I could search for my Rock of Ages without having to worry about safe canine footing. The previous day, of course, the dogs, after liberating themselves, had galloped loose for God knows how long without hurting themselves at all. Common sense should’ve suggested that I was the one whose agility and equilibrium were not to be trusted. Addlepate that I was, the thought never crossed my mind; it simply didn’t occur to me that in hunting for my Rock of Ages, I might once again collide with it. The possibility that did present itself was that Rowdy and Kimi, inspired by the appearance of a squirrel, a fox, or an off-leash dog, might make an unexpected bolt. If they did? They wouldn’t, I told myself. They just wouldn’t.
    “You are to be good dogs,” I informed them. Useless! But we lucked out. Again moving slowly and carefully, keeping my eyes on the ground and on the dogs, f left the trail and headed downhill over the rocky ledges. “Easy!” I cautioned the dogs. “Easy does it!” Luckily, Acadia’s wildlife chose not to reveal itself, and no rival dogs appeared. In almost no time, we’d inched our way across lichen-covered boulders and come to a drop-off. Only ten feet or so below lay the cleft