January 16th, 2012 by Barbara McKay
Memory Monday – “The 1st Rule of Dog Sledding”
This is to certify that you have made a mistake...
For all who have experienced dog sledding – you know the 1st rule. And any who have broken the first rule know the consequences! Even the best of mushers, have at one time, had that team disappear along the trail in front of them.
Here is the proof!
How many of you would have received this certificate?
Send us your stories of breaking this rule, who was with you? How long did it take to catch up to the sled? What misadventures caused the sled to get away from you?
Click on the title and scroll down to submit your story. Click on the image to see a larger version.
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6 Responses to “Memory Monday – “The 1st Rule of Dog Sledding””
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Grade 11 (y 2000) Dog Sled Exploratories, my sledmate DT and I are ready to go, the dogs are hooked up, I am standing on one of the skiis and I tell DT to stand on the other and we will go. “Oh no Ryan its cool, I want to get some exercise, Im just going to run beside the sled.” “(laughing) DT there is no possible way you are going to keep up, get on the sled.” “Oh no Ryan, Im pretty fast, it will be fine.” “(still laughing) Ok buddy, BREAK team!” Within about 2 seconds it was crystal clear we would not be seeing him again for the rest of the day. So I begin to “start” stopping the team, which first thing in the morning is no easy task, eventually got the sled stopped about a hundred meters later, where I was able to turn around and enjoy the show of DT running through thigh deep snow trying to “shortcut” the corner.
Everytime I went sledding it was always a great time, this moment is certainly my funniest memory. The other one that stands out would definitely be:
John Heffernan and I, deciding to snooze in the cargo area of our sled while crossing a lake only to be awoken by Blaine wondering just what we thought we were doing. There was quite a bit of running involved after that.
Once upon a time , 1997 , we were out at Goldeye Lake, camping outside,as usual, the staff/students /dogs eager to go sledding to Baldy Mountain about 12 miles away, about -12 light snow falling, packed trails, off we go and then hours later we turn around to return. Well at the top of one cutline, Mr. X and alumni Y some how thought the other one was going to mush, they both stepped of the sled and away the dogs went dashing down the hill with two well trained runners following behind, they almost catch the sled at the top of the next hill, but the dogs know this game of reverse mush ,where people run after the sled, the dogs take off again, Mr. X / alumni Y come close several times,but the sled is just out of their grasp, the dogs keep going the mushers loose faith and hope of never seeing their sled or dogs again, with the sinking feeling that they have to run for another 6-7 miles to camp. Then close to camp they hear ski-doos, maybe the dogs will be caught, they run with renew hope, to find the dogs off in the bush, scared by the ski-doos and some strangers kinda tangled up with the dogs, as they get closer they realize the strangers have put the dogs back on the trail, and the chase continues for Mr. X and alumni Y. The sled arrives in camp much to our surprise, the dogs are put away and cared for, while waiting for the mushers to arrive , they finally do,but have never been given their award of breaking rule number 1, so here’s to Mr. Australia and marathon runner alumni ’96 …
As I’m writing this, it’s -30 outside. Seems to me, that is the perfect temperature for folding an oiled tarp (not the fancy blue plastic type ) about the inside of a dogsled, then attempting to tie it all in. Chains, dog food, people food, pot pack, personal packs, probably an axe and bush saw and maybe a lantern that was overlooked stuffing into the pot pack….there was always last minute loose gear to jam in.
As much as I loved dogsledding, there were 2 places I detested near the school 1 – that crazy ravine thing on Pick’s flats that was about 30 feet across, but 20 feet deep, and the other was on the J trail, after the bush trail, coming out and then pointing (nearly) straight down to Greenoughs. For some reason, this trail was always broken with an abrupt 90 to the left at the bottom. I know the spot well as that’s where my hands always froze after the sled tipped trying to make this turn, after all that jostling around, the rope would loosen, and the jolt of the corner would open the tarp and you’d spend the next hour finding the loose stuff and re-jamming and tying the sled up.
Anyway, I only remember chasing a dog team once, and that was somewhere near the upper field on the ridge ….. the dogs spooked a rabbit, kicked into high gear and made for a great ride, until I hit a tree. Snap went the trace and after re-grouping and realzing what the hell happened, I launched after the team, still harnessed, but running thru the willows as a group….I dove, got my arm thru the trace…then had a very good closeup of the rabbit’s point of view as they pulled me on my face and stomach thru those bloody bushes until we snagged on something.
Thinking the nightmare was over, I had to figure a way to get the rabid team back to the sled! That part seems to have slipped from my mind….
Dog tales. Or should that be “Dog tails”
Cline Creek. Just short of McDonald Creek. On our way home on a Christmas run. There’s a section where we are high above the creek. The trail is pretty flat, but now and then cross a tributary creek. Bit of a hairpin turn as the trail does a combo of down the ravine, but up the creek, and back out.
The front teams are waiting for the last team to come thorugh. Most of us have gathered around the third sled.
Mountain Sheep comes trotting down the hill. Jumps OVER the first team.
Point dog: “What was that?”
Wheel dog: “Sheep, you idiot!”
Lead dog; “LET’S GO!!!!”
And they did.
First attempt at making sleds out of wood and plastic. Weekend dog run with Peter Cain in Selkirk. New sleds moved FAST, but the curve was too far back. Hard to steer in soft snow.
We had gone in Friday afternoon, and had camped on the shores of Siderock lake, about 10 miles from the trail head. Saturday morning we got up to bitter, bitter cold weather. Close to -30 weather, and a stiff wind blowing in off the lake.
We got packed and ready to go. We were trying for the Gammon River cabin. We knew we wouldn’t make it this week, but perhaps next week’s group would use our broken trail and make it all the way.
My turn to break trail. Once the sleds were loaded except for the chains, we set out. The mushers would finish putting out the fire, do a final check for gear, and take off.
At the front we could hear the excitement in the dogs as they waited. Sudden silence. They had started. 20 seconds go by. Dogs are barking again. And they don’t stop barking.
Something had happened. “Let’s go back and find out what happened.”
New sled had sideswiped a tree. Broke a side rail, just above the base. Next tree caught that rail and pealed the entire frame off the sled.
I took one look at it, and told Mr. Cain. “Not a quick fix. Back to camp. Build a fire.”
At windchills of minus one zillion, doing anything is hard. Doing anything involving screwdrivers and vice grips is even harder. Three hours convinced me that that this was it’s last trip. Another two hours work removed the remainder of the frame. What to do: We decided to pack that sled with the two food duffles, and the chain bag. It would be heavy, but everything would be low. Stable. Cut the trace, and made it into a 3 dog trace. Tied the remainder to another trace making it a 7 dog. Two guys would stay with this sled. One would walk between the trace and the sled, with a leash on the sled guiding the front end around trees. The other had a leash on the back end. He would drag as needed.
We all took turns on that broken sled. Pain in the butt.
By the time we worked out our plan, it was 3 in the afternoon. No point. Stay the night again here, and set off back to the van in the morning.
That sled’s partner never did another trip. It was used for training. The next batch of sleds weren’t bolted together, but rather were lashed with parachute cord. Those sleds were close to indestructible.
Never let go…1974 Jan. sometime before the first interschool dog race held in Alberta. R. Burns and I take the dog team out for a “spin” in the lower field to the bridge and back between chores and study hall. Burnsy in the sled (toboggan w/high sides) for weight; and me on the buck board apparently driving(read:hanging on). We skid down the garbage road over the creek and hit the melted ice/ gravel( we burned garbage then…..) in front of the burn pit. The dogs, now on the trail, keep running, the sled locks up and I fly over the sled(all I am thinking not the pit, not the pit) past Burns into 4′ of snow ; Burns tries to grab me on the way by to slow the dogs… I end up dragging him off the sled. We both watch the dogs and sled, now 330 lbs. lighter, disappear into the night; the dogs yelping and having a great time! We chase for about 10 mins.; the dogs think its a game.. its a new trail and the snow is thigh deep. We have no snowshoes, we’re dressed in bush jackets and jeans-this was supposed to be a 1/2 hour tour in the lower field. Now it is a search and rescue mission in the dead of winter! Burns continues down the trail and I run/slide/slip up suicide hill to the study hall for more help. Peter Cain was the Study master,( I rec’d 5 swats for being late for study(in now wet jeans) and 5 swats for falling off the sled). It could have been worse if K.Bennett or D.Neelands were the study masters, I feel lucky.. sort of! A search team sets out on the trail with lanterns!!? ( more like a scene from the 1870′s than the 1970′s) and dog food for bait( G.Pozer’s great idea)
We found the dogs at the base of the bridge, the sled tangled in the barb wire fence.
But no Burns…a second, third and fourth search team on snowshoes leave the school to find Burns. Now nobody is in the study hall except the grade eights( no Master) and they’re losing interest with all the commotion.
Temp. is around -30 and it is snowing, temp. is falling.
The search continued for hours looking for Burns, one search team went all the way to St Francis?! The grade eights found Burns in his bunk, asleep around 10pm.The cretins were hunting for cigarettes,(no locker locks then) since everyone left the school!!?
Burns’ story- he followed me back to the school, saw the swats Cain was handing out and figured his dorm was a better place. He waited for everything to die down but fell asleep. In less than an hour, Burns and I managed to clear out the study hall, clear out half of the print shop to help search( St. John’s Press was physically attached to the school then), lose a valuable dog team, misplace a human being/friend in the dead of winter, alert the Stony and Spruce Grove RCMP to a lost minor, receive 10 swats, cancel study for the night(the students loved us), shut down two presses( T.Byfield went ballistic)…the moral:
Never let go!