Their engines revved; each body tugged on the rope that held them back, wheels spinning out in the snow, failing to move forward. With a gentle tug, I slipped the knot free, and the rope shot around the tree trunk as it unwound. The sled took off, barks and howls echoing across the Boundary Waters.
It was the second day of our six-day long dogsledding trip in northern Minnesota. Temperatures had been unusually high in the past week; our sleds and Nordic skis sloshed through four inches of slush and water atop the layer of ice that, we prayed, was thick enough to keep us above the surface of Ashigan Lake.
We were six aspiring outdoor educators. We arrived at Voyageur Outward Bound School at 9 a.m. on Saturday morning, after a twenty-hour drive through the Midwest, relying on Cheez-Its and bananas for sustenance. Our two instructors, one of whom a recent CC graduate and the other a burly, rosy-cheeked lumberjack type from Wisconsin, greeted us cautiously. We had agreed to dial down the crazy for this trip, an effort that disintegrated shortly after introductions were made.
And so, for six wildly beautiful days, we explored the Boundary Waters with our team of eleven dogs. We awoke with the sun and defrosted the knots tying down our tent flies, hollering rap lyrics as we worked. We fed the dogs, and slipped on their harnesses, before the skiers took off, setting a trail across what was then glare ice.
On challenging days, we hauled the 500-pound sleds across canoe portages, pushing through the uphill portions and breaking through the downhill. The nose of the sled precariously dodged tree trunks and boulders; occasionally, the entire team was called together to help flip an overturned sled.
On mellow days, the skiers held onto ropes as the dogsled pulled them across the ice. We sawed and chopped wood in the evenings, cooked dinner over the fire, and shared quotes and appreciations as we inhaled the gourmet cream of broccoli soup with grilled apples and bacon. The aurora lights stroked our faces as we fell asleep, deep in the silence of winter.
We emerged tired, cold, and sunburned. Our clothing smelled like wet dog, and our water bottles tasted like smoke. We had spent almost a week in the most volatile winter-spring conditions that we had ever encountered, and we had learned from our peers and instructors. We had tested the balance of friendship and authority, safety, and play. We were better for it, but even more, we had seen how much we still have to learn.
Eliza Stein