January 28, 2010 E-MAIL PRINT

A day of dogsledding

by Tony Chamberlain/

Milkboned up and raring to mush! (photo: Tony Chamberlain)

Milkboned up and raring to mush! (photo: Tony Chamberlain)

When you’re in the mountains of New England on a beautiful midwinter morning, it seems nothing should take you away from what you’ve loved to do for half a century — go skiing. I take it that boarding folks would feel about the same, given that the two are essentially the same sport.

So when I agreed with some friends to try “something new” the next day, I was already regretting it in the predawn glow of what would be another bluebird day, windless, temps about 25 degrees — as perfect as a ski day can be.

“So, how should I dress?” I asked my host.

“Anything you’d wear for winter hiking,” I was told.

Groan. Sure, I like hiking, cross country, snowshoeing, generally prowling around the winter woods, but what I really wanted to be doing right then was heading for the slopes with my skis on my shoulder.

We drove to a little town on the Maine-New Hampshire border, and in a fairly short time the mystery was cleared up. We walked up a slight hill from the lot below to a bin of howling dogs being harnessed to a number of sleds.

I do love dogs, and Alaskan Huskies are rather irresistible, looking and sounding so comically impatient to be off on the open trail. I had done a very limited dogsled ride just once before in Bethel, Maine, near Sunday River. I rode with a couple whose hobby was to raise and race sled dogs, and about an hour took me from true novice to rather comfortable. It had been fun, then forgotten.

But this was different. We were introduced to a team of “canine athletes” — 12 dogs with names like Arrow and Eagle — who, judging from the yipping, barking, leaping around in place, were ready to go.

In fact, we were told these dogs, friendly though most of them were, are highly trained athletes who love nothing better than to run the wooded trails for hours at a time.

From where we were launching I looked back and saw some rising peaks and, while my anticipation was mounting somewhat, I mourned not being up at altitude ready to step into a descent.

But with little fanfare, and a few dos and don’ts to be mindful off, we were off. The impatient hooting if the dogs before they ran became the joyous noises of dogs doing what they loved, were born and raised to do — a distinctly different sound.

The sled whisked out over a snowy field and plunged into a wooded trail with glimpses here and there of the beauty of the surrounding high country. As an old-time fan of Sergeant Preston of the Yukon (on radio that is) with his trusty dog King, eventually I wanted to graduate to the runners, mushing for myself. It takes a knack, but it also raises the enjoyment of the game immeasurably.

It was truly a wonderful three hours — about 13 miles, I was told. But whether dog sledding is for everyone as a diversion for skiing or riding in the north woods, I would only offer that for people with bad backs — as in “we don’t ride the toboggan anymore” — probably this is not the ride for you. It is bumpy and rough — a fast-moving sled after all.

Nor is it inexpensive. Our three hour ride, split two ways, was $325 for the sled with a 10 percent gratuity for the musher. At the end, I really did enjoy the experience, but as regular recreation, I doubted it.

I’m up for trying everything in the outdoor winter — even snowmobiling (another tale) — but I was really happy after a short lunch that day, to grab my Volkl AC3s and head for the nearest lift.

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