mushing

In early March Keith and I exchanged a pack of Red Bulls, a mix CD and our bumbling helping hands to go out mushing with Richard Carroll. The first time we stopped by his house he invited us in immediately and sat us down with hot buttered rums for some conversation. We saw the vaccinations he buys in Fairbanks to administer to his dogs, the little booties some wear to protect cracked pads from the cold snow and ice, and his pile of guitars and amps. He invited us out the next day and we went over straight from work.

I started sitting in the sled, while Keith stood on the skis of his own sled behind us. Richard led us out and over a steep bank onto the Yukon; he was sure we'd dropped Keith. But when he got the chance to look around, Keith was running along and jumped right back onto the skis just fine.

Richard soon stopped the dogs for just a moment to switch places with me and we were off again...the dogs just won't stand still for more than seconds on the trail. And there were 18 dogs in front of us.

When we were going, it was so so quiet on the river. The team pulled strong over a packed trail, the skis barely made a sound in the snow. The sky was big over us, the river vast.

When we paused to turn the dogs sharply I got all twisted up between them, and they tumbled over each other and their ropes. One even slipped out of his collar. Keith held the anchor in the snow while Richard got the dogs back in order. I tried to stay on my feet, and dragged a couple dogs back into place. A few minutes later we were off again, and back home to Richard's dog yard.

Great, great, to say the least.