DOG SLEDDING IN ALASKA

One of my dreams has always been to take a dog sled ride, and when the opportunity arose on a trip to Alaska, I leaped at it, even though it was a bit pricy. The tour package included a helicopter flight to a glacier where the dogs were encamped, followed by an actual sled dog ride.

Alaska is breathtaking at any time of year, but the helicopter ride showcased the contrasts of snow-covered glacier with the myriad shades of green of the untouched forests, and the reflecting blue lakes. I had expected to be terrified on my first copter ride, but the view was so enchanting I didn’t feel the slightest flutter of fear, even though there were no doors on the helicopter. Any fears of hurtling to my death were overshadowed by the awesome grandeur that is Alaska.

Right after landing, we five passengers clambered out as quickly as possible, so that the pilot could return to base for the next group. The sound of the helicopter was effectively drowned out as our ears were assaulted by the shrill yipping and barking of fifty dogs, a sound that never abated during our entire visit.

The camp gave the appearance of being a miniature village snowbound in the wilderness. Tiny individual wooden houses provide shelter for each dog. Long chains from each house kept the happy, barking dogs from contact with each other, as they begged to be hooked up to dog sleds. Several larger prefabs provided housing for the two permanent mushers who lived on the site. We were given a lecture and a tour of the camp site by two gorgeous young men who maintained semi-permanent residence on the glacier. (I may be an old lady, but I can still appreciate a good-looking man.) One of them gave a fascinating lecture on sled dog life and the history of the Iditarod. He had been raised in Ohio and living on this glacier was part of a lifelong dream.

One thing I would never have known was that all human and dog waste must be bagged and flown back to Juneau for disposal, since the glacier camp is in a state park. Not only that, the urine is packaged separately and differently from the fecal matter. I didn’t have the nerve to ask if human and canine waste was further segregated. The idea of constantly cleaning up after the dogs took much of the romance out of the camp for me. The other man was busy hooking up two teams of sled dogs, who were so excited to be in harness they could hardly contain themselves. The unchosen dogs would get their turns with the next batch of tourists. The dogs were a surprise to me. I had expected the stereotypical Huskies seen in movies, but these were smaller mixed breed dogs, wiry, loud, and eager to work. The ride was exhilarating. We took turns playing passenger and standing at the back of the sled, operating the brake. In no time, my leg muscles began to complain, but nothing in the world would have made me cry uncle. After the ride, we were taken to the other end of the camp, to a caged-off area, where a proud mother allowed us to handle her two new-born pups.

While taking pictures of the two-day old puppies, I managed to step into an enormous pile of husky poo! That had to be the world’s stayingest poop. I began trying to scrape it off in the snow, turning and twisting my foot in all directions, since there were no sticks to be found for scraping. I rubbed my tractor-tread boot in the snow repeatedly, trying to remove the disgusting waste. I stomped my foot, scraped the sides of my foot in the snow, did everything I could think of. Then, when I was sure I had it all, I would take a few steps. And there, clear as burglar footprints in the snow, would be scatological evidence of my dirty deed. All along the snowy walk back to the helicopter, I left my one-footed track, like some deranged monoped determine to leave my mark.

I kept thinking about those two handsome young man, who would have to follow my trail, scooping up footprint after footprint of my poopy remains and bagging it for delivery back to Juneau. My shame was so great that I fully expected them to have it delivered to my cabin on the cruise ship in retaliation. I know for sure I can never go back to that glacier camp again. I’m positive I would be met by a photo of myself, in a red circle with a slash across the front.