A Northern Winter's Frigid Grasp

The Sled beneath my feet glided seamlessly over the glistening snow as the team of six dogs leisurely trudged down a trail nestled deep in the woods. The scene before me gave off a calm and peaceful air, yet this couldn’t be further from the truth. For on that crisp northern winter day, beneath the jacket and the many base layers, I inwardly screamed in agony. I had long since lost proper feeling in my fingers and toes, and try as I might they remained in a perpetual state of screaming torment.

It was December, 2015, I was loading my car in preparation for the 2, 400 km drive, from the Okanogan, British Columbia, to the Yukon Territory. I had never been to the Yukon, but for some reason it called to me. Not to mention I had just accepted a job as a dog sled guide.

People said I was crazy; I would die moving up north in the middle of winter. I had maybe experienced cold temperatures a handful of times in the Okanogan, which for the most part stays mild during winter, rarely getting to -10/-15°C.

Despite, what felt like little support, my mind was made up and I didn’t really care what others had to say.

 I was going north.

Finally, I was nearing the end of this miserable run. The Dog Yard was at last coming into sight. As my body viciously protested against the Yukon winter, of only -25°C, I fought to keep myself acting normal, as though I too, like all the other mushers was unaffected by this casual winter day. My fingers and toes were screaming louder and louder with every passing minute.As the pain slowly increased tears began to burn at my eyes. What have I done to myself…?

 I hopped in my car and began my long and lone journey into the unknown. I was fortunate and had good weather most of the way apart from one storm. Otherwise it was a stunningly beautiful and peaceful drive, filled with wildlife sightings.

I had finally arrived in the Yukon and moved into a small cabin that I would soon be calling home; it was rustic to say the least. 

There was no electricity

No running water

The occasional Cell Service

A wood stove

A 2 burner Coleman propane stove 

An outhouse

Many breezy gaps in the wall 

My first step off the sled felt like I was walking with stubs for feet. I clumsily made my way to the dogs and began trying to unhook them and move them to the drop chain. My fingers so stiff from the cold, that they refused to move. In an attempt to warm them I quickly shove my hands into the closest dogs armpits, a furry furnace on this immobilizing bitterly cold, regular Yukon, winter day. With feeling slowly returning like a thousand stinging needles, I was at last able to get enough dexterity to unclip a dog, remove its harness and put him on the drop chain. before once again my hands returned to useless blocks of frozen ice. Just five more dogs to go…

As winter continued her frigid hold of the north I fell into a comfortable routine in my cabin.

My fridge was a medium sized cooler; in order to keep it cold I would rotate frozen water bottles. One set stayed outside for the night, so in the morning I could switch them with the now thawed bottles in the cooler.

A pot of water on the wood stove, allowed for a constant source of hot water and also kept the air from getting too dry.

I would chop enough wood to last me through the week and water jugs could be filled from a creek that was a few minutes away. 

On days off, I would make my way into town, about a 30min drive, to buy groceries, find a shower, maybe do some laundry and use some Wi-Fi. 

Despite having a routine down there were still many challenges to cabin life.

The cabin walls had gaps, which allowed for a small breeze throughout the cabin on windy days.

Once it reached around -30 or colder anything on the floor tended to freeze.  I would have to stoke my fire two to three times a night to keep it reasonably comfortable.

The Cabin door had a sliding latch to keep it closed, which unfortunately on windy days would sometimes take it upon itself to simply pop open.

On more than one occasion I would wake up for, what seemed like, some unknown reason. I would think that the cabin feels quite breezy tonight….and then roll over to see the crisp starry night of winter where it should not be. Realizing that the door was sitting wide open. 

It’s safe to say that cabin life is often overly romanticized, as we tend ignore all the hardships that come with it.

Cabin aside, it was finally time to begin work dog sledding and already my worries were steadily increasing.

It’s only -20° C and I’m already freezing! This is nothing yet too, it is going to get a lot colder and probably any day now. 

It’s been almost a week since I started…and my thoughts continually stray from being positive.

Is this really so awesome? I hurt everywhere! 

Every muscle aches, I feel like I have destroyed my body…

everything hurts from the cold: my skin, bones, nails, eyes, everything! 

MY MITTS SUCK! THE YUKON SUCKS!....I suck…

I spend the majority of my time unable to feel my fingers or toes. Even with handwarmers I am barely keeping them from going numb. At the end of each day I find myself crawling home past the point of being sore and frozen to the core. As soon as I enter my cabin, I stoke the fire and precede to curl up under my blankets. The pain and exhaustion taking hold of me allowing tears to spill freely.

I knew before going to the Yukon that I do not do the best in cold temperatures, but was convinced I would be able to make it work.

I’m not so sure anymore…

It’s brutal, and it feels like it is taking everything I have not to break down and simply cry from this constant torment. Yet, this is not an option as a guide. I need to step above this and look out for clients and also deal with the dogs.

Despite the stiffness and constant scream of excruciating misery emitting from my fingers I still have to get dogs to and from the drop chain, deal with clips and sort out harnesses. My body aches and throbs beyond compare from all the heavy lifting, running and falling. However, the dogs don’t even pause to consider this, as they continuously pull, jump and lunge, slowly battering away at an already broken body. 

I can not quit, no matter how hard, painful or utterly cold it gets. I will not simply walk away because of a few challenges. 

I need to get better clothes and I need to somehow get acclimatized…

After many trials and error, and some advice from others, my gear is sorted and it is time to tackle acclimatization!

If I can’t get myself more use to these brisk temperatures nothing will change. 

Unfortunately, the only way I could think of is to be cold…

With my mind made up, I lower the temperature of my cabin keeping it cooler rather than letting the fire reach toasty hot temperatures. When working around the dog yard I wear one less layer than is comfortable, keeping myself chilled but not utterly freezing.

As winter wares on, I have figured out techniques to keep circulation going in my fingers and toes on colder days; walking around constantly scrunching and flexing my toes and fingers trying not to let them be still for too long, less winter takes hold of them.

When all else fails I make my way to the feed shed, where there is always a wood stove blaring. I look around to make sure I have a few minutes to myself, then proceed to run around the shed grabbing my fingers and silently screaming through my suffering. Afterwards I proceed to move to the stove, open the door and shove my hands inside until they are no longer in agonizing pain. Regathering my senses I exit the shed and act like nothing has happened, continuing with my day.

Dog mushing is much more challenging than most people realize, there is a lot of running and lifting, and when guiding even more so.

There are good days and bad days, and days that when you look back are quite funny.

Sometimes you have a dog on a leash and your running to the drop chain with them when you step in a surprise hole, that they had dug, face plant in the snow and then proceed to get dragged across the yard by the dog you were walking. Other times, your getting dragged down the trail while holding onto three different sleds, yelling at a couple of dogs that have, for some reason, decided now is a good time to fight each other. There are moments your running faster than you thought your legs could ever carry you after getting bucked off your own sled, and even the unfortunate times that you are caught standing flat footed as your team decides they no longer need you and disappear around the corner.

There are days your dogs make you so proud and happy and days where you wonder if they are secretly out to make your life a living hell.

It can often feel like the whole dog yard is utter chaos, with the barking, howling and the occasional threat of a fight waiting to happen. You stand on your sled amongst this chaos and pull the tie line, finally letting your team run and as you exit the dog yard you are followed by an ever increasing silence. Until all that is heard is your own breathing and the tap tap tap of paws on snow. The air sparkles, hoar frost coats every branch, the snow crisp and white and the sky bluer than you thought it could ever be. In that peaceful moment you look at your dogs and see the pure joy of running, radiating from their very being. It is then that the countless hours of suffering, cursing, crying and relentless hard work vanish and you are left with something indescribably amazing.

It is for this very moment that everything was undeniably worth it.

By: Bethany Paquette