Gone to the Dogs and Loving It*

* WARNING – this blog entry far exceeds the suggested daily requirement of cute - please exercise caution when reading if you have exhibited a sensitivity to puppies in the past.

I stayed up until 3:30 Tuesday morning, running outside to check on the aurora borealis and shooting as many pictures as my camera battery would allow before complaining that it was exhausted.  After the novelty had worn off (am I jaded, or what?) I did some experimental shooting using some color changing LEDs that I had brought  with me and I amused myself trying to guess what the cluster of four Japanese fellows that sat snapping pictures near me thought when they saw me jumping about with a colored string of lights.  I wish I could hear how they describe it to their acquaintances when they return to Japan.

Unused as I am to this extreme cold (it was about 2 degrees Fahrenheit while I was outside aurora watching) it has been interesting to see some of the effects it wreaks - the most obvious one to me being rechargeable batteries have an extremely short life.  Another effect I noticed later that day when I dashed outside to start the car and let it warm up, was that standing at the doorway with the porch light on, I could actually SEE the warm air of the cabin escaping into the still darkened morning, much like one long enormous frosty exhale. 

When I checked the thermometer outside my window, it read -12F, inducing me to systematically apply about 50 layers of clothing to prepare for my trip to the dog kennels at Muktuk where I’d be outside working most of the day.

I was so excited about my adventure that I realized about 10km down the road that I’d left my wallet back at the cabin, and so had to turn around and head back.  I found myself repeatedly engaging in self chastisement, frustrated that I’d be cutting my drive time short as a result of my oversight.  When I walked in the door to snatch up my wallet, however, I was relieved that I’d been forced to return because in my hurry I had left my breakfast in the oven, merrily toasting away.  Oh happy day!  Not only had I narrowly avoided disaster, but now I had a piping hot sausage roll to enjoy on my drive!

I was on my way to something called “Rookie for a day” offered at a kennel run by a renowned dog musher named Frank Turner who is probably as close to a rock star as they have in Whitehorse and maybe even the Yukon.  Frank was present at the inaugural run of the Yukon Quest sled dog race in 1984, and competed in – get this – TWENTY-FOUR consecutive runnings of the event.  I’d just like to point out that that is at least 24,000 miles of snowy Yukon territory that Frank has covered behind a team of dogs.  Frank also turned in one of the best times on record (10 days/16 hours/22 minutes) which was a record that stood for 12 years.

Shortly after I arrived, I was sent down to be properly outfitted. (“Oh no,” the girl who greeted me exhorted, “we’ll need to get you some adequate clothing since you’ll be outside all day.”)  I first donned a pair of snow pants (over the three bottom layers I was already wearing) and serious snow boots (over my two pairs of socks).  To that we added an enormous parka, fingerless hand warmers, mushing mitts, a balaclava and then topped it all off with a fake fur trapper hat and goggles.  It gave me new understanding of the iconic representation of the thickly-clothed child in “A Christmas Story”.

One of the volunteers Susan (that’s her at the top with Gandalf) took me under her wing and we set out to begin our chores.   Our first task was to move two females from the pen where they’re isolated when they go into heat, and put them back in their usual kennels with general population.  I hadn’t given it much thought beforehand, but I soon found myself attached via leash to a very eager dog that (she’d been isolated from the rest of her pack for five weeks) and one that was trained to pull large amounts of weight.  I had nothing but snow beneath my feet to provide support and friction and it was necessary to concentrate heavily on physics in order to stay upright.

After moving several other dogs to various new locations, our next task was to help prepare sleds for a group that was departing for a three day camping trip.  The dogs must first be put into a harness, and then have booties put on all four of their feet.  The booties are used to help protect their paws during long outings since snow will cling and freeze to the tiny fine hairs between their pads.  Some of the dogs sit patiently for this process and then there are dogs like Gandalf who must be restrained for the exercise.   I’m afraid I wasn’t much help during this exercise, so I took the opportunity to wander about and pet and cuddle with every dog I came across.

Dawson - one of my favorites

and yes, of course, PUPPIES!!!

The mushers were soon off on their journey, and it was time to give the dogs their morning water.  First of all, water obviously can’t just be left out for the dogs (it’d freeze in a New York minute) so the dogs

eat snow to slake their thirst if the need arises.  The watering process is really more like serving soup, actually.  Hot water is added to a mixture of salmon smoothie with a little kibble thrown in for good measure and the resulting stew is ladled into bowls so the dogs can have a hot and nutritious snack.  It smells about like you’d think, but of course the dogs absolutely love it.  Some of them take the rim of the bowl in their maw and immediately dump the contents on the ground so they can isolate the meaty bits.  The dogs are strictly trained from the time they’re puppies  to eat only from their own dish and it’s not hard to imagine why this is so important when you look out over a kennel that contains well over 100 dogs.

When the last ladle had been doled out to the eager pups, it was time for the humans to eat lunch.  When I went inside and began to peel off my outer layers, I was pleased to find that all that fancy wicking fabric had done its job transporting the sweat of my brow to the exterior of my garments so I wouldn’t be cold.  My first stop after shedding all that insulation, unsurprisingly, was to thoroughly wash my hands and face.  I'd been licked about 100 times in the course of a couple of hours.  I sat down at a large table with the staff and wolfed down (pun intentional) a plate of macaroni and cheese with meat, tostada chips with chili and a meat sandwich.  Emphasis on meat, if you didn’t notice.

The gal that works as the chef at Mukluk is named Manuela, so I was a bit taken aback to hear her pronounce the name of the pepper as, again, “hala-PEEN-yo.”  I decided to school her on the pronunciation as an act of missionary kindness.  You just can’t go around with a name like Manuela and say hala-PEEN-yo!  She seemed grateful for the elucidation, but then maybe she was just humoring me while at the same time confirming her opinion of Texans.

After lunch, our task was to outfit a group of 16 Japanese tourists that had just arrived, tuck them into and onto sleds, and set out on a four hour mushing expedition.  I would be riding on the back of a Ski-Doo (snowmobile for all you denizens of the languid South), watching over the mushers behind us while Frank broke trail and led us down the frozen Tahkini river, along the very same path taken by the Yukon Quest mushers just days earlier.

The scenery was gorgeous - even more so because of the broad flat opening in the trees provided by the river.  I very much enjoyed watching the spectacle of dog sledding from the back of the snowmobile, much as if it were a movie.  There were several times that I was called upon to alert Frank that there was a situation that needed his attention behind us (a couple of mushers lost their footing and tumbled from the sleds), but aside from those instances it was a uneventful and pleasing ride.  One one of the last stops we made to attend to our charges, I noticed some large animal tracks beside the trail and when Frank returned I asked him if those were possibly moose tracks.  He sauntered over to examine them and said excitedly when he returned, "Lynx!"  Very cool.

When we returned to the kennels, I made a few last turns around the yard to bid farewell to the friends I'd made that day and got another good shellacking of slobber.  What a paradise for a dog lover, this place is!  I felt I'd had a dose sufficient to last me for a while as I waved to the dogs on my way back up the beautiful lane that would lead me to the Alaskan highway and back to my cabin.

Boy howdy did my hot shower feel good that night.

A thing of beauty and a joy forever

The last two days have been delicious, leisurely affairs with not all that much of note to report, which is actually an unusual occurrence for me - I seldom find myself with little to no plan and it's rarer still for me to acquiesce to such a vacuum.

In fact, for me, leisurely usually looks more like I just haven't figured out what I want to do yet.  But even on those rare occasions when I do allow myself to float along, I find that I soon epitomize a description I've heard used to describe border collies - they need something to manage, a project.  That internal struggle resulted in me taking photographs to amuse myself over the last two days and in lieu of an interesting narrative I will share some of those images here:

Then, suddenly, without me really even trying too hard, guess what I saw this evening?  Just guess!  It made me jump up and down like a four year old at the circus.  I won't go on at length about it here because I'm writing this at 1:00 in the morning and I need to get  up in a handful of hours to go and play with sled dogs, but I wanted to share my little miracle right away.

Wahoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!  Thank you cosmos, thank you.

Mush pit magic and a pair of dollys

My eyes popped open bright and early Saturday morning – I literally couldn’t wait to head into town to watch the preparation for and start of what is not only considered to be the most challenging sled dog race in the world (far more difficult than the better known Iditarod) but also what is considered by some to be the toughest RACE in the world!

The Yukon Quest, as it’s called, has been run annually for the last 30 years between the cities of Whitehorse and Fairbanks (the starting city trades off every year – I was just lucky enough to be in Whitehorse at the right time). The course stretches more than 1,000 miles, winding along an unimaginably remote trail that follows the historic transportation route built and used during the 1890s Klondike gold rush.  It crosses frozen lakes and rivers and climbs over four separate mountain ranges. The weather is dangerously extreme (a wind chilled temperature of -100F was recorded at the summit of Eagle mountain in 1988, for example) and support for the competitors is extremely limited (self reliance being one of the founding doctrines). The fastest mushers  typically make the journey in just a little over 10 days, with the less experienced participants clocking in 14-20 days after the race begins - that is - if they succeed in completing the race at all.

 I arrived at Shipyard Park before it was fully light, and as I entered the gate to the preparation area, I overheard one of the volunteers giving two ladies some useful information and so inserted myself in the conversation in order to leverage the responses.  Since I arrived in Whitehorse, I’ve become used to the locals being amazed that I had come all the way from Texas to visit, but when I heard one of the women explain that the pair of them had come specifically for the race all the way from SOUTH AFRICA, I felt that I must respectfully yield my crown of distance.

I began meandering around the sizable enclosure, watching with rapt attention as one after another of the special mobile kennel trucks designed specifically for the sport pulled into their designated spots to begin preparing for the start of the race.  These customized trucks (and sometimes trailers) are highly individualized and it was great fun to inspect each of the vehicles closely since they differed greatly in appearance, luxury and sophistication.  One feature I particularly liked was how the doors of each kennel are often decorated with special cut out shapes that allow the dogs to see and smell the world outside (See the dog head shaped portals on the photo above?).  Each bay is filled with fresh straw and sometimes holds two dogs instead of just one.

I watched as the dogs were removed one by one from their grassy nests (that’s one of my favorite mushers, Abbie West, unloading her team at right). They are very quickly attached to leads that are anchored to each truck because their enthusiasm is apparently boundless. As soon as they're liberated, a wave of territory marking begins, but support team members stand at the ready with shovels and buckets ready to mitigate the mess as much as possible.  The dogs' state of excitement begins to build immediately, resulting in a cacophony of joyful and strange noises, much like that of teenagers poised for an adventure with their closest comrades.

As preparations such as sled packing, list checking, and repairs are being effected, groups of official race veterinarians are making the rounds, carefully evaluating the fitness of each and every animal as well as using a hand held scanner to verify the dog's identity via implanted computer chip.  One thing that becomes obvious right away is that everyone involved in this sport absolutely LOVES dogs.  I think it’s a common perception (and indeed a total misconception) that this sport borders on animal cruelty.  What I learned is that the truth of the matter is the exact opposite - these are in fact some of the best cared for and loved animals you’ll ever run across.  The dogs love, love, love to pull and run, and far from suffering, they are absolutely jubilant.  I also realized this sport really isn't about the humans - it's almost completely about the dogs, and they are trained and pampered as endurance athletes.  The mushers pretty much just provide adult supervision and care for the animals. 

That's not to say that there aren't a few rock stars in the mushing world - there seemed to be plenty of excitement generated by some of the mushers.  I was able to chat with several of them, and found them all to be very accessible and friendly.  I soon developed a couple of favorites and by the start of the race found myself cheering loudly for two of them: Abbie West and Christina Traverse (great name of a cross country athlete, eh?).  I was also very impressed with the number of participants that are women and pleased that quite a few of the competitors are definitely not spring chickens!

A few things to tell you about the sleds: mushers pack up to 250 pounds of food, water, gear and supplies in their sleds, and if they choose to rest on the trail, most remove the contents and crawl inside the canvas bag to sleep.  Some models are called "tail draggers" and have a small unit on the back of the rails that can be used as a seat, but that is also capable of carrying additional supplies.  The rear module is also oftentimes used as a sort of cooking chamber that allows the dog's food to be cooking on the trail so it'll be ready to serve at the next stop.  Teams are typically rested every four hours and each dog consumes - are you ready for this - 12,000 calories a day! 

You can see several other important items on the back of this sled - a foot/hand brake (blue metal contraption between the rails) and a dragging brake (the musher hops off of the rails and onto the black t-shaped piece in the middle).  There's a third braking system that you can see in the photo of the tail dragger above - two large and serious looking grappling hooks.  Each hook is tied to the end of rope, and one hook/rope is attached to each side of the sled, which is more clever than it sounds.  When the two brakes are tossed out in opposite directions simultaneously, they quickly form a triangle: the two hooks which become anchored in the snow form the left and right base corners of the triangle and then as the sled coasts to a stop, the nose of the sled forms the top most point of the triangle.  You can also see at the photo on the left a yellow coil which is the polymer track that is applied to sled runners to help them glide more easily over the snow.  As with skis, there are different "temperature" rails, depending on the condition of the snow.  I like it that the musher at left has a large temperature gauge attached to the back.  Every bit of data they can gather en route is crucial.

Sleds are secured to the trucks after the dogs are hitched up.

Handlers guide the team to the starting line

Look at this goofy dog leaping into the air - they get so excited!

You can just hear them whining, "Come on, come on, come oooooooonnnnnn,,,,"

My other favorite musher, Susie Rogan has a quiet and intimate moment with her lead dogs as she waits  to move to the starting gate

 After several hours of milling about, I left the preparation area and found a spot along the start line where I could watch the mushers depart, each sled separated by three minutes.  It was really entertaining to watch how hard how many people had to work to keep the dogs from running away with the sled before their official start time.  After a sled is loaded and the dogs are hitched up, it is tied securely to their mushing support truck to prevent calamity (see top picture in above column).  As the sleds begin to queue up and are removed from their trucky anchors in sequence, it takes on the order of 10-14 handlers, often one for each animal, to restrain the dogs. Each handler is forced to hold on with all their might while the musher rides the drag brake.  When the dogs reach the starting area and are must wait their turn to depart, they bay and howl and bark and vocalize, leaping in the air, lunging forward, even chomping mouthfuls of snow in frustration.  When finally the time comes, they go hell bent for leather in their little booties (the booties are to keep the snow from sticking to their feet), grinning broadly.

And off they go.  A thousand miles.  Oy vey!

The Yukon Quest has a wonderful interactive tool that gets updated constantly via GPS showing each mushers position and statistics.  I've enjoyed checking in on Abbie and Christina the past couple of days and feel certain I'll keep up with them until the end of the race.  It didn't take me long to get attached!

After all the teams were away, I stopped at a food trailer in the parking lot and had some really, really bad ass Greek fries: seasoned fries sprinkled with feta and topped with tatziki.  Oh my gosh they were delicious! 

The Quest still had one more wonderful surprise in store for me, though. On my way out, I ran into a gal I had heard described earlier as being "dressed up" but wasn't quite sure what to make of the description.  I knew right away when I spotted Dolly from a distance that she was dressed up.  I made a bee line toward her and as I got nearer I could hear that she was performing a fine rendition of "Proud Mary" by Ike and Tina Turner, only substituting the word "Yukon" for river for added relevance.  After her serenade had concluded, we chatted happily for a few minutes before she had to dash off to spread more fabulousness, our meeting sealed with a big bosomy hug.  I think if had been dark, you could have probably seen an effect much like two Tesla coils arcing together.  I love this place more and more every day I'm here.

Dolly

Claire

Lauren

After leaving the park, I headed over to a local gallery that had advertised a show I was interested in seeing (beautiful color saturated abstract landscapes by Emma Barr) and when I arrived, I was happy to find that the place was not only a gallery but a coffee shop as well. After I'd had a quick look around, I ordered a cup of coffee and conversed happily with the barista Lauren and several other friendly folks in the shop.  Lauren not only makes a mean cup of coffee and exudes charm, but she also curates the art exhibitions and develops classes and programs for the community.  She mentioned that there was going to be a really fun doll-making workshop 30 minutes hence that would be  taught be a local artist who was a ball of fire.  I had one of those moments in my life that is the shining gold of existence - I had no plan, I had no commitments, I had nothing but possibility in front of me.  I sat back down at the table to wait for the class and got ready to create.  I spent the next three hours happily cutting and sewing with four young girls and two other women close to my age.  It was heaven!  The teacher, Claire, was completely as advertised and we got along swimmingly.

I can't show you a picture of what I made because it's a Valentine for Mark and as such is currently a secret, but I can show you pictures of the other gals and their results:

As I drove back to my cabin, the last bit of light was beginning to recede over the snowy landscape and I thought of all those brave mushers, reaching up to switch on their headlamps.

Go, Abbie and Christina, GO!!!

Call of the Wild, Shiree-style

I can’t recall how old I was the very first time I heard about the aurora borealis, but I can tell you that I’ve been obsessed with seeing it ever since I learned of it as a young girl.  The very name of the thing has retained its power to conjure up excitement and beauty in my mind, and the multitude of spectacular pictures I’ve encountered over the years has done nothing whatsoever to dispel my powerful urge to stand directly beneath an undulating ceiling of green, red, purple and yellow photons.

Scientists tell me, via their magical tool the internet , that the atmospheric effect that you may know better as the Northern Lights follows a bell shaped activity curve that peaks every 11 years with 2013 being the apogee of the current cycle.  When I started making noises about what I’d discovered, Mark reminded me gently and sweetly, “Shiree  –  you’re not getting any younger  –  better not to wait any longer.”  I of course didn’t need all that much encouragement and immediately began studying up on how to optimize my chances during the two week window I had elected to spend chasing my colorful chimera.  February/March turns out to be one of the best times of year due to ample darkness in the far northern climes along with the increased likelihood of gentler (and clearer) weather.  I selected February so as to avoid the madness of the spring break season and triangulated in on a date by ascertaining the dates of February’s new moon.  For destination, I selected the capital city of the Yukon territory, Whitehorse.

Here is a link to a nice map of the Yukon with Whitehorse clearly marked if you'd like to get an idea of how damn far north we're talking about.

The distance from Austin to Whitehorse is a respectable 3500 miles, which requires either a roughly 20 hour day of travel or the much more civilized option of a layover in Vancouver.  Since I’m beginning to get a bit soft and old, I chose to overnight in a city I knew from previous visits I would greatly enjoy spending time in.  Vancouver is very similar to Austin in size and temperament, only with the nice cool air of the Pacific northwest to recommend it further still.

From my hotel near the airport, I rode the bus downtown to shop for a few last pieces of cold weather gear that were impossible to locate in the balmy south and then stopped for dinner at a uncommonly delicious Chinese bakery where I feasted on exotic steamed buns such as the sticky rice concoction seen at left.  As I savored my delicate treats, I eavesdropped on a nearby conversation that an older gentleman (who bore more than a passing resemblance to actor Pat Morita from The Karate Kid) was having with his dining companion, a young fellow who had apparently been involved in a shooting and needed legal advice.  The older fellow, who sounded to be a lawyer, instead regaled the lad with tales of rebellion and intrigue, at one point bragging that he’d “lost so many jobs for telling the truth” that he couldn’t keep count.  Whatever, dude.

My stay in the melting pot of Vancouver was unfortunately over in the blink of an eye and the next morning I boarded a little 16 row airplane for a brief flight (2.5 hours) north to Whitehorse.  Very shortly after we departed, I looked out my window to see a surreal and lovely sight (see top of the page).  The cloud deck we had risen above settled beneath us like a cottony white ocean, spreading out as far as the eye could see in every direction.  What made it really spectacular was that it was breached by the very tip top peaks of mountains in the Canadian Rockies range, just barely poking up above the sea of white.  We flew directly over mountain tops that probably hadn’t ever been trod on by a human, the snow laying deep and perfect on the craggy peaks.  The effect was absolutely lovely and happily (since I’m definitely an experience junkie) one I’d never before witnessed.  I was on a roll!  I had also had the pleasure on my previous day's flight of seeing a atmospheric phenomena that I had just read about for the first time the day before - something called a glory.

As we rode along, my seatmate started a jovial conversation. (I have now decided that the Canadians should be added to a very short list I keep of peoples I’ve found to be as friendly as those of Texas: Australia and Iowa being the only other two award recipients to date) as she busily knitted a gorgeous set of mittens for her niece.  I quickly found out she was a musher (dog sled driver) and began a conversation on the topic that lasted the entire trip.  I plied her with a multitude of questions, and she was more than generous in her responses.

Linda lives in a tiny town three hours drive from Whitehorse named Destruction Bay, so named because the incessant wind blew down structures erected by the military during highway construction in 1942-43. Linda had arrived there a little more than six years ago to assist a friend with training his mushing dogs because his wife had left him and he needed help, and Linda found that she not only fell in love with the dogs, but also fell for the musher (Walter) and never left.  They currently have 20 dogs and dogsled merely for the fun of quiet touring rather than any sort of competition.  She told me a number of engaging stories, culminating in a tale of a time her husband had been out walking several of their dogs in the area near their home when one of them had bound ahead, out of sight.  When Walter crested a hill and caught up with the dog (a huge Malamut) he found it pinned beneath an enormous grizzly bear, whimpering and baying madly.  The bear, while fearsome, was soon deterred by the cacophony produced by the arrival of Walter and his other dogs, lumbering off for a less quarrelsome meal.  Happily, the dog had received only minor injuries(including - yikes - a punctured lung) and rapidly recuperated.  Walter, reports Linda, was skittish about going out for walks by himself the remainder of the year.

Linda works as a geologist in the gold mining industry, riding around in a helicopter while she sleuths for geological evidence indicating the possible presence of gold.  The Yukon was the area, you may remember, that started the whole rush for gold in the 1800s and is once again being criss-crossed by fortune hunters eager to strike it rich once again, golden rich.

By the end of the flight, Linda had me convinced that I should trying mushing myself and recommended I get in touch with a fellow named Frank Turner who ran one of the best kennels in the area.  As we were waiting for our luggage on one of the two (!) airport carousels, Linda chirped “Shiree!  There’s Frank the musher I was telling you about!”  I went over and introduced myself and arranged to call him later in the week so we could set something up.  He remarked, “Well, you’ve certainly got more than enough character for the sport!” which tickled me no end.

After bidding a fond farewell to Linda and procuring a rental car, I was soon on my way into town.  I had mapped out several stops (I LOVE the internet for travel planning!) and my first stop was a place called Yukon Meat and Sausage where I immediately laid hands on a package of an in-house treat that had been praised widely on Yelp: double smoked bacon!  I was enthralled by all the exotic sausages and charcuterie I encountered, most of which I’ve never even heard of!  In addition to the double smoked bacon, I settled for some Kaiserfleisch bacon, a pair of delicious looking sausage rolls and a northwestern desert bar called a Naimo.

For my lunch, I selected a reindeer hotdog dressed with mayo, mustard, jalapeno jack cheese and sauerkraut, topped by a generous sprinkling of jalapeno slices.  Only they say “hala-PEEN-yos” in this neck of the woods, which never fails to make me smile.  The hot dog was delectable, and I can’t wait to go back and try some of the other regional specialties like this curious looking dried musk ox.   Definitely not something you see every day in Texas.

After a subsequent provisioning run to a huge, well-stocked grocery store, I set out on the 30 kilometer drive north to my lodging, a place auspiciously named the Sundog Retreat (a sundog or parhelia is a fabulous atmospheric effect – click here for a good picture and definition).  The Sundog Retreat is well north of the city lights of Whitehorse and lies about a mile and a half from the huge historic lake Laberge on 160 pristine acres of Yukon wilderness.  My cabin is one of only six on the property – just the right amount of civilization, i.e., a little, but not too damn much.

 

When I arrived, I found a comfortable and charming cabin open and waiting for me (it’s the sort of place where they don’t even feel the need to give you a key) and soon set about unpacking and moving in for the duration.  After lining my nest with sweat pants and camera equipment, I drove down to the lodge so I could use the wi-fi network.  In the course of an hour, I met not only a friendly group of four local ladies who changed into bathing suits and scuttled outside to use the outdoor hot tub for a soak, but was also able to meet one of the owners Andrew Finton, who generously offered me some local pale ale for my cabin and then took me on a tour of his adjacent woodworking shop.  As I admired his handiwork, he stooped over to open a cabinet, and produced a four foot length of what I soon learned was a mammoth tusk.  A mammoth tusk!   Apparently, as miners are digging out hillsides in the area with high powered water jets, the tusks emerge time to time from the newly exposed earth.  He let me hold the piece and it felt a bit like being entrusted with a sacred object.  He showed me how he used small slices and carved them for inclusion in his beautiful wood turning pieces.  He rewarded my awe with a lovely 3 inch crescent he had carved into the shape of a feather.  I’d only been in Whitehorse for half a day, and I already felt like I’d hit the jackpot.  I’ve decided that even if the fates conspire to deny me seeing an aurora, the trip has already been made worth it.  What generous and friendly people there are here!

I went to bed without a thought of stalking the aurora - I would be getting up early the next morning to be at a park in downtown Whitehorse in time to meet some mushers and their dogs and watch them begin one of the most grueling dog sled races in the world, the Yukon Quest.  And besides, MY dogs were barking!