"You're Not a Musher Until . . . "
Copyright ©2007 T. J. Shrader
IN THE BEGINNING of my existence with sled dogs, I remember reading; that one is not a musher until after training your leader and that leader executes its commands flawlessly. One is not a musher until you lose your team on the trail and then track them down. One is not a musher till you go out with your team and come back without any problems--a successful run. I accomplished all of the above. Despite my accomplishments, I have been told I am not a musher until I tackle mid-distance with my team.
I can’t help but to wonder that maybe, just maybe this list goes on until one has finished the Last Great Race, the Iditarod because, after that there is nothing left. While tackling mid-distance in training this season I have come to realize that yes, sprint racing is too fast and short. I feel it is true that one does not learn much about mushing doing sprint races. That is what I was told and it’s the truth. The more time with the dogs in harness and the more miles you are on a trail with your team, the more you learn about yourself and this way of life. I have realized the longer I am on the trail the more driven I become, the more driven my team becomes. One begins to get a little harder--trail hardened along with your dogs. You and your dogs get tougher. You begin to respect Mother Nature a bit more and the ferocious weather she brings. You get more in tune with your natural surroundings and appreciate life on a different level. Not to mention, you get cold more often on an entirely different scale. Not just cold caused by a breeze. I am talking about every part of your body getting cold to where feeling slowly slips away. You are exposed more often to more weather changes the longer you are on a trail. All dangers set aside; I am tackling mid-distance training for my dogs and myself, because we can.
There is one thing that I can tell you about which any seasoned musher should agree and that is, one should never forget there is the unknown, as nature is unpredictable. If you pull your snub rope and head out into the wilderness with your dog team thinking you are invincible, you are wrong and will end up in trouble. You have to be smart and use the natural instinct you have been blessed with, that natural instinct that is imbedded deep in your bones. I am talking about the instinct your ancestors gave you-- not the ancestors that sailed over to America on a boat but the ancestors that speared wooly mammoths and harpooned giant whales for survival. We have that natural instinct within us that should never be ignored and if indeed it is ignored, nature can easily turn its rigid back on you.
On one of the dogs' and my favorite trails outside of Winter Park, Colorado, my natural instincts came in handy. The trail climbs through Devil’s Thumb at an elevation roughly around 9,000 feet and into a beautiful open area called the Hourglass Meadows. Only three days earlier I had been on the same trail on a nice cool, sunny morning and we ran about eighteen miles. On the way back we had passed mountain lion tracks that were not there on our way out. This last run was right before dusk and everything was going fine. About five miles out I began to see moose tracks along the trail going off and back onto the trail for about a one mile stretch. I did not think much about it. Then the wheels started turning inside my head as I battled them at first. I did not act until those instincts went straight to my gut. I soon realized the situation I was in and I was putting my team in. Our outing was cut short and I made the decision to turn the team around and head back to the truck. The decision a real musher would make.
At about seven miles out the sun began to sink even further and I realized how fresh the moose tracks were. A run in with a moose in the dark would not be desirable at all let alone in the day time. I did not pack my head lamp that evening as I thought I would not be out in the dark. I underestimated how fast the sun sets behind the mountains. I underestimated nature. I hollered; “Whoa, Whoa!” The team came to a stop and I then hooked down and hollered; “Billie, Blaze--Come Gee!” The girls up front turned the team around back to my right and back down the trail we went back towards the truck. The sun continued to creep till it was no longer in sight. Both sides of the trail are so heavily wooded that snow would not glow from the moon’s light for any guidance. It was dark, very dark and I had only one choice, to rely on my leaders.
Earlier that week, chinook winds had come down into the lower forty-eight from Canada, resulting in heavy snow fall in three different stages of a blizzard. Temperatures had plummeted to twenty degrees below zero. It was the third largest amount of snowfall in the month of December in Colorado’s history. At the beginning of our run the temperature was very decent for a nice run. As soon as the sun had disappeared it was very cold. My feet began to tingle and lose feeling, my fingers too. I ran along side the sled and pedaled as much as I could till the cold air made it hard for me to breathe. I soon dealt with the pain caused by the cold and stood on my runners-- useless, against the cold and to the dogs. I began to worry and was constantly looking behind us. I remembered the mountain lion tracks from three days ago and the fresh moose tracks. I was beginning to get nervous about a run in with a predator and I think that helped keep my attention off of my toes and fingers.
My dogs have always got me back home. They always do what I ask of them, always. But that night, really proved how much of a team we really are. We have completed some midnight runs but under the moon’s light to where I could see. I feel a lot more comfortable if I can see. That night, I could not see anything. Only a rough outline of the shape of my wheel dogs and team dogs and here and there I could see the tail ends of my two girls up front. My six dog team was basically a blur. I could hear and feel they were always working, but could not see. If I felt we were slowing down we had hit a hill and I determined that by getting off to run. I would get back on the sled and say; “Dig, Dig!” I could then feel the gangline tighten up as they leaned into their harnesses and pulled us up the hills. I was really worried about directions as I could not see where to turn to give the girls up front any directional commands. Everything along a trail looks different in the dark -- nothing looks the same. I am thankful that the dogs did not want to explore that night because I would have ended up in no-man’s-land fast. I basically gave those dogs complete control. I entrusted in them to get us back to the truck and that, they did.
I could tell by their movement that we were at a very steady pace the whole seven miles back to the truck. They never slowed except to dig up hill and they got me back to the truck that night before I got way too cold. One of my team dogs, Cleopatra Thermopolis (Cleo) constantly turned her head and would look into the trees the entire ride back. Cleo is one quarter Pharaoh Hound which is a sight hound. I could barely see her turn her head. I could not help but to think what was out there. Something was lurking. She could see with her sight hound instincts. After seeing moose tracks that trip and mountain lion tracks only three days earlier, I was very nervous and begun to lose my wits. My heart began to beat faster and I could not inhale enough air to keep up with it as the air was too cold. I calmed down just listening to the team run and thinking only of our arrival at the truck.
If I did not listen to my instincts which led to me turning my team around when I did, I would have been stuck out on the trail even longer in the dark as the temperature was sure to continue to drop and I was already cold enough. Also, who knows what might have made us their dinner. At the truck I watered the dogs and got my toes and fingers warmed back up and was thankful I listened to my instincts. I still can’t help but think: never underestimate nature and never underestimate a sled dog team.
My feet have continued to bother me since that cold front came into Colorado. I had purple tips to each toe on my left foot. I believe, I had a mild case of frostbite. The purple turned a bit darker in color and then eventually peeled away. Also, I believe that now -- I am a musher.
(SEPALLEO and ZIRCONIA OF S-A at lead)
