Fall in full swing

Fall is in full swing, and unfortunately, blogging about it has been the last thing on my mind!

October is always my favorite month, and it's a time of real conditioning for the dogs. In the beginning of the month, our focus is on muscle-building, and slow, shorter runs are key. We start out the season with 2-4 mile training runs to get the dogs back in the swing of things, but by mid-October, we're running 10 miles.

Every year for the past seven seasons, I drive up to my friends Bob and Jan Shaw's home in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for their annual fall sled dog training session. They live right next door to the cabin I lived in last season. My oldest daughter, Sophie, has grown up knowing them as sort of surrogate grandparents. It was with Jan that Sophie had her first solo ride on a dog sled when she was seven. Hard to believe that was seven years ago!

Sophie is a teenager now and has taken an interest in other things besides hanging out with her mom and a bunch of dogs. It's been awhile since she joined me up north, but this season was extra special as she decided she wanted to return to the great north woods with her sister and me for a weekend of running dogs!

Sophie hugs a dog at Nature's Kennel

We had a great weekend running dogs and catching up with all of our mushing friends ... after a slight mishap. On the desolate stretch of M-123 between Trout Lake and Moran, where it's almost impossible to even reach a cell signal, the dog trailer got a flat. It was just after dark, and I had no way to change the tire, for, you see, this is not just any dog trailer. This is my dog trailer: which the previous owner had conveniently rigged to make it impossible to change a tire by bolting the wheel to the axle. A normal tire iron will not work; one needs socket wrenches and tools.

Luckily, I was traveling within 30 minutes of friends I've known but had only just met that day: Sandy and Karyn, who were en route to Shaw's training session, too. I had just enough signal to put out an S.O.S. to them, and they came to find the girls, dogs and me stranded there by the side of the tiny state road.

For the sake of brevity, the cliff's notes version of the story is we managed to double-box some of Sandy and Karyn's dogs two-to-a-box - enough to make room for mine...with some improvising. Four of mine had to ride in the car with the girls and me. I picked the four who I knew would get along splendidly and we finally made it to Bob and Jan's!

It was bittersweet being back on these same beautiful trails that were our backyard last season.

Stopped along the trail, Tosh (right) gets a turn at lead with Big Brown (laying down)

The dogs knew exactly where we were. The trails are so good for the dogs because they're all sand. Great for feet, joints and muscle-building.

The team running in the morning sun

I miss living up in the Upper Peninsula, and it was awesome to spend time with the girls in these old stomping grounds. They're such good helpers and always so good with the dogs. 

Elise hugs Dove aka Dover - a dog I'd known years ago who now runs tours at Nature's Kennel

Here are some pictures taken of the team taking off, thanks to mushing fans and supporters, Claudia and Lee Nowak.

My crazy dogs, amped and ready to roll

And we're off!

Saturday night, we all gathered inside to eat some great food and listen to Bruce Magnusson talk about the Copper Dog 150

And catch up with good friends. My friend, Stan, sits next to me. I was focused on listening to Bruce

Now it's November, and the fun short training runs will give way to longer, colder, and often wetter training runs. We have a lot of work ahead of us in the next two months before our first race. Stay tuned and as always...

Coyote and Bob Shaw

We are plunged into darkness, as if these cloudy, overcast days weren’t dark enough. Daylight savings time. Whose brilliant idea was that? Random, very faint snowflakes fall haphazardly from the sky. It would be easy to miss them, they’re so tiny.

Last night, I woke at exactly 2 a.m. to the sound of coyote frolicking very near the cabin. Their excited yips and barks were loud and made me think of laughter. I smiled to myself, threw another log in the wood stove, and snuggled back into my fleece sheets.

Fifteen minutes later, I heard my dog yard explode. Miles is the alarmist. On the edge of the beginning of the dog yard, nothing gets by his keen ears and he is quick to bark to warn the others of any activity. First, I heard Miles, then all the dogs began barking. There are several types of barks, and this was definitely a hackles-raised kind of bark. One of my females is in standing heat right now, and I worried that Mr. Coyote might try to breed her. I was just about to hop into my truck with a headlamp and a leash and go retrieve the female in heat, when as suddenly as it began, the barking stopped.

Yesterday, I spent the afternoon with Bob and Jan Shaw. Bob never tires of teasing me. He is jovial, with a pot belly and a fuzzy gray beard that gives him a Santa look that is endearing. His blue eyes sparkle with mirth. He began showing me pictures his trail cam had taken from his hunting cache, mostly funny stills of portly raccoons in mid-heist, and black bears.

One series of photos left a lasting impression, however. Bob had found a large roadkill deer and dragged it back into the woods in the last month to get it off the main road. He set the trail camera on the carcass, and the slideshow that followed was an eerie illustration of how handy nature cleans up after herself. A flock of turkey vultures descended on the carcass, stupidly unaware that they were being filmed in their decadent feast. One large bird seemed to look right into the camera, as if to pose, its large red face blank and expressionless.

A flock of raven then appeared. Within just two or three frames, the raven had skillfully peeled back the hide of the carcass, exposing the deer’s large rib cage ominously.

The next frame showed a large, beautiful coyote standing at attention next to the carcass. Its fluffy mane and strong stature made it look regal. In several frames, Coyote appeared startled, cautious – perhaps he’d heard the “click” of the trail cam going off. The temptation of the carcass was too much, and soon, he was gorging himself: first sharp canine teeth visibly tearing into a hind leg, then diving into the belly of the deer.

The last clip from the deer carcass series made the hair rise on the back of my neck. Throughout probably 20 slides, the deer was shown in various stages of decomposition. But, quite suddenly, on the last slide, the entire deer carcass disappeared. There was no evidence that the carcass had ever been there; not a trace remained, only the backdrop of conifers on a floor of pine needles and orange leaves that had once cradled the deer's lifeless body.

Nature is indifferent. She does what she does – whether it is hurricanes or carrion – apathetically and matter-of-factly.  She cares not. And we animals do what we must to survive. Even if it means carrying off whole carcasses to feed our families.

Anyone who feels that nature intently focuses on us, stalks us, or even cares one way or the other about us humans is a fool.

What is the sound of over 100 huskies howling at a full moon in the Upper Peninsula?

Click here to find out!


Mush love!

Fall, friends, and fires: Shaw's Rig Session 2010

Dawn is barely breaking when I hear the quick, light steps of Jan Shaw making coffee. The warm, small home of the Shaws is soon filled with the inviting aroma of homemade bread and coffee. The sound of a gentle, steady falling rain makes me want to stay in the safe cocoon of my sleeping bag, but I know better.

There are dogs who need miles.


My team ready to go on a training run this past weekend

It is here, in the Upper Peninsula, that my love of mushing really gained a foothold - here in this stark wilderness. Here in the rain, snow, and ice storms. Here in negative temperatures. Here, in this unforgiving landscape.


Taking a break along one of the gorgeous trails outside the Shaw kennel in the Upper Peninsula

The dogs did great this weekend! It was a first rabies clinic and camp out for yearlings Kerouac and Aspen.


Ten month old, Kerouac, holds the line tight while resting along a ten mile run


New kennel member Tak (far) and two-year old Big Brown (closest) stand ready during a run


My young leader, Ruffian, being silly while resting along the trail

I am fortunate to have the best trail helpers ever on my training runs: Emily Curtice and my own daughter, Sophie.


Emily Curtice (left) and Sophie stopped along the trail. They bonded this past weekend over dogs and dirt :)

As I come in from my run, Bob Shaw asks the perfunctory, "how'd they do?" in his gruff Yooper accent, long O's made even longer.

It's a common courtesy to ask this question, and we all hope for clean, uneventful training runs.

"Good," I answer. "I didn't get lost," I say with a wink.

I will miss these people when I leave. I always do.

As all the teams begin to pack up on Sunday, the rain begins to fall steadily. With good company, standing in the rain with hundreds of dogs on Saturday was lulling and jovial. But as we leave, the rain takes on a different tone and makes me cry. Weather is only a reflection of ones heart.

Soon the wind comes to strip the trees of what remains of their colorful clothes. The leaves fall in a haphazard flutter scattering sullenly behind my truck as I make my way along Lake Michigan on Route 2. A hawk soars effortlessly on the winds, and the waves make a raucous on the shoreline.

Now that I'm home, it's happening. It always happens.

With a good night's sleep and the 10 hour drive behind me, the flood gates have opened and I cannot write enough. I am a ball of emotion and it's all flooding out of me in words.

How is it the U.P. always has this effect on me? Wyoming was the same. I wrote almost my entire master's thesis while living in a tiny, one-room cabin with no running water in Teton National Forest with 180 sled dogs. That was over ten years ago. It's like the dogs, the lifestyle, opens up a faucet in my heart and so much pours out of me. It's like being home - not only in the landscape and with the people, but also, home - finally - in myself. Comfortable in my own skin.

When I leave, I always, always cry, because I know where my heart is. And I leave a little piece of it in the woods every time I leave the U.P.

Apparently I have passed this trait down to my off spring: I came home to two notes taped to the back door, both from Elise. One was for me, and the other, for Sophie.

They were love notes, written in her first-grader's scrawl, expressing how much she missed us and loved us. Sophie came back out to the kennels at 2:30 a.m. as I was finishing putting the dogs away last night to tell me how happy the notes made her - that she smiled the whole time she was in the house.

Then, this morning, I found a poem written in Chris's scrawl, but which had been dictated, he told me, from Elise while he gave her a bath.

Dogs

Our dogs are big and strong,
They pull the sled
All day long,
And after they run
At night they rest
Our sled dog huskies
are the best.

They bark, bark, bark
And mush, mush, mush
Yeti's the leader
of the pack.
The other huskies
run in the back.

Packed and headed to the great north woods

M 123, a road that literally leads to Paradise: Paradise, Michigan that is

This coming weekend marks the kick off to another season. It is a weekend typically low on sleep but big on hope for the upcoming winter. Friends and hundreds of dogs converge in the woods not far from Hemingway's Big Two Hearted River, just outside of the tiny town of Newberry, Michigan and the home of Bob and Jan Shaw and Arctic Wind Sled Dog Kennel.

If you are not familiar with the U.P. - Michigan's Upper Peninsula - it is the farthest northern point of the mid-west you can drive to without falling into Lake Superior and then Canada. It is where I spend much of my time in the fall and winter - where I train and race, an absolutely gorgeous place of stark beauty, where wolves roam and bears grimace.


A Shaw dog sits regally at his house last fall

The season is in full swing already. But somehow this annual party is a cornerstone and official marker for the season for mushers in the mid-west. It is a bittersweet weekend of seeing people I consider an extended family long enough to laugh, catch up, talk dog, and say good bye returning to "real life." That is, until we see each other again when the snow flies.


My young leader, Ruffian, as a yearling at last year's annual rig session

I should be sleeping, but I'm still up packing in the wee hours, too excited to sleep like a kid at Christmas eve awaiting Santa's arrival. The dog box is securely attached to the Toyota, and all the dog supplies are loaded.

Stay tuned for scenes from this year's annual Shaw Rig Session and Rabies Clinic! Mush love!

A Tribute to Bob and Jan Shaw

The saying goes that a picture is worth a thousand words. Hopefully this montage, taken during Bob and Jan Shaw's annual fall training session, will speak volumes. Bob and Jan have been a cornerstone of the mushing community in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for years. This was the twelfth annual fall training session they've hosted, and the video features many of the mushers who have shared the trails, laughs and good times with the Shaws in the Upper Peninsula. Enjoy!