I live in a place where things change from one season to the next. The temperature, the daylight, the population, the types of tires on the vehicle. As we charge into fall, I see all of these changes moving along. The darkness has made its arrival. After so many months of light, it literally becomes difficult to see in the dark. I forget where light switches are and blink as if I could clear up the darkness. With the darkness comes the return of the stars and the northern lights. The leaves, too, are making their dramatic death ritual, revealing their brilliant reds and yellows, only to be soon blown away by the windy and rainy weather that often accompanies the arrival of fall.
The people and the schedule are changing as well. The visitors that come to Denali throughout the summer are dwindling and with them the workers that help to give them an Alaskan experience. As I say farewell to guides I only see in the summer I ask about their winter plans. I am somewhat fascinated by their plans to visit and work in other parts of the world, driving away through the magnificent Canadian Rockies or flying off to places where languages, commerce, entertainment, and need for long underwear differ.
I do find myself jealous sometimes of these chances to be in these distant places. Places I either have fond memories of having been in or have never had the chance to experience. However, on the infrequent occasions when I have left Alaska I have always found myself feeling particularly fond of Alaska, its wide open spaces, its privacy, its ruggedness, its chance to live a little closer to the edge of survival, comfort, and rules. As I drive away from home I look affectionately at the mountains and tundra surrounding my home.
While we do no often get a chance to leave home, there was one day this summer when we did not get bookings for our evening tour. We went up to one of the local restaurants to have dinner and play at the Nenana River. We were there for about three hours and Max kept referring to it as our “vacation.” I guess that is about as long a vacation as a dog farmer can expect to get.
The population at our kennel is changing too. Helpers who were here for the summer have left and those who want to work with dogs over the winter have arrived. We have bid farewell to some of the puppies who played with visitors this summer, as they were on loan from other mushers so they could receive the same socialization as our pups. Mike has finally selected names for the puppies who will stay with us. There have been so many good suggestions of both O and P names. His final choices are: Oakland, Ozark, Oodles, O-Ring, Otter, Pixel, and Peach.
There is nothing better than a puppy pile
The dog runs are evolving. Teams are going longer. Young dogs are having the change to try running in different parts of the team.
Mike and Max out training the dogs
Mike helps the dogs to practice the commands and actions that make a successful dog team. “Easy” as they approach a puddle, unsure of what obstacles might be hidden underfoot. “Gee” for right and “Haw” for left. Mike will give these commands not only for the necessary turns but for every chance there is a braided option in the trail or a place to curve around an object. He will often wait until the dogs have made a choice then command them the other way. Giving them the chance to practice, stay alert, and focus on timing. My favorite command of all, the excited “Yip, yip” Mike gives, mimicking the dogs own excitement, urging them to run faster, adding to their own joy of being able to fly down the trail, their feet light, as they dance over mud, rocks, and roots.
The dogs muddy faces, post training run.
At home, we are trying to get everything prepared for winter. We need to cut and split a second 14 cords of firewood, the bridge from the kennel needs to be rebuilt, and the handler housing needs some additional insulation. With all the tasks of caring for and training dogs and preparing for winter we did not have the chance to spend enough time moose hunting to bring home an animal for our freezer this year. We did however get to spend one night out in Mike’s favorite spot.
Mike took us up to the top of the mountain. Overlooking a hidden valley, we had lunch by the stream.
The hidden valley
Sitting there is humbling. We were almost the only people to have ever been to the spot. Yet the water caries on, down the stream without thought of us. The mountains stand tall through the cold and wind of winter, through the sun and life of summer, reigning over a time frame of existence impossible for me to comprehend. The mountains are quieter than other parts of everyday life. While the chatter of the stream is remarkably noisy, sitting in the tundra there is much silence. It makes me think about how we have filled the world and our lives with noise and urgencies irrelevant to so much of the world. Sitting there I feel so glad that these wild places still exist and I feel so lucky to be able to be in them.
While we did not see any moose on our trip, we did see three golden eagles, two Dall sheep, a hawk, and a caribou. When my parents were visiting they picked up some groceries. Some of the sausages they brought said made with reindeer meat. I said to Max, you know what reindeer is, right, it is the same as caribou, it is just that the reindeer are raised on a farm, not wild. He said, “Right, except the reindeer can fly.”
Until next time, I hope you are having as much fun with your dogs as we are with ours. Mike, Caitlin, and Max