MOUNTAIN VIGNETTES YOGA MEETS GRANITE: A PACIFIC NORTHWESTERNER IN THE HIGH PEAKS By Kristina Agnew Webb the summit of Porter, I had officially proclaimed Stella my mountain dog. On our descent, I experienced the receiving end of the envy I had once felt. “What a good girl,” proclaimed one half of a couple as they passed us on their upward journey. The best part of the day, however, wasn’t the positive attention we received or even Stella’s stellar behavior. It was seeing my girl so happy. With my newfound confidence in her, I began inviting Stella on mountain adventures more regularly. I have no intention of making her an unofficial 46er. But I did suspect she was capable of more. So last summer, after some warm-up climbs, I upped the ante and invited Stella to join me and Gabe Dickens on our second tour of Algonquin. She accepted. I had forgotten that the majority of the 8 miles up and down “Big Al” feel like some of the longest, most labor-intensive miles in the Milky Way. But my amnesia was probably for the best. Had I remembered the never-ending gnarliness of the rocks, I likely wouldn’t have involved Stella. And I wouldn’t have learned just how gritty my girl really is. Several times, I watched her claw her way up a rock face, only to slide back down at gravity’s insistence. But Stella was undeterred. If her second attempt was unsuccessful, she’d find a workaround. I never had to encourage her to keep going. She continued to climb, tongue out, tail wagging, without hesitation. On our final push toward Big Al’s summit, a group of three 20-something males appeared just below us. “Holy crap, Jake! There’s a dog up here, bro,” one of them yelled back to his struggling friend. As Jake looked up and saw Stella, the defeat on his face gave way to awe. “That’s incredible,” he said. “That dog is a frickin’ inspiration.” I became so certain that Stella was cured of her anxiety that after a subsequent hike with her and our Porter friend, I suggested the three of us stop for a bite at Clare & Carl’s in Plattsburgh. I thought we could sit outside, and Stella could enjoy a small dish of vanilla ice cream beside us. In just minutes, the flow of vehicles and presence of strangers drove her to seek refuge atop our picnic table, shaking and pacing inconsolably until I aborted the mission. So, if you happen to encounter Stella in the “civilized world,” trembling at the sound of a lawn mower two blocks away or desperately scrambling to escape a passing garbage truck, please feel free to pretend you didn’t. But if you see her on the trail, I hope she’s just the sight your sore thighs needed. Other hikers’ “frickin’ inspiration,” Stella warms up on Algonquin’s summit
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