Up a creek

I love how sometimes a thread of comments on a facebook post will wander off into a completely unexpected direction and take on a life of their own. What follows here is a string of posts by my friend Joe May added to a post showing game-camera video of various animals crossing a creek on a log. Incidentally following this period in his life Joe went on the run the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race several times, winning it in 1980.

 In the early 70's trapping season opened Oct. 20 in this valley. There was always enough snow or accumulated frost to run a small team that could be rigged single file ahead of a narrow toboggan for the bridges. Several faster flowing creeks hadn't frozen enough to bear the weight of team and sled and had a convenient log, or one dropped deliberately in the right place (there were NEVER two trees in the right place to make a wider bridge). It took coaxing to cross initially but for the dogs it became a game in time. A high wire balancing act of the finest kind, not always successful, but maybe nine out of ten crossings with dry feet. I would give anything for a video of some of those episodes: dogs, sled and human in the creek splashing and scrambling to get out, with a campfire and tea on the far side to dry out.
Good memories. All the discomfort of a wet ass and cold feet.have long faded from memory.

I once had a nasty overflow creek on a trapline. To cross it, on memorable occasions, I pre-gathered a pile of dry firewood, twigs, and bark atop the sled bag, tied my boots, pants, and long johns around my neck, stripped down to one pair of socks, grabbed the leaders' neckline, and hauled ass for the far side, sometimes knee and once belly deep. That may sound extreme, but you see, for ten minutes of discomfort I had the creek behind me, dry clothes on, a hot fire, tea heating, and I was fit to go to work drying dogs and harness. Provided you're not in the water very long, even at -30F, it isn't threatening until you come out, with or without wet clothes. The trick is to plan ahead to prevent a protracted wetting.

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Note the sled had no brake and it was steep hill country. That made the "downs" a lot more iffy than the "ups," especially at night with a half-dead two-cell, carbon battery flashlight that took one hand off the handlebar. A thrill most modern mushers will likely never experience.
That's a .41 mag hanging on the handlebar— in October the bears up there were still out and about.

Imagine if you will coming down steep hills, with no way to brake, often ass over teakettle, with a hodge-podge of stuff in the sled. I had no mentor or how-to book until I found a copy of George Attla's "Training and Racing Sled Dogs." It was literally a self-taught exercise from which I importantly learned how not to do things. I gleaned so much from George's words. The learning experience actually gave me an advantage over other mushers during races who hadn't had the opportunity to make those mistakes and learn from them — yet.

— Joe May

George Attla "Training and Racing Sled Dogs