Reuben's words of wisdom on aging, from Swans Island, Maine

The fog settled around me and Reuben like a blanket. We were draped in a white cloud that had blown in from Toothacher Bay. We heard a dog barking incessantly through the murkiness covering Burnt Coat Cove on Swans Island. Seals were splashing in the distance, chasing porgies. We stared into the haze, lounging on the rock-lined shore, hoping the sun would eventually break through the shroud covering us.

Reuben lay quietly next to me, wrapped up in his thoughts, his head resting on the ground and his legs splayed out in front of him. His eyes moved from side to side, hoping to catch a glimpse of the dog who was spoiling the serenity of the moment.

In August 2017, my wife, Nancy, Reuben, and I had spent a quiet week in Eastport, Maine. We had rented a cabin overlooking Cobscook Bay. One day Reuben and I were sitting quietly watching the waves roll into the bay when he shared his thoughts about hiking. Similarly, Reuben and I were again lolling along the rockbound shore of the ocean on Swans Island, Maine, and I asked him to share his thoughts about hiking. However, today was different from our sojourn two years ago. After our Eastport retreat, Reuben has aged significantly. He is now 84 in human years. He has begun to show signs of becoming elderly: His facial hair is turning white, he has trouble seeing, his hearing is impaired, he sleeps more, needs assistance to get into my truck, runs less and has a prescription for glucosamine to lubricate his arthritic joints. He still loves to chase balls, wrestle with his stuffed animals, swim after sticks, run and bark when greeting visitors, and hike, but his abilities to fully embrace these activities is waning. His endurance is ebbing, his speed has lessened, he doesn’t swim as far, and he has to hike shorter distances (doctor’s orders). Everything he does takes a little more time with increased effort.

However, even with his advancing years, Reuben still looks forward to accompanying me on hikes. He waits patiently as I prepare my pack, eagerly trots to my truck in anticipation of being lifted onto the truck seat, and looks at me with excitement at the trailhead before we set out on the trail. Life has changed for Reuben, just as it does for all of us.

As Reuben and I sat on the shore of Burnt Coat Bay, I turned to him and asked if he could share with me his thoughts about hiking and aging. He was most compliant and willing to provide me with insights into our relationship as hiking partners, especially during these waning years of our lives. He closed his eyes, rested his head against my leg and seemed to enter into a meditative state. After a few minutes, he raised his head and began his dissertation on aging and hiking.

“Gordo [this is the name he calls me], when you get your pack ready the night before a hike, I worry that I won’t be going along and I’ll be left behind. I sleep next to your pack all night, so when you get ready to leave the next day you won’t forget me. I understand that sometimes you and your friends have a long hike planned for the day and I would have trouble keeping up. I will follow you anywhere and for any distance, but eventually I will begin to lag behind, my legs will give out and you will have to carry me. So I accept the fact that for some hikes I can’t go with you. I respect your decision and understand it’s in my best interest. It is just hard to admit that I’m getting old. After you leave, I’ll wait in the driveway for your return and you can tell me all about your adventures.

“What I ask is that you plan shorter hikes of two to three miles with not much climbing. My hind legs no longer have the strength to push my body upward over the ledges and fallen trees or leaping over rock crevices. My heart is in it, but my body just can’t go those long distances anymore.

“When we do hit the trail on the shorter rambles, it’s important that you carry enough water and snacks for me, as you know I get hungry and love to eat dog treats while we hike. I like it when we hike with your friends, because they always have treats for me, better than the kibble you usually bring. Plus you sometimes forget, but they don’t. I especially like Dick. He brings me a specially made steak sandwich. Also, I have a way of looking at your friends and if I stare long enough they’ll break down and give me part of their lunch. It’s much better when you hike with your friends. Another thing is water. I drink lots of water when we hike and when water is scarce, I get very thirsty and lethargic. It’s really essential that you carry enough water for me.

“Please remember I need frequent rest stops. I’m no longer romping down the trail well ahead of you, like in the old days. I need to take a break, paw around on the ground and make a nest in the forest duff where I can curl up and take a short snooze. My stamina isn’t what it used to be, so it’s important that we take frequent breaks. Also, don’t get too far ahead of me when I begin to slow down, especially when we are climbing. I will need assistance getting over boulders and blowdowns. I don’t carry trekking poles like you, so I occasionally need a boost getting up and over those precarious obstacles on the trail.

“I still like to greet fellow hikers and dogs while on the trail and I understand they don’t always appreciate me. You need to help me keep my emotions under control. I think everyone likes me, but some people are afraid of dogs, especially children. Consequently, you need to remind me to hold back and I may need to be leashed. I don’t want to scare or annoy anybody.

“What’s most important to me is that we continue to hike together. I’m slowing down, approaching the age of 84 and you are close behind. We both need to take into consideration our aging bodies, especially with your two knee replacements. I’m looking forward to our three-day backpacking trip together this fall, but please keep the mileage manageable for me and don’t make me carry that doggy pack. I just can’t lug it anymore. You’ll have to carry my food, treats, sleeping pad, stuffed animal and water bowl. We are still partners, and I know I’m your favorite hiking buddy.

“That’s all I have to say for now. I’m tired from all this talking. It’s time for my nap and rest up for tomorrow’s hike to Goose Pond on Swans Island. If your pack is on the floor, you know where to find me.”