Shortly after our own orientation, sleds and sledders are deposited in a huge field, which seems to contain yelping dogs to the very horizon.

"Go get your dogs!" demands Rene.

In there? We'll be torn to pieces in a moment! Look at all those long teeth! One hundred and fifty vicious monsters, all slavering for our tender flesh.

Not so. We are facing one hundred and fifty woolly wimps, born to pull, and dying to be loved. They fight for our attention, roll over to be scratched, and attempt to lick us to distraction. Allison soon finds herself inundated in pups, and I get no further work from her.

The first dog to be hitched is the lead dog. During the hookup process, his job is to keep the main trace pulled tight. This keeps the other dogs from becoming entangled, while they're being hitched up. Well, this is what is supposed to happen, anyway.

After some hilarious tangles are sorted out, we are off. With yelps of joy, the dogs stretch out, heaving up snow. Seemingly moments later, we're gliding along a narrow path. Thick, heavy snow covers the woods, like whipped cream, or icing on a cake. Icy evergreen fingers reach out to touch us as we pass. I lean into the turns to assist the dogs, and we both get off the sled for the steeper inclines.

You soon learn when to help, when going up a steep grade, for the dogs will tell you in their own way. The sled slows down, and then you see these flopping ears and brown eyes, as the dogs turn to look back, as if to say, " . . . it's time to get off and kick, you dummy!" The dogs had to actually stop the sled to tell me this, several times, until I got the hint.

Move on to The Backcountry

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