Unbreakable Boone - Sometimes the swirl of images in my mind is almost impossible to keep up with - now the beach in northern California - now the side of a mountain in western Montana in the rain - not enough protection - freezing my ass off - but the fishing is so hot I don't care - not immediately. Then there is the volcanic rock crunching under my feet in February in the Sierras, while I noticed that things were growing already... small as can be imagined - but there were tiny flowers blooming just under the snow.

Walking upon the juniper stump filled with big holes pounded in there by a pileated woodpecker - the real “Woody the Woodpecker” - whose hammering on a stump sounds like a quick-fire jack hammer - like the cartoon. Until you finally see the regal bird - bigger than expected - faster than fire - you know you have seen something.

At Cave Lake in late June - early July the butterflies simply swallow the air - there are so many, it becomes impossible to breathe - you just stand with your mouth open hoping for a breath. Later the California Sisters signal the beginning of Blackberry season - WATCH OUT for bears - they might only be black bears, but they have been feeding on blackberries their entire lives and are of a respectable size - If the pile of purple shit is any indication, I'd keep my distance.

Then the austere trail high into the mountains of the Castle's - far past the usual tourist routes - up to the unexplored country - the places seen only in elk dreams and hound dog reveries… I walked there on a cold clear October day until the sky turned to an indigo that could only mean trouble. I was cold and wet by the time I got out - but exhilarated.

I have seen so many mountainsides and lookouts and spots at the end of the road that I never would have gone to if it had not been for my hound dog. He always wanted to go further, higher or longer than I could, it was his greatest asset. We crossed some trails with the best of them - Kit Carson, Jim Bridger and all the other crazies. We went places in the Crazies that don't have names yet - and loved it. The Granite Creek waterfalls, spots up above the Doig place, and meadows that only Spruce Grouse know well. The long stretches of abandoned beach above Stone Lagoon, the hard-to-reach majesty of Shelter Cove - redneck California.

He entered my life on a spring day after visiting the dentist in Livingston - perhaps my judgement was still a little off - he was a small dog with short legs (a Beagle/ Bassett cross) - how much work could he be? Turns out I signed up for a lung with legs… the first time I took him out running with the old Tercel - I thought we would run a couple miles and be way done. After thirteen miles at fifteen miles per hour - I began to wonder. After twenty-two and he hadn't broken a sweat - I knew. So, the rest of the days he and I spent together I was always trying to catch up - still am.

He only barked a few times in the entire time we spent together - once at the sheriff - good dog - once at some fool walking up on our camp in Idaho… and once at a little black bear by the creek.

Not sure if the bear or the dog was more surprised… they both vanished - in opposite directions. I felt safe…