Journal of dog sledding for Wilderness Trail Outfitters the Premier place to dogsled in the Midwest.

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received this e-mail 1-10-10

Hello Fred, you may remember Jessie. My wife, Son & his girlfriend picked him up last Summer. He was about 1 year old, was Alpha in his litter, and had gotten too tall for the sled. I called you once for advice because at first he was very afraid of me. I was away when he first arrived at our house, so , maybe he was confused when I came into the pack 2 weeks after he thought he had everything all figured out.

I just wanted to let you know what a perfect family dog he is. He lives with my son who is in college in Hancock, but, came home for the holidays so spent a couple of weeks here in Green Bay. He loves to come here since this was his home all summer.

Immediately he had bonded with my son, his girlfriend and my wife who were all in the car when he came here. He has since really plugged into the rest of the family and is really happy. He loves running in the woods, is gentle with kids and doesn’t misbehave at all anymore. We did lose a number of shoes when he first arrived last summer, but, he is always just perfect now. He is so sensitive, we really have to be careful about raising our voices.

He is still afraid of my son’s roommates (both tall guys…one with a beard), but, he has finally accepted me and even accidentally howls with joy sometimes when he sees me (before catching himself). Of course, he does this everyday for his favorite people. He really likes to talk, but, doesn’t ever bark inappropriately.

I was skeptical when we first got Jessie since I have had only Labs and one Golden Retriever. I am really sold now on the gentle and unspoiled nature of the Alaskan Husky. I am thinking about getting a Jessie for my wife and I this summer.

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Dogsledding Adventure
a true story by one of my clients who is a writer Phil Locascio

At first, you think you’re lost. The one-lane trail you were instructed to take has wound through the snow-covered woods for more than a mile. In every direction tall pines, birches and oaks laden in white surround you. One more turn and you catch a glimpse of a log home off to the right. In the distance a chorus of barking dogs rouses your attention. The trail widens, a clearing appears and a scattering of dog pens comes into view.

A curious strain of excitement grasps you and you find yourself hurrying to find a parking spot, zip up your winter apparel and gear up for what you expect to be the time of your life.

As you climb out of your car, a big, black, bouncing Labrador runs up to greet you. Ben is happy to see you and he can barely contain himself. As he dashes off to find the bone he wants you to throw for him, you take in the view and the sounds. Everywhere is the howl of boisterous hounds. It swells up into the trees and circles around the clearing in an almost deafening roar. The dogs are excited to see that someone has arrived. They know that soon some of them will be harnessed to a sled.

Also exiting the car is my wife, Jane, my 14 year old daughter Lucy and our foreign exchange student from Germany, Clara. I quickly scan their faces to see their response to our arrival.

When I first mentioned to Jane that I wanted to go dogsledding in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, her response was “You want to do what????” But somehow I wrangled her into it. When we told Lucy our plans, she said, “Why can’t we go to Florida like normal people?” I told her this would be an adventure. I don’t think she was buying it.

But now as they looked around, I thought I detected a smile on their faces. I hoped it would stay there.

Ben escorted us to the log cabin home leading us past dog kennels bouncing with excited puppies. Several sleds were spread out along the side of the house ready for our arrival.

The door opened and a burly man with a thick Arctic jacket came bounding out of the house from a side door. He looked as if ... well as if he had been living in the woods with a pack of wild dogs for quite some time. His hair was disheveled, an overgrown mass that was greatly in need of a trim. A scraggly beard rimmed the bottom half of his face but a large smile put me at ease.

Fred led us into the house. The interior appeared as disheveled as the man himself. The floor was wooden boards which had not yet received the carpet they were installed for. As Ben bounded up onto the couch, I realized why it was covered with a bed sheet. Strewn about a circular table in the living room were scads of brochures, forms, half-opened mail and magazines. In the corner sat four or five different pairs of boots, each one of better quality than its predecessor.

“Little too warm today,” Fred bellowed as he glared out the window. “But we’ll have a good run.”

“Yeah ‘bout that. But I really rather it be 10 below or so. Dogs like it better too.”

I detected just a trace of that Northwoods Canadian accent for the first time in Fred’s voice.

Fred sat down and pulled out a pad of consent forms from beneath a stack of papers and instructed that everyone had to sign one. It was the usual hedge against being sued for a broken neck or a twisted ankle. I understood, but it didn’t prevent a slight shudder of doubt from entering my thoughts.

Fred began explaining things to us and I, ever inquisitive, began asking questions. We covered the breeds of dogs, what they ate, how Fred trained them from pups, diseases he had to be on guard for, races he had been in, etc.

Our indoctrination session over, Fred went to the couch and removed his boots. As he slipped his foot into a different pair I noticed he was not wearing any socks.

“Not with these boots. They’re good to 110 below. Sweating into the socks is what will make your feet freeze. Same with this.” He showed us a thick black snow suit. It was easy to see that it would keep anyone warm.

It was time to go mush. Fred took us out, introduced us to Chris, his assistant and gave us a quick five minute training session on dogsledding. He covered how to lean, commands the dogs would respond to, how to stand on the sled, and how to properly apply the brakes. There were two brakes. The soft brake was a black pad that contained metal hooks on the bottom while the heavy brake consisted of a metal brace that dug deeply into the snow.

Fred made a big point about the most important part of sledding. Don’t ever let go of the drive bow. He repeated that several times. Don’t ever let go of the drive bow. If you did and the dogs took off without you ... well who knows when they would ever stop (as I would learn later).

After fielding several questions, Fred and Chris began laying out the lines in front of the sleds. At that point, the dogs began to get excited. They knew that Fred and Chris would be picking who would lead the teams. From everywhere around the camp came the sound of barking dogs. The howling rose to a fever pitch before Fred’s scream silenced them. It was easy to see that the dogs respected Fred.

Clara and Lucy would be on one sled. Fred would take Jane with him on another and I and Chris would man the third. The girls were only going for a two hour ride. Since I was going on a four hour excursion, Chris and I would be taking a different route through the woods than the others.

Six dogs were hooked to each sled. Their excitement was hard to miss. They howled and pulled against the brake feverishly anxious to get going. They wanted nothing more than to take off and run. When Jane was safely in her seat, Fred released the brake on his sled and it took off like it was shot out of a cannon. Almost immediately the team’s barking ceased as they directed all their energies to pulling the sled. Within moments the sled disappeared down the trail.

Clara and Lucy’s team was released and the same thing occurred. They shot out of camp down the trail. In a moment they were gone.

Now it was my turn. Chris suggested that he drive at first until the dogs got settled somewhat. I took my seat and waited.

Chris released the brake and we shot down the trail. The dogs ceased their howling at once and pulled at a ferocious clip. The first turns and twists on the trail seemed bumpy and wild as we wound through the trees on a very narrow path. Once the dogs got the initial thrust out of their system and we reached the wider and more even part of the trail, the team slowed their pace and the ride became smoother and a bit more controlled.

Suddenly, I became conscious of the quiet. The only sounds were the drag of the sled runners along the path and the soft padding thumps of the dogs’ paws as they hurriedly made their way. These cushy noises rose from the trail but were swallowed up immediately by the dense trees and the thick mounds of snow that surrounded us. An eerie, almost unnatural solitude blossomed from the forest and seemed to enclose around us like a bath of warm water. With singularity of purpose, the dog team rushed on into the woods, contented to be doing the one thing intended of them: running. The trail curved, rose, dipped, swerved, veered and cut through the long hanging branches and the interspersed tree trunks carrying us away on our journey.

You’ve heard the term “winter wonderland” before, no doubt. I am a huge skiing enthusiast and have skiied in many different locations all over the globe. But nothing really prepared me for the depth and surreal experience of this true “winter wonderland”.

Every where and every thing was cast in white. But color alone did not dominate. The feathered tree limbs shrouded us in a sanctuary that could rival the greatest of cathedrals. I felt nature pouring out a glow of nurturing solace that seemed to emanate from the land cradling me in a cocoon of thick, padded awe. The air sparkled with a crystalline sharpness intensified by the frosty coldness. Everywhere, like a presence, was the muffled hush of the land, swallowing and smothering any sound that dare break the stillness of its solemnity.

Even the wind dared not invade the silent lull guarding the landscape. The tapestry of spiraling, black limbs draped in feathery white lace that clung to every crack and crevice, seemed to smother the scene. I became aware of my muted breaths that glistened in the icy air.

Suddenly Chris barked out the order of “Stop, Stay”. The abrupt noise stirred me from the hypnotic fascination I was encased in. The team abruptly pulled up tight and the sled skidded to a halt.

I followed his finger to a point in the woods off to our right. Above me came an almost indecipherable hush as if the snow itself held its breath. The slightest scrape of the fingers of Chris’s gloves against one another sounded like a gunshot in the stillness. I peered through the woods but could see nothing. Chris bent his head further and then pointed again silently. I looked and saw nothing until the slightest of movement caught my eye. Another minuscule flicker of a shadow ... and then nothing. Suddenly a quick flash of brown flickered between two trees and was gone.

After about twenty minutes, I felt confident enough to try my hand at driving the team. Chris brought them to a halt and we switched positions. When the team took off, I felt comfortable. We went through the woods sometimes skirting low tree branches which forced me to put on the goggles I had brought for just such an occasion.

We came upon a sudden sharp turn in the trail. The sled was moving too fast and when the team curled swiftly around the bend, I was thrown into the snow.

I had broken Fred’s first rule of dogsledding: never let go of the drive bow. The moment I realized I had let it loose, I remembered his insistent caution and understood now why he had repeated it so many times.

Chris was thrown out of the sled also and for a pivotal couple of moments, the team was on its own. Listening only to the pounding urge that had been bred in them through the decades, they took off. Chris scrambled to his feet and started yelling “Stop - Stay!!!” as he raced off trying to catch the runaway sled.

But the dogs would not relent. Over a rise and around a curve... and they were gone.

“Aw shit ...” I muttered as I hurried up to his side. The quiet of the forest seemed even more encompassing than before, almost like an ominous dread. It was saying: “I play no favorites.”

“Eventually ...” Chris said. I would have felt a whole lot more concerned had I not detected a slight smirk in Chris’s look.

“Nope ...” Again another smirk. The woods hushed in reply. For the first time I felt a hint of a breeze wisp across my cheek. It was icy and unforgiving, being nothing more than itself.

We started walking. After every curve in the trail, I hoped to see the team stopped up ahead calmly waiting for us to catch up. But at the top of every rise, nothing in the distance. At the end of every turn, we were only greeted by a stretch of barren track.

We pressed on a little more urgently after each new view into the distance offered nothing. We went for about three quarters of a mile before Chris spotted the team. He claimed he could see the stopped sled in the middle of the trail away off. It took me several more minutes to recognize the sled lying ass-over-elbows in the middle of the path. Seated in the snow, the dogs seemed to be waiting patiently for us.

What made them stop, I wondered? Chris wasn’t sure, but he warned me not to speak anymore since he did not want the dogs to become startled into action or to misinterpret any words out of our mouths as commands to proceed.

We slowly advanced as quietly as possible. And then I saw it. Spots of blood dotting the trail: drops here, drops there, and a more defined puddle just to the side of one off the lead dogs who was unresponsive to our arrival. One of the wheel dogs turned its head to me and I saw streaks of blood along the side of his snout. Another dog had bloody paws and a smear of red on his nose.

I grabbed hold of the drive bow and Chris went to check on the injured dog. It was Hunter, a dog known as one of the biggest ass kickers in the pound. An older dog and also one of the wisest.

Chris bent down and began examining the top of Hunter’s head. “It’s bad...” he muttered. “He may not make it. We got to get him in the sled and take him back.”

I felt terrible. Because of my inexperience and failure to follow the golden rule, a dog had been injured.

Chris unhooked Hunter from the team and cajoled him into walking back to the sled. The dog moved gingerly with its head down. We loaded him on the sled where he shifted himself around several times before he found a comfortable seated position. The wounds on his head and neck were indeed vicious and raw.

Once we got going again in the direction of the camp, Chris offered up his explanation for what he thought had happened. “I think Hunter knew we had fallen off and was wanting the team to stop. The other dogs were not as experienced as him and either didn’t understand or didn’t want to cooperate. Their urge to run most likely incited them against Hunter’s attempts to slow the sled. And so ...”

The rest did not need to be said. Although the dogs in general were very docile and allowed you to pet them freely at any time, they were raised outside and lived the life of working animals. Their temperament toward one another was no doubt based on a pack mentality. These dogs were encouraged to follow their natures as far as running was concerned. They lived on the fine line of domesticity and wildness. Left to govern themselves, the rule of dog eat dog, might makes right, and survival of the fittest no doubt superceded all others. Chris had said there had been many a time when Hunter had bullied some of the others. Perhaps there was a measure of payback in those bleeding wounds on Hunter’s neck and head.

We would never know. Only the pack knew what had happened in the middle of that trail. And in a way, it was none of our business.

We arrived back at camp and Chris got Hunter laid down on an old rug by the back porch. Just then Fred returned with my wife as their two hour ride had ended. Fred examined Hunter and I feared that he would be upset at me for letting the sled go.

Fred raised his head. “We’ll just have to wait and see,” he grimaced. “Got your ass kicked, eh Hunter. Well ... I can’t say you didn’t have it coming.”

Fred turned to me. “Don’t worry about it. It happens. All part of the business.” Fred wiped his nose and stared once again at the injured dog. “You know, I love all my dogs. But I can’t afford to love any particular one too much. Breeds discontent and jealousy.” Fred sniffled and trudged up the trail back to our sled to hook up a different team for the next two hour part of my trip. Fred seemed not too affected by what had occurred, but I suspected that somewhere deep down, he was feeling a little anguish. He had no doubt experienced the loss or injury of a dog many times in his work, but that may have not made it any more easier to take.

The second set of dogs on our sled proved to be more controllable than the first. They were eager to please, listened to commands for the most part, and seemed to have an affable disposition to each other and us.

Chris and I mushed through the woods on a different trail for two more hours. I enjoyed our ride immensely but my mind kept going back to Hunter and the wounds he suffered. Then I remembered what Fred had said: It happens. There was no one to blame really for what had occurred. The dogs had a code all their own. For the most part, they cooperated with man and followed his commands. But they were not ruled entirely by common sense or wisdom. There was a fury and a controlled madness that guided their temperaments and sparked their conduct. At times reason and rationality did not rule, but some other fierce urge from the depths of their souls.

On our way back to our rented cabin, the girls agreed that the dogsledding experience had been fun, invigorating and different. For me it was more than that. There was something grandly royal about being led through the wilderness by a pack of zealous dogs who saw no other reason to push on other than the joy of the prowl. Through the snow-covered trees, the winding trails and the sloping hills there was no man-made existence to confuse or confound the purity of the moment. Only that defined silence that was oddly deafening, the pristine landscape and the fury of the pack.

A few days later, back in the comfort of my two-story heated, furnished, running water equipped home, I sent Fred an e-mail to check on Hunter’s progress. His response was natural for the world in which the message came.

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I have a feeling you will be hearing more from the Ross' too. To our surprise Roger had already downloaded the pictures when we arrived back at my house so we were able to see them all as a group, which was fun. Thank you so much for the experience and the added treat of the pictures. Carol Peters 2009

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Dear Fred,

I was a volunteer handler at the race on saturday and I had the pleasure to see your team of shy dogs which the Minard's ran.

To say I was impressed is an understatement. I was completely blown away by their ability to ignore distractions that would have set off either of my two shy dogs. They also followed commands so very well and nearly got themselvs into the starting chutes - which they would have done had they not been interrupted.

I really aspire to become the type of leader who inspired that behavior in my own dogs.

Thank you for the oppertunity to see such wonderful dogs, and for a reminder of the goal to which I aspire.

I'm a second season musher, lifetime dog lover with 10 years experience working with seeing eye dogs. I'm currently in the Soo.

Thanks!

Autumn Standingwolf

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Dear Jennifer & Fred:

I wanted to write you a letter to let you both know how much Greg and I enjoyed ourselves on Saturday. We both have traveled quite a bit and have experienced a lot of things, but never have we experienced what we did dog sledding. At first I have to admit, I was nervous having never been before, but within a few minutes of steering the team, I became very comfortable and loved every second of it. The dogs are so amazing and are so energetic! I’m glad I was able to get my camera to work; I was able to take some really great pictures of the dogs and the beautiful scenery. We are telling everyone we know what a great time we had and what an amazing job you all do at WTO! We can’t wait to come back and go again.

Again, thank you so much.

Alison Passino

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Being a winter sports enthusiast, x-country ski, ice climbing, ice fishing etc. I sought out a new winterland experience at Wilderness Trail Outfitters in the age old travel of dogsledding. Fred Powers and partner Jennifer Lackie provide an exhilarating, transcending, tour of the Hiawatha National Forest. On a recent Saturday morning in January, I became familiar with my dogsled, the drive bow (never let go of the drive bow) snub line, drag brake, and foot brake. As Fred and Jennifer and dog handler Rick, prepare the sleds with various ropes and harnesses, I made friends with a number of Alaskan Huskies. Once Fred and company have the dog teams in place with their individual sleds; the anticipation by the dogs is similar to being in a concert hall when the lights dim and the band hits the stage. The roar of those chosen, versus the roar of those left behind. ! Fred mounts his sled, and then looks over his shoulder to see if I have my snub line in hand. Fred nods to dog handler Rick, and he is gone. Rick tells me to go ahead and release my snub line, and now I am off and running. Running is an understatement. Rocketing through the woods behind 5 Alaskan Huskies. For myself, I thought I was awake, but having released my snub line I have never been as wide awake and alert and aware of the present moment, than any other time of my waking life. Truly, the power of these dogs, the chill of winter, the isolation of the Hiawatha National Forest, some 1600 square miles, sets Wilderness Trail Outfitters apart from the rest of ! other dogsledding adventures. One needs to remember all of their childhood sledding skills. Earlier in the day, I had taken a hard right turn and flipped my sled and myself onto my left side (remember, never let go of the drive bow) as instructed I yelled "Stop and Stay" as the party carried on and the team stopped immediately. Its one thing to sled down a hill, but, sledding down a hill with 5 Alaskan Huskies running as fast as they can, brings one close to touching the astral plane. We stopped for lunch, were we had a campfire and Fred cooked some hot chocolate and a pasty( a local pastry loaded with beef, carrots, potatoes) and breath in the great outdoors. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, the Upper Peninsula of Michigan located between Lake Superior and Lake Michigan containing thousands of miles of wilderness, marshlands, and lakes. Simply put "Gods Country." Having completed lunch, the campfire extinguished, we traveled onward to the close of the day. I survived, smiling, and thrilled because, I was coming back for one more day. I can't thank Fred and Jennifer enough, I'm already planning a trip for next year.
Jim H 2008

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We had an absolutely wonderful experience dog sledding at the Wilderness Trail Outfitters. We started out in a bit of a panic as the take off pace is FAST! But our very relaxed leader, Fred Powers, was driving the team in front of us and set a more manageable pace. Jennifer Lackie had given us thorough instructions before our “takeoff” and Fred continued to answer our questions throughout the day.

Our critical learning curve was just that – stay to the outside going into the curve and get inside as you turn! We were not, perhaps, the quickest studies and it took several curves and flips into the soft soft snow, but at the end of the day we ached more from laughing that from anything else.

The experience was “real.” The dogs are beautiful, extremely well taken care of and very well behaved. They were so QUIET – except for getting started! What a great way to take in the beautiful winter wonderland of the Hiawatha National Forest. We never heard or saw another person all day!

We are not in the greatest shape and are not spring chickens either but the fact is that all ages would enjoy this trip.

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Just wanted to let you how much Meleena and myself enjoyed your dogsled tour. It was incredible. Meleena said it will be a highlight in her lifetime of memories. We will definitely be back next season, hopefully for a longer tour. Your operation is outstanding. Being a Nordic dog owner myself I can see and feel the love and admiration you have for your dogs. There's definitely a bond there. Your instruction on how to drive the sled was easy to comprehend and I agree the steerable sled is better. Our team of dogs were great. It's amazing how they run in unison, working together. Our team responded exceptionally well to my commands and I can't say anything of short comings of the dogs ability. I really liked that you were a fair distance ahead of us. It made us feel more of being independent in the tour. We were doing our own trip instead of just following another team. You and Jennifer offer what few people can. An experience that few will have as these times forever change. I would highly recommend your tour to anyone that loves the outdoors, up north or just plain working dogs. It's a memory of a lifetime. We have made new friends with you.

Comments

We had a great time with Fred, Jennifer and the "kids" this week.! We were novices at this and felt at home with this entire experience. Try it! Dave Gelwicks

Comments

Fred and Jennifer: Carl, Eric and I enjoyed the rides last Saturday and Sunday. It was a wonderful and fun experience. Being able to interact with all the dogs made all the difference in the world; it was a very rewarding bonding experience. You both are great hosts and have lots of patience with newcomers like us. We can't wait to come back next winter. When Carl and I come back to the UP camping during the summer we will call you. Thanks again! Carl Hendricksen, Leonor Hendricksen and Eric Clough, D.V.M.

I've had many highlights in my life of 77 years, yet having gone on a training run with you, Jennifer, in a golf cart with eleven Alaskan Huskies was certainly the highlight of 2007.

Normally, I'm viewing the scenery while riding with anyone in any type of vehicle. Not this time. I am still fascinated with how well you managed your team and how well they responded to your commands in directing them "over hill and over dale," around corners, and running on flat land during the 14 miles we traveled through the forest. The mutual love and respect demonstrated was amazing.

Then, Jennifer, in response to my compliment over your handling the dogs, you said "You have to watch Fred with his 14 dog team."

While you both provide water for them during the run, the first thing upon return is to water and feed the dogs. The dogs again quietly drink and eat. The next thing is to release the dogs from their harnesses and the line. Fred, you don't need to hold onto any team member to return them to their houses ... they are loose singly or in pairs while releasing others. They stay in the immediate area, some 'marking' their spots, others simply returning to their house. One, who you said likes to dance, stuck by you and you danced with him. It was obvious, each one loved and respected you.

I took my four year old Alaskan Husky with me to your kennel as I bought her from you last summer. I wanted to see how she would react to being back ... no problems whatsoever.

Fred, you told me in one of our first discussions that Sweetheart was an excellent lead dog on a team yet she preferred to lay on the couch in your house. That is true. And it's true that she is a Sweetheart, although her name is now Sweetie. I was losing some unneeded weight as I'd leash and exercise her ... she is a puller. Now, using the commands you taught me, she's loose while we walk. Sweetie enjoys sniffing the area where the deer, turkeys, and any other wildlife could have been. Sometimes she's behind me, sometimes she's in front of me, sometimes she's by my side ... always responding to my 'come.'

Having always had Golden or Labrador Retrievers or Samoyeds, this is my first experience with an Alaskan Husky. It will not be my last.

You will see me again this winter as I now need to experience a two hour dogsled tour on the snow with a dogsled.