Random Patterns and Events - Eagle Cap Extreme Sled Dog Race

Many would say that I am a person of questionable dog-interest and background. For me, there’s something about all that invasion of personal space, need for attention and dog slobber that generally turns me. Yet a few months ago, while on a solo trike/cycle trip of Oahu a terrible incident occurred and I found myself with no place to stay yet needing to recover. Complete strangers stepped up and took me in. They had two dogs. Dixie, a seasoned well-mannered sleek golden lab and Brodie, a fresh and energy filled tawny brown 9-week old Pug. It’s hard to admit to but I fell for these two canines. Their innate sense of care and protection kicked right in despite our not knowing one another. I was seriously hurt and these two, as I sat or lay in a stupor, would ever so gently come to my aid. They’d just show up and be resting by me, then find a place where they could ease over & connect, lean or press themselves to me. It seemed like they came with the intention to relieve some of or to take on some of my discomfort. This deeply grounded me and helped me to rest peacefully. In a way, it told me that everything was OK, that all would be right and good again. It was amazing, how they’d be there, secured against my legs, side or backside. These dogs and the excellent care I received from their owners, one of whom was a doctor and a gourmet cook (what luck!), gave me a quicker than normal recovery. Obviously, woman and beast, knew how deeply I was scared, displaced, and hurt. I think the dogs sensed that a great violation had happened and it brought out their innate instincts to protect, even a stranger. This obviously is a whole other story but it sure changed how I feel about dogs and it opened my heart to understanding why dogs are so revered and loved by humans.

So - back to my tale about the sled dog race that’s held here in Wallowa County. A series of events, random events with random patterns, began the evening before the start of the 5th annual Eagle Cap Extreme sled-dog race. A friend of mine emailed to ask if I could take her place the next day selling memorabilia. I was glad to help her out, glad to return just one of the many favors she has done for me, and glad to be going to the races. Sitting behind a table of ‘stuff’ didn’t quite appeal to me but getting out from under my Forest Service contract work did. I made plans to drive to Joseph, park my van and ride my bike with trailer of ‘stuff’ up to the designated parking area that’s just below Fergi, then catch their shuttle up to the lodge and race area. In Joseph, I ran into a friend and it took some time to catch up, so I peddled hard down the Imnaha highway. Not being a watch-wearing person, I sensed I was running late and decided to peddle only as far as the historic red round barn, ditch the bike and trailer, and quickly hitch a ride up to Fergie.

A few folks passed me by, no problem, non-locals heading to the race I guessed. Then came a truck complete with the ‘dog condominium’ full of dogs, sleds on the roof, and their musher, Rick Katucki, who’s from Eagle, Idaho. He too was late as he was trying to locate his ‘handler’ who was traveling up from La Grande to help him. No luck, so he had left Joseph ‘handler-less’. At the staging area I quickly found the table of sled dog and race goods only to find that they had plenty of volunteers for the day.

Joyfully, I switched gears and went to offer my volunteer help to Rick. He was bouncing about, getting things done but mostly he was planted in front of a camera crew or the newspaper reporters who were interviewing him. I got a chance to mention to him that I had spent a few years working with purebred Suffolk Draft Horses on a 44-acre farm in western Oregon. I figured handling and gearing-up dogs must be easier than the heavy weight gear involved when handling draft horse equipment. I figured that I could ‘figure out’ how to help him with his dogs. I think I might have forgotten to directly mention that I was, well, not that much of a ‘dog person’. I was though, excited to be of service and learn something new.

First thing to attend to were the dogs - of course! I began by learning how to extend the front and rear truck bumper rails and fasten them in place. Then came the two sections of chains with the eight sidepieces and hooks. I stretched these between the bumpers, one per side and fastened them into place. One by one, the dogs were lifted out of their cubbyholes and snapped onto this picket line. I let Rick do this as getting the dogs out of their personal cubbies wasn’t that easy for me but was routine for him. The dogs, having never met me, probably sensed that I was a bit of a ‘greenhorn’ and that my confidence and ability to hoist them about was probably questionable. I did try to help one dog Goose, out of his cubby but he stood solidly, bracing both front feet against the front box wall, looking straight ahead. ‘No way little deary’ I heard him say, ‘are you gonna get me outta this box’. This was fine, my feelings weren’t hurt, not too much anyway.

As Rick went along he’d explain everything. He’d explain the reasoning for doing certain things and he would share a good story along the way. He’d share little tidbits of history of the sport or of his past racing experiences. All this made sense and seemed so exciting. His love of the dogs and sport was evident. “So here’s how you do it”, he showed me. Here’s how you remove a dog from his hole. Open the door, reach in, under their belly just behind their front legs and pull them forward, front end comes out and you reach over their back and catch their back ends, then lower them down and place them on the ground. A natural event for most of you I am sure but boy, it was awkward for me. Seemed like the dogs were more front heavy and would pour out the front of my arms to the ground with a thug! I think I’d have to have a ‘mini’ sized truck with ‘mini’ sized dogs and thus ‘mini’ sized dog cubbies and sled!

Next I helped by getting the water bowls out of their own cubby and the barrel of water, which had a frozen lid. It was very sunny that day yet cold. Rick broke the seal so with scoop in hand I filled the 8 dog bowls. Rick is a very calm, smiling, personable person. He had tried to find his lost handler, he was being interviewed, and he was lining out a volunteer dog handler, and all the time he chatted away. He had spent that morning with the school kids down in Wallowa. For the school children, he had gotten his dogs out and the kids could pet them. He had gotten his toboggan out and showed them how it was used. He saves all his worn-out dog booties for these types of occasions and each child in the class got to have one for their very own and to take home. This brought them great delight. They in return gave Rick a baseball cap from their school which he made sure he wore for the beginning of the race.

Now for the sled. Rick unleashed it and pulled it off the top of his truck. We attached the big blue sled bag that has 2 large overlapping Velcro edged top flaps and straps that secures it to the inside of the frame of the race sled. The sled, made of wood, plastic, some bolts but mostly sinew which fastens and holds it all together, a metal braking device and center drag pad, was quite light in weight, about 35 lbs. empty. There’s rubber on top of the back runners to stand on and it has a good solid driving or handle bar. The sleds are made to be flexible, not rigid, so that they can bend with the terrain and weight and to give you some control in steering the thing. I attached a pair of cutters to one side of the driving bar where they could be found quickly to cut and release a trapped dog or sled. On the other side was hung a ring of replacement necklines. To the rope loop at the front tip of the sled I attached by a single carabineer the 2 massive metal snow hook lines and the quick release or snub line, all of which wove their way to the back of the sled. These snow hooks rest securely in brackets that are on the sides of the handle bar. Also attached to this front carabineer is the main gang line. Complete with the 3 sets of neck and tug lines plus the 2 forward tugs for the lead dogs. The 2 lead dogs are attached to the gangline only by their harness, then between them is placed the lead dogs neckline. This keeps them connected to one other and keeps them from splaying out, leading the team in conflicting directions. All this gear stretches way out in front of the sled in a straight line like a casted out fly line. As when working with draft horses, all things should be in their place, laid out, set up right and ready for the work/race animal.

Rick loaded his required list of “must carry” and personal gear into the blue sled bag and packed it well. He made up a batch of kibble with water so that it could soak during their journey to Ollocot, the halfway point for the 100-mile race. It didn’t seem like he had much or enough personal food. Being a mom, this was of concern to me but I figured he knew his needs. He’s an experienced musher plus I hear the ‘vittles’ and care at the luxurious ‘Ollocot Resort!’ were superb. I overheard several musher’s commenting on how well they were treated and fed during this race so kudos to all the sponsors and volunteers. Also, I overheard nothing but thankfulness and positive comments about how wonderfully organized this race is.

As we continued to weave around each other, getting things done, fewer and fewer words were shared. We fell into an easy flow, getting the preparation tasks done. I just stayed focused, was having fun and looked forward to the actual start of the race.

Rick’s 8 dogs were so nice and interesting. I quickly saw that they each had their own personality. Each had different types of coats of different colors. They were of different sizes and weighed between 45 and 60 pounds. The rule of thumb says that a husky can pull it’s own weight on a level good trail and that it takes less than 10 pounds of pull per dog to keep the sled moving. Some were shy like Goose and Porter. I’d definitely use the word ‘shy’ for these two as they were not ‘scared, sulking or crouching down’. Maybe they just weren’t into strangers or into being petted. Maybe they hadn’t traveled much or it was their first time here. Maybe they were just comfortable and did not need a lot of human interaction? I had to work at putting the right name with the right dog. There’s Pete and Dozer, Gator, Lightning Lily, the smallest dog on the team and the only female -Slash, Case and Storm in addition to Goose and Storm. Many kennels I am told, name each litter of pups after a theme. This makes it easier to track and remember who each dog is and whom they came from. Thus Storm and Lightning are from the same litter and had litter mates named Rain, Hurricane and Tornado.

Now it was time to work with the dogs. As Rick still bounced from in front of pen and camera to getting me lined out, I learned how to ‘wax’ the dog’s paws. Rick likes to do this, putting a pasty wax on their paw pads, so that if/when they loose a bootie, they still have some protection against the sharp bristly snow and ice. So into the can of Mushers Wax I went. Rick had shown me the best and easiest way to handle his dogs. The ‘handler’ - me, steps over the dogs back and faces the same direction as the dog. This lets them know that you are going to work with them and it gives them confidence in you. Some like to brace themselves between your legs and lean on you. One by one, you pick up their feet or paws, being sure to bend all their leg joints in the right direction. Now Rick has 8 dogs with him and each dog has 4 paws or feet. So let’s see, time for some grade school arithmetic here! If there are 8 dogs and each dog has 4 feet, 8 x 4 = 32 feet or paws. Then a dog’s foot or paw has 3 pads to it. So again – let’s see. If there are 32 feet and each one has 3 pads each, 32 x 3 = 96. Wow! 96 pads to wax! Yikes, I got right to it as that’s a lot of pad waxing! Just about this time Rick’s handler Jim from La Grande found his way. So in tandem, away we worked, getting all 8 dogs feet done.

Next came the 8 sets of 4 dog booties. These do come in sizes so Rick lined them out for us. Again, stepping over the dog’s back and leg lifted, each individual bootie was maneuvered onto each foot, over the waxed pads, drawn taut with the Velcro strap and secured in place with the strap down. I was amazed at how each dogs’ set of feet were different sized even though they all seem to be relatively the same in body size. Then came the harnesses which, like draft horses, are dog specific. By this time the dogs and I somewhat knew each other and this went quite smoothly. Stepping over their backs, I’d unhook the dog from the picket line, slip the harness over their head, lift one front leg into a triangular section of the harness and then the other, re-hook them to the chain and smooth the harness out along the top of their backs and give them a good pat. This seemed to be the signal that the start of the race was near and they began to bounce around and tear up the packed snow. You could feel their body stature change and their energy level rise. Even though the dogs were jumping from side to side and all about, they truly kept their eyes on their master, the musher. Intent and excited, anxiously awaiting the moment of being teamed-up, attached to the gangline and sled with musher in tow, able to thrust forward, tight against the tugs, getting to the work at hand, propelling the mass forward along the course. No matter where Rick went, all 8 sets of eyes (8 dogs with 2 eyes each is how many eyes?) watched him brightly, eyebrows shifting, heads tilting. Rick was Lucky #13 and so for this race, was the last sled out. They don’t start all the teams at once, from a long drawn starting line. Each team sets out one at a time with a 2-minute delay between them. I am not sure how this all evens out in the end. I think it has to do with the required 6-hour layover at the Ollocot halfway point. The starting chute was lined with hay bales which creates a funnel to the arched starting gate. There was flags and plastic fencing opening up on the other side of the starting gate, spitting the teams onto the course. The actual starting line in the snow was bright green and made of jello. Nontoxic and un-alluring to dogs was the reasoning I was told. They had the sleds and dogs anchored to 4-wheelers by their quick-release/snub lines. This made the ‘starts’ go so smoothly and without incident to spectator, man, dog or sled by keeping the dogs from being able to run off and over people or things. The 4-wheelers quietly moved about causing no trouble, very slow and methodical. You could hardly hear them over the deafening cry of all the teams of dogs. These 4-wheelers eased the teams to the starting gate where once again the mushers and their equipment were quickly re-checked and reviewed. Then, just like that, they’d be ‘off and running’. Gliding smoothly on the snow, dogs motoring forward up the hill along the designated course at the toe slope of our local ski area Fergi and quickly out of sight.

Surprisingly, while waiting ‘on-deck’ just before the starting gate, Storm bit right through and snapped his neckline. Just like that, instantaneously. I remembered the ring of extras that I had attached to the sled and now knew their purpose and need. It was just as quickly replaced. Just in time. Several of us were now working to keep the 2 lead dogs, Storm and Porter out in front and thus the whole gangline and dog pairs taut and in ready position. Then I heard the familiar “three, two, one and take off”. We quickly let go of the dogs and dived back out of the way. Like a bolt of lightning -just like that, they were off, sledding and gone. 8 flowing joyous dogs pulling their sled and musher with bounds of energy, leaving only traces of lingering sounds of gliding runners on packed snow and satisfied dog yelps. It was a profound moment of well-wishing by all us spectators, wishing them a safe, fast and just journey along the 50 miles route out to Ollocot and back again.

Out at the halfway point during the mandatory layover, the teams check their equipment, rest/sleep and eat. Then the return 50 miles are navigated. There are checkpoints all along the way with attendants who have radios. So news of the team’s progress is updated regularly. During the rest and layover, Storm couldn’t settle down. So Rick scooped him up, held him tight and they rested together on the snow. I hear a brief mix-up happened down in the Lick Creek area where the course path was a bit confusing. Several of the mushers mentioned that they’d nearly gone the wrong direction and off course. To make it a full 100 miles, up in the Salt Creek area there is an additional loop to add miles. The weather was sunny and quite warm, which is hard on the dogs. They get too warm, dehydrate faster and it slows them down. Plus it makes for a slick and icy course. This requires ‘riding on the drag pad’ most of the way to keep things stable and to keep the dogs from running too fast.

Knowing that Rick’s handler was driving back home that day, I chose to rise early the next morning and be there to help at the finish line. I was hoping to find the keys to his truck like the other handlers had done and have it pulled out and set-up, ready for the tired and exhausted team. No such luck, no keys could be found. Only a few of us were up that early in the dark and we huddled around the huge barrel woodstove in the lodge, listening for radio communications that would let us know when the teams were near. Dee Ogden of Boise, Idaho had come in quite early that morning and had an amazing time of 15 hours and 59 minutes. Word came from the lookout stationed at the top of Fergi that another team was coming down. Frank Caccavo of Deer Park, Washington was on his way and made it in 16 hours and 51 minutes. There’s so much excitement and interest about when a team shows up. They have to stop again on the green jello finish line and be rechecked by the officials for that required list of gear. Then I heard the announcement that Rick was on his way, heading for the finish line. Myself and others were lined up ready to catch the dogs and help out. There they were. All 8 dogs, 32 paws and 96 pads, sled, gear and musher, finishing the course, intact. You could tell they all had been at it, working and running hard.

While waiting at the finish line, the dogs just checked out. Some stretched out on the snow, elongating their bodies, front feet way out front and hind feet behind, yoga style. Other dogs curled up into their tight donut shape. Body and spine curved, front and hind legs brought in, tail over nose and paws tucked in. A few still had energy and relished in the many human pats, rubs and words of ‘good job’ that came their way from the onlookers. The teams’ demeanor, Rick and his dogs, was not notably different other than being a bit tired. All 9 were in good spirits and cheer. I found it amazing that these 8 dogs, a flexible wooden sled and one musher could travel 100 miles in such cold, through the dark of night, along a trail, in fog, in such a short time period, on ice and yet, could come back in one piece, mentally and physically. Athletes, they are. All 9 of them – fit, trained and experienced athletes. Rick’s time was 17 hours and 43 minutes. Did I mention that the day before, when he picked me up, that we made it to the staging area at exactly 11:29 AM? If he had been 1 minute later, he would have been penalized by having an hour added to his time. Oops! Live and learn, as they say. Directly behind Rick, in fourth place was Steve Riggs of Condon, Montana. His time was 17 hours and 51 minutes.

With keys found the truck is moved into place. Mounds of straw is spread about the snow. Then the routine of caring for the dogs and gear begins again. Remember, it starts with the front and rear bumper bars being extended, secured, chain line put in place. One by one, dogs are unhitched from the gangline and sled. First are the two ‘wheel dogs’ (the ones closest to the sled), then the middle two ‘team dogs’, and then the forward two ‘swing dogs’. You work your way out to the remaining two ‘lead dogs’. The best way to guide and move the dogs about is by managing the top of their harness. Once on the picket line, harnesses are removed and hung on a hook outside the back door of the dog condominium. Then the booties, of which there no longer were 32, are removed. 8 bowls with water are put out. Homemade frozen chunks of meat is served to each dog along with more gestures and rubs of ‘good job’. All they wanted to do was curl up and check out for a moment. Rest, relax, calm down and re-claim their wits. Hunger I think was not a primary need.

Once again, as we’re doing the chores, the reporters and camera arrive. Rick graciously moves about, covering both roles and we unload the sled and attached items, placing the gear in its proper storage tubs. I remember well the importance of this, with workhorses. Every piece of gear had its place and purpose. Equipment and animals had to be handled respectfully. If things were in their proper place then it could be easily found in the dark or in an emergency. I remember that there was a routine to all things concerning the workhorses and this seemed to be true for these racing dogs as well.

This time I did lift a few of the dogs into their personal straw lined cubbyholes. Worn out dogs are easier to handle I think and it seemed like they were more trusting, possibly even lighter in weight. Everything was undone and reloaded. Everyone was tired. It was quite quiet, serene, no yelping or activity. Rick made a most amazing meal for his team. Kibble, with water and 6 or more bottles worth of vitamins and who knows what was mixed in. Most all the dogs gobbled their meal instantly -except for Goose that is. Shy Goose, he ate slowly. He’d take a bit or two and back off his bowl, scrunch down, chill and look about. I had just reread the book, Call of the Wild by Jack London. It is part of our local national literary Big Read event. I remembered how the dogs in that story would readily and cruelly steal each other’s or human food, without qualms, as a means for survival and supremacy. These dogs, it was evident, had never experienced that kind of extreme hunger, abuse and over use. Goose hadn’t yet done that much traveling, I was told, and wasn’t yet used to ‘living on the truck’ or of being away from home. Rick noticed that I was concerned and said not to worry. He’d do fine once at home and will fatten right up again.

After their meal, Rick and I went through the line of dogs several times. First, he showed me how to do a good post-race vet-type check of the dogs. Putting a dog between my knees, I’d start at the head and neck area, rubbing in and gliding hands over the length of their body, paying attention to each group of muscles and tendons, feeling in for soreness, swelling and/or pain -listening for yelps and watching for jerks. Arms and legs were folded, joints checked, then stretched way forward and backwards then released. Then came the amazing part. After all this care came another round of rubbing. Yep! Each dog was… well, massaged! How cool is that? Truly. Each dog received a good deep doggie do rubdown. And they just melted like snow in my hands. Their eyes relaxed, squinted and closed. They fell back into themselves without care and against my legs, which brought back memories of Dixie and Brodie. Most of them gave themselves completely over to the rubbing. I no longer felt a stranger to them. I had become a brief part of the team. All thoughts left my head and I just kneaded and rubbed out muscle and tendons, hoping the applied pressure would allow their strong fit bodies to release and relax. Focusing on allowing the blood to flow and release those toxins, to carry oxygen all throughout their furry tired beings. A magic ointment of high quality peanut extract that was somehow green in color, was rubbed deeply into Porter’s rear leg muscle, which was a little sore from the journey.

I felt like I had come full circle now with this team of man and dogs. Start to finish. Pads, paws, booties and harnesses. Sled and gear. On the truck – off the truck. On the gangline and off. I hadn’t traveled the 100 miles but I had traveled nonetheless. Over my course of these random patterns, which were gifts to me, nothing was random any more. I knew the routine. I had fun. I learned how to handle and enjoy dogs in a whole new way. My ‘dogless-ness’ softened and shifted, a bit. I now knew why people could sit there and talk endlessly about their canine friends and their experiences together. I had had my experience with the two wonderful dogs months earlier, which leads me to think that this random dog experience wasn’t so random. Like in London’s book, the instinctual and wild bond between dog and man was exposed and experienced by me. Luckily for all of us, these dogs would never have to ‘learn their place’ by brutal club and fang. It is my opinion that Rick and all the mushers are fine respectful dog owners. His commitment to them shows, as does theirs to him. This brings warmth to my heart, that men and women are into this sport, keeping a part of our ‘survival history’ alive. I applaud you all and please, continue to take good care of your 2 eyed, 4 footed…. or should I say 4-pawed 12-pad sleek personable furry friends. Push them hard, train them hard but heed their limits. We no longer have to travel by sled for survival, transport, necessity. It’s a sport. A fun and healthy sport.

Since the 100-mile racers come in on Friday morning, they have a good day or more before the awards banquet on Saturday evening. Rick had mentioned that he didn’t know the area yet but would like to get his dogs out on a short run the following day, to loosen them up a bit, experience a new trail, and give them all something to do. Being an ex-Forest Service employee who knows the area relatively well, plans were made to take them out Saturday morning. I’d be the guide and passenger, or so I thought. And he’d do the mushing. Given that it was my 40-something-ish birthday, I was thrilled. Early that morning I packed a lunch and water, gathered an old blow-up camping pad and army style down sleeping bag with which to keep myself comfortable and warm while riding in the sled.

On the way out we stopped at Fergi and saw 2 of the 200-mile teams come in. What wonder. 200 hundred miles and the teams, man and dogs, were still happy, healthy and walking! It was hard to leave all that excitement but off we went towards Salt Creek Summit, which not only is a checkpoint for the dog sled races but also a staging area for our local snowmobile club. We had learned that there was some type of snowmobile event going on up their so when we saw the empty parking lot at the bottom of the 3905 road, we pulled over and choose to start from there. On the way I had asked Rick to talk me through how all this was going to happen. To my surprise, I was going to be entrusted to handle a sled along with 3 of his dogs. Whew-eeee! I could have howled. Just like the majestic dog Buck from the book. Head thrown back and full throttle.

Then a whirlwind of thoughts flooded in. I concluded that Rick, experienced at all of this, would not make this offer if he didn’t think it was possible and safe. Holy Cow! -what an amazing opportunity! Mushing my own sled, solo-style. We’d be going so much faster than the draft horses ever went. Did I ever wake up, rein in my thoughts and awareness, and prepare myself for this new adventure. As you can see, the list of ‘random’ events just kept growing and getting better. And you know, I felt confident and settled. I was lucky enough to have learned to ride horses before I learned to walk (or so I’m told) and this seemed to have given me deep innate down home capabilities. I had met the challenges of raising kids, a variety of animals and food gardens. So here was another chance for me to test my wits, to put my mind to it and trust myself. So I thought, why not dog sled mushing! Do my best, be careful with the dogs and sled, and have a great time!

At times, I started to have visions. One was of a scene where the dogs, the sled and myself gets wrapped tightly around some tree trunk due to my giving some wrong verbal command or from taking a corner to wide. Or I’d envision the dogs smelling or seeing a hare, jetting off trail and into the boondocks with me white knuckled to the sled and meekly yelling ‘Stop dogs, please -please stop’! But just as quickly, I’d cut these visions short and gave room for non-catastrophic events to appear. I allowed little vignettes of seeing me, these beautiful eager dogs and sled gliding freely and safely along, flowing around bends and through the trees. Opps! Time to get back to paying attention to Rick as he was walking me through the use and handling of the sled, brake, pad and snow hook. I imprinted my brain and body memory with his “Don’t Let Go Of the Sled!!!” advice. No matter what happens, “Don’t Let Go of the Sled Lynne!”. So, there was no damn way, no matter what, that I would let go of that sled. We were to become one. Me, sled, dogs. A few sections of rope, the very important brake and snow hooks! One! We all were going to function as One! Function as one and have some fun. This was my new mantra. 'We are One and gonna have Some Fun’!

But you know, I had observed that where we had parked it was a little sketchy. The snow was uneven on the berm and this would make the take-off a bit questionable. Again I told myself – have positive thoughts and no worries. Then the lower part of the 3905 road looked quite hairy. Not dog hairy but scary hairy. I had walked up the road a ways and saw the large and seriously long patch of steep out sloping ice. What would the runners of the sled have to ‘bit’ into versus ‘sliding off the hill’ I wondered? I started to worry but then again, switched and visualized ‘going slow, staying calm, navigate best I could and all will be well’.

Getting the 2 sleds set up and anchored to the truck was a challenge for 2 reasons. We only had one snub line and remember, the snow was rough and uneven under the sleds. Dogs were quickly assembled and put in place. My plan was to get good and balanced, solid on the runners, then just reach down and jerk the quick-release cord. Go-for-it and hang on for ‘dear life’……! For the life of me I can’t recall how Rick kept his sled and team anchored during the set-up but then he was off. Then I was off. It was time and we were on our way. The start did go a bit roughly but I was on the runners and we were moving forward, fast. Then we were instantly navigating the sleek icy patch. Again I can’t recall exactly how we got over it. Whew! Fresh dogs! Hang on Lynne, keep your head and just breathe Lynne, breathe. I was doing a lot of personal dialoging here. Simultaneously I was working to figure out the balancing act, the brake and pad. We made it over the serious ice patch, I think the sled and I sideslipped the whole way. Then up the grade of the road. I had to do a lot of stomp pad braking to hold-back and slow the dogs down despite the hill. They wanted to go – fast! The road curves to the right, goes straight, then right again, on into the trees and deeper snow. Here we stopped to rest the dogs near the top of the hill. Rick anchored his sled and came to visit. I had started to see a few scant patches of pale red colored snow. Seeing this blood in the snow lead me to worry that one of the dogs was hurt. Upon mentioning it to Rick he explained how the dogs keep themselves hydrated and that they do get abrasions in their mouths. As the dogs run, they bit and snap up hunks of snow and ice. They’ll be loping along on the gang line and you’ll see one or more jet their necks out to the side, lightning quick and snatch up a mouth full.

After this, the dogs pace smoothed out, they bounded forward in unison, and their breaths deepened. They rolled forward out in front of me and we sailed along. Each seemed to have their own gait or stride and yet they fit together. This all was quite different than riding behind horses in a cart. I was chirping out these verbal commands but not much happened. When you work with draft horses that have the strength to move logs and buildings, so manhandling them is ‘not an option’. They have to be completely trained to verbal commands. This is what connects you to them. It’s not the reins, harness or tugs, it’s not the slapping of the reins on their backs. It’s your voice. You have to be connected to them at all times, to control the situation (not the horse), to keep them and yourself safe while accomplishing a job or task. The workhorse has to totally entrust themselves to you, your knowledge and experience for the situation. And they, like the mantra ‘don’t let go of the Sled’, they ‘Can Not Spook’! It’s just too freaking dangerous.

So in remembering all of this I was feeling a bit uneasy because I felt so disconnected from the dogs. They were like, way out there, on a string. I really had no control over these dogs or where they went. I could pick a path for us to take but I wasn’t sure how to get us all to take it. I did though learn that I did have control over one thing. Our pace. My tools were the brake and drag pad. I used them not only to slow us down and keep us from bunching up into Rick’s sled and dogs but I could use them to signal to the dogs. It’s hard to explain. If I braked just right and shifted my weight, the sled would kind of go a different direction. This was all so new to me. I wasn’t always skilled at accomplishing the desired maneuvers but slowing them down abruptly gave them a clue I think, that I needed them to be doing something different or that I just needed a moment to regain myself. We had gotten to know each other in the race load/unload setting but this was a whole new situation. They were used to and in-tune with Rick’s voice, not mine. So I relaxed and shifted my expectations. They were there, a good ways out in front of me and my sled. They knew what they were doing and how to pull. I’d just try to navigate wide around the turns and not go too fast. Easy enough I thought.

So there we were, gliding and floating along the trail made by the snowmobile crowd. I was balanced firmly on the sled, shifting from one runner to the other according to the terrain with ease. I was wishing that I had had some weight in my sled to give it a little more stability. Using the pad and brake became more or less natural and went well except that my boot would sometimes get wedged down in a space between the sled and brake hardware. Rick explained to me that you can’t brake and steer the sled at the same time. Which is true, but I sure wanted to. The mantra of “Don’t let go of the Sled” faded in my head. This was fun, beautiful and down right awesome. How cool and amazing is this. Being pulled along over the snow at such a good clip by 3 incredible dogs. I began to sense the beauty of the moment, of the day, race and events. And all this was happening on my birthday. What a random gift. The smell of the chill and wintertime woods (between the bouts of dog droppings of course, which is a whole other interesting event, in and of itself) stirred my soul. Seeing the landscape from such a fun vantage point was exhilarating. Thoughts of the old days and having to travel like this to get from place to place, to haul your food and family, provisions and gear, floated amongst my thoughts. I enjoy it when you can be so ‘on-task’ and yet relaxed, all at the same time.

On down the Divide road we cruised, heading north and away from Salt Creek Summit and the snowmobile activities. Then into another section of thicker trees where nice alternating snowdrifts had been created. A little bump on the right, then the left, then the right again and Opps! Guess what happened?! Over the sled and I went, gently landing on our left side, slow motion style. Then the drilled in mantra blasted back into my head. “Don’t Let Go Lynne! Don’t let go of the sled”. So there I was, floating behind an overturned sled. The 3 dogs weren’t noticing. They were still in their peaceful Zen-like moment and running along. They didn’t feel me or the sled dragging, we simply didn’t exist. Luckily Rick and his sled with team were in front of us which kept the pace steady. I tried to figure out what to do. I pulled myself up a time or two but the sled was on its side. I think I tried to yell out to the dogs. No luck. Again, I tried to arm-wrestle myself up to the runners and handle bar. No luck. Hanging on was relatively easy, I was quite calm and was unhurt. My ski pants though, were filling with snow…. Then like magic, another snowdrift possibly and the sled righted itself, being bumped back up into place. So with a good wrestling effort, I pull-up hard and with a hop and a skip and jump, I was somehow back up and I stood to the runners. Amazed, I looked up and saw Rick looking back. I merely waved, gingerly, checking the status of me and the dogs, feeling terribly embarrassed yet proud and jubilant. I didn’t lose my head, I hadn’t ‘let go of the sled’, and all was fine. I had done it. I had experienced the sled flipping over and I had held on. All this happened without a missing of a heartbeat. So no big deal, right? It’s survivable, not that fun but the world didn’t come to an end or anything. As we continued down the trail I scooped piles of snow from my bottoms, exuberant and ready for the next dog mushing challenge.

At lunch, we tried to pull off the track. The snow had a good solid thick layer that ‘bottomed out’ so mushing through it was nearly impossible. We parked the dogs so that they would be in the shade to keep them from overheating. With snow hooks stomped firmly into the snow, we were free to move about. A quick rest and bit to eat, then back on the course we were, heading back home. I have to say the trip back went way too fast. Now being familiar with the trail, snowdrifts and all, everything went well. Rick and I were going to bypass our 3905 road as it looked different from this approach and it came up so quickly. But both teams of dogs knew and were of course going to just turn and head for the truck. Us humans were thinking that we had to go a little further. A brief moment of confusion and dogs piling up, snow hooks automatically anchored, dogs and sleds redirected, lined out and we were off again. That old saying, the one about dogs and horses always knowing their way home came to mind. They all seem to have an innate sense or capacities for knowing exactly where they are in the world, in reference to their home and where they want to go. So here we were mushing back down the 3905 spur road.

Ugly thoughts started to creep in again about the re-approaching out sloping ice patch. We would be approaching and having to navigate it from an uphill angle and grade. Visions of me, the sled and 3 dogs slowly slipping off the icy edge, then tumbling down, rolling head over heel, in a mesh of rope, down to the bottom of the hill and row of trees that lined the main road below appeared. Quickly I stopped this movie and focused on the task at hand and on being positive. I figured there was no way to know or prepare. I figured I’d just trust the dogs, Rick and hope that they’d keep me as far uphill and as safe as they could. I also figured I could just bail, ‘let go!’ if I needed to….

Rick in the lead, did some tricky behind the leg and over the runner with one-leg moves, which pushed his sled upslope somehow. That was wonderful to see but far beyond my skill level. I’d quickly catch a glimpse of them and then they were past. We were approaching, a bit higher up on the patch of ice and this felt good. Next minute we were side slipping. Then the downhill edge of the road was right there, under the runners of my sled. I don’t know what happened but I knew that I didn’t have the coordination to step off the sled onto the slippery ice and push it all up the slope so I just stood steady, alert and waiting. I can’t quite say what happened next or how it happened that we skimmed the edge of the road and then were traveling quickly back to the truck. I knew that we -the dogs and I, had barely made it over that icy patch as my heart was in my throat and pounding hard. Just like that we were pulling up to our finishing point. Friends were traveling back to town but turned around and stopped to visit with us. I was so proud of those dogs. In awe actually. They had taken a virtual stranger out (or had they let a virtual stranger take them out?) on an unknown trail, safely, with no fuss, muss or bother. What secure capable beings they are. This whole weekend personal paradigms on life and dogs were shifting.

It felt relaxing to be doing the dog and gear care routine. Bumpers, picket lines, disconnect/reconnect dogs, one-by-one. Water bowls, water and hugs. Gear removed and stowed. Dogs in cubbies. Sleds secure. Friends gone. Just like that, my ‘birthday high’ was coming to an end. I helped for the last time with the feeding of the dogs. Pleasant images of the day kept loping through my head. Then it was home for a quick clean up and change. Onto the awards dinner I went. It was nice to have been a small part of such a big and fun event. Having worked with Rick and his dogs over the past 3 days, observing his love, skill and care, it all showed and just made sense, this sport of mushing and dog sled racing. Soon dinner was eaten, event highlights shared, awards given and speeches made. Then a live band began to play. Having a deep love for dance my birthday concluded with an evening of being twirled about the dance floor. I have to say, I think I was the envy of my local friends, the full-time normal dog lovers. Having been given the experience of mushing my own sled and team of 3. But no worries I thought. Maybe next year, they’d be the one who’d come into experiencing a series of random events at the 6th annual Eagle Cap Extreme sled dog race.

About the Author
lnprice is a long time naturalist, adventurer and observer of life. She is transitioning from a life of being a supportive part/ner of the second oldest Zine in the nation, Moonlight Chronicles into the field of freelance writing. She definitely doesn’t have any dogs. Just 4 cats, an awesome aspen grove, pond, son/daughter/grandson, gardens, old wore out outbuildings, woven fruit trees and definitely a small cozy home, all of which is affectionately called Ruby Peak Retreat here in the valley of the Nez Perce.

A good site for Mushing Terminology, see: www.everythinghusky.com/features/mushingterms.html

See www.eaglecapextreme.com.

Site about litter theme dog’s www.vernhalter.com/OurAthletes/