12 Years, One Last Mountain

His legs shook on the rocks, but his tail never stopped wagging. Black Balsam Knob isn't steep—just 3/4 mile to the summit. Perfect for a 12-year-old golden retriever who used to bound up fourteeners like they were anthills. Now every step is deliberate, measured. I carried his water. He carried the memory of every trail we'd conquered together. At 6,214 feet, the Appalachian ridgeline stretched endlessly. He sat beside me, panting softly, gray muzzle resting on my knee. The same spot he claimed on our first camping trip a decade ago. Some adventures aren't about reaching new peaks. They're about honoring the ones who taught you to climb in the first place. The descent was slower. I didn't mind. #Travel #SeniorDogLife #LastAdventures