The day after we slid off a slick road in Trapper Creek, Alaska, smashed our truck into our friend’s, and ripped his snowmachine off our rented trailer bed, I decided to return a few weeks later, this time bringing Kyra and Ethan.
Thomas asked me why I wanted to risk another seven thousand dollar mistake, I told him that it was a lifetime opportunity. A retired Air force pilot and his wife, who lived off-the-grid at the end of the road where we crashed, invited us to run their dogs the same day the Iditarod Sled Dog race started.
An Alaskan resident for seven years now, pregnant a few months after we moved here, I can tell you this kind of offer is rare. First, there’s the problem of mychildren being too young for adventure tours. Usually, companies will not allow children six years of age or younger to participate. Second, adventure tours like riding a snowmachine, an ATV, a jeep or rafting or mushing are very expensive. Most Alaskans rent or buy their own“toys,” but if you wanted to go on a tour, try $249 per adult for a 3.5 hour dog mushing experience. Third, this couple offered to pick us up with their snow machines (since their home is inaccessible by car) and let us stay in their guest cabin (if I’m okay with no running water).
We bounced up and down a hilly trail which opened up upon a campus of logstructures. Huskies chained to handmade dog shelters lined each side of the trail which looped into a culdesac. The sun glittered a traffic jam of snowmachines and dog sleds and ATVs cluttered about the front of the main cabin.
“It’s Balto!” Kyra squealed in excitement. Balto is her favorite subject in school lately. As soon as we killed the snowmachines, the kids ran down the trails carved into the snow. I could only the see the tips of Ethan's dragon hat.
In the distance, I watched the kids help Hal harness four dogs and set up thesled. They crawled in and out of the dog shelters while the dogs looked at them nervously.
I imagined living here. Pumping water from the well a few feet away from the cabin. Chopping wood at the north end of the campus where the Morgans hadstocked a 10 foot by 5 foot high wall of wood. Carving wood or cleaning carcusses inthe barn at the east end of campus. Feeding the dogs. Building their shelters. Relaxing on the porch to the sound of Kroto Creek rushing by.
Hal's wife decided that it was too dangerous to let the kids mush so she entertained them while Erica and I hopped on snowmachines and followed Hal and his dogs out to the swamps.
We broke out of the woods to this clearing and Hal handed the sled to me.
“Uh, I have no idea what to do," I said.
“Hike to go. Haw to turn left. Gee to turn right. Whoa to stop.”
Hal held on to the handlebar while I stepped gingerly onto the runners.
“Okay, I’m going to hop on that snowmachine. Just follow me okay? When you’re ready to go, grab this snow hook,” Hal stepped on the hook that was deep in the snow beside the runners, “and place it here on the drive bow.” He pointed to a place beneath the handlebar.
Hal cranked up his Cadillac and swung it in front of the dog team. I could feel the tension in the line as the dogs strained against their harness.
Grabbing tightly to the handlebar, I reached down with my right hand and lifted the snow hook. The hook was barely loose when the sled took off. I nearly fell off. Somehow, I managed to get the snow hook onto the drive bar.
Wind chaffed my cheeks as the dogs picked up speed. At first, I stuck my butt out thinking that if my center of gravity was lower it would help the dogs. But after a mile of not falling off the sled, I relaxed and stood up straight. This is exactly where I had always wanted to be. I could feel every bump, rut, beneath the runners. I started to lean left or right digging in the runner if I felt the sled wobbling beneath. My heart filled with helium and rose into the skies.
I studied the gait of the dogs. The way the two lead dogs leaned against each other.
Soon, they broke out of the woods and onto a frozen lake. I was on centerstage, like I had finally arrived at the performance of my lifetime. The dogs panted hard. The ice scraped below. The engine of the snowmachine roared. But inside, all was strangely quiet. I couldn’t hear my heart, my mind churning cautions, nothing. Just peace.
When we got back to the Morgans, Kyra said to me, "Mommee, next time take me."
She then climbed onto the runners and demanded that somebody be her "dog."
Ethan was more than happy to oblige. Fortunately, Kris stepped up and taught the kids all the mushing commands and pulled them around for an hour it seemed. Kyra learned that "mush" is a Hollywood term, and that the correct term is "Hike."
