We stopped for a moment, took time to take a few photos, have a snack and drink. Sage, as usual, does not sit still, though at first nothing seems wrong. Laird gives the 'everything ok?' sign, tapping his head, each of us reply in turn, including me at the very back. He sets off down the slope, this one an epic stretch of about five hundred meters down the back of the mountain. One by one we follow, and still everything seems well. Then disaster strikes, and I notice Mickie's harness has been twisted around itself, thanks most likely to Sage's shananigans. In panic I slam on the brakes and stomp the snowhoook into the ground, cementing my team in place. I leap out of the sled and run to Micki, but this spooks big Harry and he takes off, ripping the snowhook out of the ground and sending the other four dogs into an excited frenzy, egging them to run, run, to the ends of the earth. And so they did. In a desperate attempt to stop the sprint I dive for the team line and grab hold of it with one hand, Harry's collar with the other. I struggle to calm my tractor dog, but he doesn't listen to words. He wrenches free, and the ground speeds past underneath my backside, my flailing legs on either side of the bow of the sled, one hand holding myself away from it. I chance to glance down the hill, at the bottom is a sharp, but wide, turn left, and beyond that nothing but forest and a nearly sheer drop to the valley floor. Without a helmsman the only way this sled would go is over the edge, dragging my dogs with it.
My grip failing I kick out ferociously at the sled, knocking it to one side and getting my legs together. Hooking my feet around the prow I am able to right myself and get my hands back on something solid. Climbing to my feet, with the wind rushing past my ears I am able to climb along the frame of the sled until I can get my hands on the handlebars, leaping I get one foot back on the runners and slam the other down on the brake. A fountain of snow spurts up behind the sled and we slow considerably, just in time for the dogs to take the turn, and the sled, luckily, to follow.
Sunday, January 24, 2010
Day 6 - Mount Mac
I don't remember what was for breakfast on the day we took the Mount Mackie trail. I remember that I was late to the feedshack in the morning, so instead of feeding the dogs Mary asked me if I would like to help chop the meat. I leapt to the task and was soon hacking away at a frozen chunk of beef (32kgs) with an axe. I don't think it needs to be said that I had fun, and volunteered to be official meat chopper from then on.
The Mount Mackie climb was nothing compared to the climb to Bonville, though far longer it simply wasn't as steep, and the dogs needed little help tugging the sled up the mountain, we were scarce out of breath by the time we reached the top.
I had seen the mountains from the valleys, and the view had been spectacular, majestic, awesome. Now I was seeing the valley from the mountain, and the view was so similar. The broad, flat stretch of ice covered water cut a swaithe through the valley like the facet of a flawless diamond, the mountains reared up behind them like the Titans of Greek mythology, primal beings demanding attention and respect, and yet modest and respectful, hiding from the world here in the wilderness. Photos were necessary.
When we started moving again the first thing that caught my eye was the burned out wreck of a car, no one knows how it got up here on the spine of Thrym, no one knows who put it up here, but everyone seems to agree that its far too much hassle to get it down. But there was little time to contemplate, because we had reached the plataeu, and from here the downhill started.
It wasn't like the Bush trail, or Bonville Ridge, up here on Mt. Mac there was virtually no vegetation bigger than a few scattered, skeleton bushes. No trees to block the view or deflect the wind. We rushed around the curve of the mountain on a broad trail, down shallow hills and up short rises, leaping from crest to crest like hounds born from the snow rushing to return to it. We passed over narrow ridges joining two valleys like bridges, always aware that if we slipped too far to the side we would be buried in the snow, we passed round the mountain, privy to more spectacular views of forest, lake, and magnificent, clear blue sky. It was like a race, each time I caught up to Alan I would stop, hold my dogs back until he was far enough ahead to give my hounds a run, enough to give me the rush I had come to love so much.
The Mount Mackie climb was nothing compared to the climb to Bonville, though far longer it simply wasn't as steep, and the dogs needed little help tugging the sled up the mountain, we were scarce out of breath by the time we reached the top.
I had seen the mountains from the valleys, and the view had been spectacular, majestic, awesome. Now I was seeing the valley from the mountain, and the view was so similar. The broad, flat stretch of ice covered water cut a swaithe through the valley like the facet of a flawless diamond, the mountains reared up behind them like the Titans of Greek mythology, primal beings demanding attention and respect, and yet modest and respectful, hiding from the world here in the wilderness. Photos were necessary.
When we started moving again the first thing that caught my eye was the burned out wreck of a car, no one knows how it got up here on the spine of Thrym, no one knows who put it up here, but everyone seems to agree that its far too much hassle to get it down. But there was little time to contemplate, because we had reached the plataeu, and from here the downhill started.
It wasn't like the Bush trail, or Bonville Ridge, up here on Mt. Mac there was virtually no vegetation bigger than a few scattered, skeleton bushes. No trees to block the view or deflect the wind. We rushed around the curve of the mountain on a broad trail, down shallow hills and up short rises, leaping from crest to crest like hounds born from the snow rushing to return to it. We passed over narrow ridges joining two valleys like bridges, always aware that if we slipped too far to the side we would be buried in the snow, we passed round the mountain, privy to more spectacular views of forest, lake, and magnificent, clear blue sky. It was like a race, each time I caught up to Alan I would stop, hold my dogs back until he was far enough ahead to give my hounds a run, enough to give me the rush I had come to love so much.
Day 5 Bonville Ridge
Bonville ridge offered some awe-inspiring panoramic views of the valley below, I did my best to take photos of these but nothing I attempted could do it justice. My camera couldn't focus far enough, couldn't distinguish the pale white of the mountains from the pale blue of the sky, but I snapped plenty anyway, in the hopes otehrs could catch a glimpse of the scenery which so amazed me.
Laird turned to me before we started moving again, "Damo," he said, his eyes sharp as ice crystals, "There's a steep drop ahead with lots of bends, what do you do when going round a bend downhill?"
"Lean into the slope," I said, without missing a beat, "And hit the brake."
"Good," Laird said, and pushed past me to get to the others, leaving me quivering in anticipation.
The dogs pulled us a few hundred meters along the ridge, up and down small hillets, we picke upsome speed, but nothing impressive, and I was wondering just what Laird had been worried about. And then it happened, we entered a thicker section of forest, and the ground dropped away. The serenityof the calm and tranquil Bonville lakes served as only a contrast to the breakneck speed with which we descended back to the bottom, whipping around corners blind as bats, slamming the brakes in a panicked, adrenaline fueled flurry, leaning left and right as the trail wove around bushes, trees and snowbanks any one of which could have spelled the end of the journey for any of us. Each time the trail straightened out was merely to lull us into a false sense of security, as in the space of a single turn we would dive down again, wind rushing past our faces and fingers gripping the handle for dear life as our eyes darted back and forth in a desperate attempt to see all the beauty we could before the next corner ended everything. And then it was over, the forest cleared out into the valley floor and all life was perfect.
It's difficult to explain what kind of a dream that portion of the trail was, now that I've woken up. The snow on the trees seemed to sparkle more than usual, the sounds of doggy paws kicking up snow, sleds making trails seemed almost musical after the rush of the wild ride coming down from the ridge had brought us up so high...
The trickle of water reached us, I looked left and was delighted to see a beautiful river, sparkling, half frozen over. The river added words to the song of the forest and I was dissapointed to leave it behind. I felt a warmth in my heart, admiration in my soul for this country, and I could understand why, even after two hundred years the Christmas myths still remain strong. It is still the winter wonderland we cherish at that most special time of year, though most of us have never seen the sparkling of the snow in the trees in cool winter sunlight, though we try to emulate it with ropes and ropes of fairy lights, or the cool sheen of ice over water. The sheer, unabashed beauty of that country inspired such warmth that it is difficult to describe, but suffice to say I was dissapointed when it was over, and I found we had returned to the dogyard.
Laird turned to me before we started moving again, "Damo," he said, his eyes sharp as ice crystals, "There's a steep drop ahead with lots of bends, what do you do when going round a bend downhill?"
"Lean into the slope," I said, without missing a beat, "And hit the brake."
"Good," Laird said, and pushed past me to get to the others, leaving me quivering in anticipation.
The dogs pulled us a few hundred meters along the ridge, up and down small hillets, we picke upsome speed, but nothing impressive, and I was wondering just what Laird had been worried about. And then it happened, we entered a thicker section of forest, and the ground dropped away. The serenityof the calm and tranquil Bonville lakes served as only a contrast to the breakneck speed with which we descended back to the bottom, whipping around corners blind as bats, slamming the brakes in a panicked, adrenaline fueled flurry, leaning left and right as the trail wove around bushes, trees and snowbanks any one of which could have spelled the end of the journey for any of us. Each time the trail straightened out was merely to lull us into a false sense of security, as in the space of a single turn we would dive down again, wind rushing past our faces and fingers gripping the handle for dear life as our eyes darted back and forth in a desperate attempt to see all the beauty we could before the next corner ended everything. And then it was over, the forest cleared out into the valley floor and all life was perfect.
It's difficult to explain what kind of a dream that portion of the trail was, now that I've woken up. The snow on the trees seemed to sparkle more than usual, the sounds of doggy paws kicking up snow, sleds making trails seemed almost musical after the rush of the wild ride coming down from the ridge had brought us up so high...
The trickle of water reached us, I looked left and was delighted to see a beautiful river, sparkling, half frozen over. The river added words to the song of the forest and I was dissapointed to leave it behind. I felt a warmth in my heart, admiration in my soul for this country, and I could understand why, even after two hundred years the Christmas myths still remain strong. It is still the winter wonderland we cherish at that most special time of year, though most of us have never seen the sparkling of the snow in the trees in cool winter sunlight, though we try to emulate it with ropes and ropes of fairy lights, or the cool sheen of ice over water. The sheer, unabashed beauty of that country inspired such warmth that it is difficult to describe, but suffice to say I was dissapointed when it was over, and I found we had returned to the dogyard.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Day 5 - Bonville Lakes
The fifth day of my snowy week started with a delicious omelet made by Valerie, the woman guiding the english duo. I did as I always do with malleable materials, smeared it on my toast. By this stage the routine was pretty set. Wake up, feed the dogs, feed the humans, scoop the poop, saddle up and head out. OUr destination today? Bonneville lakes. The start of the journey was easy, a short trek through scrub and a sled across Fish Lake. Laird had some trouble convincing the dogs to break from the trail and head out across the lake towards the mountains, but eventually they succumbed to his leadership and pushed their way through the thick snow. It was slow going at this stage, my somewhat overenthusiastic dogs kept needing to be reined in to keep from going up Laird's behind. Upon reaching the otehr side of the lake we followed the trail around the spur of one particular mountian which I forgot to ask the name of, but would be the most hated place in all of that river valley...aside from the outhouse and it's frozen seat, of course...anyway, we had to climb to the top of it. It was such hard going to Laird in the lead that, multpile times, he had to stop, walk back down hill to the six dog teams (Caspar and Claudia) and take one of their dogs to give himself the power he needed to break the trail. The only positive part is that the slope ended, and we eventualy made it to the top where we were able to rest, eat, and drink. At least, the others could, Laird and I had to replace Ella's harness that she had chewed right through, hooking a neckline to hold it together (a neckline is a short peice of cord with a lock at each end used to hook the two lead dogs' collars together, keeping them from running around trees). But what goes up must come down, and the slope on the other side fed my search for excitement and adrenaline pumping action the way only a life threatening situation can.
The next hour or so was of little merit, being mostly just struggling through deep snow across the icy Bonville lakes. A few hills and spectacular scenery made the jouney interesting, and at one stage Laird had to ride ahead to scare a few horses from the trail. Down one short hill I managed to throw myself from my sled, but landed safely in a ditch and was able to get my dogs moving again before Claudia could catch up. A few photos later, we reached the ridge.
The next hour or so was of little merit, being mostly just struggling through deep snow across the icy Bonville lakes. A few hills and spectacular scenery made the jouney interesting, and at one stage Laird had to ride ahead to scare a few horses from the trail. Down one short hill I managed to throw myself from my sled, but landed safely in a ditch and was able to get my dogs moving again before Claudia could catch up. A few photos later, we reached the ridge.
Day 4 (end)
Not much happened after we returned to the lodge. We met two english girls, Kelly and Kylie (Kelly was one hot piece of english crumpet, If I may say) and went to bed, thats about it.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Day 4 - the Bush trail
The dogs shut up when Laird and I screamed at them simultaneously. It was just Sage being a little yelper. Breakfast was great, Laird threw together somethingthat had a few onions, some bacon, and lots of tiny hash browns. I smeared nutella on my toast and slathered it with the creation. It was one of the best breakfasts I've ever had.
After breakfast it just became a matter of packing up all our belongings, preparing to return to the lodge. Pretty much everything was scattered all over the kitchen tent and it took us all an age and a half to locate our own things and seperate them from the jumble. I almost left my binoculars behind, probably because they had yet to be particularly useful to me, though the upper slopes of the mountians looked great through them, all green and white, like a christmas cake (Not this years christmas cake, not since grandma elected not to put the icing on...) but bald fruitcake aside, the taril back was virtually the same as the trail there, except for one difference. About halfway across the tranquil Fish Lake we swerved off the path into what the Guides called 'the bush trail'. This path consisted of a continuous batch of sharp uphill and downhill slopes, and going at the speed I tried to keep up (a fair bit faster than was advisable) my sled tended to just leap from crest to crest, not an easy ride. The rest of the trail tended on the side of a great many sharp downhill turns through crowded bushland, twigs wipping us inthe face and snow laden branches continually dropping the white stuff down the backs of our parkas. But the best came at the beginning of the trail. In order to get the height we needed to make the downhill plunge through the visibility impaired track, we first had to trek up a steep hill. At the top of this hill a sharp left hand turn around a mighty fir tree kept visibility at zero. But visibility wasn't the problem. Enthusiasm was my downfall. Climbing off the sled to run up alongside my dogs, the moment the sled topped the rise I leapt back in, crashing my head against a bough and knocking myself back off the vehicle, and my beanie off my head! With a speed born of desperation (those dogs were never going to stop for me!) I grabbed hold of the brake with one hand, my beanie with the other, and was dragged through the snow like the backside of a seal as I fought to regain my composure. I eventually managed to climb back up into a standing position, take my beanie out of my mouth and jam it back onto my head, just in time for a reaching, grasping branch to sweep it right off and back into the snow. Who says god doesn't have a sense of humour?
After breakfast it just became a matter of packing up all our belongings, preparing to return to the lodge. Pretty much everything was scattered all over the kitchen tent and it took us all an age and a half to locate our own things and seperate them from the jumble. I almost left my binoculars behind, probably because they had yet to be particularly useful to me, though the upper slopes of the mountians looked great through them, all green and white, like a christmas cake (Not this years christmas cake, not since grandma elected not to put the icing on...) but bald fruitcake aside, the taril back was virtually the same as the trail there, except for one difference. About halfway across the tranquil Fish Lake we swerved off the path into what the Guides called 'the bush trail'. This path consisted of a continuous batch of sharp uphill and downhill slopes, and going at the speed I tried to keep up (a fair bit faster than was advisable) my sled tended to just leap from crest to crest, not an easy ride. The rest of the trail tended on the side of a great many sharp downhill turns through crowded bushland, twigs wipping us inthe face and snow laden branches continually dropping the white stuff down the backs of our parkas. But the best came at the beginning of the trail. In order to get the height we needed to make the downhill plunge through the visibility impaired track, we first had to trek up a steep hill. At the top of this hill a sharp left hand turn around a mighty fir tree kept visibility at zero. But visibility wasn't the problem. Enthusiasm was my downfall. Climbing off the sled to run up alongside my dogs, the moment the sled topped the rise I leapt back in, crashing my head against a bough and knocking myself back off the vehicle, and my beanie off my head! With a speed born of desperation (those dogs were never going to stop for me!) I grabbed hold of the brake with one hand, my beanie with the other, and was dragged through the snow like the backside of a seal as I fought to regain my composure. I eventually managed to climb back up into a standing position, take my beanie out of my mouth and jam it back onto my head, just in time for a reaching, grasping branch to sweep it right off and back into the snow. Who says god doesn't have a sense of humour?
Thursday, January 21, 2010
Day 3, part 2
Today's itinery is Mud Lake. Because of my extremely uncooperative dogs I've forgotton my beanie (known in Canada as a 'took') and scarf, and as a result of this and a knifelike wind the only thing keeping my ears on is the fact that they are frozen to my head. The journey to Mud Lake is fairly straightforward. It abounds with gradual slopes, followed by steeper downhills, giving the dogs a chance to really stretch their legs and pound the ground like they were raised to do. The circle around Mt. 'Toblerone', as Laird calls it, is a spectacular river valley ringed by majestic, shining peaks and a beautiful, perma-rising sun which squats just above the southern horizon all day long, giving the impression of an endless dawn. My dogs run at high speeds across the plains, revelling in the simlpe joy of the marathon sprint. Claudia, however, who is right in front of me, has dogs which seem to prefer fighting and nipping at one another's heels more than they enjoy the run, and so I am constantly forced to stop and wait for her to move along. Laird pauses in the lead several times to swap dogs around, Alan, Casper, Yergen and Yasmine all have dogs removed from their teams as our guide searches for the ultimate combination. My team, however, remains the same as when it started, with only the swapping of little Ella with Mia, due to Mia's approaching Heat phase and Harry's inability to concentrate with her running beside him.
With my parka shielding my ears, my only real regret is that the batteries in my camera are constantly frozen, and I can only take a few pictures of the Mud Lake trek with my fast dying phone.
Upon reaching our destination, we stop only for a breather and a few pictures of the frozen swamp. Laird makes a few more changes in the teams and I wrestle with Mia for a moment, trying to right her twisted harness and calm her and Sage, who just want to run again. When we finally leave, the wind is at our backs and we make excellent time, the fur rimmed hood of my parka protects my ears and I don't need to draw it up and over, whcih offers me an uninterrupted view of the trail. Starving, though, I find a delicious peanut bar I had stowed in my parka's deep pockets, which gives me the energy I need to climb back up the excellent slopes that just that morning we had enjoyed going down, and fly down the other sides, twisting and turning to keep the sled away from the sharp corners and deep drifts, slamming the brake when control was being sacrificed far too much for speed. Finally, after many adrenaline pumping near crashes, we return to camp. Over the next few hours we rest and recuperate, some lumber is chopped for the fires, diaries are written in and photos examined. When the time for bed finally arrives I deign to sleep outside in my sled, to experience all that I can of a true sledder. And so wrapped in jacket, scarf, thermals, t-shirt and sleeping bag with binoculars around my neck (in case of northern lights) I rest, slowly freezing from the toes up despite three layers of thick wooly socks, and with frost gradually settling on the small circle of my face left open by the sleeping bag, I sleep the night away, to be awoken by the frenzied barking of my dogs.
With my parka shielding my ears, my only real regret is that the batteries in my camera are constantly frozen, and I can only take a few pictures of the Mud Lake trek with my fast dying phone.
Upon reaching our destination, we stop only for a breather and a few pictures of the frozen swamp. Laird makes a few more changes in the teams and I wrestle with Mia for a moment, trying to right her twisted harness and calm her and Sage, who just want to run again. When we finally leave, the wind is at our backs and we make excellent time, the fur rimmed hood of my parka protects my ears and I don't need to draw it up and over, whcih offers me an uninterrupted view of the trail. Starving, though, I find a delicious peanut bar I had stowed in my parka's deep pockets, which gives me the energy I need to climb back up the excellent slopes that just that morning we had enjoyed going down, and fly down the other sides, twisting and turning to keep the sled away from the sharp corners and deep drifts, slamming the brake when control was being sacrificed far too much for speed. Finally, after many adrenaline pumping near crashes, we return to camp. Over the next few hours we rest and recuperate, some lumber is chopped for the fires, diaries are written in and photos examined. When the time for bed finally arrives I deign to sleep outside in my sled, to experience all that I can of a true sledder. And so wrapped in jacket, scarf, thermals, t-shirt and sleeping bag with binoculars around my neck (in case of northern lights) I rest, slowly freezing from the toes up despite three layers of thick wooly socks, and with frost gradually settling on the small circle of my face left open by the sleeping bag, I sleep the night away, to be awoken by the frenzied barking of my dogs.
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Sled trip, Day 3
We wake up at 8:00 to feed the dogs, its still dark. Once this is done Alan, Casper and I volunteer to take the empty water barrrels down to the creek in a sled to refill them and search for the missing ones, since we're out of water. This proves far more difficult than previously thought. The distance is far greater on foot than by Alaskan Husky (there's a difference between them and regular huskies, I'll explain later).Alan`s back is in bad shape and Caspar pushed the sled, so I refill the three barrels, this is easy enough; then we have to push the sled back up the trail to the camp. It is a strenuous activity which takes a whole lot of vigour out of us, we all quickly regret volunteering at all, alternating between pushing the sled, and pulling either the harness`or brakeline. When we finally reach the camp, after far more turns than we remember, I waste no time in throwing off my layers, remaining only in pants, chest, hands and head naked to the elements. It felt great. Even Skadi couldn`t encourage me to put on a shirt at that moment, icy though her breath was.
Once the water was set to boil and we three had recovered our strength, Laird offered us snacks and gave the order to begin preparing our dogs for the day`s journey. I accepted a peanut bar which I never intended to eat.
Thus ended the first half of day 3. Stay tuned for the sled trip to Mud Lake, and my own valiant efforts not to lose my ears to frostbite, plus the astonishing conclusion to day 3.
Once the water was set to boil and we three had recovered our strength, Laird offered us snacks and gave the order to begin preparing our dogs for the day`s journey. I accepted a peanut bar which I never intended to eat.
Thus ended the first half of day 3. Stay tuned for the sled trip to Mud Lake, and my own valiant efforts not to lose my ears to frostbite, plus the astonishing conclusion to day 3.
Day two, Part two
Finally, we cross a small creek, still flowing in places, twice to reach the camp up a winding, sloping trail. Laird stops to get water...more on that later.
There are two wall tents. One has four beds, this one is reserved for the two couples, the Swiss-Germans Casper and Claudia, and the German pair Yergen and Yasmine. Me and Alan sleep in the Kitchen tent, which has a bed and space for a foldout, and Laird sleeps outside, wrapped in as many layers as he can find.
Evening approaches, Everyone else gets to know all about Sage as I have to shout his name every thirty seconds to stop him from barking us all into busted eardrums. Bedtime finally rolls around and, eager to see the celestial Auroras, I stay awake until the late hour, 10:30, (that's late when the sun sets five hours earlier) and gear up into my Parka, heavy gloves, my new binoculars (bought in Fiji) around my neck, my headlamp on my head, beanie and snow boots and several layers of thermals. I sit on the chopping block and wait patiently for an hour and a half, futily, for the northern lights. At midnight, despairing, I pack it in and succumb to sleep, heding back into the kitchen tent, restoking the wood stove to keep warm, and crawl into my sleeping bag.
There are two wall tents. One has four beds, this one is reserved for the two couples, the Swiss-Germans Casper and Claudia, and the German pair Yergen and Yasmine. Me and Alan sleep in the Kitchen tent, which has a bed and space for a foldout, and Laird sleeps outside, wrapped in as many layers as he can find.
Evening approaches, Everyone else gets to know all about Sage as I have to shout his name every thirty seconds to stop him from barking us all into busted eardrums. Bedtime finally rolls around and, eager to see the celestial Auroras, I stay awake until the late hour, 10:30, (that's late when the sun sets five hours earlier) and gear up into my Parka, heavy gloves, my new binoculars (bought in Fiji) around my neck, my headlamp on my head, beanie and snow boots and several layers of thermals. I sit on the chopping block and wait patiently for an hour and a half, futily, for the northern lights. At midnight, despairing, I pack it in and succumb to sleep, heding back into the kitchen tent, restoking the wood stove to keep warm, and crawl into my sleeping bag.
Day two
Well its 1:10am but for some reason I'm not very tired, so I'll add my next entry.
Porridge for breakfast...something in me simply can't swallow food that already looks digested, too lumpy and warm...I stuck with toast and nutella, and fresh fruit.
We harnessed the dogs about 11:00, Sage made himself a bother, wouldn't shut up, and I learned firsthand exactly how hard Big Harry can pull. We get thedogs to the dropchain (sorta like a waiting room) by lifting them onto their hindlegs by the collar and walking them. Harry and Mia are the biggest, but Sage is so wild he's almost as hard to control as Harry. Micki is calm and patient, but Ella is easiest. She bounces along like she was born on two legs, and she's so light.
Today our destination is the Wall Tents, where we will spend the next two nights. To get there, we spend an hour on the frozen Fish Lake, curling around the lower mountains and into a valley cut by the lake surrounded by breathtaking peaks, breaking out of the forests on their slopes to scrape the sky with their brilliant white crowns. We leave the lake to enter the bush, ducking and weaving to avoid branches laden with snow. On the off chance I do hit one, snowflakes find their way down my back, the freezing cold half hated, half desired to cool off after the effort of pushing the sled up hills the dogs can't quite drag me up.
Porridge for breakfast...something in me simply can't swallow food that already looks digested, too lumpy and warm...I stuck with toast and nutella, and fresh fruit.
We harnessed the dogs about 11:00, Sage made himself a bother, wouldn't shut up, and I learned firsthand exactly how hard Big Harry can pull. We get thedogs to the dropchain (sorta like a waiting room) by lifting them onto their hindlegs by the collar and walking them. Harry and Mia are the biggest, but Sage is so wild he's almost as hard to control as Harry. Micki is calm and patient, but Ella is easiest. She bounces along like she was born on two legs, and she's so light.
Today our destination is the Wall Tents, where we will spend the next two nights. To get there, we spend an hour on the frozen Fish Lake, curling around the lower mountains and into a valley cut by the lake surrounded by breathtaking peaks, breaking out of the forests on their slopes to scrape the sky with their brilliant white crowns. We leave the lake to enter the bush, ducking and weaving to avoid branches laden with snow. On the off chance I do hit one, snowflakes find their way down my back, the freezing cold half hated, half desired to cool off after the effort of pushing the sled up hills the dogs can't quite drag me up.
Tuesday, January 19, 2010
Just finished 8 Days in the hills around whitehorse
Day One
I was introduced to the Lodge and my Guide, Laird (Layered). There were five other people in our group, Alan, the Englishman, was picked up from the hotel with me as well as Maryanne, the dog handler, an Australian! When we got to the lodge Laird took us down to the dog yard and introduced us to our dogs. I got five Alaskan Huskies. Mickie, an experienced Leader, Ella, my bouncy, bubbly Swing; Harry, which I assume is Canadian for Tractor, and Mia, another experienced Wheel dog, though one who is completely and inarguably insane. Once these four were harnessed and ready (Mickie at least, the other three were all known to chew through their harnesses, Laird went and got Sage, my other Leader, who was taken out of the yard temporarily for some reason. Until we started, Sage never once stopped barking. All the dogs barked as they waited to go, but Sage was the worst, and Mickie the best, she just stood there quietly, waiting for the brake to be released.
Mushing is spectacular, the forest, trees laden with fresh snow, sparkled in the sunlight. The air was so fresh out here in the wild it easily rejuvinated me after arriving in Whitehorse at only 2:00 that morning.
After we returned we fed the dogs and returned to the lodge for dinner. I was kicked out of the room I had been put in (Double bed and single bunk) for a Swiss German couple and put instead in the room next to it with two bunk beds, it worked for me as I could be as messy with my gear as I wanted, leaving it strewn about the unused beds.
Well, I'm tired now after updating my facebook posts so I'm going back to my room to recharge before I hit the pubs. Cheers all
I was introduced to the Lodge and my Guide, Laird (Layered). There were five other people in our group, Alan, the Englishman, was picked up from the hotel with me as well as Maryanne, the dog handler, an Australian! When we got to the lodge Laird took us down to the dog yard and introduced us to our dogs. I got five Alaskan Huskies. Mickie, an experienced Leader, Ella, my bouncy, bubbly Swing; Harry, which I assume is Canadian for Tractor, and Mia, another experienced Wheel dog, though one who is completely and inarguably insane. Once these four were harnessed and ready (Mickie at least, the other three were all known to chew through their harnesses, Laird went and got Sage, my other Leader, who was taken out of the yard temporarily for some reason. Until we started, Sage never once stopped barking. All the dogs barked as they waited to go, but Sage was the worst, and Mickie the best, she just stood there quietly, waiting for the brake to be released.
Mushing is spectacular, the forest, trees laden with fresh snow, sparkled in the sunlight. The air was so fresh out here in the wild it easily rejuvinated me after arriving in Whitehorse at only 2:00 that morning.
After we returned we fed the dogs and returned to the lodge for dinner. I was kicked out of the room I had been put in (Double bed and single bunk) for a Swiss German couple and put instead in the room next to it with two bunk beds, it worked for me as I could be as messy with my gear as I wanted, leaving it strewn about the unused beds.
Well, I'm tired now after updating my facebook posts so I'm going back to my room to recharge before I hit the pubs. Cheers all
Tuesday, January 12, 2010
Vancouver...ACTUAL day 1, not just evening one
Started the day by moving to my new room, a sixbed with only two other people in it. Went for a walk and, until 1.20pm, struggled to get a workinjg sim cardso i could contact people without using hostel's internet (1$half hour, pretty good). Sim card finally worked, then went Ice skating...Sorry Gen, but I thinki've found a sport I love as much as climbing...hell, just learning is as tough as a tough 20. I eventually got the hang of it (after i was told my skates were too loose) took some pics of the art galllery (Got a bird for you to identify for me ed)
After the rink closed down at 3.30 i went for a walk, finding myself down by the quay i bought a few useful souviners (if you get them, remember they were useful while i was roughing it in whitehorse...some form of honour to that) I caught a tremendously arctic breeze while i was down there, prompting me to take off my jacket to better enjoy it in t-shirt form (same way i figur5ed out how to skate right, only person on the rink in t-shirt i feel pride-bound to mention) visited a Jade shop and saw some interesting carvings, then just wandeered down into gastown to enjoy a prompted tourism spot (Gastown). I visited the souvineer shops along the way and, for the first time ever, found a personalised keyring with my name, exact spelling! othjer than that the next coolest thing i saw was a fake bears head to be mounted on a wall. I also visted a native american art shop, totem poles and talking stick types. the highest levels smelled like the art room (the place the carver did his work) and brought back happy memories for me. Once I got back to the Hostel, i met my roomates, Tony and Monet...or something....from germany, got changed into nicer clothes, went down stairs, and met several interesting people. The first was Bec, a girl who INSISTED on getting me drunk, an Aussie chick who is, as i write this, 'super tired' and 'sick of facebook emails'. No one else important, i got drunk to my disgrace : ) and metRachel, a girl who was very understanding and explained to me how to deal with a further important problem, one which i will not disclose here. I just met Bec again at the computer next to me, and I have nothing but good things to say about her, she rocks, and if youcatch any spelling or gramatical errors in this post its her fault, she and her shots.... All in all, it kicked absolute arse and I hope i get up in time for my flight tomrorow at 10.30.
This has been Damian, Vancouver, Peace out, Signing out
ps. I think I love hockey, and extremely early morning americanadian T.V
After the rink closed down at 3.30 i went for a walk, finding myself down by the quay i bought a few useful souviners (if you get them, remember they were useful while i was roughing it in whitehorse...some form of honour to that) I caught a tremendously arctic breeze while i was down there, prompting me to take off my jacket to better enjoy it in t-shirt form (same way i figur5ed out how to skate right, only person on the rink in t-shirt i feel pride-bound to mention) visited a Jade shop and saw some interesting carvings, then just wandeered down into gastown to enjoy a prompted tourism spot (Gastown). I visited the souvineer shops along the way and, for the first time ever, found a personalised keyring with my name, exact spelling! othjer than that the next coolest thing i saw was a fake bears head to be mounted on a wall. I also visted a native american art shop, totem poles and talking stick types. the highest levels smelled like the art room (the place the carver did his work) and brought back happy memories for me. Once I got back to the Hostel, i met my roomates, Tony and Monet...or something....from germany, got changed into nicer clothes, went down stairs, and met several interesting people. The first was Bec, a girl who INSISTED on getting me drunk, an Aussie chick who is, as i write this, 'super tired' and 'sick of facebook emails'. No one else important, i got drunk to my disgrace : ) and metRachel, a girl who was very understanding and explained to me how to deal with a further important problem, one which i will not disclose here. I just met Bec again at the computer next to me, and I have nothing but good things to say about her, she rocks, and if youcatch any spelling or gramatical errors in this post its her fault, she and her shots.... All in all, it kicked absolute arse and I hope i get up in time for my flight tomrorow at 10.30.
This has been Damian, Vancouver, Peace out, Signing out
ps. I think I love hockey, and extremely early morning americanadian T.V
Monday, January 11, 2010
Day 1...Vancouver
Day one in Vancouver...cold, but not cold enough, overcast and raining, reminds me of melbourne...depressing
Flight was ok, had a few beers in Fiji and spent hours in L.A trying to find someway to send an email to my sister over in Pittsburgh so I could get her number...one of the employees let me use the airport computers to do just that. I liked L.A, it was cool, but sunny, hugely refreshing after 13 hours on a plane and 5 in humid Fiji.
I left L.A at night, the city lights just keep going, the place is %$#(*&^ huge, it looks as though it stretches from horizon to horizon, an ocean of topaz stars Its only 10 degrees in vancouver, a huge letdown, again reminds me of melbourne
Flight was ok, had a few beers in Fiji and spent hours in L.A trying to find someway to send an email to my sister over in Pittsburgh so I could get her number...one of the employees let me use the airport computers to do just that. I liked L.A, it was cool, but sunny, hugely refreshing after 13 hours on a plane and 5 in humid Fiji.
I left L.A at night, the city lights just keep going, the place is %$#(*&^ huge, it looks as though it stretches from horizon to horizon, an ocean of topaz stars Its only 10 degrees in vancouver, a huge letdown, again reminds me of melbourne
Holidaying in Canada
The title says it all. I'm goin Vancouver, Whitehorse, Vancouver, Train, Toronto, Pittsburgh, Washington, New York
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