Dog Sledding Quotes

“While genetics play a significant role, so too, does experience, for running (and especially running long distances) has a high metabolic cost. The dogs’ muscles must be strong, but most of all, they must be efficient. The ability to run fast and consistently for long periods of time depends on the body’s ability to provide adequate energy to working muscles and to efficiently remove waste products such as carbon dioxide and lactic acid. In both humans and dogs, only about a quarter of the energy from the breakdown of fats and carbohydrates in food is converted into mechanical energy; the rest is dissipated as heat. The primary focus of training for a race—for both humans and canines—is teaching the body to get better at converting available energy from glucose, carbohydrates, fats, and proteins into energy. This can only really be achieved through regular exercise”
― Lee Morgan, Four Thousand Paws: Caring for the Dogs of the Iditarod: A Veterinarian's Story

“Each evening the night swallowed the sun and gave the raven the sun's energy. He stored this power in his wings, tinged with the blue of Alaskan skies.”
― Suzy Davies, The Girl in The Red Cape

“The scientists who tell us that dogs are simple creatures have never owned sled dog teams. They have never tried to organize twelve minds and forty-eight canine legs into a unit that moves forward with conviction. The physical differences in dogs are sometimes the least of the musher’s worries when matching up a team. He must consider the dogs’ personality quirks and varying degrees of dedication. When a well-trained team glides quietly down the trail, spectators may think the sport looks easy, but I guarantee that the driver of that team has put in his time.”
― Ann Mariah Cook, Running North: A Yukon Adventure

“After a fellow has been through several kinds of hell and high water, it isn't exactly new to him if he is told that he may die. though it does give me a pain to think that just as I had given up the ship you fellow should arrive, only to have me die on your hands now that the fight is over. But that's all in the game.”
― Jack O'Brien, Silver Chief: Dog of the North

“About a hundred yards from land the dogs began swimming. The sled was floating and tipping. If it began to sink, and if there was no ice for me to stand on beneath the water, I couldn’t save all eight dogs from being pulled under and drowning.”
― Pam Flowers, Alone Across the Arctic: One Woman's Epic Journey by Dog Team

“As we slipped along over the hard-crusted snow, I watched my little gang of eight. Their furry ears turned backward to help keep the wind out. Their thick, bushy tails hung loosely, and their tough little padded feet moved lightly along. Even at twenty below, their coats keep them comfortably warm. Their tongues hung out just a tad to help them cool off. They where relaxed and happy, and watching them work was a beautiful sight.”
― Pam Flowers, Alone Across the Arctic: One Woman's Epic Journey by Dog Team

“The first dogsleds were used some four thousand years ago in central Siberia, north of Lake Bikal. Ancient rock paintings show that the innovations of this practice were the tribes of the Samoyeds, Koryaks, and nomadic Chukchis, now known as the Tchouktches”
― Dominique Cellura, Travelers of the Cold: Sled Dogs of the Far North

“Anyone who does not own dogs is not considered to be entirely a ‘man’ or member of the race. Proficiency, experience, and social rank are judged according to the number of animals attached to the sled: a boy is not admitted to the community of hunters until the moment that he demonstrates his ability to drive the sled.”
― Dominique Cellura, Travelers of the Cold: Sled Dogs of the Far North

“A thousand miles of space and time spent with one of God’s most marvelous creations, the sled dog. Mile Upon mile days stacked up twenty high. ‘They were always up, positive, uncomplaining, tough, adaptable, and indomitable. Each evolving in my eyes from a dumb draft animal to a valued trail partner, admired in truth, loved beyond words.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“While dogs were a hole to sink money into, they were also more fun than a barrel of monkeys. There is nothing quite like hooking up a team of dogs who are raring to go. They bark and dance and just can’t wait. When you finally pull the hook and they take off at full speed (probably 25 miles an hour), there is a swish of sled runners and the wind in your face. Perhaps six furry behinds running ahead like a house afire. It is wonderful. You charge out into the boreal forest where there are no human sounds; no roads, no TVs, no nothing but you and your dogs and your wits.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“The offshore north wind built to a gale force. My poor dogs. They would hit a wind-polished spot, loose traction, and literally get rolled into a knot, requiring a frustrating untangling, under something lessthan good picnic conditions. Other times, away would go the sled skidding sideways, with me firmly attached, until it struck an immoveable drift or a crusted snow patch, and over I went, taking the entire team with me, ending, one time, a half block off the trail. Wha, storm. What an experience. Blinding and, at times, breath-sucking Dangerous, scary, but exciting and exhilarating at the same time. One remembrance I have kept—all these years—is thankfulness for the relatively mild temperature at the time. And another is an absolute, set-it-in-concrete admiration for my dogs. In the course of many untangles I rearranged my front end. Genghis, my old faithful, went in front with Kiana. Bandit was placed back in swing. We went. In spite of roll! overs, roll-ups, wraparounds, and tangles, we went. And even when a couple of males—Kuchik and Casper—repeatedly attempted to dive behind snowdrifts, out of the punishing tempest, we went. How gratifying it was to witness my years of training pay off. Uncounted hours: back on Kenai Lake and Resurrection River flats, driving this never-say-die team head-on into fiendish, violent snowstorms.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“Sled dogs love new trails. The drive to explore unknown ground, to huge distances with pack mates, is genetic. In the wild, it is necessary for food gathering and survival. All canine senses come into play in this vital game of life. But, by far and away, the most important is the dog's astounding sense of smell, a million or more times that of a human, we are told.

A canine’s innate desire to travel, to sniff out new ground, and thig inborn compulsion to run with its kind, provides a key answer to the often-asked question: “What makes Iditarod racing dogs run a hundred or more miles per day?” In truth, nothing or no one really makes them run. They are, in fact, by their very nature, compelled to run. They were born that way. Selective breeding for those wondrous, wild instincts—in the case of the Seavey kennels, some twenty sled dog generations to date—simply brings to the top the very best of what hay been there for centuries unnumbered.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“We human pioneers of the “great camping trip,” as George Attla would dub it, will remain incorporated, as it were, in the fabric that weaves our history. But what of the four hundred pioneer dogs? Those wonders of God’s creation, who weathered Arctic gales, slept in snowbanks, suffered exhaustion, sore, raw feet, and, to some degree, human ignorance, and neglect. What of them? Leaders Genghis, Kiana, and Sonny. Others, who strained in wheel, team, and swing positions, and at times, in lead as well, were Kuchik, Koyuk, Snippy, Eska, Shiak, Flame, Bandit, Casper, and Crazy. Names listed on a sheet of paper seem such a hollow tribute to twelve of a person’s most loyal, tested friends. And hollow that tribute would be, if all twelve of them were not imprinted indelibly in my heart. Those twelve devoted, steadfast trail companions bestowed upon me the one true adventure of my life. In so doing, they became the pathfinders for all ensuing generations of endurance race dogs. Genghis, Kiana, Sonny, Kuchik, Koyuk, Snippy, Eska, Shiak, Flame, Bandit, Casper, and Crazy—a renewed and heartfelt salute.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“From Files: (Desirable Sled Dog Traits, 1965)
I. Above all others, must be genetically forward-oriented. Self-driven, trail aggressive. 2. Medium size, males 50 -75 Ibs; females 50-60 lbs. Good body conformation. Well furred. 3. Good feet. 4, Siberian husky appearance. 5. People-oriented (friendly). 6. Trail endurance, capable of a long day’s work.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“Nigel half-smiled. How Stella's eyes sparkled in the firelight!
"I heard you play the violin very well."
"I play a few tunes."
Stella Chapman's voice tailed off, her red hair fell forward, screening her face.
"And you?" Billy said, diverting attention to the sandy-haired questioner. "What do you plan to do with the rest of your life?"
Nigel went quiet.
"Anything, I guess." He threw out his arms, his palms facing upward. How would they understand? Only he had lived his life.”
― Suzy Davies, The Girl in The Red Cape

“But in her head, she believed what Einstein had suggested. The enigma of The Universe itself was answered in mathematics. Mushing was all about timing. It was about the rhythm of dog and man - synchronicity of movement, elegance. And sometimes, the movement of her bow across the strings of her violin reminded her of the swish and glide of the runners on a sled ride in the snow.”
― Suzy Davies

“The situation was grim. My main leader had become what mushers refer to as an "alligator," liable to attack anything or anybody.”
― Brian Patrick O'Donoghue, Honest Dogs: A Story of Triumph and Regret from the World's Toughest Sled Dog Race

“As his owner had promised, the big male pulled like an ox. But three days of non-stop barking brought an ultimatum from Kate. "I don't care how well he pulls. I hate that dog and I want him out of here.”
― Brian Patrick O'Donoghue, Honest Dogs: A Story of Triumph and Regret from the World's Toughest Sled Dog Race

“The snow turned powdery and deep. Each wading step became a struggle out on the river, so vast and utterly indifferent to the progress of a lone woman and her string of dogs.”
― Brian Patrick O'Donoghue, Honest Dogs: A Story of Triumph and Regret from the World's Toughest Sled Dog Race

“Such is the curse of long-distance mushing. A guy is lucky to even cross the finish line before the little voice inside begins rehashing those poorly chosen camps, untimely naps, mistakes made packing – all the numerous ways you, the coach, failed those fine friends up front.
The voice is relentless and seductive, whispering things you might try differently -next time.”
― Brian Patrick O'Donoghue, Honest Dogs: A Story of Triumph and Regret from the World's Toughest Sled Dog Race

“Despite all the injuries, my strategic errors, and training shortcomings, this dog team of mine remained happy. Com what may, they had the momentum of honest dogs.”
― Brian Patrick O'Donoghue, Honest Dogs: A Story of Triumph and Regret from the World's Toughest Sled Dog Race

“As we pulled up to the kennel yard, I felt the sense of mystery that I always felt when I saw sled dogs run. It amazed me that they worked this happily and this hard for food, shelter, and human affection. Each day was an adventure for them, each practice a new challenge. What secret, held deep inside them, made them want to do this work? They were admirable creatures, beautiful to look at, breathtaking to watch. How lucky I felt that they were willing to pull me through the Alaskan woods and take me places I otherwise could never go. They were magnificent and they chose to love George and me. What human could ask for more?”
― Ann Mariah Cook, Running North: A Yukon Adventure

“The dogs.

They were the answer. He could not trust himself, couldn't see anything to help him, but he could trust the dogs. Or he thought he could. He would let them run and decide where to go.”
― Gary Paulsen, Dogsong

“In my headlamp the dogs looked like ghosts, glistening with frost and half obscured in a cloud of their own frozen breaths. The clinking of the hardware on the collars and harnesses made music in the quite of the night.”
― Libby Riddles, Race Across Alaska

“What are you doing?” he asked. “If it’s anything like what I just came through, it’s impossible.”

That set me. “Impossible?” This was the whole point of all the work and energy I’d put into the past five years. Everything aimed toward one thing: Iditarod. I lifted the snow hook.

“Okay, gang. Let’s go.”
― Libby Riddles, Race Across Alaska

“A part of me wanted life to be like this always: just me and my dogs, alone in this vast, silent country, our goals always sure, living out of the sled day after day. This was the most seductive feature of the Iditarod, the reason I would come back time and time again, despite all the suffering that went along with it: the intimacy I had with those fine animals… and with the magnificent land of the Alaska.”
― Libby Riddles, Race Across Alaska

“I had never thought much about being the first woman to win the race. I thought of myself as just a sled dog racer, not a woman sled dog racer. But there was no denying that if my winning encouraged other women not to underestimate themselves, then I was happy to have helped.”
― Libby Riddles, Race Across Alaska

“I told you this is my fifth Iditarod. I don’t think you understand what that means. It means I’ve been breeding dogs, raising them, working with them all these years to prepare for this race. Every race is this race. As soon as | got home from my first race I started putting together the best team I could train. Every year I do that.

“I’ve bought dogs, traded them, tried them out, found out what kind of pups turn into good racers, sold and gotten rid of as many as I kept. With a lot of hard work, I’ve built a racing machine. I know which dogs will go in any kind of cold, which run best in the wind, and which can take the weather without dehydrating. We understand each other. Tank knows, almost before I do, what I want and what to do about it. He’s a great leader. And the rest know me, trust me and what I ask them to do. They love it, the running, as much as I| do. I Jove it, Alex, or I wouldn’t do it.”
― Sue Henry, Murder on the Iditarod Trail

“Everything unique to the first race was a first. Meaning, for example, a sled dog race—nothing first, nor unique, here—but one of one thousand miles or more, using the same dogs, is decidedly a first and, without question, unique. There are many Iditarod Race traditions, whose origins are traced to the 1973 inaugural event. Easily coming to mind is the first weekend in March start, Anchorage start site (ceremonial, nowadays) trail mail (mine in 1973 was adopted by ITC in 1974), keeping record of the fastest time between Solomon (Port Safety or Safety, nowadays) and Nome, the town siren and police escort at Nome, use of veterinarians during the race, publishing dog deaths, employment of the “Iditarod Air Force,” multiple finisher banquets, red lantern award (adopted from earlier races), and reliance on volunteers.”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod

“The early Iditarod dogs were tough and hearty and so were the people who ran these teams. The first races took many days/weeks. During these early Iditarod runs, there were no headlights, no booties except the rare hand-sewn seal-skin bootie, no reflective trail markers (spruce boughs if anything), no quick-change runners, and no pre-race drop-bags assigned to each checkpoint. The mushers that ran were experts in survivalist arctic living and elite dog-men; many times these individuals were the trail-breakers as Iditarod was a trail and not a highway at that time. I remember air dropping dog food to the mushers at Poorman, they were snowshoeing in front of their teams. Mushers camped ang rested at night. The dogs were more trap-line dogs than anything. Today's Iditarod dogs are trained better and selected for more speed. (From the foreword by Terry O. Adkins)”
― Dan Seavey, The First Great Race: Alaska's 1973 Iditarod