Snow more jello, ma
Well it was cold. Colder than I’ve ever been. But at other times it was warm. Yes, warmer than I’ve ever been. These Finns are crazy, what with their freezing temperatures and their ridiculously hot saunas. Their weakness for reindeer and mash though, I can well understand.
One thing that I’d heard about huskies but never really taken in was the racket they make just before they’re about to set off. Not when you go to wake them up of course - they really can’t be bothered with that, but once they are all harnessed and wondering why it is that they aren’t running yet, they start fighting with each other and barking at you. We had about fifty dogs in our group, and with them all barking and howling at the top of their husky voices, it can put you off your stroke. Spookier though is when you pop outside of the log cabin to the outside “toilet” in the middle of the night and see fifty pairs of wolf eyes glowing in the dark all staring at you.
I was beaming and giggling to myself as I first set out. These dogs actually seem to want to pull you along. And you’re moving through the snow, at about jogging pace, through doggy power. And they seem happy to do it. Pull you along. In the snow. It’s insane.
Thoughts of the babelfish popped into my head - these dogs were obviously proof, and therefore disproof, of God’s existence. Why on Earth would Mother Nature have selected for a
species as useful to humans as these? Then, after trudging through the forests with a fixed, yet giddy rictus, did it occur to me that these dogs had artificially been selected for, bred for thousands of years from wild animals who were just in it for the running. So it turns out that maybe Man does not exist.
As a sledder with my wealth of experience, you’re never really in control of what the dogs are doing, you (i.e. I) only ever give them suggestions and polite reminders. The sled itself consists of a giant bag and two thin icy pieces of wood to stand on, with a metal spike that you step on if you want to brake. If you want to brake hard you put two feet on the brake. This, however, does not mean that the dogs will stop. It just makes it more fun for them. And when you do fall off, its best to keep a hold of the sled with your arms. They will stop eventually, if only to laugh at you, but not before you’ve been dragged sideways through a spruce and swallowed a few pounds of reindeer dung. Oh, and don’t let them see any reindeer - they won’t listen to you at all then. And shouting ‘look away!’ doesn’t seem to work. Honestly.
I had five dogs in my troupe. Two lead dogs, one in the middle and two at the back. What was interesting to me was that each had their own distinct personality and required different means of motivation. Also, and I’m not going to read anything into this, it was said to me that males could work well with males and females but you couldn’t have two females together, else they would fight. But that's just dogs, right?
Atreyu and Louhi were my leads. Atreyu was a bit of a tough guy Steven Seagal-o-husky, liked a bit of a wrestle, some banter and was better than me at slaps. Louhi, his partner was extremely shy by contrast. Very furry and a good worker and not shy to assert herself in front of the other dogs, but not a great one for humans. If you left her and Atreyu alone for more than ten minutes they’d tangle one another up in ropes and I swear Atreyu would be pleading to me that it was all her fault. Its funny how you pick up on intonations after a few days - was it the dogs yapping and my brain concocting recognisable patterns or could I genuinely understand what it was the dogs were saying? As an INTJ, I’ve no real option but to assume the latter. It makes me feel more important.
In the middle was Masa (pron. Masher) who was a pure Siberian husky and at 12 years old was the elderly lady amongst the entire group. Not having been much ensconced in doggy culture I wasn’t aware that 12 dog years is equivalent to about 75,000 normal years, so Masa excused herself from any of that actual pulling nonsense, choosing instead to run alongside.
At the back were Baikal and Niva who were the workdogs. Niva, who my guide described as ‘one of my best dogs’ was just that. A joy to harness up in the morning, uber-obedient, didn’t fight much with Baikal, except when she needed to and pulled a sled like Jehovah himself. She was my least favourite. Like a school prefect goody two shoes, no even singing Sex Pistols songs to her would get her moody. Baikal, on the other hand, was exuberant, if a little slow. Liked to jump and would always be the reason i had to drop anchor to stop. I wondered why Baikal of all the dogs, liked to stand on his hind legs and look around, and I think it was borne of a Gump-like curiosity about the world. A desire to see the world from the vantage point of someone as tall as my belly button.
Thankfully, at the speeds I was travelling, faecal backspray turned out not to be such a hazard, as long as you were standing on the sled and not being pulled along by your arms behind it.
You can get a flavour of what it was like here, although bear in mind that this could only be filmed over a particularly flat stretch when I didn’t have to be holding onto the sled (also bear in mind that there is almost total silence, so turn the sound down until you can just about hear it). Going downhill could be quite hairy as well as quite fun, the important thing to remember is not to let the sled go faster than the dogs, else you’d get exploding dogs. We were taught* beforehand that keeping a dog from exploding is perhaps one of the kindest acts you could bestow upon it.
As well as the dogs there were five other sledders in our group and our guide, a six foot plus Swiss lady who could cook astonishly nice food in the snow. After talking to these people (yes, really) I managed to glean the following:
- one was a tax accountant who hated her job
- one was a scientist who loved matters scientific but was appalled at the way that Western imperial powers were ruining the world
- one was in charge of co-ordinating office policies and procedures across several different countries for his company
- one worked for change management within banks but yearned to work as her true calling, but needed the cash in these troubled times
and finally:
- a tall, thin guy who didn't say very much, would spent ages in the sauna and seemed hell bent on injuring himself with ridiculous stunts needed to placate his starved adrenaline receptors.
Make of that what you will.
Quite pleased also that I managed to get a glimpse of the Northern Lights. Not a spectacular display to be sure, I’ve seen searchlights light up the sky in more interesting and testicularly tingling ways, but I can cross that one of the list now. Didn't see Santa Claus in the sky on Christmas Eve, but then it was cloudy.
Fun times, and back just in time for some serious ecclesiastical wailing (<-- that link not for the very squeamish)). W00t.
* subliminally
One thing that I’d heard about huskies but never really taken in was the racket they make just before they’re about to set off. Not when you go to wake them up of course - they really can’t be bothered with that, but once they are all harnessed and wondering why it is that they aren’t running yet, they start fighting with each other and barking at you. We had about fifty dogs in our group, and with them all barking and howling at the top of their husky voices, it can put you off your stroke. Spookier though is when you pop outside of the log cabin to the outside “toilet” in the middle of the night and see fifty pairs of wolf eyes glowing in the dark all staring at you.
I was beaming and giggling to myself as I first set out. These dogs actually seem to want to pull you along. And you’re moving through the snow, at about jogging pace, through doggy power. And they seem happy to do it. Pull you along. In the snow. It’s insane.
Thoughts of the babelfish popped into my head - these dogs were obviously proof, and therefore disproof, of God’s existence. Why on Earth would Mother Nature have selected for a
species as useful to humans as these? Then, after trudging through the forests with a fixed, yet giddy rictus, did it occur to me that these dogs had artificially been selected for, bred for thousands of years from wild animals who were just in it for the running. So it turns out that maybe Man does not exist.
As a sledder with my wealth of experience, you’re never really in control of what the dogs are doing, you (i.e. I) only ever give them suggestions and polite reminders. The sled itself consists of a giant bag and two thin icy pieces of wood to stand on, with a metal spike that you step on if you want to brake. If you want to brake hard you put two feet on the brake. This, however, does not mean that the dogs will stop. It just makes it more fun for them. And when you do fall off, its best to keep a hold of the sled with your arms. They will stop eventually, if only to laugh at you, but not before you’ve been dragged sideways through a spruce and swallowed a few pounds of reindeer dung. Oh, and don’t let them see any reindeer - they won’t listen to you at all then. And shouting ‘look away!’ doesn’t seem to work. Honestly.
I had five dogs in my troupe. Two lead dogs, one in the middle and two at the back. What was interesting to me was that each had their own distinct personality and required different means of motivation. Also, and I’m not going to read anything into this, it was said to me that males could work well with males and females but you couldn’t have two females together, else they would fight. But that's just dogs, right?
Atreyu and Louhi were my leads. Atreyu was a bit of a tough guy Steven Seagal-o-husky, liked a bit of a wrestle, some banter and was better than me at slaps. Louhi, his partner was extremely shy by contrast. Very furry and a good worker and not shy to assert herself in front of the other dogs, but not a great one for humans. If you left her and Atreyu alone for more than ten minutes they’d tangle one another up in ropes and I swear Atreyu would be pleading to me that it was all her fault. Its funny how you pick up on intonations after a few days - was it the dogs yapping and my brain concocting recognisable patterns or could I genuinely understand what it was the dogs were saying? As an INTJ, I’ve no real option but to assume the latter. It makes me feel more important.
In the middle was Masa (pron. Masher) who was a pure Siberian husky and at 12 years old was the elderly lady amongst the entire group. Not having been much ensconced in doggy culture I wasn’t aware that 12 dog years is equivalent to about 75,000 normal years, so Masa excused herself from any of that actual pulling nonsense, choosing instead to run alongside.
At the back were Baikal and Niva who were the workdogs. Niva, who my guide described as ‘one of my best dogs’ was just that. A joy to harness up in the morning, uber-obedient, didn’t fight much with Baikal, except when she needed to and pulled a sled like Jehovah himself. She was my least favourite. Like a school prefect goody two shoes, no even singing Sex Pistols songs to her would get her moody. Baikal, on the other hand, was exuberant, if a little slow. Liked to jump and would always be the reason i had to drop anchor to stop. I wondered why Baikal of all the dogs, liked to stand on his hind legs and look around, and I think it was borne of a Gump-like curiosity about the world. A desire to see the world from the vantage point of someone as tall as my belly button.
Thankfully, at the speeds I was travelling, faecal backspray turned out not to be such a hazard, as long as you were standing on the sled and not being pulled along by your arms behind it.
You can get a flavour of what it was like here, although bear in mind that this could only be filmed over a particularly flat stretch when I didn’t have to be holding onto the sled (also bear in mind that there is almost total silence, so turn the sound down until you can just about hear it). Going downhill could be quite hairy as well as quite fun, the important thing to remember is not to let the sled go faster than the dogs, else you’d get exploding dogs. We were taught* beforehand that keeping a dog from exploding is perhaps one of the kindest acts you could bestow upon it.
As well as the dogs there were five other sledders in our group and our guide, a six foot plus Swiss lady who could cook astonishly nice food in the snow. After talking to these people (yes, really) I managed to glean the following:
- one was a tax accountant who hated her job
- one was a scientist who loved matters scientific but was appalled at the way that Western imperial powers were ruining the world
- one was in charge of co-ordinating office policies and procedures across several different countries for his company
- one worked for change management within banks but yearned to work as her true calling, but needed the cash in these troubled times
and finally:
- a tall, thin guy who didn't say very much, would spent ages in the sauna and seemed hell bent on injuring himself with ridiculous stunts needed to placate his starved adrenaline receptors.
Make of that what you will.
Quite pleased also that I managed to get a glimpse of the Northern Lights. Not a spectacular display to be sure, I’ve seen searchlights light up the sky in more interesting and testicularly tingling ways, but I can cross that one of the list now. Didn't see Santa Claus in the sky on Christmas Eve, but then it was cloudy.
Fun times, and back just in time for some serious ecclesiastical wailing (<-- that link not for the very squeamish)). W00t.
* subliminally