I am not sure what the most exciting was - the thrill of leading our own teams of sled dogs, the overnight camping on the tundra, or the freezing temperatures of the Arctic winter... Probably all of the above. In any case, we eagerly prepared for our trip to Jimmy Lake in the Northwest Territories of Canada.
Judi, the owner of our outfitter Arctic Chalet, handled the camp setup so we only had to pack our clothes. This was however not a small task with the -13° to -22° Fahrenheit forecasted for that night. Warm socks - check. Long johns - check. Thermal tops - check. Layers over layers - check and check.
Our master musher Anna informed us about the composition of the teams, the dogs selected based on the trail difficulty and distance, and the weight and physical conditions of each musher. Even more important was the dog character and capacity to work with the other dogs.
Dogs, sleds and mushers ready, Judi signaled the departure. I let out a soft "Go! Mush!" though the dogs needed no encouragement. What an exciting moment! We floated down the adjacent frozen lake when I noted that one of my wheel dogs, Umiak, was not pulling. Dogs pee and poop at the beginning of each run, but he was clearly reluctant to run. I waved to Judi who reached the same conclusion. Anna untied and drove him back to the kennel still nearby, and returned with a new dog in tow. I was very pleased with Judi and Anna's decision, who did not hesitate to let Umiak rest.
We soon resumed our trip, the sleds gliding through the heavy snowbanks of the Mackenzie River turned Ice Road for the winter. As we approached a group of Huskies chained along the trail, my team went suddenly into a frenzy, furiously jumping and dragging the sled. I lost my balance and fell flat on the snow. Anna had cautioned us to never let the sled go. In a split second, I grabbed the metal brake with my hands, managed to kneel over it and stopped the sled. The metal bar hurt through my pants, but the prospect of a dogfight was stronger than the pain. Luckily a kennel volunteer rushed to my rescue and took hold of the dogs by their harnesses. I regained my foothold on the sled but had no time to recover as we crossed the road ahead of us, mindful of the incoming trucks. I gently put my foot on the brake to prevent sliding over the icy conditions, especially with the dogs still excited and difficult to control. Reaching the other side of the trail, I waited for the other sleds to cross.
We left Inuvik and the last signs of human presence behind. As the leader of the convoy, I felt privileged to embrace the vast horizon first. The next two hours were a pure joy with the tundra wide open, rolling hills upon hills, endless white on white.
We soon reached a 4-mile long frozen lake. This wide field represented the ultimate Arctic scenery - flat, white, cold, fascinating. The dogs pulled to reach Judi ahead of us. I slowly lifted my foot from the brake pad, and almost immediately, the dogs and I were racing at full speed!
Later in the afternoon, Judi veered away from the trail and onto the untouched tundra. The dogs struggled in the fresh powder, the sled sinking in. I was careful not to step away from the sled as I would have sunk with no hard surface to hold onto. Breaking our own trail deepened the impression of being a pioneer. We arrived at Jimmy Lake, our camp for the night, shortly after. I had LOVED the day but after 31 miles of continuously controlling the dogs, I was exhausted.
Camping with the dogs is not as simple as parking a car. Only one sled could be taken care off at a time, each dog to be removed individually and reattached to fixed lines for the night. I went first, grateful to do so. My team became excited again, and I wondered whether I could control them after the long ride. After we tucked the sleds and the dogs away, Anna heated water for the dogs' dinner, and asked us to distribute hay to the dogs, to give them extra warmth for the night. Two females who recently had puppies received additional comfort. One slept in a portable kennel wrapped in blankets, the other in a little red coat. As the dogs waited for their food, Bruno and I checked each dog for any potential friction from the harness and lines. We massaged their back and legs to relax the sore muscles. Our four-legged team members had been hard at work and it felt right to give them extra care. We received hugs and licks in tenfold.
We did not retire to our tent right after dinner but gathered around the hot campfire with the hope to catch a glimpse of the Northern Lights. Around 11 pm, we noticed light formations in the sky but the full moon stood too bright for ideal Aurora Borealis viewing. The temperatures dropped sharply, the cold piercing through our thick layers of clothes. But around 1 am, our dreams came true. Faint white stripes appeared across the night sky like brush strokes. Minutes passed, the white turned into light then dark shades of green. We were admiring the Northern Lights!
We finally retreated to our heated tent where, nestled in heavy Arctic-rated sleeping bags and baked in hot temperatures, we slept like babies. The oil heater worked so well Bruno soon turned it down. The night continued, so quiet, so peaceful, with only the occasional barks from the dogs - your typical night in the Arctic…
The first rays of sunlight appeared around 8 am. I quickly dressed up and exited to help Anna feed the dogs their morning fish soup. The sun rose slowly, illuminating the sky and tundra of yellow and pink hues. We moved by the campfire surrounded by the smell of the fresh coffee brewing in a Western kettle and a homemade reindeer soup prepared by Anna. A perfect morning on the tundra.
Given the long 31-mile trail ahead of us, we needed to leave on time. The dogs noted our agitation around camp and started to stir, eager to be attached to the sleds. On with the dogs, on with the sled. I stepped on mine, and with a last quick glance back at the camp, "Mush, mush." we went. The conditions remained overcast through the morning, a strong contrast from the beautiful blue weather of the previous day. The sky and land merged as one giant white horizon, with scarce landscape elements to give a sense of reality, adding a unique character to the ride. We rode a lengthy downhill section which proved to be a tough exercise. The balance between letting the dogs run freely and maintaining the sled on the trail kept me on edge. I did not want to be thrown away as we gained speed. It was exhilarating if not a little concerning.
The dogs tired faster on the second day though they were still very much competitive. They gladly ran on the flat open terrain and liked to gulp the fresh snow powder by the side of the trail as they went. This was important as the temperatures rose several degrees and made it harder for the dogs to pull. While the scenery asked for deep contemplation, I concentrated on my immediate surroundings. The dogs had a mind of their own and followed any bird flying by. The quiet ride could change abruptly - no time to daydream.
The trail had several uphill sections where we had to help the dogs. Bruno pushed and ran by the side of the sled. I tried to do the same but almost fell as I could not run fast enough. I opted to keep one foot on the sled and pushed with the other. Though not as powerful as Bruno's method, I knew the dogs appreciated it. When I stopped pushing at times, they turned their heads and stared at me with a clear request in their eyes: "Come on, push!" My legs cramped as this was a true workout. Many times I shouted "Go, go, go. Good boy Jasper, good girl Pippa." and so on, encouraging them to keep pulling.
As a couple of sleds in our group struggled over the rolling hills, Judi told Bruno and me to go ahead. It was a gorgeous part of the trail, hilly but not strenuous, and with now a clear sky. The dogs accelerated, faster and faster. What a fantastic moment it was, as we felt the complicity with the team, the dogs alert and happy, the wind on our faces. We slowed after a mile to check on the other teams, which were still further back.
Too soon, we reached the frozen Mackenzie River and passed the preparations for the Muskrat Jamboree. The yearly event featured snowmobile and dog sled competitions, local food tasting and muskrat skinning among other traditional Arctic activities. One last curve and one last small frozen lake later, we were back at the kennel.
This overnight dog sled trip with tundra camping represented the ultimate Arctic Circle adventure. A once-in-a-lifetime experience. We made real connections with the white Huskies, and as a horse rider, I felt the bond with the animals was fantastic, each with its own character. I had not expected to love the Arctic so much. What started as the thrill of being in a remote and mystical area ended up feeling like home.
For more ideas on adventure travel and outdoor activities, check our blog www.ZeWanderingFrogs.com.
All photos are copyright of Ze Wandering Frogs unless otherwise stated.