Mush

Dogs' eye-view of the Wapusk Park region trails. 

  “I’m The Big Dog,” announced the professional dog sledder Dave Daley after mounting the steps onto our little bus. I couldn’t hear the quip one of us tourists offered up but, deadly serious, the musher responded with “No. I’M The Big Dog.”  His defiance was as intimidating and glorious as a warrior’s feather headdress. 

Co-owner of Wapusk Adventures kennel, The Big Dog’s attitude coloured his stories (e.g. about the heated log cabin kybo built by interns) and his instructions about our sledding excursion. As our group listened in the large shed with the wood stove, he pointed out his son. I asked if he was Little Dog.  The Big Dog said, “Oh, careful.  My son doesn’t like that.” So I ask, “O.k. is he Sun Dog?”  The sun in the sky is often bracketed by sun dogs in Manitoba’s crisp weather.  But son-dog didn’t hear that and came out out of the office saying,  “Who called me Little Dog? Don’t let her on my sled.”  But of course, I was assigned to this young man’s sled, and he was gracious. On the ride he happily chatted about being partners with his parents in this dog sled business for tourists and how he has represented the Churchill region at international conferences focusing on Arctic countries.

Bright flares to the right and left of the sun are called "Sun Dogs" since they move with the sun like devoted puppies. Often they are obvious when the halo ring is not. 

On my first dog sled ride, at the Ice Hotel outside of Quebec City, I learned that I love having the dogs' perspective of the world.  So I dashed onto the seat of the sled to in order to see the landscape at their eye-level, to savour moving along the trail like I'm one of the canine team.  Another of our group merrily took the standing position, which she said was the best since she helped mush.  As we zoomed along in the snowy wonderland, it was easy to get the son talking about the dog in the red jacket that kept jumping up in the air as the team awaited the command to run. Otter was in the middle row and it looked like she was going to grow into being a front-row leader dog, rather than a back-row dog — those closest to the sled really haul all the weight. Otter needed the jacket because she wasn’t the regular kind of husky with thick fur. She had been gifted to son-dog and he took her home at night so she wouldn’t freeze in the dog houses. Clearly the other dogs liked their kennels.  A delightful image that persists with me includes a happy dog skipping around and around his house carrying his food bowl the whole time.

The air was fresh but for a Winnipegger the day was not cold, especially for one bundled up in gear for 10 C degrees colder than it was and covered with extra blankets. Echoing across the tree-lined trails we could hear the calls of the other two sled mushers as well as the slide of our own sled’s runners on the too-white snow. 

When we finished our “I Did A Mile” sled tour,  we were finally allowed to pet the dogs. Of course I was thrilled to pet Otter with the red jacket, but I also made sure I paid attention to the companion in her row.  As I was bent over petting him, suddenly there appeared a dog’s head sticking out in front of my crotch. From between my legs he looked up at me as if to say, “I’m the leader, The Top Dog, and therefore you should be showering ME with this attention.” I  disentangled myself from that compromising position and gave him really solid pets.

A dog named Otter.

And the lead 'top' dog -- the one staring at you with big blue eyes. 

Back at the Churchill Northern Studies Centre (CNSC) research station, we would hear personal stories at the indigenous beading workshop (led by CNSC's Ashley) as well as two lectures by women on the plight of indigenous people in this region of Canada: one about the forced moving of the Dene people and another about the migration of the Swampy Cree. After the latter, I dashed to change into a nice blouse and  beaded earrings that produced a picture of a crescent moon in the night sky.  That lecture was followed by a potent Smudging Ceremony — the first I participated in — and I wanted to honour it by wearing this treasure acquired at a Truth and Reconciliation Pow Wow. Ashley's mother, Georgina Berg (Swampy Cree), informed us that the ceremony expressed gratitude for the herbal medicine and created a positive mindset. Making her way around the circle we formed, standing in the CNSC atrium, Georgina wafted towards each individual the smoke from the medicinal herbs burning in a natural bowl. Each of us in turn solemnly mirrored her graceful gestures. 

The Big Dog provided us with a third lecture, about his people of Indigenous and European mixed ancestry, called the Métis, as we lined the walls of the big shed at Wapusk Adventures. 

The few dogs that wandered freely in and out were nonplussed about The Big Dog’s challenges to the human visitors.  He punctuated the tragic history of Métis leader Louis Riel with pauses in both his discourse and circular pacing. The Big Dog would take a moment to stare someone down as if to say “right?”, at which tall men would step back, eyes popping, mouths ajar, and nod. He told us of Riel’s resistance movements. He told us of Riel giving himself up to the Canadian government so he could make public the Métis quest for rights. Horribly, in spite of the jury arguing for mercy, Riel was sentenced to death at his trial for treason. 

As well as this history,  my imagination and appreciation was captured by The Big Dog’s tale of dog sledding for three weeks the 1,200 kilometres from Churchill to downtown Winnipeg. About Wapusk Adventure dog sledding tours The Big Dog said, “I’m doing this for my dogs.” Then he made us break into smiles by stating the obvious. “I don’t like people.”  

You can donate to their husky dogs here. 

See the dog sled on my "I Did A Mile" touque? Ashley taught us how to bead the flag tree on a patch.  I stitched my patch onto my torque.