On the last of the big right-hand trails I'd seen, I impulsively asked Norrin and Billie to turn right at the junction. They figured out what I wanted without having to bring the team to a complete stop, and we were soon plowing down a broken but not recently run trail over a crust of new snow. This route wasn't nearly as straight or as wide as the big main trail, but it was much wider than many of the dog sled and ski-only trails we've run down. Snow-laden alders bent over the trail, making a tunnel that fit the dogs perfectly but left me ducking or throwing up an arm to protect my face from the thin, whipping branches and snow showers I created slamming into them. The trail wove north towards the hills, ducking down little gullies and up rises and weaving in and out of stands of white spruce. I noticed that whenever we hit a particularly twisting section of trail the team, Billie in particular, seemed to speed up and charge around the corners as if excited by the unseen possibilities offered around the bend.
I was hoping that this trail would shadow the flat path on the valley floor, taking us up to that new highway-like trail under the bare bluff about eight miles out, but I soon realized that even if it did, we weren't going to make it on this run. I had a limited amount of time to explore, since I had to be at work that afternoon. But more than that, this path was weaving around the hills almost haphazardly. One minute, we'd be moving along approximately parallel to the hills, the next, we'd be doubled back and going nearly east, then for a while we'd be heading straight towards their looming slopes before turning sharply west again.
After several miles, I decided to look for a likely place to get the team turned around and head back. The decision was made for me when I saw the trail disappear into a deep gorge ahead of Norrin and Billie. I didn't want to try to turn around on that, or scramble back up the slope on the way back. I hooked in and walked up the team, giving everyone a good ear scratch. Tails were wagging all around, and spirits on this new trail seemed high. I flipped the snow-hook around so it would be less likely to pop free when the team was pulling in the other direction, then hauled Billie and Norrin around. As soon as they saw what was going on, the rest of the team charged back towards the sled. Billie and Norrin, now being dragged backwards by their harnesses, both balked.
I still haven't figured out the best way to turn the team around. We still don't have the looping-trail options to prevent the need to back-track, but it seems stressful for the leaders and there are always be epic tangles to get sorted out when we're done. I've taken to unclipipng Pepper and Xtra's neck lines to help prevent some of them, but this only mitigates line disasters a little bit. I hope that my new-found calmness in all this chaos (perhaps born of having to sort out more tangles than I care to think about this year) is helping. I used to get super stressed and feel rushed to get everyone sorted out. Now I just work my way down the line and use the time to give the dogs a rub-down and ear-scratches as well. At the beginning of the season, when Norrin was faced with a 180 degree directional change, he would lay down and have to be hauled bodily back to the front of the line. Now, he will consent to being walked to where I need him with only a little hesitation, as long as I stay next to him.
Also, I am always a little unsure of what to do with the snow hook. It won't hold the team pulling on it backwards, but I can't always get enough of the tension off to flip it around when I need to. It is probably a little too small for an eight-dog team anyway, but now that there is enough snow on the ground to sink it in deep, and because this team is a relatively mellow group, it has worked out so far. It usually only pops loose during directional changes, but holds the team just fine while we're hooking up or stopped on the trail.
I remembered, as the hook popped out this time before I was ready and I had to catch the sled as it passed me, that there is another snow hook - an insanely huge and heavy-duty one - that came with the extra sled I borrowed. I decided to add it to the main sled for our next run, so I could set it backwards in anticipation of a turn-around to make the whole event even more stress-free.
On the run back to the house, I noticed Pepper glancing into the trees just before we reached the road. I followed her glances thinking our little moose might still be hanging around in the brush. I was startled to see that what I'd taken to be a small yearling moose was just a big calf, now tucked into the haunches of his barn-door sized mother who was looking right at me through the trees. I held my breath and watched her carefully, but she didn't so much as flick her ears at us as we passed. The moose out here seem much more mellow about sharing their space than the aggressive mommas I dealt with last year in Goldstream.
For the next run, we stayed on the straight valley trails all the way out and took a left at the big highway trail when we ran into it. I was intending to run an extra mile out, bumping our total mileage up to the magical number twenty. One of my goals for this season was to get the team running in the twenty to forty mile range, and until our successful eighteen mile run a few days before this was beginning to seem like a pipe-dream. I was excited that things were finally coming together towards this goal.
The trail headed directly south, towards the river. I expected to come out onto the ice at any moment, but I had no intention of running on the Tanana, no matter how well traveled the trails seem. I have heard stories about the variable ice conditions and currents on this huge glacial river and I am still not comfortable enough with ice travel to go it alone with the team. When we came out of a huge stand of spruce onto a vast open area, I thought for a moment we'd hit the river. By the time I got the team stopped, however, I realized we were just on a huge, curving pond - probably an oxbow lake left as the river floods and changes course over the years. But we were stopped, so I hooked in and set my new extra snow hook up under Devilfish & Parka's feet and made my rounds of the team while Pepper borrowed gleefully in the deep snow to the side of the trail.
When we got turned around and untangled, with what I think was less hesitation on the part of Norrin and Billie, I was disheartened to see the sled flying towards me with both snow hooks bumping upside down along the trail. I caught the sled, pulled up the snow hooks and wondered how the monster hook - designed for full teams of fourteen or sixteen dogs - had managed to get pulled loose by my little crew. Apparently there is more to setting snow hooks than stomping on them.
On the way back, I was further disheartened with Norrin and Billie didn't take the direction to turn back onto our trail home off the highway trail. It seems that either their hearing or their understanding is selective when it comes to turns. So far, we have good success when we come to clear forks where a left or right directional decision is about a forty five degree angle from our approach, but any time a turn means hauling over ninety degrees off of the straight trail or road under their feet, they stand with their noses pointed forward and look back at me blankly, no matter how obvious the other trail is.
Eventually we got the directions sorted out and headed down the trail towards home. We had a beautiful run back under the setting sun, and clocked in just 0.2 miles under my twenty mile goal. We pulled into the yard just at dusk, perfect timing, but I'm glad I had a headlamp in my pocket ready to go. We haven't done any night-runs yet this year, but I miss them and now that our forays into the woods are relatively trouble-free I can't imagine we'll go much longer before heading out under the stars.
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