Lost Team

     A musher's greatest fear is losing their team. A few years ago, I lost the team and they ended up in my county 4-H coordinator's longhorn cattle herd...by a miracle they went through the barbed wire fence without breaking anything (dogs or sled) and the cows didn't trample them. It ended well, but the frantic minutes (or hours - I can't remember) of tracking them down, all the while imagining that they had run all the way down to the highway and that my team was destroyed, will never be forgotten.
    One of the challenges of mushing is hours and miles spent all alone in the wilderness. Most places there isn't cell service, so I try to check periodically at different summits or saddles and see where I have reception in case the worst happens...but no matter how careful you are, accidents happen.
    Before going to Alaska, I confess that I had a great fear of going out alone with a team. But miles and miles on the back of a sled, and learning how to properly train a team, cured me - or at least taught me to worry less. One of the things you learn is that the more miles you put on a team, the better you understand your team - it might be the little things that make a difference in tough situations.
    Lots of heavy snow early in December made the dogs calm down a lot, which helped with control on iffy trails, and by the time we had a fast trail the dogs had been trained to the point that they didn't lung and jump until I put on my parka.
    But one day when the snow on the parking lot had melted almost entirely off, I unhooked from the truck and the dogs surged forward before I could pick up the snowhook. Where I parked the truck, I needed some speed to get around the snowmobile fence so I let it drag as I steered - barely missing the gate. And then the hook caught - and held fast.
    I'm so thankful that when the cable and rope mainling snapped, my wheel dog's neckline snap broke - else he may have had a neck injury. So it was he and I, while my eight remaining dogs went their merry way down the trail - seemingly unconcerned.
    I immediately took off after them, calling them to 'come haw' - which got their attention, but not enough to turn around. One of my leaders has a terrible time 'going' on the run, and this made the team pause long enough for me to catch up and get them turned around.
    Thinking they would go back to the truck, I let them go as I followed them back up the trail...only to watch them pass the truck and continue down the plowed road out of sight.
    I wasn't panicked, but I was afraid they would get hit on the road - there's not much traffic, but it's a narrow road. I left the sled, threw my wheel dog in the truck and headed down the road. I found them just out of sight, standing quietly in the road - apparently waiting for me.
    I kept hold of them and loaded each into the dog box; then back up to the trailhead to get the sled. I seriously thought about going home - but decided it would be best to patch up the line and run. For the next several runs, I was paranoid about my snowhooks and lines...but nothing else snapped.
    This is one of those experiences that will never be forgotten; and I will never forget to pick up the snowhook first!