Ridge has been a backcountry dog since the very beginning, first hitting the trail on a backpacking trip when he was just a three-month-old pup, showing right away that he had no trouble keeping up on the trail. Now, he is growing into a true mountain dog. You can see it the moment we climb up through the subalpine fir and spruce and break out into the open expanse of the alpine. His whole posture shifts. He goes taut, his ears catching wind-borne sounds, his eyes locking onto the high ridges as the sheer wildness of the place takes hold.

Above timberline, in those grand, wide-open alpine valleys, Ridge’s wild side completely takes over. He’ll suddenly bolt, razing up the steep, rocky slopes, running flat-out just for the pure joy of having all that space to move in. He still keeps one eye on Jess, following her through the draws like a shadow and learning the rhythm of the trail from her composure. But he’s finding his own wilderness legs now, too. He’ll confidently drift off on his own, disappearing behind a giant granite boulder or down into a willow draw to explore the high country on his own terms.

When I drop my pack and camp, he knows exactly how to let the mountain quiet him. He’ll find a patch of cool, thick blueberry understory near the tent and stretch out, alert but completely at ease. He doesn’t just sit on the landscape; he sinks right into it, watching the light fade over the peaks, a quiet and steady part of the high country.

#colorado #mountaindog
#bordercollie #bordercollies

Living on this Earth—and loving it deeply—comes with a certain amount of heartbreak. I can lose myself in wildflowers, mountains, canyon country, and coral reefs, while still worrying about the damage caused by a warming climate and the steady destruction of wild habitat. The more beautiful a place is, the more fiercely I want to protect it.

That bittersweet feeling has followed me throughout this summer in the Colorado high country. After a winter with little snow, followed by a dry spring and early summer, the forests and alpine tundra are already bone dry. Backcountry water sources I have relied on for years can no longer be trusted. I now plan my trips around the snowiest basins and north-facing slopes, hoping to find a trickle of water and a few stubborn wildflowers still holding on. I continue to travel off-trail, into places where I rarely meet another person—which is exactly how I like it.

I start hiking shortly after dawn so Jess, Ridge, and I can finish most of the climbing before the heat settles over the mountains. My favorite place to camp is near the upper edge of timberline, where the last wind-shaped evergreens offer a little shade and shelter.

Once camp is set, the three of us keep climbing and exploring until we are worn out. Jess and Ridge are happiest in this country, moving effortlessly through rock, grass, and open tundra, always alert and eager for whatever lies beyond the next rise. Their joy makes the mountains feel even more alive.

I usually take a short nap, setting an alarm so I do not sleep long enough to ruin the night. At 11,000 feet, the thin air often wakes me several times, but I also dream vividly there and usually wake feeling surprisingly restored.

Nightfall in the high country is pure magic. Alone beneath the stars with my two border collies beside me, I feel an overwhelming love for these mountains—and deep gratitude that I am still able to climb into them, sleep among them, and call them home for a little while.

#bordercollies #wilderness #colorado #bordercollie #mountaindogs