Welch-Dickey, 6 June 07

Took us an hour to reach the lookout on the way up to Welch Mountain. The scree and alpine plants were protected at that smooth-rock plateau by the placement of dead tree branches and a sign informing that the area was being protected and nurtured in a vast, ongoing attempt at regeneration. A far greater area shut off from hikers' boots and rampaging pet dogs than formerly. The protected areas are expanding, in their hopes for rehabilitation of those delicate alpine plants.

It was wonderfully cool up there; windy too, deterring winged pests from unduly plaguing our tender flesh. Not much was exposed, but black flies make the most of any opportunities to remove little divots of unprotected flesh; back of the ears, neck, hairline, scalp. It was only later they were given the opportunity to have at us. They have a decidedly unendearing way of burrowing under loose clothing, so even being fully clothed in reflection of the weather is no deterrent to them.

The mountainside is rich with oak and maple, but above all, beech and hemlock. The understory comprised of striped maple, yellow and white birch, dogwood. The forest floor boasting lilies of the valley, wood sorrel, false Solomon's seal, elusive Ladies Slippers. Higher up the hemlock and beech give way to stunted oak, jack pine, the understory replete with azalea, high blueberry bushes, laurel.

We follow a burbling mountain stream part of the way. Red squirrels scold our presence. Swallowtails drift lazily by. We stop often on our ascent. I need to rest, frequently, and my beloved partner is patient. Our two little companion dogs are agreeable enough since stopping briefly offers them the opportunity for sniff-fests.

Despite the cold, we soon shed our outer garments; we're burning plenty of calories, heating up that inner furnace. Resting at the ledges we have to decide whether to push on, knowing we'd be committing ourselves and Button and Riley to a tricky, arduous ascent. Four more hours' worth of energy and alertness. Button is now approaching her 14th year, Riley is a tiny animal, and we're well on our way to 71 ourselves.

But it's wonderfully cool and windy, no chance of rain and the day is young. What better to do on a beautiful late spring day? We stifle our doubts in favour of the incomparable views, the physical challenge, the sheer pleasure of the day stretching before us.

We trek the narrow defiles uphill, sided by grotesquely charming wind-challenged oaks and pines. We've left the boulder-strewn trail well behind. In its place stone and scree, hard-packed dirt littered with an ancient and rich layer of leaf and needles. Progress is slow - nice and easy does it. And I hum that old Frank Sinatra tune to myself, endlessly.

Button is agile and game. Riley semi-hesitant and vulnerably frightened when he comes face to face with the bulk of stone boulders he knows represent an impossible leap for him. Those barriers they can clear on their own they do right handily. At others, daunting enough for us also, they stand back, wait for us to lift them up and over. And we proceed.

I tire, we wait. From time to time, I throw myself on the mercy of the broad, 40-degree granite slope, and rest, while my companion takes in the height we've achieved, the awe-inspiring arras of peaks marching off into the distance. The blue sky, the fluffed clouds. The cold wind whips the heat from our bodies, mitigates the effect of the sun on our little dogs.

At the peak of Welch we stop, seat ourselves, replenish our little dogs' energy with doggy biscuits and water. Then we forge on again, dipping carefully over recessed boulders down the opposite side of the peak to reach the short coll between the sister mountains, one some 200 feet taller than the other.

A brief forested pathway leads us to Mount Dickey and we begin our second, fatiguing ascent. From there to the endlessly descending rock faces where sumac join the oak and the stunted pines. This has always been our favourite part of the circuit. Finally, we negotiate a long stony spine, a rock ledge open, exposed, with shoulders descending on either side.

A final dip into the forest and our tingling knees tell us about the steep strain of the descent, over rocks, boulders, tree roots. The forest is cool, moist and densely verdant.