knock down, drag out

We got snow! Several inches fell on Friday night, and tonight (Sunday) it is coming down again in earnest. The forecast (although I am loath to trust it) promises more all week. With a little more on the trails, I decided to add Pepper to the mix for Sunday's run. The plan was to hit the right-hand turn on the new trail-head and see if that would connect back to the trail system I'd begun exploring last spring. I was planning on at least seven miles, depending on what we found trail-wise. I added a duffel bag with emergency gear - more for weight than much concern about needing it this close to home - but decided against a forty pound bag of dog food. A decision I'd later regret.

Hook up went well, and we made it down the trail and onto the road with no issues. At the trail head to the creek crossing, a pair of skiers was emerging with two loose labs just as we passed. The labs headed straight for us, hackles raised and barking. Xtra was the only dog to attempt to turn towards them, but Reese's momentum carried her past the pair. They chased us for about a hundred yards before giving up.

At the first trail fork, I called "gee" and started to tap down on the drag mat but before I had a chance, Reese had leaned into the turn took it 100% on the fly. I was elated. I was not elated about the condition of the trail. It was more deeply rutted crap and I was back to hopping from runner to runner, trying to keep the sled upright. And then suddenly there was a wall of snow. The trail shot straight up an insanely steep hill, and there was nowhere else to go but up. I wasn't worried about getting over the thing, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to get back down in one piece. Before I had time to think too hard about this dilemma, we were hauling up the slope and I was off the sled, pushing behind the dogs and trying hard to keep my footing. They stopped several times on the way up, looking back with an, "Um, are you sure about this?" but we made it up and over the top. There was a slight drop on the other side before the trail evened out - truly evened out with no more ruts at all - and we were flying down perfect trail for the first time this year.

Within a minute or so, we passed an intersection I recognized from last year, and the trail was suddenly familiar. With some dread, I realized we had another insanely steep hill coming up, one that I had nearly wiped out on with my old, slow team last year. I needed to think. I stopped the sled next to another trail intersection - to a trail that hadn't yet been broken yet - to give myself a chance to consider my options. We hadn't been stopped more than a few seconds when Reese took the initiative to turn the whole team around and tear off back the way we'd come. In his enthusiasm, Pepper was flipped on her back and rolled through the deep snow. I made a grab for the sled as it whipped around and yelped as I saw the ball of flying snow where Pepper should be. And just as suddenly she was on her feet without a tangle in sight and we were flying back down the trail.

I tried to turn us onto the other trail - the one that swings back behind the farm to trails I am more familiar with - but it came up too fast after a corner and Reese was long past it before I had a chance to hit the brake or call a turn. And then, just as suddenly, we were at the crest of the drop-off and I still didn't have a descent plan.

I frantically stamped for the bar brake, but my foot kept slipping. I managed to stop the sled with just Reese and Xtra out of sight over the berm. I was panicked. There was too much power, not enough snow, not enough weight, too much steep. Who planned that crazy slope anyway? And why did I think running a bigger dog team was ever a good idea? I was in way over my head three miles from home with just five dogs!! Reese, taking my stop as a signal to find another route, dove down a clear spot to the left that may or may not be a switchback alternative to the straight drop later in the season. The team followed, and their momentum and direction change managed to jerk the bar brake from under my foot. The sled whipped around and over the berm and I was balancing on one runner, slamming for the brake with my free foot, screaming "whoa!!" and just as suddenly was face down in the snow, sled flipped, being dragged downhill through snow and willows and scrub with a death grip on the handle bow trying to spread myself out enough to create enough drag to stop the dogs. I imagine the snow-plow gouge the sled and I left on the side of that hill would get a good laugh out of anyone good at reading tracks.

The dogs didn't stop until the hill was behind us and they had joined the main trail again. Then they looked back impatiently, Pepper and Xtra yipping indignantly, waiting for me to flip the sled back over so we could get on our way. I was shaking. I fumbled to my knees, and felt the sled start moving again the second I started to lift it. I barely managed to scramble onto the runners and we were back to negotiating endless ruts and then sliding smoothly over the snow-packed road towards home. Disaster averted.

Due to our early turn-around, we beat yesterday's run by only a tenth of a mile. The dogs were still raring to go when we pulled into the yard, and I had been riding the drag the whole time. We need more miles, but I'd rather put them on without thin creek ice or heart-stopping slopes to contend with. At least so early.

Peter and I walked down to the creek crossing tonight to check the ice. There were numerous ski-and-dog-and-boot tracks over the crossing and although there were some concerning spots upstream, the ice was solid under our feet. The problem is that the water level is much lower this year than last, and there is a significant drop-off on both sides of the creek. Either side seems manageable from downhill, but dropping onto the ice from above will take more skill and agility than I think can reasonably expect from myself at this point. Yet when we walked up the trail from the creek, we were met with perfectly groomed trails, wide and smooth and endless ... so close, yet so far away.

Today's big lesson is that I need to spend some time with Reese, probably with another person, breaking this habit he has of pulling a U-turn the second the sled stops. I have a good idea of what I need to do - he's a smart, responsive dog and I think he'll figure it out pretty quickly- but I can't do it without another person to manage the brakes (and here is where Peter gets recruited ... again, poor long-suffering guy.) As great as it is that Reese can pull off a perfect around-haw on a narrow trail, it is ultimately potentially dangerous that he decides to do this every time we stop.

 In other news, some preliminary research indicates that my instinct about shortening the wheel tugs is completely wrong. Also, my attempt at getting the dog-box jury-rigged to fit the truck (it is made for a smaller bed) was thwarted this evening. Back to Lowes tomorrow. Live and learn. In the mean time, it is snowing like it's going out of style out there. I am still not sure how I'll manage our run tomorrow, but I can't wait to give it a try.