Broken Trails

The river continued on its path while her team followed the trail southwest and into another river valley. Her head lamp illuminated a dilapidated building that may have been a cabin at some point. It hardly looked sturdy enough to shelter a mouse now. Overflow from the river surrounded its base, and she could well imagine the frigid interior. Starting a fire in whatever that thing used as a stove would cause the entire place to become a humid, dripping mess. Regardless, it was time to give the dogs a break. They had been running for several miles without a stop and the worse was yet to come.

After the dogs were snacked and Lainey changed their wet booties for dry ones, the team followed the Topkok River valley to the coast. Several miles later, they passed another cabin, this one in better repair. Scotch’s notes indicated this was the last shelter between here and the other side of Topkok. Lainey stopped the dogs to test the wind. It still blew if not with much force. From what the veterans sad at White Mountain, that did not mean anything. The Topkok trail was literally a series of wind tunnels and there was no telling what she would be mushing into.

“Ready, guys?” she asked her team.

Bonaparte’s tail wagged, his eyes carrying the unfamiliar light of devotion. Trace yawned and grinned as if this was old hat to him. Montana wriggled in his halter, still pleased at being in front despite the battering the wind was giving all of them. The others stood at their places, awaiting her order.

“Let’s go.”

Past the cabin, the trail took a sharp turn upward as it left the river. As level ground and the nominal protection of the valley dropped behind them, the wind picked up its pace, blowing across them from their right. It was not strong enough to knock Lainey over, but she had no doubt such was still a possibility. The trail climbed the four hundred foot height, following the side of a hill. To compensate for the angle, she was forced to balance the sled on one runner . She did not want to roll back down to the river. The wind plucked at her and the sled, maliciously teasing her with that possibility.

They reached the ridge and dropped down the other side to cross a creek. The wind literally disappeared in the hollow. Lainey remembered reading a story by a well-known horror author about a living storm that lashed out at an unwary township, and she shivered. It almost felt as if she were being watched in the sudden calm. She shook off the sensation, glad her dogs frisked in their harnesses. At least they were not as spooked as she was.

Again the trail ascended a similar rise, the wind increasing the further along they went. She helped her team along by pushing the sled, using sheer willpower to keep it balanced on the hillside as they went. The going was slower this time, and she peered over the handlebars to see her leaders struggling through chest high snow. The trail had drifted badly here and the last musher through had been hours ago. Lainey was unable to move forward to help them, though, since she needed to keep the sled on the trail.

Still, they made the ridge and flew down the other side, the wind not quite dissipating this time. Lainey called a halt which her team obligingly agreed with. This tiny valley screened the worst of it, but that did not mean it would never blow through here. These blow holes were notorious for sudden hurricane force winds rising and falling with little warning.

Lainey snacked her dogs again and gave them extra scratches and hugs as she checked harnesses and massaged muscles. Her team was not so eager now, but none appeared on the verge of breaking. She cheered them, doting on the more morose ones until they all grinned and yipped at her.

She looked up the next incline, gauging distance. It was not much bigger than the two she had already completed. With no vegetation, however, she could not gauge how hard the wind blew up there. The trail looked a little more level and she wondered if her dogs could keep the sled on it while she packed down the drifts with snow shoes.

Her dogs sat in their harnesses, watching her. Regardless of her indecision, she had to get started now or lose whatever ground she gained. She could not afford to allow them to think it was a full on rest break here.

Lainey climbed aboard the runners. “Let’s go.”

As soon as they climbed out of the protected valley, Lainey knew there was trouble. The wind howled around the team, shaking her sled and even shoving her unprepared dogs into the snow at the side of the trail. The drifts here were worse than before, if that were possible, though the side hill slant was not as pronounced. Lainey could not see the next trail marker from the snow flurries rising to her chest, but she knew her team cowered under the weight of that wind. She had to do something or they would balk where they stood, and that could kill them all.

She stopped the dogs, amazed they could hear her over the wind. With quick movements, she donned her snow shoes and slogged forward with dog coats. The slower pace and higher wind was a very real frostbite danger for her and the dogs, and she spent the next few minutes securing the jackets onto her team to help combat the heat loss.

When she reached the front of the team, she found her leaders chest deep in a snow drift. Ahead of them she located one of the markers, and she breathed a sigh. Her notes indicated there was some concern about losing the trail here; the easier path led toward cliffs and that was the wrong way to go.

Lainey hooked a dog harness to the front of the tug line and put her arm through it. “Ready?” she called to Trace and Montana. “Let’s go!”

She guided them to the trail marker and searched ahead for the next one. Unable to see it, and unwilling to take the dogs further until she did, she called, “Whoa!” Then she trudged further up the ridge, pulling the ruff of her hood close as she peered forward. Several steps later, she saw the next marker and returned to her team to move them closer.

They made their way to the summit of Topkok in this manner, one blustery, freezing foot at a time. There were a couple of places that Lainey lost sight of her dogs before she found the next marker. Clouds covered the sky and ground squalls obscured her view. Only a cool head and careful thought allowed her to find her way back to urge the team forward.

She had gone a good twenty feet before she realized she was on the down grade. The wind here had lessened, though it was still strong, but it appeared the trail was clearer. She whooped aloud, her voice lost as soon as it left her mouth, and removed the harness she was using. On her way back to the sled, she played with the dogs, rousing them from their hard work to frolic.

“Trace! Let’s go!”

The trail was not too steep, but it also was not a laid back ride. Several sections were nothing but ice, and even her brakes did not slow them appreciably. It was a relief to Lainey and her dogs when they leveled out, though the wind picked up again. At least here she was not forging a new trail or fighting to keep her sled upright on a slanted surface. They passed the Kennel Club cabin, but Lainey wanted to get out of the next stretch of wind before snacking the dogs again. This was considered the worst blow hole of the entire race, and she could ill afford to rest here.

They went out onto a frozen lagoon, the wind having scrubbed the area bare of nothing but ice. Her dogs slipped and slid along, their booties giving them no traction on the ice, and the wind pushed them along when they managed to remain upright. Lainey cursed when she stepped off the runners and almost fell flat on her butt. This was not going to work for any of them. She called the dogs to a halt and dug out her notes and map, using her body to shield them.

Scotch’s handwriting suggested the dune line, though remarked that the going was dangerous with driftwood and scrub brush sticking out here and there. It would take Lainey a little longer to skirt the lagoon rather than cross it, but that was a hardly a loss considering how long it would take to get her team across the bare ice in the first place. The notes also said that the trail on the other side of the lagoon would end up on those same dunes, and to stick close to the trail markers when she got there.