Falling Into George's Gorge
(or How to Get a 130 Pound Sissy Out of a 10 Foot Hole)

Our evening walks have gotten longer now that we have explored our new home. We use the tractor to mow trails throughout the property. The original purpose of the trails was to take a 4-wheeler through the woods to deer stands. We have kept them mowed and we never tire of walking or riding them.

Our house sits at the top of a hill. At the bottom of every hill in this country is a creek. It may be a spring fed creek, or a run off of rain water, but they are there. We have three such creeks. A run off to the north which gets stagnant in the summer, a run off to the south which slows to a dribble, and a spring fed creek to the south of the second.

The spring fed creek is incredibly cold and has spots where the water is actually hip deep on an adult. There are other places where the water is shallow and runs fast. One such spot is George's Gorge. It's named after the person who found it and is a real honest to goodness gorge cut through layers of clay and rock. The creek bed is about 10 feet deep in that area with concave sides. The gorge itself is about 20 feet across at the top. The creek is about 5 feet wide at the bottom of the fall. We use the roots of a tree and a strategically placed rope to get into the gully at the top of the gorge where the water slides down a rock face (the fall). At this point, you can actually step across the creek on the rock.

Jack and I climbed down into the creek leaving Mann up top. Of course, he has recently developed separation anxiety and just couldn't stand it. Before we knew it, he had followed us into the gully. The problem is - Mann can't (or won't) jump. We have to use the rope to get ourselves back to the top and Mann lacks that trick as yet. Fortunately, we knew it was a problem as soon as he splashed down beside us. If we had waited, we would never have gotten him out before dark. (Now we carry a light with us.)

The bottom of the gorge has shelves of rock and very slick clay on the sides which we carefully traverse. One wrong step and you sort of "surf" right into the water. Thankfully, the water is only about a foot deep. Mann managed to get down the root steps - very pleased with himself - and stepped across the creek onto the shelf. Splash! off his feet and right into the water. I got that other wolfhound look (you know, the "I cannot BELIEVE you did that to me!" look).

He scrambled back onto the shelf, digging in with all his claws. Then he made his second mistake. He had to shake off the water. Splash! right back into the water! By now he was thoroughly disgusted and ready to go home. He hopped over the creek, Ooooops! Splash! wet again. This time he had the good sense to climb out on the other side. Then he looked up at the wall he had to climb to get back to civilization. Root steps are basically a toe hold, not enough room for a wolfhound that can't get his feet into size 5s.

He's a trooper though. He gave one mighty shove with those huge back legs, lots of scrabbling with the front, and made it up to within a foot of the top. Sadly, he slid back down Splash! Okay, how do you explain to someone with a very limited understanding of the English language that you have to tie a rope around his body and DRAG him out of a hole? You don't. It's show and beg. He was fine while we were making the impromptu harness. But when Daddy climbed out of the hole and started pulling and Mom got UNDER him and started pushing, it was just too much. He planted those strong front legs firmly in the bank and refused to budge an inch.

Then I tried finding a better place to get him out, but that meant Mann would have to get his feet wet - again. He gave me a hearty NO on that idea, so back to the pulling and pushing. We finally decided that if we were going to beat the darkness home, Mann would have to get his dignity damaged a bit more.

We pulled the rope around a tree and Jack handed it down to me. This time we both pulled. I actually picked my legs up off the ground and hauled him up while Jack made sure he didn't get pinched by the tree. Daddy was the hero, Mom was the bad guy. He didn't speak to me until the next morning. Thank goodness dogs can't remember their hurt pride overnight.