Aki is trying to use her psychic powers again. She stops at each trail junction and forms a resolute, staring statue with a snout that points in her preferred direction. If I take her path of choice, she scoots past me and sniffs her way to the next trail junction. When I choose poorly, the little dog holds her ground, looking like a tiny Jedi that hasn’t mastered mind tricks. Just before I move out of her sight, she will dash up, give what looks like a derisive look, and forge ahead to the next junction. When we reach the narrow Gold Creek Bridge, the little dog throws on the brakes. I know from past walks down this trail, that Aki will not cross the bridge on her own so I carry her across. Normally she does a little victory trot down the trail after I set her on the ground. But today she waits for me to take the lead—a sure sign that she smells the bear that crossed this ground during the night.

We are back in beaver country where there is still snow on the ground. Low clouds soften the mountain views, forcing me to concentrate on the close-in beauty. The boot prints of someone willing to test the rotten lake ice lead toward deep water and I wonder why. There are no other tracks, not even the paw prints of a water-loving Lab. Why did this guy chance a cold dunking? The local beavers wouldn’t take such a risk, even in their logging operations. They never chew all the way through a standing tree, always leave a thin core of trunk that will snap in the next strong wind.