Kindred Spirits

Atticus and I have just returned from Pudding Pond. The day has a carefree, breezy, September feeling to it, with the leaves gently twisting and turning about and an occasional ripple seen on the water. Tomorrow the roads of the Mount Washington Valley will be choked with traffic for the holiday weekend and their mechanical whine and roar and the beeping of horns will be heard in those gentle woods, but today it’s peaceful.

When we walked around a bend near where the beavers have built a dam at the northern end of the pond, we encountered an elderly gentleman enjoying the peace and quiet. I didn’t want to interrupt him as he contemplated the water but when we drew near he turned and asked, “Is that Atticus?”

This gentle man’s name is John and we talked for a good twenty minutes while Atticus sat patiently either watching us or the pond. I’m guessing he is in his early 70s but when he told me of Boomer, a dog he lost two years ago, he could have been a boy. Watching his old eyes turn young, I smiled.

“He lived to be fifteen,” he said. “But he had cancer and he got worn down in the end but we still got out every day. One day I was sitting down on top of a mountain in Stowe and Boomer came and sat down next to me.

“I felt him lean against me and I knew he was telling me it was almost time to say goodbye.”

John paused, and he smiled while remembering his friend.

“It was the most intimate thing I’ve ever felt – to share that moment with him. I’ve never felt anything like it before or since.”

It would have been a sad thought for most, but I liked how this old man framed the memory. He considered it something special. After all those years together, after numerous adventures shared, two friends were getting ready to say goodbye.

Atticus is only nine, but lately I’ve noticed a catch in his rear hip. When he’s spread out on a dog bed or on the floor and stands up he lifts his right hind leg for two or three steps. Used to be I was the only one of us who limped after a hike, but his limp started a few weeks ago after a traverse of the Moats. He was fine during the hike, fine hopping out of the car, and had no trouble climbing the stairs to our apartment. It was only after a few hours of sleeping that he limped.

Four days later we hiked Caribou Mountain in Evans Notch and he was just fine. But that night the limp returned. Over the next week, especially during rainy days, the limp was clearly evident but only on the first three steps. After that it disappeared and he walked with a normal gait.

I made an appointment with Christine O’Connell, our local vet. I hoped it was Lyme disease because that’s something a bit of medicine can straighten out. My bigger fear was arthritis. Atticus finds himself on a mountaintop and I can’t imagine him enjoying life much if he can’t be up on top of one every now and again. Luckily, Christine said it was neither and even complimented his range of motion – especially for a dog his age. The problem is more muscular than anything else. So each morning and night I massage his hip and he lets me stretch it out and take it through range of motion exercises. He still limps when he takes his first few steps after lying down but at least now I feel like we are doing something about it. If it persists we’ll head into Angell Animal Medical Center and enlist the help of a specialist.

I figure no matter what it is; he and I will find a way to work things out, just as we always have. And yet while my bigger fears have been assuaged, I realize he’s not as young as he used to be. There were some hikes when we went over twenty miles where he would limp just the slightest bit the next morning but it never lasted long. But it’s never been like this. I’m smart enough to know that time does not stop and the years wear us down.

I was thinking about that as we climbed the Edmunds Path on Monday. We walked up the gentle grade at the beginning of the trail through the early morning diffused light of a lush green forest with spongy moss and healthy leaves all about. We climbed higher and reached a steeper section of the trail and we stopped to rest often, not for him, but for me. Our stops never last very long. Sometimes it’s just ten seconds, other times thirty. On rare occasions I sit down and when I sit he does too. It was while we were sitting there in that forest that I looked at his bright eyes and that little pink tongue and smiled.

These are indeed special times. These memories we’ve made, and are still making, will last my lifetime. Even something as simple as sitting for a spell in the woods on the side of a mountain casts its spell on me. How special it is to share that silent sacrament with another.

I’ve come to think of Atticus’s aging as a gift, for no longer am I deluded by my youth or his. We are both on an equal playing field these days. Even if he were to live another nine years it would still be too short a time for my liking. It’s like it says in Pooh’s Little Instruction Book: “If you live to be a hundred, I want to live to be a hundred minus one day so I never have to live without you.” Who among us who has known the company of a good dog can’t relate to that?

So these days I am thankful for not only where we’ve been but also for every experience we will encounter between now and the end of our time together.

On Monday, when we climbed above the trees, looked towards the towering Northern Presidentials, and found our way across the tumbled rocks on the trail to the intersection with the Crawford Path, I watched Atticus move as easily as he always has. And I did as I’ve done hundreds of times before, I watched this little dog who is so dwarfed by the great peaks of New Hampshire take his place among them as he sat and took in the view.

During our twisting climb up the switchbacks to the summit, I followed Atticus as I have for five years and when I stopped to rest he could sense I stopped and he did as well and waited for me.

At 4,780 feet Eisenhower is the twelfth highest peak in New England. Its flat top serves as a fine front porch that looks out at Franklin and Monroe, Washington and Clay, Jefferson and Adams. Even being so close from that twelfth highest peak, the others loom like giants in their varied shades of green from emerald to dark and the clouds cast shadows over the ravines and forests, rocky tops above and gentle valleys below. The dimensions are vivid and almost too colorful to comprehend!

There we stood together, Atticus and me, looking out at all of that. Eventually I picked him up and our eyes looked out at those mountains. I heard his familiar sigh and the comforting feel of his body leaning into mine.

So today when I heard old John telling me the story of how old Boomer leaned into him and offered an intimacy he’d never known – even though he’d been married and had children, well, I could relate.

Following Atticus: The Book Trailer

Be Among the First to See Our Book Trailer

Following Atticus Facebook Giveaway

As you can tell by this photo, Atticus loves his Bio-Cuddler from Muttluks. And when we go on our book tour he'll have on along for the car ride. He also loves the Bio-Mat from Muttluks as well and spends time sleeping on that as well.

Over on our Facebook page we're giving away one of each when we reach 800 'likes'. So come on over and join up. If you are already a member send your friends over to our Facebook page.

A Good Question

During my eleven years running a newspaper in Newburyport I found two things I’d always wanted: a place to call home; and a family. That small, charming city on the North Shore of Massachusetts was the first place I ever knew that felt like home. And the friends I met there became the close family I’d always longed for.

When I was there I watched a few of them move elsewhere or saw a few die of old age. Either way I was left brokenhearted. Then, three and a half years ago Atticus and I were the ones to leave. Now we look back on fondness on those years and our friends who remained behind tell me they miss us. One of those friends is in his late eighties and quite a remarkable man. Until he recently collapsed in his apartment, he’d never spent a night in the hospital his entire life. Unfortunately he’s spent quite a few of them there lately and he now resides in an assisted living facility. Time marches on…even if we wish it wouldn’t.

The other day Atticus and I were sitting with him in his new room and he asked with a worried look on his face, “How are you doing? Do you have enough money? Do you have a good life up in the mountains?”

I put my hand on his and told him not to worry. “Life is good, Ed.”

“Really? You don’t miss the life you used to lead here? It was a very exciting time.”

“No, I don’t miss it. I love the mountains. They feel like home.”

It’s a simple question and one we should ask ourselves from time to time, “Do I have a good life?” And I’ve thought about my friend and his dwindling days and his question a lot over the past week.

The day after we saw him Atticus and I parked at the end of Zealand Road and walked the four and a half miles through Zealand Notch to Thoreau Falls. Spring had come to the northern portion of the White Mountains. The trail was surrounded by new growth on the ground below and on the buds at the end of the tree branches above. Varying shades of green greeted us as we made our way over rocks and roots, across numerous footbridges, and along the tumbled-down boulders that used to be part of Whitehall Mountain. There was a gentle breeze that kept the bugs away and made the walk along the old railroad bed quite pleasant. When we arrived at the top of Thoreau Falls we sat on the rock slabs next to the high-rushing water and I took off my shoes and felt the chill of spring as I dangled them in the current while Atticus drank from the edge while staying dry. We shared our lunch, watched birds come and go, took some photos, and then returned the way we came.

On another day we set out late in the afternoon to climb Mount Tecumseh. Now some in the hiking community poke fun of the shortest of the 4,000-footers, a distinction it shares with Mount Isolation at 4,003 feet high, but they’re being shortsighted. It may not be as tall as Washington but it’s a tough climb and there’s a stretch a little over a mile long where you feel like you’re stuck on a never-ending rocky Stairmaster. Toward the top the trail levels out for a bit before it comes to a junction where you can go right or left. Both paths take you to the summit but for some reason each time Atticus chooses the path to the left – I think because it looks like it goes up while the other one wraps around the mountain. Having reached our destination we sat and ate and drank once again before making our way down the mountain. However, instead of walking back the way we came, we made our way over to the ski slopes of Waterville Valley and walked down the steep-slanting grass through the growing afternoon shadows. The advantage of taking the ski trails down is that it saves your knees and feet from the twists and turns of the rocks on the trail, but you feel it in your quads even more. The other advantage is that on the open slopes there are some wonderful views of the Osceolas and the Tripyramids you don’t get anywhere else.

That night we returned to our home here in Jackson by way of the Kancamagus Highway but it took a little longer than usual because we stopped and watched a Bull Moose eating in a pond.

A few days later we returned to Zealand Road and climbed Mount Hale, another 4,000-footer. In less than a week the green of the forest had gotten richer and looked more like the deep green of summer even where the sun splashed down on top of it and left bits of gold here and there. We started out later in the day and the heat and humidity made the mountain seem steeper and taller than it actually is. But by the time we reached the top we were rewarded with a refreshing, cool breeze that had us forgetting the difficult climb almost immediately.

Last night, while walking along the Wildcat River we saw a funny little branch with fresh greens swimming upstream against the current. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out what it was but we were captured by the attempts of that little branch to go where it was most difficult to go. And sitting there watching it for a while I finally realized that branch was attached to a beaver. After a bit that beaver gave up trying to swim upstream and instead came ashore not ten feet from us and started eating that little branch. He thought nothing of us watching him eat his dinner and we all sat and kept each other company for quite some time.

After leaving him we came to the tiniest of toads and I almost stepped on him. He froze underneath my hiking boot. Just as we had with the beaver we stayed with that little toad for quite some time.

Throughout all of these little adventures where we mingled with nature: sometimes working hard to get to where we were going, other times sitting and just enjoying a waterfall, beaver, toad, or moose, I thought of my elderly friend and his question.

He and I both know his days are numbered and worrying about me gives him something to hold onto. Since he asked me that question I’ve been writing him a long letter and it has included each of the things I’ve just written about. My conclusion is that I indeed lead a grand and fortunate life. Where I once catalogued the comings and goings of a city wrestling with the growing pains of gentrification as it tried to figure out what it wanted to become – and this all this all too often had to do with writing about the shortcomings of people – I now spend my days with a little dog watching the wonders of life unfold on a daily basis. And I keep coming back to something Camille Pissaro wrote, “Blessed are they who see beautiful things in humble places where other people see nothing.”

You see, that used to be me. I was one of those people who looked at a tree or a bird or a sunrise and saw nothing. It took a little dog and a lot of mountains to remind of the important things.

While People are Weighing in on 'Following Atticus', Atticus is Enjoying the Mountains

Our latest review comes from Bob Connolly of Jabberwocky Books in Newburyport, Massachusetts. It can be found on our author's page here, or you can read it below.

Following Atticus is the real life tale of middle-aged news- paper editor Tom Ryan and an extraordinary and lovable miniature schnauzer named Atticus M. Finch. Facing questions about his life and following the death of a beloved friend, Ryan and Atticus set out to climb all forty-eight of New Hampshire’s 4,000 foot peaks, twice, in the winter, to raise money for cancer. Can an overweight, tough-as-nails reporter and his twenty-five pound companion accomplish what most think to be an impossible quest? What follows is a series of remarkable adventures, covering the cannibalistic, mean streets of small-town politics to the treacherous, icy conditions of wintry mountain top terrain, which will test not only Tom and Atticus’s endurance but the bonds that tie them together.

The adventures that Ryan and Atticus share together will delight, entertain, and inspire. Ryan writes with such passion and enthusiasm about his love for the mountains, the relationships between fathers and sons, the inner workings of small-town politics, the loyalty of friendships, and one man’s unique relationship with a dog known as "the Little Giant". Rising above the plethora of dog books on the market, the story told is ultimately about one man’s transformation as he seeks to understand his place in the world and the little dog who guides him on that journey. After getting to know Atticus, the reader will want to follow him as well.

Hello, Neighbor

This afternoon, Atticus and I ran into one of our neighbors. Unfortunately I didn't have my camera with me so I used my iPhone to take shots of him. We spent a good twenty minutes with him before parting company and leaving him to his dinner.

Black Cap

Yesterday's clear views from the summit of Crawford were but a memory today as the warmest temperatures of the season brought haze to the Mount Washington Valley. We climbed Black Cap, now that Hurricane Mountain Road is open, and had an easy enough go of the 2.5 mile hike to the summit and back. We also had the summit to ourselves; I don't think many people realize the road is open. However, we didn't stay too long.

As I said, it was hot and hazy and we were both a bit tuckered from yesterday's adventure. I took a few photos of Agiocochook through the midday haze and we headed down and then back home for lunch.

Praise for Following Atticus

From Steve Smith and Mike Dickerman, authors of The 4,000-Footers of the White Mountains:

“Tom Ryan's lyrical narrative recounts the epic White Mountain adventures he's shared with Atticus M. Finch, his stalwart miniature schnauzer. During one amazing winter Ryan and Finch attempted to hike ninety-six snow-draped peaks in just ninety days. This unlikely duo traversed hundreds of miles through the rugged terrain of the Whites, home of ‘the world's worst weather,’ battling snow, cold, and wind and looking upon scenes of unspeakable beauty. This tale alone ensures that Following Atticus will delight dog lovers and mountain enthusiasts alike. But the book also takes the reader on a spiritual journey, as man and dog face unforeseen challenges with grace, courage, and love.”

What a Sky!

I kicked myself for getting such a late start to our hike on Hedgehog. I always seem to get my best shots there early in the morning or later in the day. The overhead sun tends to wash things out a bit. However, my favorite shot of the day came at about two in the afternoon when Atticus and I were hanging out on the Eastern Ledge. Check out this sky above the eastern portion of the Sandwich Range, from Mount Chocorua to the left over to the shoulder of Passaconaway on the far right.

"Follow Your Bliss." ~ Joseph Campbell

Slowly, Spring Comes To Us

Slowly, spring comes to us.

Today, I watched bright colored finches; blue jays, and red wing blackbirds take turns at our feeders. Earlier this week a bear walked drowsily through the backyard as if looking for his morning coffee. And this afternoon Atticus and I and watched a cantankerous crow fly back and forth across Echo Lake. In silent contrast to him was the quiet, graceful gliding of a heron. In the woods, the forest floor has awakened. Seeing the small sprouts of life push up through dead leaves and fallen fir needles reminds me of something Rilke wrote: “Spring has returned. The earth is like a child that knows poems.”

There’s no stopping her now. Spring, irrepressible spring, is here – even if the forecast calls for an inch of snow tonight.

The other day we brought our lunch with us when we took a six-mile loop over Peaked and Middle mountains. It’s not a taxing loop and it didn’t matter that we started after noon. We had plenty of time. It was warm and when we gained the ledges on the north side of Peaked the sun beat down on us. Neither of us is used to the heat yet, not after so many cold months, so we struggled. I sweat and Atticus’s tongue hung from his mouth. We stopped for water more often than we’re used to as of late and when we took our breaks we turned back and looked down the ledges and over at Mount Washington. So much brown rock where just recently there was plenty of snow.

The joy of Peaked Mountain lies in the stunted pines pushing up among the angled ledges. The higher you climb the more twisted and dramatic they become. They are not large, but they have character as they lean this way and that. Even these ‘evergreen’s’ were a sight to behold as new life ran through them and the needles looked brighter than they have in almost a year.

Once on top, and under that parasol of pine trees, a chill breeze washed away my sweat. It was refreshing and felt almost as though we were sitting in a cool swimming pool.

When we don’t have far to go and the climb is not all that taxing, we linger. That’s what we do whenever we are on Peaked’s prow of a summit that breaks like a wave towards the south. After we eat, and drink our fill of views, Atticus naps and I read, or I bring a paper and pen and write letters to friends.

Monday’s breeze was a delight and I took out my iPhone and made a video of the way the tree branches swayed and recorded the sigh of the wind through the limbs. I captured sleeping Atticus’s floppy ears being teased and tossed gently about. Then I sent it off to my friends who were stuck in cubicles or offices – nine to five prisoners - to give them each a brief recess.

Before long two hikers arrived, then another. They were all from Maine and decided to talk about the governor. I’m not sure whether they like him or not. What I do know is that they talked endlessly about politics and after more than a decade of writing a political journal I have a simple rule: when politics arrive on the summit, it’s time for us to depart. So Atticus and I left the three of them behind to solve the problems of the world, or at least of the State of Maine, and we descended for a bit, sharply at first, then more gently, and curled around to the western slope of the mountain. It wasn’t long before we came to a junction of trails and Atticus sat and looked at the signs. When I arrived he glanced over his shoulder at me and I pointed to the left and he led us up along a stream towards the top of Middle Mountain.

We’ve been up that path a few times these past months and throughout the winter I’ve enjoyed the way the faded yellow, parchment-thin beech leaves have clung to the smaller trees lending the winter woods their only color. Whenever we walk by them they shimmer and dance, all atwitter – like school girls giggling away. They do this even when there’s no noticeable breeze to stir them up. But now they are finally falling, being forced out by new life, and I miss them. But their loss is a small price to pay for what will soon replace them. Soon the forest will be teeming with life. Already the lichen on trees has filled out and feels lush and fresh to the touch. Everything else will be along in the coming weeks. What I look forward to most are the trillium and the lady slippers. This is their time of year to show their delicate beauty.

Once on top of Middle we sat again. Dark clouds drifted in and the temperature slowly dropped. However, it wasn’t significant and after looking at the views Atticus found himself a soft bed in the web between tree roots. Having the summit to ourselves I took out my iPhone once again and plugged it in to small speakers and listened to Brahms while I settled down against the same tree that cradled Atti and wrote another letter.

I wrote to my friend, “I do believe we’ve found a little patch of heaven on earth. I believe we find one each time we go for a hike.”

Later this spring and into the summer we’ll take longer hikes and return to each of the four thousand footers simply because it’s been a while since we’ve done them all. I want to visit with them as we did that first summer five years ago and I hope to see them anew. In the fall we’ll start our book tour and I imagine it will get rather crazy and I find comfort in knowing we’ll take along the memories of these “friends” with us, especially since they play such a big role in our story.

But for now, on these shorter, less taxing hikes, we nap, write letters, enjoy the breeze, and a little classical music. Through it all we welcome the spring.

Tom & Atticus Return to Newburyport (For a Day)

This past weekend we were back in New- buryport to participate in a literary festival. It was a great event where approximately eighty writers and poets were sprinkled throughout the city at various venues.

Atticus and I were right at home at Jabberwocky Bookshop, where I hope we'll be kicking off Following Atticus after it is published in September. Just down the street from us, Paul Harding, author of Tinkers and winner of the most recent Pulitzer Prize, was speaking at the same time. Because of that I wasn't quite sure what kind of turnout we'd have, especially since our book isn't out yet. I was stunned to see a standing room only crowd that overflowed the room and spilled into the bookstore proper and out to the hallway of the Tannery Marketplace.

Instead of writing about it here, I'll let Kathleen Downey tell the story. Kathleen is a Newburyport area writer and animal lover. She shared her thoughts about our visit on the Newburyport Today website in her regular "Citizen Profile" column. You can find it here.

Atticus Finch, Meet Atticus M. Finch

Today, the USPS introduced its latest stamp from their Hollywood Legends Collection and it just so happens to be one Atticus Finch. Okay, actually it is Gregory Peck, but the image of the stamp is him portraying his most popular character on the silver screen, Atticus Finch, in To Kill a Mockingbird. The movie stands as one of the few in history that did justice to the original book.

We take this as a good omen with this the year our book, Following Atticus: Forty-Eight High Peaks, One Little Dog, and an Extraordinary Friendship comes out (September 20 from William Morrow). And it comes a day before our first public appearance pertaining to the book. This weekend we'll be down in Newburyport for the Newburyport Literary Festival to discuss our story.

With a field of 80 writers and poets, there will be many notable personalities on hand. We're thrilled to be included in that group and we'll be appearing at Jabberwocky Bookshop on Saturday at 10:00 a.m. Just before us is Matthew Pearl, bestselling author of the Dante Club; and after us is Frank Schaeffer, another bestselling author.

4,000-Footer Map for Following Atticus

This map was created by Jackson, New Hampshire artist Kathy Speight Kraynak specifically for our book. It was my hope that she could put down on paper something that could capture a bit of the magic of our White Mountains so that people who don't reside here, or simply don't know much about them, could have something to refer to while reading Following Atticus. From the first time I saw it I knew I made the right choice in working with Kathy for she surpassed my expectations with this beautiful drawing. It will be located in the endpapers of the book.

Today on the Boulder Loop Ledges

It started out chilly but mostly bright. Once we made our way into the woods we lost the breeze and the climb warmed us quickly. The sweeping views of the Sandwich Range to the south are always a joy to behold and we stayed up there for a couple of hours. Eventually clouds bringing the coming night's storm rolled up from the north and made for a dramatic sky.

Win a Copy of Following Atticus: Forty-Eight High Peaks, One Little Dog, and an Extraordinary Friendship

Following Atticus will be published by William Morrow, a HarperCollins imprint, on September 20th and the world will get a chance to meet Atticus M. Finch, a most remarkable little fellow.

Nick Trout, New York Times bestselling author of Tell Me Where It Hurts, writes, “Animals come into our lives prepared to teach, if only those of us on the human side of the bond would be humble enough to learn. Tom Ryan has obviously been paying close attention as he generously shares the wisdom and humanity of his remarkable dog, taking us on a noble quest. Atticus M. Finch is the four-legged mentor all dog lovers will crave.”

I’m humbled by Dr. Trout’s kind words, but more humbled by Mr. Finch himself. Friends come in all shapes and sizes but little did I know the one that would mean the most to my life was a black and white miniature schnauzer who weighed only five pounds when I first held him. It is my honor to tell his story for it is an unusual one. As I’ve said, our book comes out in September, but you have a chance to grab hold of it early. We’re giving away three advance reader’s copies of Following Atticus: Forty-Eight High Peaks, One Little Dog, and an Extraordinary Friendship now! To have a chance at winning, go to our Following Atticus facebook page and ‘like’ us. When we reach 500 ‘likes’ we’ll draw three names from that list. You will then have a head start on the rest of the world.

Gratitude

It's not just the mountaintops or the rocky outcrops with outstanding views. It's not always the trails that traverse above treeline, nor the walks through majestic woods. Sometimes the magic comes in just sitting by a stream.

Yesterday morning Atticus and I took a lengthy road walk along the hilly streets of Jackson and returned home so I could write. Then later in the afternoon he roused me from my desk and I tucked our dinner into my backpack and we walked deep into the woods until we came to a stream too wild and deep to cross. It's there we sat and shared a meal together, listening to the song of the raging water. When we were done, Atticus got up and moved to the edge of a large rock and sat and watched much of the winter pass by below us.

We could have sat there for hours but darkness descended on us and I hadn't brought a headlamp. As I watched him, and looked around at our surroundings, and then walked out of the woods, I was so grateful for the decisions we made that led us to live in these mountains, to change our lives so that we could have moments like this on a daily basis.

Scenes from This Morning's Peaked Mountain Hike.

Blue skies, warm sun, cool morning air, and a snowy but firm trail made for a wonderful morning on one of our favorite local peaks - Peaked Mountain. It offers great views of the Moats, Chocurua, the Ossippees, Whiteface, Passaconaway, and many of the Presidential peak, especially Mount Washington. It was a perfect morning hike that gave us enough time to get back to watch the Red Sox at noon. (Now if only they'd win a game.)

Our Guest Post Over at Sectionhiker.com

Philip Werner over at sectionhiker.com has gone on walkabout. For the next two weeks he's doing a section of the Appalachian Trail. While he's gone he's asked ten guest bloggers to hold down the fort for him. Today, we bat lead off with our guest post. It's about a recent hike up Middle Mountain, over in North Conway's Green Hills Preserve. You can read it here.