I’ve never wanted to be a musher. I don’t like the cold that much and I have enough trouble finding time to feed and entertain my people-pleasing golden retriever Fearless. So when dog sled races pass through Cook County, I like to follow them, vicariously living the Jack London life along with my musher friends.
However, this year, at the inaugural Gichigami Express, my husband Chuck and I were drawn into the action in a way we never expected. We had an excellent accidental adventure on Hungry Jack Lake.
Chuck gets dragged along on a lot of adventures with me, helpfully serving as an extra set of hands and eyes as I pursue a story. On Sunday, the day of the races, he was acting as chauffeur—first in his pickup, up to Grand Portage to watch the start of the race, and then on snowmobile to try to catch some action on the trails.
When we got to Hungry Jack Lake, he suggested heading to the southeast end of the lake, where the snowmobile trail comes onto the ice. Chuck thought that might be a good place to get pictures of the racers. It turns out he was right.
He wasn’t the only one with that idea. Local photographer Nace Hagemann was there with his tripod set up, ready to catch the teams as they came down the steep embankment, around a corner and onto the lake.
We chatted for a while, studying the hill and the curve and wondering if it was going to be difficult for the dog sleds. We had to stop talking every few minutes…was that one coming? Dog sleds are incredibly quiet once they are gliding along the trail.
Finally, we heard something off in the distance. Cameras up! We took pictures as the first team rounded the corner, precariously close to tumbling off the side of the hill. It was only a little while before the next team came and it, too, made it down and around the curve onto the lake, taking out the brush and hay that had been set along the trail to make the turn safer.
A few more teams passed, almost tipping off the hill. Finally, Frank Moe’s MoeTown Kennel dogs came racing down the hill. Unfortunately, the sled did not follow and Frank was tossed off into the brush and snow. Shocked, we watched as his team raced off without him.
Frank knew what to do—he had to catch his team, so he brushed himself off and immediately started trotting after them. I watched in amazement as Chuck took off too—toward our snowmobile. He hopped on and headed after Frank. “What does he think he’s going to do?” I thought to myself.
I don’t think he knew, but he wanted to help, so he roared up beside Frank. Frank hopped on behind Chuck and told him to head for the runaway dog team. Chuck did, maneuvering the machine next to the sled, which was bouncing along behind the team—sideways. Frank leaned over, grabbed it and set the sled back on its runners.
Then, with Chuck keeping the snowmobile’s speed steady, Frank stood up and leaped onto the dog sled. With a wave, Chuck veered off and Frank was back on his way.
We spent the rest of the afternoon at that spot, with me up the trail a bit, warning mushers about the dangerous corner ahead. Despite the warning there were some who tipped over but Chuck was down below, helping catch the runaways before they were far down the ice. One of the rescued female mushers made him grin as she rode off shouting, “Thank you! I love you!”
Thankfully no one was hurt, although I’m guessing there were a few mushers with aches and pains once the adrenaline wore off.
Nace caught the action on camera, recording the spills and thrills. But Chuck and I don’t need photos to remember our part in the inaugural Gichigami Express Sled Dog Race. It was an excellent adventure indeed.
I am not an adventurer by choice
but by fate.
Vincent Van Gogh
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