It is amazing to me that a year ago, I was attempting my first solo run with a dog team. After much strategizing, I decided on a route and a launch-point. I recruited Peter as a handler, and we drove about two miles to a dead-end road where a trail ran down into the valley past a huge field. I had no idea what was beyond the bend at the end of the field, but I figured a trail with snow machine tracks had to go somewhere.
We loaded the two terrified trapper dogs and a frantically excited Pico into the back of the Subaru and strapped the giant loaner sled on top. There wasn’t enough snow at that point to set the snow hook at my chosen departure point, so I had Peter stand on the brake while I wrestled dogs into harnesses (I quickly learned to harness them BEFORE I loaded them into the car) and hooked them to their tug lines. Following Sepp’s advice, I put Rsta, the black dog, up front, and hooked Pico and Arwyn, the white girl, in wheel. It was immediately clear that we were leaderless. Each dog wandered over their lines, got tangled and dragged the sled sideways, heading off towards the trees or a nearby driveway while I hooked the others up. Before we even started, I had to untangle Pico and Arwyn and drag Rsta back to the front where she was supposed to be leading after she circled the sled and headed back towards the car.
Finally they were in a relatively straight line and I quickly switched places with Peter. I let off the brake and the dogs took off … into a nearby yard, leaving the road and trail altogether. Peter ran after us and grabbed a confused and reluctant Rsta’s collar, and dragged her back around to the road and towards the trail. Pico and Arwyn, undaunted, began pulling hard in Rsta's new direction and quickly overtook Rsta and Peter despite my standing hard on the brake. More tangles. Eventually, we made it to the trail and stayed untangled for long enough to get some momentum. Peter ran alongside Rsta for a few yards, then let go and with no option but straight downhill trail in front of her, she took off at a dead run and we were on our way.
We flew down the side of the field, and I was elated! I was mushing! I whooped and all three dogs broke stride to look back and see what on earth had just happened. I barely hit the brake fast enough to avoid running into them, but I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face. Two hundred yards later we were following the trail right around the end of the field. Then Rsta took off down a moose trail, dragging the team and sled with her and I spent the next ten minutes untangling the dogs and getting everyone pointed in the right direction again. Rsta had lost some of her initial drive, and when we got to a huge no-trespassing sign across the trail (and in the middle of nowhere, as far as I could tell) I decided we'd had enough for our first run. I stopped the sled and tried to get the team turned around. The situation deteriorated rapidly.
With the sled sideways in the trail and wedged against a spindly black spruce, I would untangle one dog, turn around, untangle the next dog, then turn to find the first dog tangled around the third dog's line, and on and on. It wasn't long before was sweating and swearing and wondering if I would be pulling the sled back to the road. Once everyone was untangled and straightened out, it became clear that Rsta had utterly lost confidence in me and was not leading anyone anywhere. She sat in the trail, and refused to budge. I put Pico up front. Pico ran about fifteen feet, turned around and dove into Arwyn, trying to play. A ball of lines again. More swearing, and some tears.
I put Arwyn in lead. and she stood happily wagging her tail while I got Rsta and Pico sorted out ... until the moment she realized she was up front, and alone. She laid down on the trail and rolled on her back, feet in the air, then flopped on her side and refused to budge. I switched her with Rsta, who was now getting ansty that we had been on the same twenty feet of trail for over half an hour. I had sweat through all my layers at this point, and was freezing cold and rather disheartened. To my utter relief, Rsta took off when I pulled the snow hook and backtracked us all the way to Peter and the car. We were out for over an hour. I later mapped our little jaunt at barely a mile and a half.
But for all the swearing and screaming and crying and sweating and frustration and despair, those few untangled minutes of abandon with the dogs racing down the trail and the icy wind on my cheeks had me hooked and I knew as soon as we slid in next to the car that I was gone far beyond saving.
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