Don't go where the huskies go...

After a spectacularly crappy morning, I almost didn't go.  If the kids hadn't been looking forward to it so much that they got up and started laying out their winter gear without being told, I would have crawled back into bed, ignored the wasted money, and called it a mulligan--and hopefully woken up on a better day.  Instead, I--and by that I mean Brenna--packed the girls into Bertha and drove fifteen miles down Chena Hot Springs Road to Just Short of Magic Alaska Sled Dog Tours.

We had never been dog-sledding, formally.  The older girls had been mushing as a youth activity with some of their friends, and we've seen the Yukon Quest a couple of times, but that was pretty much it.  It is the state sport of Alaska, after all, and it would be pretty much a crime to leave the state without experiencing it.

We pulled into the yard with a grid of sturdy, straw-filled dog-houses, a cabin, and yurt.  Let me tell you, there are few things that make you feel better about yourself than a yard full of huskies singing you the song of their people.  Alaskan huskies are working dogs; they live to run, and they love anyone who gives them a reason to do it.  Our arrival meant work, and that made their day.

While Eleanor, the owner, and her fellow mushers prepped the sleds, we wandered through the kennels meeting our rides. To anticipate your question, yes, they are all huskies--Alaskan huskies, not to be confused with the posher Siberian or fluff-ball Malamutes.  Alaskan Huskies are technically a breed of mutts.  There's sprinkle Siberian and a dash of Malamute--and a mixed handful of German Shepherd, Karelian Bear-Dog, Lab, village mutt, and anything else handy.  They come in all shapes, from sleek and leggy sprinters to boxy, square-jawed haulers. They were all happy to get pets and "good dogs."

This is Feta, after the cheese, and if they could have snuck her into the van they would have.

Finally we were summoned to our sleds.  After we were bundled in against the cold, the snow-hooks were pulled and the dogs kicked off.  They knew the trail so well that they needed only minimal commands when we came to a fork.  It was beautiful out.  Light snow was falling, freshly dusting the birch and dark spruce. The only sounds were the soft shirr of the sled runners and the padding of dog paws. Quiet, peaceful... It was easy to see why Eleanor had walked away from teaching years before and never looked back. 

At -5, though, it was cold enough that my breath had frozen my balaclava; and I was glad when we pulled into the dog yard.  The mushers were all eager to brag on their dogs and answer questions. They are the first to tell you there's no money in it, but they love it.  Two of them have run the Iditarod and/or the Yukon Quest.  The girls loved talking to the mushers, and it was an unexpected proud-mama moment when one musher made his way over to me to compliment their curiosity, manners, and vocabulary.  He apparently had a special rapport with Leah, and wished her well on her future long-distance fiance (a boy that she is jokingly engaged to).

Echo was frozen and made a beeline for the van, but the girls all lingered in the kennels and finally had to be shooed away from the dogs.  After a brief struggle to get Bertha up the embarrassingly not-steep driveway, we headed home, talking about our favorite dogs and laughing at the ridiculous waddle of a dog who is trying to run and poop at the same time.  For a little while, I had managed to forget my bad mood and just enjoy a cool moment in a place that I love more than I ever expected.  It truly was just short of magic.

*If you are interested in going sledding and find yourself in Fairbanks, I fully recommend Eleanor Wirts and Just Short of Magic (www.justshortofmagic.com) She was wonderful to work with and the experience was fun and educational. In case you're one of THOSE people, I promise I received no compensation or bribes for this review. In fact, it would be accurate to say I paid to write it.   Just ask my bank account.*