‘Hike’ Just Begins Dog-Sled Ride Out of Purgatory

If I close my eyes I can still see the dashing Mountie, Sgt. Preston of the Yukon, as he looked 32 years ago on my vintage TV, mushing his huskies with his best friend, Yukon King, at his side.

Preston’s antics and derring-do across the frozen wastes of the Canadian far north, even if it was only a painted sound-stage backdrop, must have made quite an impression in 1955 on a wide-eyed kindergartner who never did forget Sgt. Preston and his dog sled.

Something about lashing that long sled to a dog team and setting out into the blazing white wilderness struck a responsive chord in the youth.

Now, 32 years later, it’s back to dog sledding.

Not only is dog sledding a popular racing sport, but within the last few years sled drivers have been taking paying guests out for rides lasting from 15 minutes to all day.

They Don’t Say ‘Mush’

Dog-sled drivers don’t say “mush,” despite the popular misconception. You probably need to dig up a Sgt. Preston video to hear that.

Real dog-sled drivers say “hike.” It works because “it has a sharper sound that’s easier for the dogs to hear,” according to Anna Anderson, operator of Black Feather Mushers, a dog-sled outfit based at Purgatory Resort, a ski area outside Durango.

On a dog-sled trip with Anderson the first thing I noticed was that her dogs could not wait to get started. Each tried to jump out of a two-story kennel built on the back of her pickup. The dogs go inside, the sleds on top.

Getting all the dogs out and securely tied starts the work. Setting up the lightweight racing sleds and laying out and untangling the harnesses are next.

You need a minimum of three dogs for one passenger and a driver on a packed trail (snowmobile trails are perfect if no snowmobilers are around; dogs and snowmobiles meeting head-on along a narrow trail are no fun), up to a maximum of eight dogs for two passengers and a driver on a heavy freight sled in slow snow.

Dogs Eager to Go

While the harnesses and gang lines are straightened out the dogs bark, whine, whimper and howl, getting excited about the chance to run. “We have to hold ‘em back,” Anderson says. “They’re eager.”

As soon as you shove off, the barking stops. “Hike!” the driver shouts as the dogs pull on their traces and off you glide into the whiteness, with nary a spray of snow stirred up by the runners.

Anderson owns 36 dogs of various breeds, some raised from pups, others rescued from an animal shelter.

The driver stands behind the seated riders, but does not get a free ride. Aside from calling “hike” to the various dogs by name, the driver alternately pushes the sled with one leg, or runs behind it, pushing it on uphill grades, for a real workout.

It’s the opposite for a passenger. All bundled up, you just sit there. At Purgatory, if it’s not snowing, the winter sky is usually royal blue. Sunlight can be blinding, reflecting off the snow.

Pines and leafless aspens line the tight trail, which leads in a few miles to a meadow surrounded by 14,000-foot peaks crowned in snow above tree line.

“Hike, hike! C’mon, let’s go!” your driver shouts as you whoosh down the way. “Let’s go! Let’s go!”

Dogs Stop Yapping

Pulling a sled silences the dogs. This is what they’ve been yapping about.

If you can block out the driver’s insistent commands, all you hear is the soft crunch of fiberglass runners gliding over snow and the sled creaking a little as you bounce over bumps and lean into turns to keep from tipping over.

Soon a special rhythm is established. The driver uses no reins or whips, relying on voice instructions and steering by shifting weight.

Sometimes this looks more like wrestling, other times a ballet. A foot brake that digs into the snow is the only mechanical control on the rig.

You also get to witness a role reversal, when the dogs shut up and the driver becomes the one barking. “Yo! Left, Abraham” or “Pull, Rita!” reverberates through the woods.

The universal “whoa,” is invoked frequently, as in “Whoa, Nicky. Whoa, Strider.”

There are no special physical requirements for passengers. Even if you tip over, which is not unlikely, you land in snow.

Quiet and Solitude

It’s a safe way for anyone, from children to seniors, to visit hard-to-reach places where there are no other people. Just natural beauty, along with the quiet and solitude of the winter mountains.

The calm times don’t always last long, though. You might have to stop to help untangle two big dogs with twisted harnesses, or struggle along with your driver to keep the strong hounds still when you want to stop and they do not.

The problems are generally minor and mostly manageable. For very young or older passengers, for example, you might want to ask for slower or older dogs. On some of the hard-packed downhill slopes the dogs can really move along.

This is not a trip for people who do not like dogs. It is definitely a cooperative venture between man and beast.

Dog fanciers will particularly enjoy feeling the softness and warmth of the dogs’ thick coats, the smell of wet fur in the clean snow.

The sensual pleasure of the wind in your eyes, the sun on your face, the sight of forested peaks are bonuses.

Ride Is Smooth

“It’s incredible,” says a first-time Black Feather passenger. “It’s so smooth. You just sit there like a king, looking at the scenery, feeling all that power harnessed to the sled and realizing that it belongs to dogs.”

Black Feather Mushers operates trips of 15 minutes or an hour to all day at about $40 an hour.

If you like, Anderson can probably be persuaded to let you try your hand at running the team yourself.

Dress warmly. “The colder it is, the better the dogs like it,” Anderson says.

Another Colorado operator of dog-sled trips is Krabloonik Kennels in Snowmass. Owner Dan MacEachern is a veteran of the Alaskan Iditarod Sled Dog Race, the one that covers 1,100 miles.

MacEachern’s operation is considerably more comfortable and bigger than the one at Purgatory, accommodating several hundred guests yearly on tours of the Snowmass/Maroon Bells Wilderness.

A full-day trip is $160, including lunch. Half-day trips are $80. Phone (303) 923-4342 for more information.

Rider Pulled on Skis

Colorado dog-sled races are held every winter in Steamboat Springs, Frisco, Dillon and Granby.

A special event for the hearty is a sport called “skijoring,” which is a neat twist on dog sledding, minus the sled. A harnessed dog team pulls a rider on skis. It looks like water skiing, but on snow, with dogs instead of a motor boat.

A good source of dog-sledding information, including outfitters throughout the region offering trips to passengers, is the Rocky Mountain Sled Dog Club, 8931 Hillview, Morrison, Colo. 80465.

To contact Black Feather Mushers, call Anna Anderson at (303) 247-4922 in Durango.

Purgatory Village Resort, (800) 247-9000, offers accommodations from $69 to $310 nightly, for up to three bedrooms sleeping eight, until April 9. The units (lodge rooms, studios and condominiums) are on the slopes. Shuttle buses take people to off-slope activities such as to dog sledding.

Mile From Purgatory

A mile up the road from Purgatory is Cascade Village, (800) 525-0896, and 10 miles south is Tamarron Resort, (800) 525-5420. Both offer a variety of accommodations.

More rooms and restaurants are available in Durango, which operates buses to Purgatory for $5 round trip. For reservations in Durango, call (800) 525-8855.

Restaurants at Purgatory include Dante’s, Sterling’s, Farquahrt’s Pizza and the New York Bakery. Pastries and snacks start at about $1, with dinners at about $20.

The area around Krabloonik Kennels in Snowmass has seven lodges and 21 condo complexes. Information is available from Snowmass Central Reservations (303) 923-2010.

The Snowmass Club, (303) 923-5600, is well-known. Double rooms at the base of the ski slope start at about $175.

Stonebridge Inn, phone (303) 923-2420, offers one-bedroom condos starting at about $175. The Snowmass Inn, phone (303) 923-4900, has double rooms starting at less than $100. Another 8,000 beds are 12 miles away in Aspen.

Krabloonik restaurant serves dinners in the $15-to-$30 range, with exotic dishes such as caribou commanding top dollar. Dinner reservations are required, but you can get to the restaurant via dog sled or on skis for lunch.

Around Snowmass Village, Chez Grandmere, phone (303) 923-5600, serves a once-nightly seating of 34 guests a five-course meal for the fixed price of $35. La Pinata serves Mexican meals for about $10 and Pour La France has soups, salads and desserts for less than $10.