The Elderhostel group snowshoes on Lake Burnside. Right after the Birkie...
how about snowshoeing, dog sledding and a dip in a BWCA lake?
by Ken Koscik
We were already headed to northern Wisconsin to ski the American Birkebeiner, so why not continue driving north to Ely, Minnesota. My wife, Carol, thought that was a good idea, especially if we could find an Elderhostel program in the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. Sure enough, the Elderhostel catalog of programs for people over 55 included one hosted by Vermilion Community College at Camp du Nord on Lake Burnside. The camp is about a half hour north of Ely, just off the Echo Trail. 
| Soaking in the view from a dog sled provided by White
Wilderness Adventures in Ely, Minnesota. |
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The program set to start on Sunday, the day after the Birkie, would include snowshoeing, cross-country skiing and three days of dog sledding. When I read about the dog sledding, I knew for sure that I wanted to go. On the morning after our arrival, group leader Jackie Fisher of Vermilion Community College introduced everyone to snowshoeing. Then each of us donned a
pair of surplus Canadian military snowshoes made of magnesium and in the traditional Ojibwa style with the long tails and turned-up toes. They were the lightest snowshoes I have ever used, and they really kept us on top of the snow. We started our snowshoe shuffle on the lake before crossing the road to the North Arm Trails system. I found that by walking on my toes, I could get up some very steep and rocky hills. Going downhill, I
just let the snowshoe slide until they dug in. The hike took us to Mount Baldy on a beautiful, windless, bright blue sunny day. The view of the north arm and the narrows of Burnside Lake was spectacular. We spied fox tracks and large body-sized impressions in the snow about 15-feet apart which we suspected were made by deer bedded down for the night. That afternoon, we traded the snowshoes for waxless cross-county skis. Carol and I have been skiing for
some 30 years, so we took off on our own, occasionally blazing trail. Despite our experience, we found out that falling down in 2 feet of snow is easy on the body. Getting back up is a challenge, however. The next three days were devoted to dog sledding. We were shuttled from camp to the Tomahawk and Kelly Lake Loop south of Ely in a 14-passenger van. White Wilderness, an Ely outfitter, provided the
guides, instruction, lightweight sleds and 48 beautiful barking dogs. The dogs were all sizes and colors but uniformly well-maintained, healthy and clean. Some, we were told, were veterans of the Alaskan Iditarod. The dogs had names such as Dakota, Friendly, Buckskin, Onion, Black Bird, Meat Head, Ernest (named after Antarctic explorer Ernest Shackleton), Thunder and Jeremiah.
Paula, one of instructors, said the most basic rule of dog sledding is to not let go of the sled. If you want to stop, you holler "whoa" and stand on the main brake. It wasn't long before I had to put these lessons into action. After lunch on our first day, I was getting the hang of driving one of the dog sleds when, suddenly, I heard someone behind me yelling, "Grab the sled!
Grab the sled!" I looked back in time to see a dog team bearing down on me with no musher on their sled. There was a frightened woman in the basket, however, but no driver.
When the sled came alongside mine, I put both of my feet on my right runner and reached for the other sled. I was able to draw the driverless sled a little closer until I could put one foot on the sled and one hand on
the bar. Eventually I was able to stomp on the brakes of both sleds at the same time. Spread eagle, I let out a mighty Yukon "Whoa!" Both dog teams took me seriously and agreed to halt.
Paula caught up and said, "Good work, pilgrim." We had some fun retelling that story around the dinner table that night.
Speaking of brakes, the main brake on a dog sled is a rectangular bar between the two runners at the back
of the sled. It is held up off the snow by a bungee cord. At each outside corner of the rectangle, there are two vertical bars or teeth that dig into the snow when you stand on the brake. If the dogs are running hard, you have to stand with both feet on the brake and, at the same time, pull up on the sled. A second brake is a heavy rubber strip about 8 inches wide and 24 inches long. It drags on the snow between the two runners
and is used for slowing down or taking a sharp curve. On steep or long hills, the sled can gain on the dogs. Stepping on the long rubber brake slows the sled and keeps the lines to the dogs taut.
We were shown how to harness the dogs first those in the front, called lead dogs, and last the ones closest to the sled, referred to as wheelers.
Through these instructions, the dogs waited patiently in their respective boxes on the trucks. But as soon as
they were let out and harnessed, they started barking and pulling. That explained why the sleds needed to be tied off to the trucks and trees. When all 48 dogs were harnessed to all eight sleds, the barking was so loud you couldn't hear another person talking 2 feet away. One by one, the sleds were freed from their moorings and the dogs leaped and lunged forward.
When the dogs run, the barking immediately ceases. In a matter of seconds, there's chaos, and then peace
and quiet in the woods. The cacophony ceases and all you hear is the sliding of the runners across the snow for us, huge white and red pines, white birch, red douser dogwood, small patches of swamp and an occasional lake flew by.
A musher, the person riding on the sled runners, has to concentrate on his or her sled and the dogs. The individual riding in the sled basket just enjoys the ride and the view.
The first and third days, we traveled relatively mild rolling terrain. The second day we took on some very steep hills. We rode about 20 miles each day and got to see lots of the northwoods.
On one particular hill, Paul, the guide in the lead sled, stopped and told all the mushers to ride the main brake all the way down the hill. I did just that as my sled neared a steep drop-off at the bottom of the hill followed by a sharp left turn. It was quite a ride.
On the ascents we mushers kicked at the snow with our free leg to help keep the dogs from slowing down. At such times some of my dogs seemed to look back at me with a look that said, "Are you going to help or just ride?"
When we stopped for lunch, we tied the sleds up and the dogs laid down and took a nap. After lunch, Paul walked back up to the first sled. The dogs, seeing this as a signal, started barking and yanking on their line
enthusiastically. Whenever the dogs got thirsty or hot, they open their mouths and, on the run, scooped up a mouthful of snow.
At the end of each day's run, the dogs waited quietly as they were unharnessed and led back to their boxes for the trip home.
One afternoon after dog sledding, our group visited the Wolf Center in Ely. Wolves are wonderful to see any time of year, but with snow on the ground, these were all the more spectacular. We probably spent two
hours at the center just watching the wolves interact. Back at Camp du Nord, a few of us howled into the night sky but received no response.
The last night at the camp, our hosts fired up the sauna. A log structure built in 1931, the sauna was especially satisfying after a dip in the lake.
Yes, a 4-foot by 5-foot hole had been cut in the ice with a handy ladder leading into the dark and cold
depths. I had enjoyed outdoor saunas after rolling in snow, but I had never used one after jumping into a lake through a hole in the ice.
A guy from Texas and I were the only two men to try it. The sauna was good and hot. After about 25 minutes in there, we were sweating and ready to try the lake. I climbed down the ladder and stood on the lake bottom of the lake before dunking my head. It was wonderfully refreshing, not cold. A return to the sauna really mellowed me out.
It was a delightful week in BWCA. We met some great people, played in 2 feet of snow, mushed some friendly dogs, ate great food and stood in awe under the night sky of the north. We will be back for more. I'll go back for the sauna alone.
Ken Koscik lives in Monona, Wisconsin. For more information about the YMCA Camp du Nord, go to www.dunord.org; White Wilderness Dog Sled Adventures, see www.whitewilderness.com; or to find other Elderhostel programs, check out www.elderhostel.org.
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