technical difficulties

We did a seven-mile recovery run today along the south-valley trail. The dogs ran great. Pico continued to do well up front and his passing manners are incrementally improving. On the down side, the trail was all ruts and ice and we won't be heading that way again until we get significantly more snow. I also crashed the sled again on that first half-mile of trail coming out of our neighborhood. I didn't go down as hard, but I'm still sore from yesterday's two spills. I am tentatively planning on an alternate start site for tomorrow.

I took my old, faulty GPS on this run, and it only shorted out on me once. According to the trip calculator, we were averaging around 7.5 mph, with a top speed of 14. I broke down last night and ordered a new(er) unit that should arrive next week. This version, in addition to not shorting out every fifteen minutes, should also allow me to upload my routes onto google earth. I adore maps, so this is an exciting (if a little geeked-out) prospect for me. It will also allow me to gauge our mileage better, and see how different trail conditions change the pace of the run.

Dog sledding is one of the most back-to-the-basics modes of winter travel. There is evidence that humans have been using dogs to pull sleds to travel the northern latitudes for over a thousand years. Although snow shoeing and cross country skiing are the purest forms of back country winter travel, with that kind of history dog sledding can't be far behind. Even today with fast and powerful snow mobiles available, many trappers and homesteaders in the north depend on dogs as a more reliable and safer method of travel in the deep dark and cold of winter. Sepp is one of them, but he is hardly alone.

There is something deeply compelling about whispering down a snowy trail with only the hiss of runners in your ears. The trees whip past, snow mist floats in the air catching the sun, dog's whiskers freeze into beards of ice from their exhaled breath. Miles blend together into moments and moments stretch into hours of trail. Nothing can capture it, not words, not pictures, not video.

Yet I have found myself compelled to pack a camera and occasionally a GPS to track the exact milage of those moments and to attempt to capture some of the fleeting images that make up the hours we are on the trail. I want to share some of those moments, but I find the moments ruined by even the presence of the camera in my pocket. Instead of relishing the trail, I am wondering if I should try to catch it on video or worrying that the batteries are freezing or that the light is off. Instead of focusing on the dog's gait & attitude, I am checking our mileage on (or, more usually, re-booting) the GPS.

Last year, I believe I erred too much on the side of technology. I had a camera in my pocket or a GPS in my hand distracting me from the moment too often. This year, I want to strike a better balance. I want to get footage of new trails, of snow conditions and overflow, of wildlife and (hopefully, eventually) some wild and comic moments of speed and confusion and wipeouts. I want to gauge our mileage and trace the new trails we find. But I also want to have plenty of runs where there are no gadgets to fool with, where I can fully live in every moment with my dogs and learn from them and from the trail as we explore this winter paradise together.