There were several empty snow machine trailers in the parking lot and clumps of ice-fishers scattered out on the lake but the hastily-plowed parking lots were essentially empty. We parked and unloaded next to a six by twelve foot wooden sign emblazoned with the map I had carefully studied online. Peter has been training hard at being a rock-star handler, and almost before I was out of the truck he had the sled unloaded. By the time I had the lines and sled ready to go at what sort of looked like it might be the trail head, all the dogs were unloaded and harnessed. I must be doing something right! We hooked up the dogs - Billie and Xtra up front, then Reese and Pepper, Norrin and Pico, and Devilfish & Parka in wheel, all of them slamming and yelping to GO! Pete jumped in the sled and we were off down the bank to the lake and hopefully the trail.
Initially, we were following the single snow-machine track I'd lined the dogs out on. I figured that once on the ice, we'd see the official "groomed" trail and easily follow it around the first huge lake and into the woods. When we got to the ice, it was clear there was no such thing. The lake was laced with a web of snow machine trails that left hardly any untouched snow. The dogs picked one that seemed to loop around the shore, and I peered through the blue gloom of cloudy winter days here to try and pick out where we should go. I was at a loss. And the few attempts I made to guide Billie (I'd put him up front with mailable Xtra to see how he would lead without pushy Reese or sometimes-confidant Norrin) just confused him.
So the dogs just went. We followed the track along one shore, up over a little peninsula of land then back down onto the ice just a few yards from some ice fishers with their snow machines and augers and poles. The dogs tried to head in their direction, and it took Peter jumping out of the sled and guiding them the other way to get us moving again. They settled into a nice pace across the huge lake, and since I had no idea where to go I just let them follow whatever path struck their fancy.
At one point, right in the middle of the lake with all the little clumps of ice fishers out of sight, we ran into a huge puddle of slush on the ice. All my panic about an overflow disaster came flooding back as I envisioned the sled, with Peter and I clinging to it, breaking through the ice and sinking. I yelped for the dogs to run faster and started desperately peddling behind the sled. To my relief, every kick sank through a couple of inches of slush and hit solid ice underneath. In seconds, we were past the spot and back on good snow and ice. But my heart was racing hard.
We looped around a little island and passed two cross-country skiers and their German Shepherd. To my horror, Pico and Norrin managed to drag the team sideways to investigate the dog, looking for all the world that they were going to attack him. He was laying on the snow quietly at his owner's feet to let us pass. The owner raised her ski poles in defense and I screamed at them to pass. They never made contact with the dog, but it was close and Pepper ended up tangled from the sideways tug. I was so embarrassed and angry. I'm pretty sure without Pico egging him on, Norrin wouldn't have participated in the investigation at all.
We continued around in the general direction of the truck, but Billie saw some snow machines up in the woods and turned to follow them. The machines were going fast through the trees, and I had no interest in getting anywhere near them, much less getting turned around in the woods with no real trail to follow. I stopped the sled, with no little effort on the ice, and Pete jumped out to try and get the dogs to turn away from the shore and back to any number of possible trails across the lake. Reese, in swing, figured out what he wanted and tried to follow Pete, pulling Billie and Xtra backwards. Xtra, looking stressed, looked back at me in a panic. I had Peter switch Reese and Xtra, and with a burst of confidence, Reese lead us out across the lake. We were flying along for awhile, a little overflow here and there but all solid ice underneath. A loose dog broke free from some ice-fishers and followed us for a little while, barking gleefully at the team but causing no problems.
We got to the other end of the lake and circled around more fisherfolk, when wove in and out of some little coves, following the ice's edge. On the third little inlet, Reese made the command decision to leave the lake. I was pretty sure I didn't want this, but I didn't catch him soon enough and by the time I was trying to hit the brake the whole team was hauling up the steep shore. So up we went. We went careening down a little access road, then through a parking lot where two more loose ice-fishing dogs approached. We got hung up there for awhile, and Peter jumped out and played rabbit, trying to get the dogs headed back at least in the direction of the truck. This worked, and we made it back across several slick parking lots to where we had started. Here, there were several minutes of chaos as the team got wrapped around sign posts, parking lot marker posts, parked snow machines and each other. Pico chewed through his neckline and decided to run at a 90 degree angle to the team. Reese decided that a crowd of snow machiners standing around on the ice looked friendly, and tried several times with varying success to loop back into their midst to say hello.
When he finally got pointed back in the direction of the truck, I decided we were done. We re-loaded and headed home. We had only gone five miles, though at a good clip. I wasn't sure if this was a successful run or not. The mass chaos at the end had taken away some of the mellow feeling of the run overall, I was frustrated (though not surprised) with Pico's unwillingness to work and his bad trail manners, we hadn't really been able to do any command work and the low mileage was disappointing. But it had been a nice day out, we'd successfully run eight dogs, we now knew that this trail system wasn't going to work for us, and it had been fun to have Peter along (not to mention critically helpful.) And there was still Sunday to get out and get some good miles in.
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