Just Another Jim's

Alaska Journal

Ch. 13: The World has Gone to the Dogs

Posted December 15, 2006 by James E. Nelson

James Michener says that Alaska is hell for women and horses but heaven for men and dogs. I can’t speak of the horse and am hesitant to weigh in on the men and the women, but he’s clearly right about the dogs. I suspect God had dog sledding in mind when he created dogs; he clearly made Alaska with the sport in mind. My first introduction to dog sledding was not when the dogs were connected to the sled but rather when a team passed through town in a pickup with a dog condo on the back. The pickup bed had been removed and in its place were wooden kennels stacked two high. In the middle of each kennel was hole out of which a dog could stick it’s head. It’s hard to imagine a happier sight than sled dogs loaded in a dog condo on their way to a race. Their nervous energy and happy yelps are completely infectious.

Some weeks later we were in Fairbanks for the beginning of a dog race—it may have been the Yukon Quest—with a family of East Coast tree huggers in tow. Mike Klein was a scientist employed at Ft. Greeley. They were outdoor people who had done everything from kayaking America’s premier white water rivers to rock climbing throughout the Rockies. They thought dog sledding was a cruel abuse of animals and wanted nothing to do with it, but a serious case of cabin fever had set in and they opted to go with us to Fairbanks to watch the evil spectacle for the day. It started badly because their son, Chandler, was afraid of the dogs, but Sherry quickly fell under the spell of their enthusiasm. Eventually, with Sherry’s help, Chandler was petting some of the dogs and Mike was learning about the science of dog harnesses and the art of correct animal placement in the team. By the end of the day they were bubbly enthusiasts of Alaska’s most famous winter sport.

The first step is for the human team to unload the sled, which is generally strapped to the top of the dog condo. Once the sled is on the ground, it is loaded with all the necessary supplies and the harnessing is laid out in front of the sled. The sled is also staked firmly to the ground so that it cannot be moved as the dogs are hooked to it. All of this is done in plain sight of the dogs who all have their heads stuck attentively out the windows. Some of them are silent, their crystal clear blue eyes locked on every move of their owners. Others are so wiggly that you wonder if the wooden kennel might not splinter in the face of all the activity. Others simply cannot wait another minute and break into a mournful, longing howl. In a few moments there are four, then seven, then scores of dogs howling their longing to be out on the trail.

Soon it is time to begin hooking the dogs to the lead line. Each animal is carefully, but firmly lifted out of the kennel and attached to the line. Some sit in anxious anticipation, some dance around in circles. Occasionally a fight will break out between dogs and the handlers have to jump in and break it up. Occasionally a handler will get his feet tangled in the lines. Feeling the tug on the line, the affected dog will begin to pull mightily, thinking the race has begun. Soon there is a jumble of dog, man, and rope and it takes several minutes and many people to straighten it all out. It’s a wonder that serious injuries (to humans, not the dogs) don’t occur at the staging area of a dog race.

But eventually the sled is loaded and every dog is in place. The stakes are removed and the musher climbs on the back of the sled. At that point (usually) an utterly amazing transformation takes place. The barking ceases. The dogs stop fidgeting and stand at attention. Up and down the line all an observer sees is focused anticipation on the task ahead. Typically, at this point, the dog team has to be moved (up to a hundred yards) from the staging area to the starting line. Usually a handler will grab the line of the first team and lead them into place. Once in place the dogs know that they are only moments away from the start. Typically they sit in place and bark happily at one another. When it is their turn and they move into the gate, the silence and concentration once again settles over the team because at this point they are completely focused on trail ahead. When the musher finally gives the word, the dogs are off in complete silence, with only the swish of the sled runners against the snow and the creak of leather against bindings. With a word from the musher, the dogs veer to the left and moments later disappear around a distant corner in what appears to be perfect and effortless motion.

At least this is what happens with the experienced teams.

Like soccer players, dogs have to learn the rules of the game. Good teams do what was described above. On the other hand, some dogs teams mill around the playing field like a herd of seven year olds following the soccer ball in clueless joy. Within moments the lines are tangled, the dogs are fighting, as if to remind everyone watching that it was the other dog’s fault. Handlers jump in and straighten out the team, only to have the dogs start running in three different directions again. But eventually they figure out which dog they’re supposed to follow after and off they gallop, generally veering to the left with the trail, like the other teams, but sometimes heading down the wrong street or up onto the sidewalk.

By the end of the afternoon the crowd has watched both the synchronous perfection of the great teams and antics of new dogs and inexperienced mushers, but at least every team has finally disappeared around that distant corner and what remains is a satisfied silence that slowly turns into a tired but happy busy-ness as spectators pack up their chairs and head to the cars while the support teams pack up the trucks and make their way to the next race check point with hay for the dogs to bed in, fresh meat and water to revive their tired bodies, and great expectations that this year their team is going to win the race.

Sled dogs in the summer are an amazing nuisance. They’re too bored to lay still and too hot to do anything productive. Instead they turn destructive, digging huge holes in front of their kennels, or possibly tearing their kennels apart board by board and eating it. If anyone drives up they break into a chorus of howls, yelps, and barks that can be some times humorous and other times frightening. Sled dogs are often quite small, but are amazingly strong and full of energy. That combination can turn them into farcical clowns or frightening creatures. Sometimes it changes from one to the other in a moment.

Mushers are people with strong personalities and even stronger wills. They essentially become the alpha dog for the pack. They have to have the ability to turn the dogs’ will in the right direction, and force the dogs into submission by sheer force of presence and stature, no matter how diminutive. Keeping a dog team is a full time job, between feeding, kennel repair, preparation for the next season and keeping the pack in some semblance of control.

We had a number of dog teams in the Delta area but Delta is surrounded by miles of out-of-the-way trails that snake through the B.L.M. and National Forest Service lands, so we hardly ever saw teams around town. The territory from Fairbanks south to the Salcha area is mostly private land where dog teams were not allowed. In that area it was not uncommon to see dog teams working near the highway year round. In the winter they pulled sleds, but in the summer they pulled something (anything) on wheels. Usually they were wheeled sleds, but occasionally the musher would be more creative in his mode of transportation. One dog team pulled an old, rusty VW Bug with the top cut off. Another musher sat in a narrow boat with wheels underneath. Whatever the “sled,” the dogs would be happily pulling along, with their tongues lolling out and a gleam of perfect satisfaction in their eye.

Many Alaskans that don’t own a dog team prefer smaller dogs. There are few, if any, advantages to big dogs; even as watch dogs. While they might keep out the occasional intruder, big dogs tend to attract the attention of moose and bear. Even dogs like Rottweilers and German Shepherds are no match for a brown bear or a mother moose. Instead, you get the wild animal attacking the dog and ruining your lawn furniture or garage door in the process. If the dog runs to the owner for protection, the owner may end up in the hospital.

Small dogs, on the other hand, can easily be kept inside in the winter, and travel well in pickups, campers, and boats. It’s not uncommon to see them perched precariously on a four wheeler or snow machine as their owner drives down the trail. Small dogs are also effective when it comes to moose and bear. They yap and create havoc, but their diminutive size means the wild animals aren’t particularly threatened by them. More often than not, the wild animal wanders off since they don’t like that much attention being attracted to themselves.

Jeff was one of the first people I met when we moved to Delta Junction. I discovered that he had a dog named Noble and I was expecting a big sled dog or some such noble creature. It turned out Noble Dog (as he called him) was a mut along the lines of a Jack Russell Terrier runt. He loved to be in the middle of the action. When we were in a boat, Noble Dog was always standing on the nose staring intently into the water. If he saw a fish he was as likely as not to jump in and try to catch it. When we were on the silty Susitna and would unexpectedly hit a sandbar, suddenly stopping the boat in its tracks, Noble Dog would lose his footing. Once he even tumbled head over heals into the near freezing water, but after being fished out and rubbed down, he returned to his post on the nose of the boat. He may not have been noble in stature, but for most Alaskans, he was precisely the sort of nobility you want in a dog: companionship, faithfulness, perseverance, and a touch of the clown to make you smile on a dreary February afternoon.

But whether big or small, whether bred to be a companion or a worker, dogs were created for Alaska, and Alaska was created to be a playground for the dogs.