Dogsledding: An Australian in Maine

New Year’s resolution # 132: Go dogsledding and quit complaining about the cold! That’s the brief version of how I ended up in -12F temperatures, five layers between me and the frostbite, and miles from any hope of a hot chocolate. Thanks to 11:59 pm, December 31st, 2003, I persuaded (read: conned) my husband and two other Aussie friends, Cassie and Simon, into taking a weekend trip to Maine to experience dogsledding. Aren’t resolutions the best? Of course I scheduled it for one of the coldest weekends of the winter (I know that all the meteorologists in Boston plotted that), but somehow it all seemed to fit.

The weather doesn’t seem so bad after making a detour to the L.L. Bean outdoor store in Freeport, Maine. The purpose of the detour is to ensure that we were fully prepared for what was about to take place, which meant purchasing thermal long underwear and 6 hour hand and feet warmers.
After managing to drive south instead of north and turning a 2 hour trip into an extended after dark drive, we arrived in Newry, Maine where one of our guides, Polly, greeted us. A seasoned professional who had spent 10 years living a subsistence lifestyle in the Yukon Territory, she seemed qualified, considering my idea of a subsistence lifestyle is getting to the supermarket once a week.
Our overnight accommodation was a rather rustic looking farmhouse with a history to match. The decor was an eclectic mixture of Native American artifacts and dogsledding paraphernalia. It was late, but not late enough that we couldn’t enjoy some non-Atkins food (fuel for our adventure) and a big screen to view the New England Patriots play off game at a nearby bar. Watching Belichick’s boys’ meant not getting to bed until three nail-biting hours later. I remember thinking, if they make it to the Super Bowl I’m going to have to take out shares in Sally Hansen.

Morning brought the first glimpse of our new surroundings, and it almost took my breath away. The property was situated in a basin enclosed by tall snow covered mountains. Though the sun was barely out, I could see and feel how isolated we were. And standing close to the window I could feel how cold it was too. I mentally refused to let that become an issue and began preparing for the exciting day ahead.

We enjoyed a hearty breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, bacon and homemade banana scones straight out of the oven. The fact that I don’t drink coffee prompted me to chow down a second scone in the hopes of jump-starting my energy level.

Following breakfast, Polly arrived and we suited up. And I mean really suited up. The four of us began to feel like marshmallows as put on layer after layer. Thankfully, appropriate footwear was provided in the form of large reinforced rubber army boots to protect us from the cold and damp (but not from falling down, which I immediately did as soon as we set foot out the door.)
Despite our total inexperience with large dogs, Polly enlisted our assistance to help bring them out of their kennels. Our arrival at their pens triggered excited bursts of howling and barking. Each dog had their own name, their own kennel and – as we soon discovered – their own personality!

Kevin and Polly own over forty dogs, but know each one of them by name and even by their bark. Yukon Huskies are gentle and friendly in nature, however, like people, they don’t get along with everyone. Polly engineered the loading of the dogs to ensure they only met their best friends and not their acquaintances! One by one we navigated the icy dog yard in our Rambo style boots, retrieving each canine and bringing them to Polly. Each dog had a small hay strewn compartment on the back of the truck that scarcely seemed large enough for a baby let alone a grown Yukon Husky. But Polly assured us that they were comfortable and even thrilled since they were about to do what they were bred to do: pull. 

After loading the dogs into the truck we drove 20 minutes to the (frozen) shores of Lake Umbagog. I have to admit that even though the icicles on my eyelashes were in the process of gluing themselves together, I really couldn’t feel the cold and seemed to forget exactly what the temperature was. All I could think about was the breathtaking scene in front of us. Twenty four dogs, previously howling and barking with excitement were wriggling with silent joy in anticipation of pulling us to the other side of the lake.

Everything was so still, so quiet... especially when you block out the nearby snowmobiles doing donuts on the ice. Silently I vowed to join the Sierra Club upon my return.

Each sled was organized according to the strength of the individual dogs and their ability to get along as a team. Then we received a crash course on how to control the dogs while maintaining their safety as well as our own. We were taught the various commands (none of which are “mush”), how to use the brake and the importance of monitoring the dogs’ ropes to ensure that they not become tangled.

It all seemed pretty complicated to me, so I batted my icicle crusted eyelashes at my hubby who agreed to take the driver’s seat for our team. I opted to ride in the sled and photograph our adventure. Simon was placed with Polly, while Cassie stood with Nandi, the apprentice. The teams would head to the other side of the lake and then come back, a 10.1 mile trip in total.

Polly’s team took off first, and before I could replace the lens cap on my camera I shot forward into an icy lake wind… and the most amazing experience of my American life so far. (Yes, even better than seeing a raccoon for the first time!) As we shot across Umbagog I tried valiantly to capture the incredible images for posterity (and my friends and family in Australia). After awhile though, it seemed easier to just take mental photos.

Halfway across I exchanged my “lady of leisure” position in the sled to stand behind it, and that was even more amazing! I felt like I was on the cover of National Geographic. The wind was nothing short of brutal, yet the exhilarating feeling of being pulled along a frozen lake by six beautiful sled dogs definitely cancelled out the lack of blood running to my hands and feet.

Upon arriving at the other side of the lake we found a camp complete with a heated tent and pine needle floor – and a hot lunch! One of the great things about our guides was that everything was “hands on”, and we were involved in every aspect of the experience. From handling the dogs to unloading sleds, we were needed every step of the way, no matter what our past experience or – in our case – inexperience! After reaching the makeshift camp, we unhitched the dogs from the sleds and tethered them near the special hay beds that were laid out for them.

I spent some time getting to know the dogs better. Most of them were very friendly and enjoyed the attention, while several shied away initially until they warmed up to me. They were so beautiful and graceful, yet incredibly strong. I glanced behind me at the path we had taken across the lake and marveled at the way in which the huskies had skimmed effortlessly across the ice while pulling two people and their various accessories.

The dogs all received a hard boiled egg while we huddled in the tent enjoying homemade soup, toasted bagels and hot chocolate. It was the first chance we really had had to talk with Kevin, the second guide (and designer/builder of the dogsleds), and he impressed us with his knowledge of nature and the culture of Native Americans. In his twenty five years as a guide, he has traveled extensively throughout North America by canoe and dog team with Native Americans. He related some of his adventures and answered numerous questions about the dogs.
 

Someone’s ears must have been burning because outside one of the dogs lets out a howl and the others joined in the chorus. Polly and Kevin explained that somehow the dogs could sense when a meal was over and it was time to start pulling again. Outside, the sun has disappeared, and what was once a clear view across the lake had diminished in a mass of dense fog.

I found that the feeling of isolation had been replaced by one of peacefulness. Snowflakes drifted down as I absorbed the scene around me. Here I was, an Australian who really only knows summer, standing on a frozen lake in the northern United States, dressed in six layers of thermal clothing, surrounded by Yukon Huskies in well below freezing conditions.

It dawned on me that this is really what travel is all about. Being out of your comfort zone, learning new things, meeting new people and finding that no matter where you are, the world is amazing, surprising, and beautiful.

The return trip was vastly different than our maiden voyage. The snow was falling faster and blurring the view in front of our sled. I could barely make out the shapes of Polly and Simon in front of us and Cassie and Nandi bringing up the rear. It was clear that we were falling behind the lead team, so Polly made some adjustments, moving the dogs around until we were at even strength, enough to get us back to base in a timely fashion.

Dogsledding with Polly and Kevin doesn’t imply that once the sleds stopped, we stopped. There were dogs to be loaded, sleds to be unpacked and lifted back on the truck, and sleeping bags to be rolled. I didn’t mean to ignore any of these duties, but I wanted to pat each dog, take more photos and hold onto what I had just experienced before I had to head back to reality.

And the reality is that although this adventure didn’t make me into a cold weather convert, it did expand my horizons, making me slightly tougher and giving me a unique experience that will never be forgotten.