One memorable day, after we had been out about a week, we came over a rise and looked down across a beautiful meadow like a giant basin a mile across. There we could see a tent camp and two horses on picket ropes, With binoculars we counted four dogs. We quickly moved back out of sight and tied the goats so as not to stampede the horses or arouse the dogs. In the high mountains, horses are out of their natural habitat and usually nervous as a consequence. A string of pack goats coming toward them is all it would take for them to break their picket ropes and be off at full speed. An event not likely to endear us to their owner. The thought of four barking dogs rushing at our goats didn’t fill me with joy either. We relieved the goats of their packs and tied them to trees, then hiked down to the camp to be friendly and become acquainted, whistling and making noise as we approached so as not to surprise anyone. The dogs were soon barking but, whoever was there obviously had them under control. A teenage boy emerged from the tent followed by an older man. The resemblance was striking, obviously father and son. We introduced ourselves and learned that they brought dogs here every summer, training them to herd sheep. They had twenty head of the woolies with them this time. It could be a lucrative business as such dogs were in great demand. I was pleased to see the boy learning the training skills. He volunteered to demonstrate how the dogs work. Selecting one he took it out away from the others and gave two sharp whistles. The dog, a border collie, was away in an instant and soon around the sheep feeding on the mountain side, herding them back to a pen near camp.
The man told us the hardest thing to teach dogs was to not run the sheep. They all got overly enthusiastic, and were often to far away to easily control. By teaching them that one whistle meant stop, this was gradually accomplished. After a nice visit we returned to our goats, repacked them, and, taking a circular route, went on our way without disturbing the horses.
The sky was building some ominous looking clouds and it was plain to see we were in for a storm, so we hurried to a stand of timber. We no sooner got under the trees when down came the rain. There’s nothing quite like a high mountain storm . We sat with our backs against a big balsam tree and enjoyed the wildness of it all. One should never seek shelter under a lone tree as it could act as a lightning rod and execute anyone beneath it. The goats lay down with their packs resting on the ground, staying dry under the canvas covers.
