Sharing a third of my life with a boisterous Malamute always made me want to try dog sledding. The day has finally come to give it a try!
There is nothing quite like the obnoxious buzzing of an alarm before dawn. It sends you into quite the tailspin that is somewhat akin to the stages of grief. First comes denial; if I just ignore the sound, it will disappear. I'm clearly dreaming about it. Next, anger creeps in; perhaps if my phone suddenly learns to fly, it will shut up and let me continue sleeping. Bargaining shows up quickly thereafter; the snooze button exists for a reason! Eventually, depression comes along; why do I do this crap to myself? Finally, acceptance as I realized there was an excellent reason I set such an early alarm.
I drag myself out of bed and prepare to leave. Today Robyn and I are headed into Algonquin to learn how to mush dogs, and I have been waiting for this weekend for months! After a quick shower and half a cup of tea, I punch "Sunday Lake" into my GPS, and we are off. Still half asleep, we get halfway to Peterborough by the time I realize there are two Sunday Lakes within driving distance of Toronto, my GPS chose the wrong one. We have been driving east instead of north!
After a quick pullover to adjust our route, the new ETA is 10:50am. This is a nuisance because our meeting time is 10:30! A beleaguered guffaw escapes my lips as I immediately worry that we will miss out! Determined to make up time, we push the boundaries of warp speed. One comically rushed gas and pee break later, we are rocketing down the highway, determined not to be late! The roads weren't busy and in good condition as fortune would have it. After a stressful race, we pull into the Sunday Lake parking lot at 10:27am.
The first thing we notice is that there are 28 very excited dogs waiting for us! (And a few humans, but those are much less important) The chorus of excited barking is impressive as each dog knows that fun and cuddles are in their near future. Eager to get going, Robyn and I rush to pull our snow gear on as our teachers begin briefing us on how to drive a dog sled.
Meeting our team is the best part! We will be running with a pack of 7 delightful Alaskan Huskies. The two smallest, Ali and Mammo are upfront as our lead dogs. The magnitude of their kind, gentle nature is only eclipsed by their intelligence and focus. They know their job and are very good at it! Next in line are Pride and Laseine; Pride is exactly as his name suggests; he is regal and confident, always sitting with perfect posture. Laseine, in contrast, is a boisterous troublemaker. Leo and Burton are next up. Leo is a cuddle monster who happens to be a smidgen cross-eyed; Burton is the gramma of the bunch who will be retiring in two days! Finally, at the very end is Jaloux, who is not paired with anyone because he is quite the shit disturber. Nothing is easy with Jaloux, but his power is incredible, and ultimately he just loves to run and be loved.
The first step is in harnessing all the dogs. We lay out each harness in preparation, and the dogs go wild. Harnesses mean running, and running means fun. 28 tails are wagging so fast that I wonder if any will achieve liftoff. One at a time, we gently help each dog into its harness. (Except Jaloux because if you harness him too soon, he will eat the harness) After the harnessing is complete, the next step is hooking the team up to the gangline. (Leaving Jaloux until the very last moment; otherwise, he will eat the gangline)
Finally, we are ready. The team is all hooked up and bursting with energy. We pull the snow hook; the only thing holding us back is a tether that our instructor will release. Both feet on the break, Robyn is buzzing with excitement as I stand behind with a big dopey grin on my face. Moments later, the rope is released, and we are off. The sheer power and excitement of the seven dogs is humbling. We nearly flip the sled on the first turn. The team behind us isn't so lucky but manages to right their sled impressively fast. I'm in heaven; it's like riding a snowy rollercoaster pulled by pure furry bliss.
Robyn and I get the hang of balancing, leaning, and driving as we rocket down the path. The weather is a hint too warm; the light snowfall turns to a mix of slush and rain. Annoying but expected given the lateness of the season. There is still plenty of snow on the ground, which is all that matters.
Despite the humidity, the rest of the ride to camp is incredible. Eventually, we pull up to 28 tiny houses that mark camp arrival. Upon arrival, the first step is to ensure that the dogs are cared for. We hastily unhook each dog, remove their harness, and walk them to their individual houses. Next come cuddles and massages for each, followed by water and dinner. Once complete, the pups mostly settle in for a well-deserved nap while we go unpack.
Arriving at a camp already set up is a somewhat alien concept to me and something I could get used to. Being able to saunter into a large, warm canvas tent to unpack rather than setting up a tiny cold backcountry tent is a new experience. The guides tell us that they have all the camp chores covered and that our duty is to relax and shower the dogs in endless affection.
Nothing prepared me for the emotional roller coaster of trying to balance cuddles between pups fairly. Dozens of yearning huskies beckon in earnest whenever attention is given to just one. What surprised me most about the sled dogs is how gentle they are. I expected that these powerful athletes would be boisterous or, at the very least, a bit more wild than your typical house dog. I was wrong; each dog blissfully melts into your arms anytime you come to say hi.
The rest of the evening was relatively uneventful. We enjoyed a wonderful meal prepared by our instructors while relaxing around a roaring campfire. Sleep, as usual in the backcountry, wasn't readily available to me; I spent most of the night listening to the sounds of the forest. The dogs, while mostly quiet, would occasionally erupt in a ballad of howling as if to answer the call of their wild instincts.
In the morning, we woke to perfect winter weather. Just cold enough to allow for gentle snowfall but not chilly enough to be uncomfortable. As soon as we were up, so were the dogs. They knew it was breakfast time and were eager to tear into their morning meal. We enjoyed a leisurely breakfast before breaking camp. The bacon sandwiches were particularily delectable.
Soon it is time to harness the dogs and prepare for our journey home. The harnessing process is essentially a mirror of the previous day but with the added perspective of now working with a group of dogs, we have bonded with. Soon we are on the trail just as the morning sun decides to show itself. The bright radiance of the rising sun creates a sort of surreal experience on the trail. Glistening, each snow crystal comes together, making magic that is hard to put into words.
One unfortunate side effect of the bright sun is that it immediately begins warming the trail's surface. Not enough to cause slush but more than enough to ensure that the snow is sticky. Even though we are stopping less frequently, the going feels slower than the day before. Regardless, the dogs are still having a blast!
The up and down through the Algonquin trails is fantastic, and we even go through a frozen marsh. As with yesterday, the experience is terrific. In what feels like an instant, we are back at the parking lot, and it is time to say goodbye. After expressing our gratitude to the dogs and the trainers, we turn our hearts to the road home.
