On Monday we woke at 4:30am and started making our way to Quandary Trailhead in Breckenridge, CO. We had been in Colorado for eight days at that point, doing many shorter hikes to at elevation throughout the week to train for this day. After three days of rest and recovery at our beautiful campsite near Clearcreek Reservoir, I thought that Lucy and I would be set to hike Quandary Peak without issue. This would be Lucy’s first fourteener and my second after hiking Pikes Peak two years ago. I was nervous, but told myself that it would be okay because we weren’t committed to reaching the summit. We could turn back at any time if we weren’t feeling like getting all the way to the top.

After a longer than expected drive, Lucy and I hit the trail around 7:00am, later than I had hoped, but still with ample time to make it up and down before any afternoon thunderstorms rolled in or so I thought. Lucy and I have done much more difficult hikes than this when looking at it on paper. At just over six miles with 3,300 feet of elevation gain I didn’t think it would be a big problem. In fact we had hiked eight miles to Mt. Rogers just two weeks before without a hitch. I did factor in how the high altitude in the Rocky Mountains would affect us, assuming we would go about one mile per hour, half of our typical pace.

The trail started out easy, a wide flat dirt path with a gentle grade to get us warmed up. It lead us through the beautiful White River National Forest weaving beneath the tall lodgepole pine trees as we ascended. The air wafted with the smell of Christmas trees as we trod on the dry dusty path. We climbed a series of switchbacks with beautifully placed log stairs to aid the ascent. We went at Lucy’s pace allowing her to sniff all of the new odors lining the trail.

After about a mile the trees gave way into exposed alpine zone, the terrain we would navigate for the rest of the ascent. Here there were fields of rocky scree, gradually graded but loose moving underneath our feet. The rocks were smooth and light gray transition to brick colored the higher we climbed. Some areas had large boulders that we hopped between with some stairs built in to help us, but there were other areas where the rocks were all about the size of a baseball if it were squished by a panini press which on top of the loose soil were perfect for twisting ankles.

Every thirty minutes I set my watch to alert me so that I would remember to let Lucy rest, drink water, have snacks, and check her paws for wear and tear along the way. I was also assessing her hydration status by checking her skin turgor, the moistness of her nose and mucous membranes, as well as observing her pee to make sure she wasn’t getting dehydrated. I had packed four liters of water for this trek with Lucy having her own bottle so that when she refused to drink I could pour it back in to offer her later. With these dry conditions I didn’t want to waste a single drop! At these stops I also checked my pulse oximetry on my watch to make sure I was getting enough oxygen.

Lucy chugged up the trail happily on her leash because although her recall is 100% with an e-collar I wanted to make sure she didn’t burn any energy running up and down the trail with excitement. We were both sucking in the thin, dry air as we gained elevation and we stopped to catch our breath every minute or two. Lucy saw a few pika, cute fuzzy mountain mice, but mostly ignored them as we passed by on the trail. One scurried right across the path almost stepping over my feet! We also saw a few yellow-bellied marmots sniffing around no doubt looking for food that hikers had dropped along the way.

All was well on this beautiful sunny summer day until we got a half mile from the summit. We had been taking our time and had many breaks, but this time Lucy laid down on the small flat dirt patch in front of me. I’ve seen her do this a few times before, and this is her signal to me that we should turn around because she’s getting tired. She usually gives me this signal at around the ten mile mark, which is why I don’t plan for day hikes longer than 10-12 miles usually. We were only 2.75 miles into this hike so I was surprised at her level of fatigue even despite the high altitude. I looked up to see a large patch of late season snow leftover from the winter. We were so close to the summit, only about 500 vertical feet from the top, and I didn’t want to give up.

After a few minutes of resting in the dirt, Lucy got up and continued to ascend the rocky summit cone. I was hesitant but thought that maybe her short rest would give her the energy she needed for the rest of the climb. The way down was bound to be easier so I told myself that as long as she wanted to keep going up we would. I could feel in my gut that we should have turned around right then and there. We were just shy of 14,000 feet above sea level with the sun beating down on us and no shade for over a mile below to rest in. But I could hear the cheers of other hikers conquering the peak. We were so close. So we continued on up the last part of the mountain.

When we reached the snow field just before summiting Quandary Peak, Lucy took a break rolling in the icy remains of winter. She bit into the snow, just like she does in our backyard, especially happy for the chilly reprieve on this sunny day. And then at 11:00am we were there at 14,265 feet staring down at all of Colorado. It was a 360 degree panorama with bluebird skies and snow topped mountains all around us. I couldn’t tell if the views took my breath away or the thin air. It was glorious, but for some reason I didn’t feel the sense triumph I usually do when I reach such a peak. Instead, I crouched down anxious checking over Lucy to make sure she was okay. Her paws looked fine and she had caught her breath, but she was visibly tired. I knew I had made the wrong decision. We should have turned back when she first showed signs of fatigue.

After taking a quick photo, we started the arduous descent. We only spent a few minutes at the summit because I knew the sooner we got down the easier it would be. Physician Assistant training included recognizing the symptoms of altitude sickness like headache, fatigue, nausea, vomiting, and shortness of breath on exertion. Severe forms of altitude sickness include high altitude pulmonary edema and cerebral edema with symptoms like coughing, shortness of breath at rest, severe headache, and changes in gait. The best definitive treatment for all of these ailments is descent to below 8,000 feet, so I figured the faster we got down the easier it would be to manage Lucy’s fatigue.

The problem with altitude sickness in dogs is that symptoms are not apparent until they’re nearing the more severe stages. For example, Lucy can’t tell me when she has a headache, one of the first symptoms, and it’s normal for her to pant when we hike so I didn’t consider it a red flag even though that might have been one of the first signs that she wasn’t reacting well to the high altitude in the Rockies. Unfortunately because of my lapse in judgement, there was nothing we could do at that point besides descend.

As we went down the mountain Lucy became more and more fatigued. We increased the frequency of our stops until I had to coax her down with treats. She was still well hydrated and her paw pads looked fine, but the loose scree made her less confident in her foot placement causing her to step down more cautiously than usual. When we got to the flat ridge underneath the summit cone, Lucy laid down again breathing hard and refusing to move. I could see in her eyes that she wanted desperately to follow me, but she just didn’t have the energy. It was the worst feeling in the world knowing I was subjecting my little pup to all of this pain.

I had used Musher’s Secret Paw Wax to help keep her paw pads from ripping on the rocks, but they were mostly smooth, so I think her discomfort was from the constant pressure on her shoulders every time she had to jump down the staircase-like rocks. I knew at this point she needed to rest, but I was still worried about the possibility of afternoon thunderstorms. It was now 12:30pm, and I wanted to be down by 2:00pm at the latest to avoid the frequent lightning that these peaks experience after that time. I checked the radar for storms on the horizon, and although it was clear I felt that I couldn’t trust it. These storms can sometimes precipitate out of nowhere, so no weather forecast was going to make me feel better about the situation. We were also incredibly exposed with the sun beating down on us, and I worried that it was causing Lucy to overheat and cause further fatigue.

I knew we had to keep moving but Lucy just couldn’t take another step. After fishing around in my bag for a minute, I found my Mountain Dogwear Pack-A-Paw rescue harness. I keep this with me on every single hike in case of injury, but I never thought I would need to use it because of exhaustion. I had only put it on Lucy once before in the comfort of our kitchen, and I have to say she didn’t love it. That time she squirmed and bucked, flailing her legs in the air until I put her down.

This time as I strapped her in and hoisted her up in my arms she needed no convincing that staying in the harness was necessary. With Lucy in front of me and my pack strapped to my back I inched my way across the ridge being careful not to slip on the rocks moving beneath my feet. Lucy put her head on my shoulder and snored quietly in my ear the whole time, the jostling having no effect on her sleep.

I put her down just before the final descent to tree line. This part was half dirt and half rocky scree, but I hoped with her half hour nap Lucy would be up to the task. Luckily I was right and with a few treats she was again on her way down slowly but surely. Just when I thought that things were going to be fine, the mountain goats came into my view. Lucy has seen a lot of wildlife in our years on the trail, and she is always excited yet still able to respond to my commands when we see animals in the wilderness. Her recall with her e-collar is spectacular, and she has successfully recalled for me with squirrels, deer, turkeys, and even a bear in the vicinity.

Today was no different. When we saw the herd of four mountain goats hanging out in the middle of the trail she let out an excited whine, but stayed right next to me as I reached for her leash. We had been warned that there have been instances where mountain goats have charged dogs on the trail, so we kept our distance and let them do their thing. When one sauntered towards us from 20 yards away we backed up slowly. It stopped about 10 feet in front of us and stood still as we continued back up the trail the way we had come. After a few minutes of sniffing around it turned and went around to the other side of the mountain, and Lucy and I scurried quickly down the trail.

All of this excitement pushed Lucy back to the point where she was again too exhausted to move. We had finally made it to the first tree casting a large shadow of coolness over us, a much needed reprieve from the powerful sun. My shoulders and face had already started to burn for the first time in many years. I forget that being 14,000 feet closer to the sun makes me more prone to sunburns, something I usually don’t worry about after putting on a single coat of sunscreen in the morning. I had also run out of water on the descent, having drunk 2 liters throughout the day. Lucy still had almost over a half a liter left, but I didn’t want to drink any of it since she had been thirsty all day. I had a water filter with me, something that never leaves my pack, but what I failed to consider that with the dry conditions here in Colorado meant that water sources are scarce.

It was 2:00pm and we were just getting to tree line, with Lucy again exhausted to the point of needing a nap. Here I sat down with her petting her soft fur, furious with myself that I had pushed her too hard. I was ashamed beyond words in my poor decision. In a moment of panic I broke down, tears streaming down my face, wondering how I was going to get out of this mess. I called my most trusted hiking buddy and good friend Robby, and he reminded me that the day was young and Lucy wasn’t hurt so I could either let her rest and walk out on her own or carry her down. I took out the rescue harness once again and hoisted Lucy up on my back this time, wearing my daypack on the front. When I got to the first set of wooden stairs a quarter mile later, I sat with Lucy resting on the top one while I sat on the one below, poised to get up after a short break.

The harness, while perfectly designed to carry Lucy’s stout, muscular body, was extremely uncomfortable cutting into my sunburned shoulders. A half mile later, I took another break and to my surprise when I put Lucy down she stood on her own. When I slid out of the harness, she moseyed to sniff some grass at the edge of the trail. It seemed as though at 10,700 feet she felt good enough to walk on her own. Without missing a beat I followed her down the trail at a pace I could hardly keep up with until we reached the car soon after.

Quandary Peak gave me a new respect for the mountains and taught me a lot about hiking at high altitudes with dogs. It reminded me that even though Lucy and I are an experienced team, we still have a lot to learn about hiking in the Rockies. Even being over 8,000 feet for a week with multiple acclimatizing hikes, it was not enough preparation for Lucy to be ready for the challenges that her first 14er brought. I take pride in being educated, informed, and prepared to hike yet I still made the wrong decision in this instance and I am deeply disappointed that I let my eagerness to reach the summit overcome my gut feeling that we needed to bail.

We were very lucky that the weather was on our side and no thunderstorms rolled in while we were still on the mountain. We also realized how important our emergency preparation was, and had we not had our safety harness and other dog related emergency items we may not have had such a benign outcome. Before we started the hike I had many contingencies in place. We had a thirty-minute timer reminding me to give Lucy water, check her feet, and rest. I told myself that we were not tied to the summit and if Lucy or I was not feeling up to it, turning around wouldn’t be a big deal. Lastly, I had a list of situations in which we would turn around immediately including thunder, symptoms of altitude sickness, SpO2 below 90% or Lucy showing signs of fatigue. Had I adhered to these safety measures we may have prevented this situation from occurring.

The drive to reach the summit is something I think all hikers have. It’s a goal we set when we hit the trail and one that is hard to let go of. Lucy and I have bailed on multiple hikes before, knowing that if we continued one or both of us would suffer. Whether it was our proximity to the top or the need to prove myself out west I don’t know, but I do know that nothing is worth putting Lucy’s safety at risk. Most of all I am thankful that Lucy is okay and after 24 hours of rest and lots of cuddles she is fully recovered. Here is a link to all of the equipment I carry specifically for Lucy when we hike, and this link is to what I carry for myself every time I hit the trail. I hope others who hike with their dogs will use our story from Quandary Peak as a cautionary tale a lesson on why being prepared for an emergency is always a necessity.