Mount Isolation 4003’

14.6 Miles 3250’ Elevation gain

Kevin, Judy and Wicket

This would be our sixth hike to Mount Isolation, but Wicket's first. One Labor Day many years ago we backpacked in and camped near the summit. Two other times we came the longer route from Dry River. In winter we hiked it with a large group using some bushwhack shortcuts.

On this hike we would use the traditional Rocky Branch approach on this hike from Rte.16 in Jackson. We finished in just under 9 hours, on a damp, humid day with no sun.

The day was eerily reminiscent of our first hike to this mountain in August of 2000, eighteen years prior. As we headed out along the trail, thoughts of that previous hike, and the others that followed came like haunted memories.

On that first hike in 2000 we had set out on a similar day, which progressively got worse as the day went on. Heavy mist had turned to rain as we arrived at the summit, and the normally wet trails along the way had turned to running brooks.

While we were moving we were OK, though we were soaked to the bone, but after the seven plus mile slog out of the woods the real trouble started. We were woefully unprepared on that hike with no rain gear, and the water had run off of us and into our boots, so that even our feet were soaking wet.

When we were finally able to stop back at our car in the parking lot, we cranked up the heat even though it was August. We were OK for the moment, but instead of returning to a dry, warm home, we were returning to our unheated pop-up camper at Moose Brook State Park.

As soon as we stepped out of the warm car we were chilled to the bone. Judy's lips were turning blue, even little Emma was shivering. Judy got her dried off, while I peeled my wet clothes off and tried to dry myself.

By this point Judy was shaking and I realized I had to act. She was in the beginning stages of hypothermia. I could not convince her she had to get out of those wet clothes, and she argued she would be too cold to do so.

Thankfully I was eventually able to get her out of them, dry her off, get her into dry clothes and get her into a sleeping bag. After some time had passed and I managed to get some hot tea into her she recovered, but it was very touch and go for awhile.

Thankfully, on this trip eighteen years later, the heavy skies never opened up, and we had no repeat of the close call we had on our first trip.

The Rocky Branch Trail was as wet and muddy as I had remembered it, and the eastern part of the Isolation Trail was even worse, but the rain held off and we were fine, and at least this time we were better prepared than we had been eighteen years earlier in the event we were faced with similar conditions on this hike.

As we return to these mountains in our quest to hike them all again with our new trail companion Wicket, we are filled with amazement that we made these hikes with our tiny girl Emma.

With each muddy section that has water over our boots, and with each scramble up steep, wet ledges, over and around obstacles that would have dwarfed that little dog, we marvel at her strength and persistence. how did she do it?!

We honestly can't believe that Emma was not only able to do it, but seemed to be made to do it. She would go wild in the car at the trailhead in anticipation of what lay ahead, as if there was nothing else in this world that had any meaning to her.

I had always wished that she had been bigger and stronger so that it would be easier for her, but perhaps her diminutive size and enormous energy made her just right for the job.

As I look down on Wicket now, I see the size and strength that I had always wished for Emma to possess, and like Emma, as long as she is with us, all is right in her world.

With every hike now we marvel at the trips we made with Emma. We are older now, and a whole lot wiser at preparedness for what can go wrong when you're several miles out into the wilderness.

We try now to not make the same mistakes we have made in the past, especially when it comes to the dog companion who would willingly follow us off a cliff. Part of me says, "It's not the same," and part of me says, "It IS the same!"

As the miles pass, these thoughts flow through my head like the running water that flows along the rocky trails we are traversing. Over and over I come to the singular conclusion: That we have been extremely fortunate in these past twenty years to have the health and energy to do what we do!

Yes, there have been highlights and lowlights, or if you prefer a rally bad pun, ups and downs, but in the long run, the mountains have always been there for us, and we love what we do.

Emma's passing and going on to we do not yet know where was and will continue to be very hard. Hip-replacement surgery for me was a trial and a test, but at nearly sixty years old I am moving better now than I did at fifty.

A new dog trots beside us now, not better, not worse, but different, and she is wonderful, just as the one before her was. This one seems to be mine, whereas Emma was Judy's, and only Judy's, but it makes no difference.

When the day comes for this one to depart we will be devastated again, but until then we will enjoy her company as much as we did with Emma, and when we get to the other side ourselves, she will be there waiting, as we know Emma and her predecessor Sky, and some others we have loved along the way will be, too.

We sat on the summit and ate peanut butter and jelly, as we had been doing for the past twenty years. The sky gods were kind enough to allow the clouds to part enough to give us glimpses of the mountains in the Presidential Range to our west and north.

This would be number twenty-seven for Wicket. I know in my heart that somewhere, Emma is smiling on us as we make this journey once again with our new, furry partner.
Life is good, and the love of these two dogs and others has made it better. I will always be thankful of the joy they have brought us.