The Forgotten Ones

Posted on January 6, 2013 by alaskanarcticexpeditions

There is a group of men and women that have been overlooked in Arctic exploration history. They were hardy folks that didn’t seek fame or fortune and weren’t backed with enormous budgets by the royal family or the government. They didn’t dine with the king or queen, or the president, nor were they glorified for discovering a new land. They weren’t honored with large memorable sites after their deaths like many of the popular explorers were, and in fact, some were just buried in a wooden box built of ship lumber and placed on the frozen tundra only to be visited occasionally by a wandering Arctic traveler a century later.

These people who assisted the popular explorers in their endeavors to explore a new land spent their lives fending off bears and ravaging wolves, battling famines, and traveling in the Arctic in their perpetual search for game. They were humble individuals, fiercely independent and self reliant residents of the Arctic. Although they may not have fared well monetarily from their struggle living in the Arctic, they were rewarded with freedom, and an indescribable strength and strong will which are two characteristics that money cannot buy. And I am certain these forgotten men and women had traveled more miles in the Arctic than many of the most popular explorers ever dreamed of. Many of these folks that the explorers relied on for assistance and guidance include local natives as well as men and women from around the world, whom for one reason or another, took residence in the Arctic.

Often, while traveling on the Arctic coast, I have found frozen in the sand many century-old artifacts, like dog sleds, ship lumber, bottles, house logs, and rusted wood burning stoves. These items are evidence of the people who lived along the coast. Further proof exists in the photographs captured by individuals traveling through the region. However, as I travel in the mountains I am surprised that the same evidence of people isn’t found there. And there aren’t many historical records of the popular explorers venturing into the mountains either, and I don’t blame them. Traveling in the mountains is tedious, slow and extremely exhausting work. You can struggle all day and cover only five miles. Yet, on a few occasions I have found old tent sites and other artifacts high on windblown ridges in some of the most inhospitable mountainous regions. It’s my guess that these Arctic residents spent their long days in spring awaiting the migrating caribou on these ridges. I find it astounding that these folks traveled and made a living in this harsh mountain country as well as along the Arctic coast. To me, they were certainly the true explorers.

Photos and captions from the US Geological Survey Photographic Library.

Dan Sweeney and Shagavaichiak. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Native Eskimo. Okalisuk and puyuk (dog). Anglo-American Polar Expedition.district, Canning Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Ernest de Koven Leffingwell, in cabin, Flaxman Island. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Native Eskimos, Sheep hunters’ camp on the Canning River. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Triangulation signal erected over Astronomical Observatory Pier at Flaxman Island. Used from KUG Station 20 miles inland. It looks eccentric but was lined up O.K. for KUG. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Pete Bernard feeding his dogs at Collinson Point. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Sledding up Canning River in April. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Ernest de Koven Leffingwell (left), Captain Ejnar Mikkelsen (center) Dr. G. P. Howe (right). Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1906.

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Eskimo [native] summer camp on Arey Island. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1908.

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Natives at Flaxman Island. Anglo-American Polar Expedition. Canning district, Northern Alaska region, Alaska. C. 1910.

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Short and Sweet

Posted on July 8, 2012 by alaskanarcticexpeditions

I get a kick out of the way Shorty darts around in circles, wooing and whining, begging for a scratch and a tummy rub. She’s tireless. I wish I had her energy and that seemingly eternal youth. I expected her to calm down as she grew older, but Shorty remains as playful at 10 years old as when she was a puppy and I hope she stays that way forever.

I’ve heard that a dog’s environment shapes and molds them into who they are. And Shorty, being in the presence of other energetic and cheerful warrior type dogs has grown to be just like them. There’s a lot to learn from dogs. It’s hard to comprehend the influence they have on you if you allow them to get in your heart.

Shorty’s name is reflective of her stature. She definitely has short legs, which doesn’t hinder her pulling ability, but it does give her the disadvantage of a slightly slower trot than my other dogs. However, on the other side of the spectrum, dogs who have disproportionately long legs, or hocks, are at a total disadvantage especially in deep snow. While breaking trail, their legs sink so far into the snow that they have a tough time keeping up with the other dogs because they cannot retrieve their footing fast enough. Shorty, on the other hand, can “swim” through deep snow like everyone else, just a little slower, that’s all.

photo by Angus Mill

When Shorty was young I believed she would be an excellent leader in deep snow because of her slow, yet powerful trot. She also exhibited an uncanny sense of direction, so I figured she’d be a great lead dog on sea ice as well where there are no landmarks and it takes a talented dog to run a straight route, which she was. But it was during a blizzard when I realized that her leadership was not exactly what I was expecting.

We were traveling along Alaska’s Arctic coast. The team was pulling a heavy load in 12 inches of fresh snow. It was slow going so I figured it would be a perfect opportunity for Shorty to learn the art of leading the team. There wasn’t anything between her and the perpetual white horizon, no obstacles or distractions, just an open expanse to run straight and true. When I placed her in lead alongside Bear she glowed with pride. Her thick, bushy tail bristled and waved in the low, orange winter sun. But behind us the sky was turning gray and far in the distance a blizzard stewed. It was around -20°F and strong wind gusts pushed against my back sending a chill to my bones, but I wanted to cover as many miles as possible, and take advantage of the wind before visibility fell to zero and we would be forced to camp. I grabbed two long wooden poles of driftwood from the beach, tied them to my sled’s handle bars and stanchions and attached my sail, which is a large square piece of heavy canvas with grommets around the edges to prevent tearing.

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The sail caught the wind like a small parachute and off we went. Now, with Mother Nature’s usual destructive force propelling us along with little effort from the dogs the pace had increased considerably. Shorty’s little legs tried to keep pace, but to no avail. She looked a little surprised when she saw the swing dogs catching up and running beside her. She glanced to her right, and then left. I could practically read Shorty’s mind as she wondered how could she slow these guys down: Oh I know, I’ll make some radical turns every which way. That’ll do it. She swerved quickly back and forth, zigzagging, and scrambling over ice ridges, and bee lining for the deepest snow she could find, but the team kept pace. In fact, the other dogs thought it was a game and enthusiastically chased her. All the while, Bear, outweighed and outnumbered, tried his best to keep the team on course. Finally, Shorty realized that there wasn’t any way possible to escape, so she wheeled around and headed toward me and the sled, effectively tying the entire 22 dogs into a jumbled knot.

It was a long time before I tried Shorty in lead on the sea ice again, but eventually she learned not to worry about running too slow and she became an all around fine leader.

Shorty is still as playful as ever and her goofiness makes Andrea and I smile on a daily basis. She’s a true testament to the old saying: you’re only as old as you feel.

Invigorating

Posted on June 17, 2012 by alaskanarcticexpeditions

“How are the dogs in the -99°F windchill?” Andrea asked me on the satellite phone.

“Heck, they’re fine. Humans are the wimps out here. I wish I were as tough as those dogs,” I replied.

When you think about it, we humans are as vulnerable as babies in cold weather unless we cover our naked bodies with multiple layers of fleece and caribou skin boots, goose down parkas, wool hats, scarves and mitts. Living in extreme cold temperatures is deadly business, but the human body is a remarkable creation.

I’ll admit, 25 years ago it was tough for me to handle -40°F. I remember wearing heavy insulated mukluks, coveralls and parka with large beaver skin mitts that were the size of baseball mitts. Heck, I haven’t dressed like that in a very long time, except I wore a parka for a while when it was -99°F windchill last year. Now, -40°F feels mild. Maybe it’s not ideal weather for wearing shorts and t-shirt, but relatively speaking, it’s not too bad. Nowadays, I’m comfortable with fleece jackets and light insulated coveralls and gloves, although I still wear heavy caribou mukluks most of the time. They’re just comfortable as can be in any temperature, warm or cold.

Over the past three decades I have acclimated to the arctic environment and I’m sure there’s some genetics involved which helps the acclimation process since I have some Scandinavian roots, but if I can acclimate then so should the dogs. My point is, since the Alaskan malamute roots are from the Arctic then a malamute that is living in, let’s say Arizona, can acclimate to the arctic environment as well. So, if you think your dog is a couch potato, cream puff sissy, think again. I bet he or she would become as comfortable in the Arctic as a polar bear, given the chance.

Now, for those folks that do not know what it feels like to live, sleep, camp and work in blistering cold weather, let me give you a peek into the frozen world of an Arctic winter. First, if you’ve ever watched my dogs in cold weather, you’d see their energy increases tenfold, and the same with me. Your energy increases the colder it gets outside. I believe it’s more of a survival instinct than anything else. The faster and harder you work, the warmer you are.

After you awake in the morning and crawl out of the tent to meet the new frozen day, you feel the cold slap you in the face like a steel plate. Nonetheless you march outside to check on your furry friends, which will not give you so much as a second glance until you start serving them breakfast. They’re toasty warm and snuggled up tight and conserving energy. They’d prefer to stay there until it’s time to eat and hit the trail.

You’re going to be surprised how your lungs feel when you take that first deep invigorating breath of -65°F air. It’s the cleanest air on earth. If you are not a runner or you are not into cardiovascular exercising you will most likely cough when you suck in the cold air. And if you exert yourself, either run, ski or snowshoe, you might cough up a little blood which will scare the hell out of you. But don’t worry this is normal for folks that aren’t in shape. What happens is the cold air expands in your lungs and stretches you’re a capillaries, and no, you aren’t freezing your lungs. That is just an old wives tale. I mean, if you could freeze your lungs, I’d have done it years ago, as well as every living creature and human being in the Arctic, including the Inuit.

Many folks will certainly get frostbite on their faces in those temperatures the moment they step outside their tent. So you might feel like bees are stinging your nose and cheeks. This stinging feeling, my friend, is frostbite. Small blotches on your face are turning white while the skin is crystallizing. If you do not warm the frozen areas immediately by placing the palm of your hand on the frozen patches they will eventually blister and peel and some may scar a little. It’s nothing to worry too much about, at least you’re still alive and the dogs are doing fine. While you are feeding the happy-go-lucky, howling dogs you’ll notice everything is seemingly louder than normal. Like your steps in the dry snow, the dogs rustling about and your breath as it vaporizes when it hits the cold air.

Your eyelashes will certainly freeze together occasionally so you might be walking around with one eye open and the other frozen shut. Again this is normal, just don’t blink!!

Now, you are occupied thawing your frostbitten face, prying your eyelids open, stomping your foot to get the blood flowing to your frozen big toe, and cussing all the while trying to feed the dogs. Then, a glimpse of sunshine crests the mountain peak. You throw back your hood to absorb the five minutes of winter sun before it falls again behind the mountain, only to get attacked by those “bees” on your cheeks. You’re at the mercy of Mature Nature and there’s no escape. Then, a hint of envy comes over you. If only you were an Alaskan malamute!! But you’re not. So, you dive back into your tent, fire up the wood stove until it turns the color of a big red apple, and set a kettle filled with snow on the stove. Once the water boils, you add the coffee grounds and the aroma of steaming brew fills your little canvas world. You know you have to travel, so you strip off your mukluk and sock, hold your toes over the hot stove and grit your teeth in aching pain as the feeling returns to your frozen flesh. Afterwards, you pack your bags, and prepare to hit the trail. That brings us to our next subject—traveling in -99°F.

To be continued…

My Old-Time Huskies

Posted on June 10, 2012 by alaskanarcticexpeditions

In his youth, Bear was a master Arctic navigator who guided us through blistering blizzards with his eyes closed. He navigated using the wind direction and the snow drifts lying across the sea ice like a compass. He could detect thin ice by scent and feel our old trail under a foot of fresh snow. If he were human he’d be legendary and stories of his Arctic mastery would be passed down for generations. But he’s not human, and to me he is more than legendary. He’s been a loyal friend and traveling companion for over a decade. But let’s go back to the beginning, before Bear was born, and before his father and grandfathers were born. Back in the days when man and dog lived together harmoniously, depending on one another for survival, companionship and comradery.

Bear on the right, Boss in the middle, and Farmer, Photo taken by Angus Mill

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Along Alaska’s northern coast and deep in the Brooks Range lived a robust, hardy people, the Inupiat, meaning the real people, and with the Inupiat lived an equally hardy dog called the Alaskan malamute. This powerful dog breed was the backbone of dog teams on Alaska’s coastal region from Kotzebue to Barter Island and into Canada. They were enduring brutes with uncanny intelligence, heavy bones, large paws and thick coats that were impenetrable in blizzards. They were true survivors in an outright brutal environment, yet they were loving and personable dogs.

Bear leading the team across the Arctic tundra and teaching Farmer the ropes. Photo taken By Angus Mill

For centuries, both Inupiat and malamute existed together. Without the Inupiat caring for their malamute companions, this majestic dog would never have survived, and without the malamutes assisting the Inupiat in hunting and pulling sledges, the Inupiat certainly would have suffered greatly. Man and beast relied on each other for survival.

But changes came for the malamute during the 1900 gold rush when a tidal wave of humanity hit the sandy beaches of the northern Alaska coast in what is now known as the town of Nome.

Buried in the sand and in surrounding creeks and rivers were rich pockets of gold, but this yielded only to the lucky few. Nonetheless, news of gold miners becoming rich beyond their wildest dreams spread like wildfire, and soon men and women traveled from around the globe to secure their fortune.

Approximately 20,000 gold seekers had taken residence on the beach of Nome during the period of 1900 to1909, and the area became one of the largest tent cities in Alaska. In the midst of this chaotic turmoil of adventurers and gold seekers shoveling and sifting through the sand were the Alaskan malamutes humbly minding their own business. Just the very look of the malamutes was enough to catch the attention of nearly every weathered, worn, cold, gold miner in the territory. The miners had never seen such handsomely powerful dogs before. And right away, most of the malamutes were purchased from the Inupiat in the direct vicinity, harnessed, and put to work pulling sledges and packing supplies on their backs. But there weren’t enough malamutes in the country to satisfy the needs of every gold miner wandering into the country, so dogs were shipped to Nome from the lower 48 states to satisfy the demand. However, most of the dogs that arrived were insufficiently furred, spoiled, and soft-minded, and swiftly died from exposure during the winter blizzards that swept the beaches and surrounding hills. But Mother Nature spared a few of the strongest dogs and these lucky creatures were introduced to the local Alaskan malamutes. And that’s when a new dog breed was born—the Alaskan husky.

Here’s Bear settling in for the night after a long day of breaking trail. Photo by Angus Mill

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Eventually the Alaskan husky evolved into a very tough dog, but unlike the malamute, they didn’t have the large bones, head, and paws. They were a lighter and swifter runner though, and as dogsled racing increased popularity they became highly valued.

Bear on the left, enjoying himself during the 2012 expedition.

Over the past 100 years, the Alaskan husky has evolved into one of the fastest long distance racing sled dogs, but because of several different bloodlines introduced into them, like the German short haired pointer, they are unrecognizable to the muscular and thick furred old-time Alaskan husky of the early1900’s, although there are some Alaskan huskies that haven’t changed. Their bloodlines have been preserved, but they are few and far between. And this is where Bear comes in…these are his roots.

Farewell for now!! Bear on the left, his granddaughter next to him, and Boss and Farmer on the right.

As long as I’ve had sled dogs, I’ve preserved this old-school husky bloodline, keeping a couple of them in my kennel and in the team alongside my purebred malamutes. Bear, has been one of my main leaders for over a decade and he is from the old Alaskan Husky bloodline. Now 12 years old, Bear is approaching retirement, and I wanted to commemorate this post to him and all the old-time Alaskan huskies out there doing what they were born to do.

The makings of a Champion Lead Dog

Posted on June 4, 2012 by alaskanarcticexpeditions

…Continued from Part 1

At first, Champ led the team like a regular rookie, with lots of enthusiasm followed by bewilderment, and then fear. Most rookies get over the confused stage quickly, but sometimes the fear of leading your peers takes quite a while to overcome. It’s not natural for a youngster who is the lowest in the hierarchy, to be running in front of the adults. In a young malamutes mind, it’s not how things work. He’s supposed to be following them. But the fact is an adult doesn’t care who is leading them as long as they’re doing what they love to do. Although Champ was uncomfortable in lead and periodically glanced at me with concerned eyes, he still kept plodding along with Farmer and Shorty.

Champ on the left with Shorty in the middle, and Farmer on the right

When we traveled higher in elevation the snow became thigh deep and that’s when everything changed. This is when a leader’s fears get tossed aside, because now I’m the leader breaking trail on snowshoes in front of the team. So the lead dog doesn’t have to worry because he’s just another team member, and his only concern is keeping up with me and everyone behind him is soon forgotten.

The dogs love it when I lead. As soon as they see me unlash the snowshoes from the sled they howl like there’s no tomorrow. It’s very strange. It seems to be more natural for them to be led, but it makes sense because according to early explorers’ historical accounts the Inuit didn’t have leaders per se. They led the teams themselves, the same way I do.

Champ is on the right and showing what he’s made of.

Yet, when we are traveling in relatively good snow conditions or on the sea ice, I allow my leaders to lead and I am either riding, or walking beside the sleds. But they are most enthusiastic when I am in lead. Nonetheless, their speed doesn’t differ very much whether they are following me, or they are traveling on their own, which tells me a person’s walking pace is probably the most comfortable speed for them. If the historical records are accurate, it would explain why malamutes prefer a slow pace.

However, a small, light weight, and narrower bodied malamute will travel faster than a big heavy guy. For example, a team of 80 lbs., narrow built malamutes are going to average a slightly faster pace than a team of 100 lbs. malamutes. So, if I have one small leader along with a couple of big leaders, and we’re traveling on a trail, hard pack snow, or sea ice, the small leader will speed up the team’s pace a little, but not enough to cause discomfort to the heavier freighters. This is one of the reasons why I chose Champ for a future leader. He’s lighter and smaller boned than my current leaders, Farmer and Shorty. So he will increase the team’s pace while traveling on hard pack or sea ice. But, on the same token Champ will travel the same pace as the larger leaders when we are breaking trail in deeper snow, and this is where the iron will and intelligence come into play.

A lead dog has to figure out how to bust through chest deep snow and keep ahead of the team. A smart and determined dog will try several different methods until he succeeds. Most dogs try to hop at first, but this exhausts them quickly. Then they try other techniques, like plowing through with their chest, or they develop a sort of swimming movement, both of which work well. If a dog has the mental stamina and a strong will he will figure out what works best for him. Shorty, for example, has found a creative way to kick her front legs out like she’s marching to bust through deep powder snow. She has relatively short legs so this works well for her.

When the going gets tough, Champ gets going.

But the most important characteristic for a good trail breaker is a dog’s body width. The width gives them stability and allows them to plow through deep powder. Some dogs may have all the components to be great leaders, like a wide body, strength, passion, and intelligence, but still they cannot keep ahead of the team when the conditions get tough. The element that they are lacking is an iron will.

A dog’s will, or tough mindedness, is a paramount characteristic for a leader. Often it takes several years for a dog to develop this trait and sometimes they never do. I have found that it’s a characteristic that can be passed down genetically, and most northern sled dog breeds carry it.

Champ comes from a lineage of great leaders going back when my lead dog Mitch had guided me and the team over the Continental Divide over two decades ago. When I had selected Champ to lead and replace Bear, whom has retired, I was counting on these leader traits to prevail. Sure enough, after two months of encouragement and additional coaching from Farmer and Shorty, Champ was breaking trail like an old pro.

Now, Champ is lying outside my window as the sun is creeping back over the horizon. He’s probably wondering why winter had passed so quickly, and wishing he was still leading the team across the treeless Arctic landscape under the green glow of the aurora. Bear, Champ’s grandfather, is lying beside him, relaxed and content on the cool moss under a swaying spruce tree and probably also wishing winter’s frost was in the air. But Bear figures at his older age he cannot possibly be expected to lead the team like he once had and recognizes his leader’s position is passed on to Champ. I bet Bear is wondering if his grandson will follow in his footsteps and become capable of safely guiding the team through blizzards, and if he will learn to navigate by wind direction on the sea ice. Or maybe Bear is wondering if Champ will be strong enough to break trail over the Continental Divide and have the courage to stand his guard against threatening wolves like he had when he was young. I’m confident Champ will be like his grandfather in every way and carry on the family tradition. After all, he’s Champ!