The Work Day
A glow develops behind the White Mountains, to the east, promising
some warmth on the day.
Thirty, or so, gallons of soup have already begun to
come to a boil, steaming up and then refreezing, yes refreezing-
the trails will be iced over and in great condition this morning.
The pack stirs, not quite awake, yet the excitement of
running dances on the cold of the morning.
Soup means hydration, yet it is much deeper, it means
another day to pull sleds, and that is what they live for, echoed
over thousands of years, and endless miles of snowy trails,
through each breath of their ancestors.
It is all about the dogs. They have accepted me, as a musher,
into the team, demanded every bit that resides within, and expect
more every waking dawn.
There is no choice, for our worlds have merged, in fact,
the two are so intertwined that each night they run through
the darkest and coldest parts of my mind, splashing warmth on
my dreams. This is no nine to five, this is a lifestyle.
Morning chores are done effortlessly, moving 
quickly to avoid the deep cold, and by the time the team is
loaded up, trucked to the trail, and setup, the sun is shining
brightly with warmth.
Shortly after, the first family arrives.
Many families have never met a work dog before, and many
return year after year, asking about certain dogs by name, for
each is mild mannered and possess their own lovable personality.
Excitement takes over as soon as someone sits in
the sled. The family
gets comfortable while the harnesses are attached to the tug
line. This is how
it has always been done, spanning across boundaries of local
Mammoth history, to Alaskan and Yukon history.
It was a way of life that sustained frontier fur trappers
and supplied entire towns in cold formidable climates.
The anchor is pulled, and through a high energy cloud of barks
the musher calls, “Hike!” The sled, a hand crafted original modeled after traditional
Alaskan freight sleds, glides over the still icy snow packed
trail across snowy meadows with rugged mountainous backdrops
and through picturesque forests.
Conversation slides gently across the snow from specific
dogs and personalities, team positions, sleds, local and natural
history, to the history of the “Great Last Race”, the Iditarod
and the legend of Balto, the dog that saved the entire town
of Nome, Alaska. The
team, dogs and mushers, and the ride itself, ask people to look
through a window, or even step through a door, into this world,
this lifestyle, see the knowledge and warmth, feel it, for it
is found in every breath of our day.
By:
Chad Brotherton |
