Page 233 - The History of the Royal Army Veterinary Corps 1962–2021

THE HISTORY OF THE ROYAL ARMY VETERINARY CORPS 1962 – 2021
The dogs came as a great surprise to me. I expected big dogs with a lot of coat and that they would look like huskies. I also expected them to be aggressive. I was wrong on both counts. Instead, I found that they were all friendly and came in all shapes and sizes. The smallest dog in the yard was a little bitch who weighed little over 30lbs (13kg) and the largest dog of 70lb (31kg), and there was all manner of coat types from short to long.
Historically, sled dogs in Alaska were working dogs that hauled heavy loads along trap lines and mail routes. Now, very few dogs work in this way and the majority are used for recreational mushing or racing. As a consequence, the sled dog has changed from the traditional heavy boned, heavy coated malamute that I had expected to a smaller, faster type of dog capable of travelling long distances at a fast pace. The only thing the dogs have in common is a willingness to pull a sled, and work, and work. They are the world’s greatest athletes. I can think of no sphere of endeavor where man or animals work as hard.
The top mushers and their dogs covered distances of 150-miles a day, for up to ten days at a time. Many have introduced bloodlines from hound-types of dogs to increase their speed. Coat length too has become shorter. Consequently, in really harsh weather conditions the dogs must wear coats to protect them. The ideal racing temperature for the dogs is from – 100C to – 250C. At a temperature around freezing the dogs get too warm and must rest frequently to cool off and re-hydrate.
The training phase at Shapachka culminated with a representative sample of the dogs taking part in the Knik 200 International Sled Dog Race. This was to prove the dogs were ready to play their part in the expedition. If the dogs were ready, the race should take them no longer, given favorable weather, than 36-hours to complete. Roy was very encouraging, but I had very strong reserva- tions about entering a 200-mile international sled dog race after what I felt was so little training.
We had covered a maximum of 40 miles a day, five days a week, with only the occasional longer run or overnight stop. Condensing a week’s training into a day would surely be too much, but perhaps I was reluctant because the thought of going out into the unpredictable and unforgiving Alaskan wilderness on my own, with wolves and moose for company was a bit daunting. Even after I had paid my entry fee, I was still unsure about taking part but had reconciled myself to treating the race as a camping trip. So, on 1st January 1994, after my first sober Hogmanay in many a year, I found myself at the start line of the Knik 200 International Sled Dog Race, just twelve dogs and myself looking forward to 200 miles of frozen rivers and forest.
There were thirty other competitors, but I knew that we would be very much on our own once we were
underway. There would be a mandatory stop of six hours at the midway point where we would all meet up again but, until then, it was every musher and dog team for themselves.
I think I have always loved and respected dogs but until I took part in this race, I had not realised how deep this feeling could be. I had to rely completely on those wonderful dogs to the point where my very survival may have been at stake. I have thought about this a lot since then and now appreciate even more the bond that there must be between our handlers and their dogs. Our Search dog handlers must experience this depth of trust often and to be out on a cold dark night with your patrol dog must be the same. Man, and dog working as a team each trusting the other to do their part.
The start of the race was staggered with teams setting off at two-minute intervals. As my starting position, drawn from the previous evening, was 7th, I found that for the first 10-miles a lot of teams raced past me. Roy had told me this would happen and that, on no account must I get drawn into a duel with another team so early in the race. “Keep the pace steady at the start,” was his advice, “and all the fast ones will come back to you as they burnout down the trail.” I was content to do just that as I anticipated that I would really have to take my time to ensure that I did not push the dogs too hard.
It took two hours before I could start to take my foot off the brake on the sled and let the dogs go at their own pace, and another hour, at least, before I could convince them to stop long enough for me to get off and give them a snack. The dogs were more excited than I was and loving every minute of it. The pack settled into a lovely rhythm, an effortless trot that saw the miles slip by with consummate ease and I began to believe more and more that they could do the 200-miles and do it well.
As darkness fell around 3:30, far in the distance, I could see the pin-pricks of light coming from the headlights of the teams ahead. Slowly and steadily the lights got closer, and we were passing team after team. Some had stopped and their dogs were sitting by the edge of the trail, tired and unwilling to go further while we just slipped by with barely a sideways glance.
At the halfway point, the dogs had worked themselves up to 10th place and I was elated. The dogs were so happy and pleased too. Eager faces, wagging tails and excellent appetites they were filling me so full of confidence that I began to hope we could finish, as Roy had predicted, in a little over 24-hours.
The next 100 miles went almost as easily as the first. The dogs tired towards the end but not so much as they managed to cross the finish line at a run, heads up and looking well. Only 28-hours from the start and with the travelling time of 22-hours, the dogs had amazed me. They had been more than ready for the Expedition.10
10 Chiron Calling dated Summer 1994.
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