Hodgepodge 97/365 - Dog Sledding in Alaska

I've been to Alaska four times: most recently, on the ferry through the Inside Passage (southeastern Alaska); before that, in the Ruth Gorge near Denali, where my climbing partner and I were hoping to do some ice climbing, but the temperatures were too mild, so we just skied up and down the glacier and snow-camped for a week; and before that, on Denali proper, where we were foiled by the weather gods (and food poisoning) in our attempt to summit, but nevertheless it was a pretty amazing few weeks—something I'd never aspired to before I met said climbing partner. We've since gone our separate ways (we email maybe once a year), but I will always be grateful to him for the many adventures we had. Denali no doubt being the biggest and best of them. (And I've never taken a shower for granted since.)

But this is about my first visit to Alaska, in March 2002. It was sparked in part by 9/11: one day, in the aftermath of that awful tragedy, I was sitting around wondering what I would regret not having done if my life were to be suddenly cut short. And what popped into my head was, Dog sledding.

Some years before, I'd worked on a book by Galen Rowell called Poles Apart, about the North and South Poles, and in it he had a spread narrating a dog sledding trip he'd taken. He happened to mention the company he went with: Sourdough Outfitters.

I googled, and found them: a small operation just 35 miles north of the Arctic Circle in Bettles, Alaska. They offered a five-day trip into Gates of the Arctic National Park. Sold! I booked a trip for the next March.

The details are fuzzy now. I believe I flew into Fairbanks, where I caught a small plane to Bettles with five or six others who would be my companions on the trip. We were outfitted with warm boots (military parachuter boots, white rubber) and parkas, high-calorie snacks and down sleeping bags, and assigned six-dog sled teams. I no longer remember my lead dog's name (she was white with blue eyes), but I do remember that I had a dog called Trouble, who unfortunately lived up to his name. He was eventually moved to the expedition leader's team—detention. We stayed in trapper cabins and tents with little wood stoves, ate vacuum-packed frozen salmon and curried veggies—positively gourmet. The days were gorgeous, every one of them, and the temperatures balmy, in the teens and twenties. We'd all spread out along the trail, and soon you'd just feel alone in all that white bigness.

The dogs were wily, though. They knew we were greenhorns, and they'd peer over their shoulders at you when you'd stop, waiting for you to step off the sled, then bam, they'd take off, leaving you stranded. Fortunately, as long as you were in the middle of the pack, someone would be along soon enough and give you a lift to your wickedly grinning team, who'd have gotten stopped by whoever was in front. Silly dogs.

At the end of the day we'd pull out big balls of lard that we'd been entrusted to carry and feed them to the dogs: it was the end of the season and their fat stores were depleted. The lard was the main thing keeping them going. The dogs would get tied up, and after eating they'd curl up tight, tucking nose into belly, and go to sleep.

Before we went I was worried about long nights, but of course this was around the equinox and above the Arctic Circle, so in fact we had long twilights—but enough dark night that we could look for the Aurora Borealis. I only saw it once, and it was not colorful: just white. But it was still magical: like the sky was blowing smoke rings. I lay outside under skins with a new friend, Paul, and we chatted while scanning the sky until he pointed and said, "Look!" Then we watched in silent awe. It didn't last long, but it was worth the trip right there.

Here are the very few photos I converted into digital format. I need to look for the rest (I assume there are more) and for my journal from the trip (I assume there is one). Fill in my hazy memory. It was an amazing trip. Now I guess I can die without regrets. (This trip also plays a small part in my first—and only—marathon, which I wrote about here.)