twenty five

I wasn't sure what our run would look like, but I knew I wanted to do a long one. I was hoping to get a little bit further on the highway trail out towards the Tanana river. It was warmer, sitting at around ten below zero. I hooked up the dogs and we flew out of the yard. After all the cold, they were full of energy to burn and I had to work to keep them running at a reasonable pace on the slick road. We rode out under a beautiful winter sun, Norrin and Billie pulling strong up front. The air was still and the trees were still covered in frost from the cold snap.

We reached the highway trail and turned left, quickly traversing the long lake we'd turned around on last time we'd come this way. In new territory, the thrill of whipping down trails and around corners with no idea what was ahead had the dogs sprinting in bursts and left me straining to see around each new bend. This trail seemed to dip across long frozen oxbow lakes, then up through stands of trees, then onto more frozen lakes. We hit a T-intersection before I realized it was coming, and Billie and Norrin took a left on the fly. I let them, but cringed when I saw a sign tacked to a tree just past the turn pointing in the other direction: "To The River." We were now heading away from the Tanana, which had been my half-hearted exploratory goal. Oh, well. Instead, we came to another T-intersection, took another (uncalled) left and headed out over a huge lake - the broadest and longest so far. It was so big, and the surface so buckled and uneven under the deep snow, that for a while I thought we had somehow come out onto a channel of the big river herself. I noticed the dogs occasionally stepping off the snow machine trail here, and sinking nearly to their bellies before launching back out on to the packed trail in a shower of powder. The snow was certainly drifted high over the lake, and I started to wonder how we would get turned around. But on we went.

We passed a rudimentary frozen-in dock on the edge of the water, and deep in the trees I thought I saw the outlines of a log cabin but it was so well blended in with the snow and wood I might have imagined it. Although we were following a well packed trail, there were no tracks heading towards the ghost of a building I thought I'd seen in the deep shadows on shore. The dogs followed the path up over another berm of woods, and onto another deeply drifted lake. I looked up at the sun, and the bend of the hills. We were headed back in the general direction we'd come from, east and north towards the trail we'd taken from the house. But I had no way of knowing if or when this particular snow machine track would connect. There were a few tracks from that old trail that headed generally this way, but there were a dozen more off-shoots of the one we followed now and none had yet proved straight. There was no way to know. I wished I had a snowmachine myself, to figure out these trails and loops. But at the same time that would take away the thrill of these minor explorations. I looked at the GPS and saw that we'd come over twelve miles already. I stopped the sled.

We were in the middle of a lake, and when I stepped off the runners to the side of the trail I sank to my hips. Devilfish wandered over and gave me a big kiss on the forehead while I struggled to pull myself back onto the trail, and Parka stepped on my arms and knocked me back into the drift trying to get in for a cuddle. Pepper, in a reverie of bliss, had completely disappeared into the powder while Xtra, still attached to Pepper's lines, stood holding her ground nervously on the edge of the packed stuff. Reese was shrieking in protest at the stop behind the two of them, slamming his harness. Norrin had flopped down on the trail and set to chewing ice balls out of his giant fuzzy feet, and Billie watched me over his shoulder, sitting snugged up against Norrin's sprawl on the narrow path.

Back on solid ground, I carefully stepped over the dogs and considered my options. I doubted the dogs would take off on me if I unclipped them completely, especially given the deep snow, but I didn't want to risk too much. I set the extra snow hook under the wheel dogs and pushed the whole sled off the trail to give us more room. Reese immediately caught on and started pulling everyone around, with Parka and Devilfish not far behind. I unclipped Pepper (who had emerged from her snow cave) and Xtra's necklines quickly as they were dragged along to give them more room to maneuver, and unclipped Billie and Norrin completely from their lines and each other. With one hand on Billie, I walked up past the now back-facing and slightly tangled team to the front, where I clipped him back in and left him to hold down the fort. Norrin, still chewing on his feet, was much more reluctant to come forward, and I slipped off the trail twice more before managing to navigate his hesitant bulk back up to his place next to Billie in lead. In the end, for all my anxiety about turning around on the drifted lake it hadn't gone too badly. I was sweating and sucking air in the end, but the dogs all ended up pointed straight ahead, tails wagging and barking to go without a hint of stress or anxiety about the ordeal. I wrestled the sled back onto the trail, retrieved the snow hooks and we headed home.

Despite the warmer temperatures, the wind kicked up and it turned into a cold run back. We pulled in at dusk, and to Peter's growing concern at our long absence. We'd been out for over three hours altogether, the longest run we've done this year, and we started later in the day to begin with. It was the first run this year where I've felt comfortable enough to listen with one ear to RadioLab podcasts, and it was a nice feeling to finally have enough confidance in what we are doing to start catching up on this season's shows.

The reality was, however, that the dogs were running on a familiar trail and every turn we came to I let them do what they wanted - I often didn't see the turns coming anyway and didn't know where the trails went. But the next day's run made this continued lack of responsive leadership crystal clear.

We started out earlier, with plans to try the birch forest loop across Rosie Creek. I wasn't sure the dogs would take the turn onto the lower Rosie Creek crossing without Peter their to guide them, but since we'd had his help on the last turn I figured it was worth a try. To my astonishment, Billie and Norrin took the turn! There was a good layer of fresh snow on the trails, so the dogs were taking it slower than usual. I was intending for this to be a short recovery run I didn't push them to pick up the pace. Everyone had inhaled their post-run snack yesterday, then curled up for a nice long nap, but by dinner they were pacing and frolicking again, eying the ravens in the yard and stretching out in the starlight. I figured a short, technical run would be perfect.

And it did turn out to be a short run. After that first, encouraging turn on to the Lower Rosie Creek crossing, my lead dogs never turned the way I asked again. At each crossing, I had to hook in and walk forward and get the team turned myself. Twice, I tried to hook in and make turns but the dogs dragged us all well past the point of no return. In the end, we barely went four miles. I was frustrated, but also felt resigned to our new focus. We had worked up to nice, long, mellow, decision free runs. Now we needed to work on being able to navigate the maze of trails closer to the house.

But for the rest of the week, the team was getting a break. I was headed out to follow the Yukon Quest.