overflow

It is amazing what a difference trail conditions make. Today we ran the nine-mile loop that was such a nightmare several weeks ago. With poor trail, we did nine miles in just under two hours. Today, we tore through it in fifty minutes and when we got home it was clear we could and probably should have done more. I’ll have to start working out longer loops to do from the house. With the dogs looking good and the snow decent, I’m tentatively planning another White Mountains run on my next stretch of days off.

Today we hit three decent sized patches of overflow. I have watched the team enough to know that Leo and Dottie hate overflow and will go to great lengths to get around it or jump over it if possible. Sawyer and Pico don't seem to care, but will follow the lead of the other two and seem to pick up on their stress if it is a big patch. There was some overflow on O'Connor Creek, but it was refrozen almost completely and there was good snow downstream for the dogs to find traction on. Another big patch lay in the middle of a pond alongside O'Brian Road, but it wasn't deep and we sloshed thorough it in seconds.

Before I'd ever been on the runners of a sled, we dog-yard sat for a couple with fifteen dogs and a tiny off-grid cabin about ten minutes from our place. I made several videos of our two week long tenure there, and one involves a nice explanation of what exactly overflow is.



After much deliberation, I decided to call this blog Overflow. The primary reason is that overflow scares me. I have heard stories of mushers running into overflow five feet deep and coming out soaked to the bone at -40 with no way to dry out or warm up in sight. I spent all last year in terror of running into overflow, and would go well out of my way to avoid it. When I finally did go through a patch in the spring it was unexpected and nearly up to my knees ...

and nothing happened. The dogs hauled the sled and my yelp of terror through the icy water. My pants and boots froze up, but I stayed warm for the last five miles of the run and the dogs and sled were none the worse for wear. That was the last run before Sepp returned to claim is dogs.

The truth is that mushing scares me, too. Is it a whole new world to learn that I know nothing about, a venture that takes me away from my own comfort zone and the relative safety in which we live our everyday lives.

When I accepted the offer of three loaner dogs for the winter, there was a month before I would actually get them. It was a month of worry. Here is an excerpt of an e-mail I sent to a dear friend in the interim:

The weird thing is that I keep swinging into panic. I am terrified that our landlord will find out we're keeping five dogs on the property (although she never knew last year, when we had four.) I don't know where we are going to get three winter-worthy doghouses. I'm terrified that the little bit of part-time work I've managed to pull together for the fall and spring won't be enough for us, much less three more dogs. The litany of old worries that I had to shovel down deep every time I took the dogs out last year are suddenly boiling on the surface again. What if we run into an angry moose, and he stomps the dogs to death? What if we hit deep overflow and the sled goes in? Or the dogs go through a hole in the ice? Or I do? What if I lose the sled and the dogs run into a road and are hit by a car? Or one of them gets tangled and dragged to death? Or a snowmachine runs us down on the trails? Despite getting exactly what I was hoping and dreaming for, I had forgotten all of the worry that goes along with running dogs. And my inability to function through it, at least in terms of being able to get to sleep at night.

In the end, I guess I'm realizing that I have a long way to go in suppressing fear, and not letting it control my life. Much further that I'd like to think ...

Now that I have had the dogs for a month, that a full-time job that allows me to run dogs five days a week materialized, as did dog houses, as did snow, I am still plagued by worry. Now, though, I am finding (as last year) that forcing myself to step on the runners every day despite my fear of moose, of cars, of snow machines, of holes in the ice, of overflow, has become an exercise in overcoming fear. I hope that it is helping in some way with the other fears that I find myself facing daily, especially now that I am working as a lead medic with partners who have even less experience and confidence than I do. As hard as it is to face the trails every day, I believe facing overflow is the best way I can learn to face everything else. Not with less fear, but I hope with a little more courage.