On a Sled at the Speed of Dog

Story and Photos by Becky Lomax

"GOODOGS, GOODOGS." Jeff Ulsamer's voice growls out encouragement to the team of dogs racing before me. Bundled warm in a sled on pillows, I eye right down the line of dogs, a pulsating parade of behinds and tails, as we fly along a narrow 12-mile course through Stillwater State Forest outside
of Whitefish, Montana.

Earlier, when I drove in to Dog Sled Adventures, huskies of all colors broke into a raucous barking, yapping, yelping chorus. Dozens of dogs stood atop their houses; others yanked on their chains.

"They all know they’re heading out for a sled," said Jeff, laughing. "They're yelling 'Pick me. Pick me.'" A few still tuckered out from the morning run just gazed at the mayhem. One by one, dogs were selected and harnessed in pairs to the sled, a time-consuming process to choose the right 27 dogs for our three sleds.

With huskies he rescued from the local animal shelter, Jeff began dog sledding in 1979. Today he has more than 90 dogs—mostly Alaskan Huskies bred for cold weather, endurance, and speed.

The canines wolf down 300 pounds of meat each night. To stay up with their food needs, Jeff imports a semi-load of 48,000 pounds of chicken and fish every six months. He introduced me to a few pups named in themes like Spirit, Soul, Destiny, Fate, and Omen. He also has given some the monikers from the entire cast of the Little Rascals, the Greek philosophers, and a deck of cards.

While the dogs were rigged in teams of nine on three sleds, Jeff explained that we'd be traveling at 36-paw-per-minute speed on a trail known as the Eskimo roller coaster. And it's aptly named! Within minutes of heading out, we drive through narrow tunnels of bent firs laden with snow—up and down hill, stopping periodically to let the dogs rest. At one point, my hat blows off. "That’s twice today we went over the speed of hat," jokes Jeff.

From November to mid-April, snow conditions permitting, Jeff guides three 90-minute dog sled tours each day. Snow consistency dictates the type of ride. In deep fresh flakes, the sled can take on the feel of a magic carpet ride. But I have to trust Jeff on that. On today's several-day-old snow pack, we bump along, slamming down hard, much like a rough wavy ride on an inner tube behind a water-ski boat. But the flying at the speed of dog is good.

Replacing motors with barking huskies, dog sledding is essentially a carbon-less winter carnival ride for all ages. While Jeff has taken out a 98-year-old man and a 90-year-old woman for her birthday, today three-year-old Jacob tells me wide-eyed about the ice chips that flew in his face. His father Joe even tried mushing.

After the ride, Jeff escorts all of us inside the lodge for cookies and hot chocolate, served in dog mugs, of course. Across the table, he casually slides the guest book, alias his "Survivor's List," for us to sign.

Outside, the bedlam has settled down, many of the dogs napping or slurping well-earned broth. It's quiet…but only until tomorrow, when the first car of sledders arrives to travel at the speed of dog

FYI: Located 20 minutes north of Whitefish on Highway 93, tours leave by reservation only at 10 a.m., 1 p.m., and 4 p.m. Detailed directions are provided when you make your reservation. You'll know you’re there when you see the "Dog Patch Sign." Dress in a warm coat, wool hat, winter boots, and goggles.

Dog Sled Adventures 406/881-BARK (2275); www.dogsledadventuresmontana.com

Northwest Travel Magazine November/December 2007