Stowe Pinnacle and its Lord, Sampson

One could say that Stowe Pinnacle (2,651ft feet; Stowe, Vermont) has a dog, but it would be more accurate to say that dog has the Pinnacle. At one point, not too long ago, two dogs had Stowe Pinnacle: golden retrievers Sampson and Baylor. Sadly, Baylor passed away and now there is just Sampson. If you’ve hiked the mountain you have more than likely run into Sampson (and Baylor too, if you hiked it a few years ago). By all accounts (well chronicled in local newspapers; even made the subject of a documentary film) the dogs hiked the mountain on their own, without their owners, finding their own way up and down the mountain for over a decade, in all seasons, nearly every day--often multiple times per day. The dogs were such a routine presence on the mountain that it became impossible to think of the mountain and not also think of the dogs. The rest of us? Yeah, just tourists. 

Now the mountain is down to just one lord, Sampson.

Stowe Pinnacle--the mountain apart from its lord--is a wonderful, pointy knob in Vermont's Worcester Range, a ridge parallel to the crest of the Green Mountains located directly east of Mount Mansfield (the highest summit in Vermont). The open summit of the Pinnacle is an excellent place from which to observe Mansfield across the Stowe Valley. You can get to the top by way of the Stowe Pinnacle Trail, 1.8 miles one way (and you can keep going—over the Hogback and on to Mount Hunger and other peaks). ​Chances are excellent that you will run into Sampson along the way.​

Sampson escorting a hiker through his domain.

​Now, some people have an innate love of dogs. I am not one of those people. I tend to relate to dogs the way I relate to people. If, for example, a person were to shout and posture aggressively toward me, steal my lunch, run up to me and slobber all over my face, or shit in the middle of the trail, I might not take so well to them. But there are some dogs, like some people, who I immediately like and want the company of.  Sampson is such a dog. He’s a gentleman; he says hello with a hoarse bark indicative of his age; he even knows how to shake hands. He doesn't whine or complain. He likes company; I strongly suspect he feels responsible for the people hiking in his domain but he never presumes. And he knows his way around. All fine qualities in a fellow hiker, if you ask me. 

---

​The Pinnacle is the perfect place to share with good company, lingeringly in good weather or briefly in bad—and I suspect Sampson needs our company more than ever since his companion Baylor passed away. This life has many rewards if you only look, but immortality certainly isn’t one of them. A mountain. . .a view. . .a dog. . .good company. Maybe a sunset. If that were our only reward, it might be enough. 

Elizabeth picking ice balls out of Sampson's paws.

---