Dog Sledding, Day Two And Wrapping It Up

Where are we going? What are these dogs doing to us? Will it ever end? Too soon!

Up bright and early, time to head to the lake to fetch water. Under the wood cover is a hole in the ice. The pole is a heavy, mean ice pick. A future prop in a Coen brothers movie? Bucket for scooping. Scenery for appreciating.

Morning at the camp, no one stirring, especially the cold dogs.

Wait, there's a little movement in the high rent district. The memo must read, "Anywhere but in the dog house." Another tour group, hitting the trail.

Portrait of a musher.

Post finish line, time for the team photo. Posing with our fabulous guide, Mia and our mascot, Chili.

Dog Sledding, Cruising After Lunch

For lunch: a little mushroom soup, a sandwich, hot cocoa and we're ready to mush some more. The sun is out and the scenery is beautiful.

Taking a little break, time for photo ops, human and canine.
Sarah, making fast friends with Cumpis, which, hey, means "friend" in Swedish. Heading into the woods.

The sun setting, heading toward camp. A fine day of sledding under our belt.

Nighttime entertainment? The Northern Lights. Don't get too jealous (OK, be jealous), photos make the Lights appear much more intense than what you actually witness, at least the night we were out gazing. And shivering.

Thanks to the birthday boy, Paul Cohn, for the Northern Lights photograph.

Dog Sledding, Day One

Or how I learned to stop worrying and love bouncing off a sled and getting face-planted in the snow. Apologies to Dr Strangelove. And Sarah Talalay.

All right, hot cocoa time is over, time to get outfitted and up on that sled. The sled busters crew, all smiles.

Gearing up. Who looks more worried, Sarah or the dogs? Mutually assured destruction ahead?

Off we go. "Mush, Sarah, mush!" For some reason, her dogs had some trouble figuring out the forward gear.

Out on the trail. Us, with the birthday boy. Freeloader dog. Our guide's border collie, enjoying the free transportation.

Sarah, looking good.

James, looking beardly. A few hours into mushing, a stop for lunch.

Not too soon for James' dogs. That's Nelson taking the full nap. Havoc has not been wreaked, the sled has been flipped on purpose, so the wily dogs don't run off with it.

Dog Sledding, The Preamble

We recently headed north (why, in the winter, why?), way up past the Arctic Circle to Kiruna, Sweden. Why again? To celebrate the 50th birthday of a friend. Someone told him the tall tale (tail?) of the joys of dog sledding and he decided that turning 50 skidding across the snow was the way to go. An invitation came our way and off we went.

Sign says we found the right place.

Any doubt, proof is in the typical commute. That's a cute mailbox hutch to the left.

Home base. The dog kennel area, city or suburban accommodations.

Who's out mushing, who's in napping? Check the boards on the rigging shack.

Tools of the trail, sleds and attachment lines. Maybe the saw is only for intimidation? Hope so!

At the cages, names identify who's hanging where. What's to eat? Salmon cakes, no refrigeration needed.

Sarah, exuding mis-placed optimism before the mushing begins?