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Sunday, June 15, 2003
Paws in the action
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SPECKLED MOUNTAIN — Ginny Howe sat on a rock plateau nearly 3,000 feet above Kezar Lake, a place that is green, exposed, and wild. It's a place she'd always wanted to be. It took a two-hour trek and some high stepping with her two trail leaders to climb over boulders and get there. As Howe sat looking at her two friends, who, having already gulped down some water, were all ready to move on, she couldn't imagine having climbed up the western Maine mountain without them. Desty and Kiva's eager enthusiasm and happy, tongue-flapping expressions clearly amused Howe. But explaining why she went to the trouble of caging, carting around, and preparing her two large Belgian tervurens for a hike was harder for Howe than sprinting up the mountain. "I don't know if it's a false sense of security or the company," Howe said of the canine companionship that fills her days - and outdoor adventures. "It's just what I'm used to." As she hiked higher above Kezar Lake, her head down, her dogs tethered to her waist, pulling her forward, Howe mused over what they added to the day's outing. "They let you into their pack. For once, you're part of their little world," she said. Howe came to Maine three years ago from Baltimore, where she climbed with her dogs in the Shenandoah range, hiked with them along sections of the Appalachian Trail and started a hiking club for dog owners, the K9 Trailblazers, which is still going strong. Now, Howe hikes with her dogs mostly in the White Mountains of Maine and New Hampshire. And, like the group she started in Maryland, Howe is strict on the rules of the road in backcountry dog care. Experts say hiking with dogs requires proper etiquette and basic care for the experience to be enjoyable for both dog and owner, as well as those they encounter. In many states and national parks, there are laws requiring that dog owners curb their pets and keep them on a leash. But many let their dogs run loose. "There is a cultural thing that dogs should run free," said Howe, a free-lance graphic designer. "It's a bizarre thing that people feel it should be a free-for-all. There are some dogs, I call them, 'Yoda dogs,' that are all-knowing. Most are not. The best thing to do is to keep them on a leash." In Maine, dogs are allowed at all 33 state parks, except Sebago Lake campground. Stephen Curtis, a regional manager for the state's Bureau of Parks and Lands, said those dogs that run free on park land can be a danger as well as a nuisance. "Our employees have been bitten. Other users have been bitten. Dogs fight with each other," Curtis said. In addition, Curtis said loose dogs can disrupt wildlife, harm nesting shorebirds, and frighten or annoy other park visitors. "It's a problem with wildlife, it's a problem with trash. It's a problem as it relates to dogs leaving messes behind," Curtis said. In more than 30 years with the bureau, Curtis said he's seen the number of dog owners grow, and the number of people with more than one dog grow. State managers of Maine parkland remain unsure of how to discourage dirty, dangerous and distracting dogs in parks, Curtis said. All the while, park managers recognize the value in dog companionship, said Curtis, the owner of a mutt. A four-hour hike with Howe shows she practices the dog-walking etiquette she preaches. Her dogs' leashes are attached to her at all times, except when her dogs are drinking. But there's no mistaking that Desty and Kiva are happy hikers. Riding with Howe toward Speckled Mountain, north of Bridgton, Desty and Kiva looked alert and ready. "For them, they don't know what's coming, but they're hopeful they will get to do it, too," Howe said. "If I go somewhere and leave them in the car, they sound like their legs are being pulled off." The trek started at an abandoned ski area on a brilliant spring weekday, and the small party appeared the only one ascending the mountain. The entire morning not another person was seen. Kiva still acted as if there was a friend at every turn. While Desty marched along with a thin backpack of water packets, Kiva moved in a strange snake-like pattern, weaving back and forth. "She moves at gerbil speed," Howe said. The pleasure the larger dog showed in its face was expressed in Kiva's fast pacing - and in Howe's dialogue with the dogs. "Oh, this is so exciting. This is so exciting. This is so exciting," Howe repeated to her pals. Howe offered them water whenever she herself stopped to drink, at least every few hours. For emergencies, she carried booties in her backpack in case her dogs needed them, and a muzzle, in case one of them needed to be carried out - then the stressed dog wouldn't be able to bite anyone. Howe's careful preparation for her dogs' hike - which extended to the homemade bug dope she put in their ears - is the kind of attention park officials like Curtis endorse. Such care helps guarantee a dog's safety. Maury McKinney, the president of the International Mountain Climbing School, found a dog this spring on a vertical ledge 250 feet above ground in the White Mountains. McKinney, a member of the White Mountain Rescue Service, had to create a harness for the dog and lower it down to safety. The dog fell on the narrow ledge, McKinney said, because it was allowed off a leash. "If it barked, it would have fallen to its death," he said. This is the biggest problem McKinney sees with hikers who take their dogs hiking in the White Mountains. McKinney has seen dogs in Tuckerman Ravine have their legs clipped by skiers because the dogs were running loose. He's found dogs that didn't belong in the White Mountains at all, like the 13-year-old, 115-pound retriever he found dehydrated. McKinney said he had to carry the dog down from Tuckerman Ravine to the Pinkham Notch Visitors Center, a good two hours away. "You could almost shoot the dog after something like that," he said. Good dog owners are not much different than good hikers, McKinney said. What distinguishes them is that they are always prepared. A dog needs hydration, some food if it's hiking for a long time, and someone checking its padding. Young dogs and old dogs are the biggest victims of torn padding, but any dog walking on a rock surface for long can end up with bloody paws, McKinney said. Watching for sign of fatigue or pain, and being proactive in avoiding injuries assures both hiker and dog can go many places together. Howe takes Kiva and Desty everywhere. She takes them on long walks along country roads, running, hiking and traveling with her to Portland for work. She bought a large van for the dogs. It's their "rolling kennel," she said. Howe's only uncertainty when it comes to hiking with Kiva and Desty is whether she enjoys the outing for the peace of mind it affords, or the peace the three share. "My Dad says I'm the most protected woman in Maine," Howe said with a laugh. "If someone even turns the corner (on my road) and comes up the hill, Kiva goes: 'R-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r-r.' " Staff Writer Deirdre Fleming can be contacted at 791-6452 or at:
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