first run

There was not enough snow, and I knew it. But there was some old snow, and some new snow. I reasoned that with only four dogs it couldn't possibly be that bad. The dogs had been sitting in the yard for two weeks, Leo would hardly let me touch him, and they were as restless as I was. Plus, I had a brand-new sled to try out. A sled I had spent the past month working over and tweaking without a test-drive.

I had Pete drop us off (and help wrangle dogs, since my dog truck is currently the back of my subaru) at the Ballaine Trailhead. The difference between the mountain-raised trapping dogs from last winter and the Iditarod Veterans was immediately apparent. I clipped Leo in first and walked back to the car, and he held the line out straight until everyone else was in place ... although he did start yelping in anticipation about about a minute. Last year, someone had to hold Rsta in place (though often I tied her where I needed her to stay) and even then there was usually a major tangle to get fixed by the time we were ready to go. Hook-up often involved her circumnavigating the sled several times at various angles, dragging dogs and line with her. Having Leo hold the line out like a pro was a dream come true.

Once I pulled the brake, we headed towards the trails and everything went swimmingly for about a hundred yards. Once we crossed Goldstream Creek, I realized that NOBODY had been on these trails yet this year. No trail was broken and the dogs were running straight ahead because they didn't know what else to do. When we got to a spot where there was a cut-across trail into woods-trails last year, I called "gee" experimentally. Leo and Dottie dove into the snow & weeds to the right, looked back for confirmation that they were headed where I wanted, then plowed through the trail-less, frozen marsh until we hit the trail in the woods on the other side. Power Steering!! Amazing!! I wanted stop and feed them a huge steak dinner right then and there.

Then we hit the "trail." It became immediately clear that this was going a rough run, and that I wasn't going to be doing any "riding" at all ... not only was the trail not broken at all, but the ground had been torn to pieces by ATVs over the summer, and it was impossible to keep the sled going straight - or going at all, without nearly carrying it along behind the dogs. I ended up running behind or beside it, constantly steering around & over huge ruts and downed trees & generally manhandling it through the mess. I was instantly glad I've been hitting the gym hard this month, but within 100 yards it was clear the gym time wasn't nearly enough. The dogs were confused at the constant jerking behind them, and kept looking back wondering what on earth was going on back there. A few times, Leo thought my cursing at the trail was close enough to a command that he plunged off into the woods.

After an eternity, we made the loop back around to Goldstream road. I was exhausted and soaked in sweat, and we had barely gone a mile. There were no cars in either direction when we got to the crossing, but Leo & Dottie thought we were supposed to follow this big inviting asphalt trail instead of cross it. They pulled straight out into the road, then swing hard right. I called them left, and they immediately swung ALL THE WAY left. I had the sled brake on, stopped in the last little bit of unplowed snow on the side of the road with the dogs in the middle of the road swinging back and forth in a 180 degree half-circle from left to right to left to right as I yelled and pointed. Back & forth. Left & right. Over & over. In the mean time, traffic was piling up in both lanes. Once I was sure the cars were stopping for our little four-dog circus, I started laughing so hard I could hardly breathe. Eventually, Dottie realized there was a trail in FRONT of them, and started towards it, dragging Leo with her. I let the brake go, and whooped at them all, and we shot across the road and onto the real trail like a rocket. Things were great for about ten yards ... then we hit even worse rutted trail.

My plan had been to run all the way home on our usual trail from last year, but it became clear that the destruction and lack of snow was too much work for all of us (it was 5F, and I was pretty sure I could have worn a t-shirt.) I called Peter and asked him to meet us where we would get close to a road again and haul us home.

After about half a mile of horrible trail, we started to cross marshes, and when we hit flat frozen water the dogs picked up the pace and I could ride a little bit. Leo was still being a true professional, taking my directions to veer left or right across some of the trackless marsh to where I knew a trail would open up on the other side. Finally, we hit a packed snow-machine trail, and the dogs really kicked it up. Things were looking good. Just before the last big pond between us and our destination, the snow machine tracks turned the wrong way. I called Leo "haw" and we headed out across the perfect unbroken snow. I was taken again by the wonder of having a real lead dog out front ... for about fifteen seconds. Then I saw the open water. There were little holes in the ice where the pond was still freezing up. I froze on the runners and listened hard. No sound. No ice cracking. I looked at the dog's feet. No water, no soft spots sagging under them. Time slowed. I looked around and saw more and more pockets of open water. I realized Leo was taking us through the maze, steering directly between each dark spot. I whooped for speed and held me breath until we got into the cattails on the other side. I didn't look back.

We ran up the big, sloping farm field at the top of which Peter would be waiting. Now, though, with smooth trail under us, the dogs were running strong and fast and looking happy. We got to the car I realized there was enough snow on the roads to keep going, so I stopped long enough to tell Peter we were going to run home on the road, and to just follow us back. We were flying now, the Iditarod dogs in a solid lope on the packed road snow. I wanted to give them some fun speed so they wouldn't internalize the frustrating, slow, rutted trail from the beginning of the run. They made the first right-hand turn perfectly. For some reason, Leo decided to try to take EVERY SINGLE right hand road before we got to the road home. Instead of correcting himself, Leo just kept swinging right ... so we ended up doing doughnuts in the middle of the street to get pointed in the right direction again with Peter stopped behind us in the Subaru laughing. When we finally got to the CORRECT right-hand turn, we flew down the road and Dottie hauled the team left and into the driveway on command. Perfect.

The outside dogs got big bowls of hot chicken soup & went to bed. Pico passed out downstairs by the heater. I plugged in the power drill battery to make some minor adjustments to the sled and stripped out of my soaked clothes. Despite the awful trail, the first run was a rousing success.

The difference between these dogs & the trapper dogs is incredible. Last year, our first run was barely a mile, full of frustrating tangles - and that was on good, packed trail in December. This year our first run was more than three miles on the worst trails I've ever seen, without a single tangle or major incident and the dogs weren't ready to stop when we got home. Last year, it wasn't until late January that I could ride up the hill next to the farm-field instead of running behind the sled pushing with the dogs. This year, on our very first run, I never left the runners, and only had to kick a couple of times to steer. These 12 year old dogs, with easily over 80,000 miles between them, getting close to retirement, are stronger and faster coming out of summer break than the spry two-year-old trapping dogs were after a month of training. I have a feeling we will be pushing 20 milers by Christmas. This is going to be awesome.