Creature Discomforts

had put survival gear in a dog’s pack? The essentials belonged with the person, not with the dog!
    The dogpack also contained something that utterly mystified me, namely, fourteen pounds of plain, uncooked generic-brand rice in plastic bags that had never been opened: two five-pound bags, two two-pound bags. All four packages of rice were separately sealed in extra-strong food-storage bags. I could understand why someone had wanted to guard against having the original packaging give way and fill the saddlebags with loose rice. But why set out with this ludicrous quantity of rice? Clearly, the two dogs had an Asian owner with a morbid fear of starvation. I decided that the owner, Holly Winter, had anglicized her name or taken her husband’s last name.
    Comforted by the certainty that I, at least, was not about to die of hunger, dehydration, or hypothermia, I drank some of the spring water and used the handy little fabric bowl to water the dogs. With the towels, the water, and the first-aid kit, I bathed my wounds and patched myself together. By now, New England being what it is, the temperature was abruptly shifting from too cold to too hot. As the fog evaporated, land appeared in the valley below. Sunlight beat on the side of a hill or mountain opposite this one. If I could see, I could be seen. The red of my day pack and the matching red of the dogs’ gear might have been selected to grab attention. Minute by minute, the ledge became increasingly exposed. Had I wanted to attract human help, I’d have had to do nothing but wait. Far from wanting to summon human rescuers, I felt an ardent desire to shun people in favor of Holly Winter’s self-possessed dogs. If necessary, I’d steal them. I felt sure that I needed them more than she did.
    After an abortive effort to fasten my day pack to the male dog’s vest, I decided to abandon the heavy, bulky bags of rice. Without them, the female’s saddlebags had room for my own pack and its contents. It seemed unfair to ask her to haul everything, but I reminded myself that she was now carrying less weight than when her pack had held the water we’d drunk and those fourteen foolish pounds of rice. Still, I promised myself that if she showed any discomfort, I’d transfer her burden to the male’s powerful shoulders. Leave nothing but your footprints, I thought, with no memory of where I’d learned the maxim. I swore to myself that I’d return here to retrieve the plastic bags of rice.
    Until now, I had, perhaps unwisely, trusted my new companions to stick around. Afraid that they’d desert me once I began to move, I took their leashes. Far from objecting, the dogs shook themselves all over and bounced around with a gleeful eagerness to get going. Yes, but where? The open page of the guidebook had originally been headed DorrMountain: A Long, Difficult Hike over a Quiet Mountain. Someone had scratched out the words Long, Difficult and scrawled in their place Pleasant. I tried to read the paragraphs about the long, difficult or, alternatively, pleasant hike, but by the time I got to the end, the beginning was swimming in my head. The page opposite the description showed a map. Two landmarks on it were blessedly familiar: Cadillac Mountain and the town of Bar Harbor. Dorr Mountain appeared to the right of Cadillac. Many trails led to its summit. At the bottom of its east face was a tiny body of water called The Tam. Visible directly below me now was a small pond, an elongated oval of water shaped just like the one on the map. Therefore, I was on Dorr’s east face. The traffic I’d heard earlier was now visible. Cars, vans, motor homes, and an occasional pickup passed along a strip of blacktop on the far side of The Tarn. On the map, the road was labeled Route 3. My malfunctioning brain managed to define tarn: a glacial pond. Even in my demented state, I found it peculiar and offensive that anyone would have routed a paved road and busy traffic along the shores of an interesting geographical feature. Still, The Tarn would serve as a goal. The map showed two parking areas nearby. With luck, the keys I’d found in my backpack would fit one of the vehicles in one of the lots.
    Despite my desire to avoid people, especially this Winter person, who’d certainly reclaim her dogs, I set out to make my way down what I now felt confident was Dorr Mountain, which, I should add, from my present perspective rather than the one I made do with then, rises to the less than Alpine