“Let’s go!” I called out. Five dogs lurched forward with shocking fierceness, without one second of hesitation, throwing my city-soft body into shock. Frantically I grabbed for the crossbar with my mittened hands, raised one foot off the brake-- a small spiked platform of snowmobile track--to a runner. The other foot tested the brake. A 61 year old woman…what was I doing?
Four kilometers of a snow lined driveway had brought me to ‘Muktuk Adventures’, a sled-dog outfitters and ranch 24 kilometres out of Whitehorse, Yukon on the bank of the Takhini River. As I had wound the magical winter road, not for one second did I know I was about to be mushing my very own dog team. 
Rounding the last curve of the drive 127 dogs welcomed me with wild abandonment. The sound was intense, the sight filled with chaotic energy. Kennels, dogs pulled on chains, jumped off their kennels. 28 lucky dogs would be chosen for the 5 sleds. I carefully picked my way through all this wild action, patting as I went. 
After being outfitted with sub-zero clothes my four fellow mushers and I were taught ‘the reins’ in about 3 minutes. My head filled with anxiety when I heard the guide tell us that we each would have our own team of dogs! My own team! Not share? I had had visions of me covered with furs, sitting on the sled, taking pictures, sharing the mushing and now this!
The guide must have seen my shocked face. “Are you ok with that?” she asked. “Yes!” I head myself say excitedly. Where had that come from? Somehow I knew that this was an opportunity that relatively few have.
“Keep the main cable taut; otherwise the dogs will get tangled. Mara, I want you to take the lead! Follow me; the others after you!” our guide said. One shock followed the other. Me, the lead position? I wouldn’t even be able to copy the others.
After a check of the brakes, runners and the bar to hang onto, it was my turn to follow our guide who had already disappeared down the icy path to the river.
So, there I was hanging on…cruising the corners, one foot tentatively testing the brake, to the frozen Takhini River! The team was going full-tilt, the downward momentum exciting them beyond their own expectations. Three bumps in the path lifted the sled and me off my feet and back down onto the runners with a loud clang and shake. I hung on even harder. It was wild crazy fun! I didn’t know whether to scream in fear or laugh with excitement. Then, I heard a voice, barely human…wild with abandonment, laughing into the wind. It was me! I had chosen to laugh, to embrace the demands and to become one with the adventure!
Turning a sharp right onto the snow mobile path my team and I ran hard onto the iced river. The stark expanse of the Takhini River opened up like a crystal fan. What words can describe the undisturbed purity of this place which over-flowed my senses and took my breath away with each river bend?
Amazingly I began to feel confident and began to bond with the five dogs in my team, all cross-breeds. Sharing the lead was a slim female, Bellini. Frequently, she would turn with dark eyes as if to ask, “How are you doing?” 
Also leading was Spot, a powerful male with eyes sky blue. He was boss of the team, alert to commands and quick to assess the trail’s turns. In the middle was Smeagel, a white beauty keeping the lines untangled. Ravel and Norman, like anchors, kept the sled upright on the steep bends. Ravel had a stiff rear leg but it didn’t interfere with urinating enroute.
Before long, within the world of soft ‘shoshing’ of the sled’s runners, the quiet panting of the dogs and the ice creaking as we as a team slid over it, I found my own pace. I relaxed more and more and breathed deeply into the experience and knew, without a second’s doubt, that this was a highlight of my life. I was exhilarated.! I had connected to a core part of myself that I’d never experienced before. I felt fully alive! I knew without question that without my new exercise program of the previous three months, I would not have been able to have this experience.
The day was perfect! Dazzling sunshine transforming snow and ice into dazzling shards of sparkling rainbow colors. The huge silver sun, shimmering through the trees and billowy white clouds. Snow-covered mountains, their tops caught in splashes of pink. The bluest of skies. River embankments 40 metres high. Sedimentary layers formed the river banks with clusters of shrubs, pine and spruce. Ancient eroded hillocks like hoodoos dropping to the river and the wind shirring along its body. The purest, untouched snow blown onto the ice at the curves of the river. The intricate patterns of blue, purple and pink shadowing held within countless groupings of dark green lodgepole pines and spruce leaning towards the river as if for a drink.
A pair of huge ravens dipping and cawing along the high embankment added to the wind’s muted humming. They soared beside me, caught on the wind and sun’s rays. The yelping and howling of the dogs was intense each time we stopped to adjust harnesses and replace the leather booties worn by the dogs. And always, the constant shurring sound of the runners on and on like a mother shushing her child.
The taste of ice crystals on my lips, the smell of forest, frozen water and pure, pure air. The touch of wind and sun on my goggled face.
We glided through the portals of trees leaning over the ice path and through the open river curves. What did I look like from the top of the embankment, I found myself wondering. What did the ancient ones look like as they, too, moved across the Bering Strait on their rivers of ice? And, within those thoughts I travelled with my ancestors feeling the flow of Eternity.
Nineteen kilometers we meandered –criss-crosssing and running down the centre. I was continuously over-whelmed with waves of pure joy. I laughed and laughed until my facial muscles ached. I felt alive like I’ve very rarely felt before. The river and I were one—flowing forever.
Our guide would disappear further and further ahead. There was no other person in front. I reveled in my sense of being alone with no other in sight, alone in the power of this winter world.
We stopped for lunch at an island where the Takhini and Yukon Rivers meet. It had once been a gathering and fishing spot for nomadic people. Today it’s an informal camping and resting area for mushers. I ate lunch, relishing the deep quietness that myself, as a city dweller, had lost long ago. I reflected on all those who had come, before me, to stand where I was standing.
The silence was broken only by the dogs growling over food and their howling and yelping to be on the trail once again. Their wild cries echoed up the rivers. My own voice rang with theirs …”Let’s go!”
As we turned homeward we barely stopped, each musher alone in their own thoughts. I had been the only musher to not get the harnesses tangled. Quite the accomplishment! The shadows and colors deepened as the light dropped lower into the day. The mountains ahead were ablaze with purples, pinks and golds of the setting sun. Tears of joy and appreciation ran down my face!
All day my camera had been snug against my body so that the batteries wouldn’t freeze. I was now confident enough to take videos on the move. I soaked in each moment of magic, promising myself that I would be back someday. (See at the very bottom!)
Instinctively the team turned left off the river, up the trail at a fast pace. The sled and I were careening and bouncing. The dogs were running full on for kennels and their friends who were barking a welcome. Up a steep slope—their lithe bodies pulling in one co-ordinated effort! We were up and going for home stretch!
Into the yard we raced. The kennel dogs were wild with joy! Slowly but confidently I put on the main brake and safely glided back to the very spot I had left that morning. I was grinning from ear to ear! I had become a musher!
March, 2009
Copyrighted MB, 2009
'Mom! Didn't I tell you I don't like heights?! Andrew asked in a low tone. The SeaAir plane, all 8 seats filled, ran the short length of a landing canal close by the Fraser River's mouth, and softly lifted. It quickly became clear that we were, indeed, in a tin can. 
