“Brakes? Why do we need brakes? Don’t we just pull back on the reins to get the dogs to stop?”
A big Dutchman in the group echoed my thoughts as the owner of Giewont Adventures gave the group a safety briefing before we embarked on our husky safari ride.
“No no,” said the lady, “they vont listen and they vill just keep going. You stand vith your legs apart, and vhen you vant to brake you press ze pedal in ze middle.”
Legs apart. Pedal in the middle… right. Seriously, just how fast could we go? Did Michelle and I need a parachute too just in case the brakes were insufficient?
We had been lulled into a false sense of security by the kennels near the car park. A female husky stood watch over her litter of pups as the playful creatures climbed all over each other. In a separate enclosure, two adult dogs looked at us with disinterest and snorted before turning away.
As we approached the sleighs, the mood was suddenly sombre. I began to wish I had paid more attention to the safety briefing. After all, who listens to boring airline safety briefings unless the stewardesses are good-looking enough to qualify for America’s Next Top Model or demonstrate how to use the safety belt to the beat of Lady Gaga’s songs1?
Five sleighs had been prepared for our group of ten. They were tightly secured to large trees as some of the lead dogs were impatient to set off and were straining to set themselves loose. Each sleigh had five to six dogs that were barking at fever pitch, some with fangs bared, as if they had just been released from a canine mental asylum.
Any misconceptions of dogs as being calm and subservient friends of Man were well and truly buried the minute I saw them. Fear and anxiety snaked around my heart.
What if the dogs stray off course?
What if the brakes don’t work?
Are the sleighs equipped with GPS and black boxes?
Does my insurance cover death by hypothermia?
How do you say “which way to Singapore?” in Russian?
But when the sleigh was untied, all my anxiety and fear melted away and the “need for speed” soon consumed me. The thrill of raw, unadulterated animal power was addictive as the dogs burst forward as if in hot pursuit of a rabbit. They zipped along at speeds even Usain Bolt would have struggled to keep pace with, and the wind added to the brutal –25ºC chill. Yet this was a thrill ride ten times more exciting than a Formula One race. The adrenaline was like a drug and the speed seemed to release inner demons that I never knew I possessed.
I didn’t dare to take my foot off the brake pedal initially, but as I gradually learnt to control the sleigh, I found myself wanting to let the dogs take us wherever they wanted to go. The sleigh groaned and creaked incessantly as we veered through forested and open land. Miraculously, it held together as we rode against the backdrop of a red and blue sunset. Far from the unwilling, unmotivated beasts of burden such as donkeys and horses, the dogs seemed to enjoy every minute of being out in the open.
As we made our way back after a short break, I realised I didn’t want the ride to end. And as we pulled into the enclosure, I discovered a newfound respect for the dogs — for the brutish strength and raw power in their disproportionally sized bodies, and for their ability to work as a team and withstand the harsh Scandinavian winter. I felt a profound respect for the ability of the Sami ancestors to harness God’s gifts in this demanding environment, and the happiness one feels when establishing a spiritual connection with nature.
Later, over a pot of boiling reindeer stew, and in the warmth of an enclosed teepee-like tent, the owner explained that the dogs were chosen from an early age. Lazy and inactive puppies were usually sold off as pets while the active and domineering ones were retained to operate the safaris. The most dominant ones were also the ones likely to be chosen to breed. Now that beats doggie biscuits anytime!
1 See safety demonstration video for Cebu Pacific Airlines