White Mountains Camp by Mandy
/“Did you happen to grab the ganglines?”
I glance over and meet Ryne’s eyes for the last second of hopefulness that we didn’t forget one of the most crucial pieces of gear.
You see, we’re a couple of miles down Chena Hot Springs Road on our way to the White Mountains for a two day mushing trip. Our first run is an easy 40 miles so we had a slow morning of packing and free-running the puppy litters. Even so, it’s afternoon already and we want snacks at the gas station, not a trip back to the kennel.
“No, I didn’t.”
Oh, well. It’s only a minor detour before we’re back on the road and bellies happy with food. Just 2 mushers, 19 dogs, and 1 truck.
The parking lot is filling up but the spot next to the trail head is clear. We pull in, slip on warmer clothes, and prep the sleds. Soon after, the dogs are out and dressed for the occasion! The other weekenders curiously watch as they arrange their own snow machines, hiking backpacks, firewood, etc.
We pause at the exit waiting for a family to pass by before taking off.
The little kid loudly asks his parent, “Why does she have so many dogs?” A single pet dog is dragged behind them with eyes spread wide at our pack.
Once they’re out of ear shot, Ryne turns to me; “Why doesn’t he have more dogs?” She gives the dogs the okay.
The sunset waves us off and I get my first peeks of the mountains through the sporadic gaps in Spruce trees. The team is loving new trails.
Night comes quickly and it’s a pleasant run to the cabin. I spend moments with my headlamp off to take in the stars and hear the steadiness of dog feet against the silence of an Alaskan night.
Then we start hitting overflow.
The dogs are doing their best but it’s difficult to grip the ice when wearing booties. We slow down to make it easier on them but it’s hard to tell when the overflow will end—headlamps only reach so far. Ryne knows we’re super close to the cabin though, our end point for the day, so we push on.
(Below video is from the next day when we tackle overflown in the daylight and without booties on)
Reaching the cabin, we have to maneuver around until finding spots for both dog teams to fit. The evening routine begins with melting snow for the dogs’ dinners and ends with Ryne and I tucked into sleeping bags on the cabin’s wooden platforms.
Or at least, we think.
Most of the adult dogs curled up on their straw piles and went swiftly into dreamland. But not one trouble maker. We keep hearing play noises and a few growls—Ryne gets up to yell Quiet and try to catch the culprit but dogs are good at stopping to the sound of a door opening. This repeats a few times until we hear a dog on the porch!
Ryne simply opens the door, let’s in the now loose Faff, and closes it. Problem solved.
Our goal of this trip is not strictly training—we slept the entire night—but to experience the Whites and getting a longer run of 60 miles on new trails. We wait for sunlight and look forward to seeing the landscape in the new light.
And the Whites don’t disappoint! I appreciate the variety of terrain from the overflown rivers, deep forests, and vacant ridge lines; the rise and fall of the sun along its arc. But mostly, I cherish the dogs and what they share with me.
