Snowhook

by Jo Storm

  Rudy and Bogey would pull most of the weight, and Nook and Sencha would ensure the sled kept moving at the right pace, making the wheel dogs’ job easier. Hannah was pretty sure that Nook would quickly show Sencha the ropes, but for now, Sencha would not be hooked to the gangline. She would run along beside with her harness on, learning; this was what the old mushers did with puppies or new dogs to get them used to one new thing at a time.

  Hannah walked back and stepped onto the back of sled, on the long wooden runners that had a plastic strip screwed to them to give her boots something to grip. She called out the quiet “Hup!” that signalled the dogs to get ready. She had not run a dogsled by herself for a while. The last time had been a short race for kids when she was nine, five kilometres around a big snowbank, down a hill, and across a snowy beach to the finish line.

  Nook and Rudy faced the trail, tails and heads low: a work pose. Bogey was looking back at her and Sencha was off on the other side of the road, sniffing at clumps of snow.

  “Get up!” Hannah called, and Nook and Rudy pulled. Bogey, caught in the traces, stumbled and began to run, still looking over his shoulder at Hannah.

  “Let’s go, Bogey, good boy, let’s go!” she called. But Bogey continued to look over his shoulder at her, and the line began to slacken on one side. Nook slowed down without looking back — waiting for whichever dog is being bad to figure it out, Hannah thought — but that made Bogey slow down even more.

  “Come on, you stupid dog, get up!” Hannah half shouted, half whispered. But Bogey slowed down even more, convinced he was doing something wrong, since no one ever yelled unless he had done something wrong. The sled creaked to a stop.

  “Stupid dogs!” Hannah hissed under her breath. It made her even angrier not being able to yell in case they heard it back at the cabin. But Bogey had never pulled a sled for long, and he did not take well to new things. In his mind, she imagined, he had just pulled for a long time and now he was done: perfectly acceptable behaviour.

  She couldn’t fail before even getting off the road. She just couldn’t. She couldn’t turn around and take the dogs back, either, because then everyone would wake up and she wouldn’t be a hero, and they would still be trapped there, and her mother would still be in danger. She needed to get to Jeb’s place and use that satellite phone or get Jeb to drive her into Timmins, by snowmobile if necessary, to get more insulin. Her mother’s life depended on her being able to make Bogey run, on her making it off the road to Jeb, Peter, and that phone.

  Hannah looked at her team. The two sled dogs had lain down, facing the trail, waiting. Bogey stood awkwardly, still staring at her with his anxious brown eyes, blinking away any snow that fell on them. She was hot under her layers — too many layers for the exertion of hauling dogs and a sled around. She unzipped the top of her coat, pulled off her toque, and let the winter air calm her for a moment.

  Maybe she could run with only Nook and Rudy and leave Bogey off the line, too. Seasoned sled dogs could carry about twice their weight. With two dogs, she could carry about 220 pounds, she guessed. Hannah weighed 100 pounds, but she had no idea how much the gear weighed. She lifted the two packs again, considering. Maybe 30 pounds? They were hard to lift, and she wouldn’t have been able to hike with them for very long by herself. There was a third lump, as well: the dog food that she had forgotten to split up. She had far, far more dog food than she needed, more than a week’s worth. But she didn’t want to dump it off the sled. She would get in trouble for wasting the food, and it could attract other animals, like foxes or even lynx, and they could cause trouble if they decided the cabin was an easy source of food — especially the foxes.

  It didn’t matter how much food she left, anyway, if she never got going. In the back of her mind, like an itch, a piece of her kept urging herself to get going, get going, to do something instead of standing around figuring out how much dog food weighed.

  So she walked forward and unsnapped Bogey’s neckline and tugline from the long, loose gangline and let him run free. The big Lab licked her mittens enthusiastically whenever she came near his face.

  She took her snowshoes out of the basket and put them on, tugged her toque back onto her head, then tromped to the front of the sled.

  “Okay, let’s go,” she said.

  The green shoulders of the pines leaned down heavily across the little trail. Only the faint outline of old snowmobile tracks and the thick layer of accumulated ice underneath made them able to walk on the snow. Soon Hannah had taken off her toque again and unzipped the throat of her winter jacket. Closer to Timmins, the trails were very wide and even had signs like a real road, but here you had to already know where you were before you could get anywhere.

  They walked for a while until Hannah’s watch chimed the getting-up time of 7:00 a.m. Usually she left her watch on the small night table between her and Kelli’s beds, and she would grab it and try to turn it off in a blurry haze, but this morning she turned it off as soon as it started to ring.

  Hunger came then, almost knocking her down like a big dog greeting her after a long time away. Hannah had never felt hunger like this before. It did not wait quietly, but roared through her, leaving her gasping. All the walking, the excitement of being awake so early, and the hauling and tugging had left a hole where her stomach should be. In the lull of that roar of hunger, she felt almost giddy.

  Then there were the dogs. The house dogs were used to eating twice a day, the sled dogs once, but Hannah thought everyone should get fed right now since they were working so hard. First herself, though. Hannah guessed she was about halfway to Jeb’s cabin. It wasn’t the best time, but the trail was thickly overlaid with snow, and she hadn’t figured on Sencha and Bogey not pulling. Still, it was an adventure, and an adventure outdoors, with no parents; she wanted to have fun, too.

  She walked back, set the snowhook, and dug out the camp stove from the pack. The heating element sat inside its own pot. Then she grabbed one of the fuel canisters and set the whole kit between the runners at the back of the sled so they wouldn’t get knocked over by the untethered house dogs. Nook and Rudy, still in the traces, lay down, their front paws parallel and pointing forward. They were used to stopping, but Bogey and Sencha buzzed around, sniffing the sled dogs and the camp stove and the stumps and the jutting-up branch on the side of the trail and the frozen pieces of moss that hung from the tamarack. Sencha went over to sniff Nook, but the lead dog lifted her head until it was level with the Dalmatian’s shoulder and silently lifted one side of her muzzle, showing a yellow canine tooth. Sencha wagged her tail rapidly and went away. She didn’t bother Nook again.

  Hannah cleared a patch in the snow and then dug down until she had a squared-off hollow. She screwed a canister to the bottom of the stove, placed it in the hollow — it was a backcountry stove, just a nozzle and a knob to turn the heat up or down, a heat shield, and three prongs that served as the “stovetop” — and lit it with the waterproof lighter that was in the stove pack. She filled the small pot with snow and set it on the stove, waiting for it to boil.

  The waiting was the hardest. The heat from the stove woke her stomach again and it grumbled and clenched. She grabbed one of the protein bars she had taken at the last minute and opened it, but it had spent the last few hours sitting outside in the cold and was hard as a rock. She couldn’t break off any pieces of it. She rewrapped the bar and placed it in an inside pocket, where it would warm up from her body heat. The snow in the pot wasn’t melting. Then she remembered the silver heat guard that was supposed to sit underneath and around the stove, dug it out, and placed it correctly.

  Finally, the snow melted and began to steam. Hannah pulled one of the thick grey packets from the emergency kit and, using her teeth, ripped it open slightly. Some of the background rations could be boiled in a pot with water, but some were designed to be boiled right in their container bag. One summer, while camping in the backyard, she had spilled a freshly boiled bag on herself trying to tear it open. Only her T-
shirt had saved her stomach from being scalded, and from then on, she had opened the package a little bit before heating it; better to sit by the pot and make sure the bag didn’t slip underwater than worry about burning herself with food.

  The front of the package said “Country Ham ‘N’ Eggz” in greasy blue lettering. The inside revealed a sort of crumbly yellow snow with dots of pink in it. It was barely warm, but Hannah ate it, anyway. The dehydrated ham pieces were still crunchy, but it was the best-tasting meal she’d had since she and her family had come to Timmins — better than spaghetti and meatballs, better than fresh bread.

  After she was finished, Hannah took out the two collapsible bowls for the dogs and got out one of the portions of dog food. It was slightly sticky with the molasses that her dad put in to keep it from freezing fully. She broke off chunks of it with a small stick. She approached Nook first and put the two bowls in front of her, one with food and one with water, but the lead dog would not eat. She took a few mouthfuls of water, sniffed at the food bowl, then went back to looking up the trail.

  “Come on, Nook, it’s going to be a long day,” said Hannah, but Nook laid her head on her paws and merely looked at her. Hannah added some hot water to the empty grey pouch of her breakfast and swirled it around, then added it to the dog food, and Nook was more interested. She sniffed the bowl and took a small mouthful, but when she raised her head all the pieces dropped out again.

  “Fine,” said Hannah, “whatever.” She took the bowl and offered it to Rudy, but the same thing happened. The big husky looked almost confused, sniffing the bowl and then looking at her. He didn’t eat anything, either.

  Bogey and Sencha had no reservations. Bogey, sitting nearby, had loops of drool hanging out of his mouth, and as soon as Hannah offered the bowl to them, he gulped down the food, then licked the discarded pouch clean, standing on one edge of it to keep it from moving until Hannah took it away. Sencha’s brown and white flanks heaved up and down as she ate from the bowl, her head bobbing in enthusiastic counterpoint.

  After the dogs had eaten, Hannah packed up her camp. All told, she was pretty proud of herself. The dogs were fed — the smart ones, anyway, she thought — and they were ready to go to Jeb’s now. From Jeb’s: the phone call, then the snowmobile and the rescue. She wondered what her mom would tell her dad. Would she say that Hannah had been right and she wrong, about going for help? Because she should, Hannah thought as she packed the stove back into the pot. Her mom was wrong, her parents were always wrong, but they never admitted it.

  The sky was still an ugly, flat grey. There was no wind, and the air lay heavy around them. Sounds carried very far, each one magnified. A tree branch groaning under the weight of ice sounded as if it were right behind her, and the angry chittering of a squirrel deep in the forest seemed directed right at her.

  This time she called Sencha first. The Dal came over and Hannah took her collar before delving into the sled to find her harness. There was no arguing this time. Hannah knew she had to get the harness on and keep it on, or else Sencha would always think that wearing it was an option.

  The harness slipped over Sencha’s smooth, square head and easily onto her back. Hannah lifted each front leg firmly and pulled the harness on. Sencha’s harness was royal blue, Bogey’s purple. The two sled dogs had on their usual red harnesses that they worked in, though Hannah could barely see them through the thick ruff and double coat of the huskies.

  She put Sencha next to Nook, who ignored both of them. Sencha moved a little closer after Hannah got her neckline on and Nook backed away, looking off to the side.

  Next, Hannah put Bogey’s harness back on and hooked him up, as well. He seemed, if not eager, at least happy to be with the gang. With all the dogs hooked up, Hannah hoped he would remember what to do and settle in. If not, it was going to be a long walk to Jeb’s house. She felt a small queasy turn in her gut at that thought.

  “Line out,” she called. Nook and Rudy stood and drew the line out until it was off the ground. Bogey stood where he was a foot or so back, and Sencha moved out sideways, looking back over her shoulder at Hannah. It was ugly, but it was good enough to get them where they needed to go. She pulled up the snowhook.

  “Huphup!” she called out, using two different tones of voice, like other mushers did. It was like saying, “Ready, set, go!” only using the same word. Nook and Rudy began to run, then Bogey, and finally Sencha — half being dragged, half rabbiting off to the side, her tail curved up and her head high. The gangline seesawed a bit as Sencha fought the straight line and tried to go sideways, but Nook put her head down and the two lead dogs’ necklines stretched taut as they argued about which way to go. Hannah could see the gangline being pulled into a wide Z as the sled dogs silently tried to get the errant Dalmatian to pull correctly.

  After a few metres, Nook pulled suddenly toward Sencha. The Dalmatian, no longer being held on the trail, plowed off into the deep snow for a few strides and struggled to get back onto the trail. The sled slowed down, then bumped into the back of the wheel dogs. Sencha gained the trail again and swerved into the middle of it — where she met the shoulder of Nook, who bumped her hard, as if to say, Smarten up!

  “Let’s go, Nook, get up! Get up, Sencha, let’s go!” called Hannah. The Dalmatian ignored her and tried to bump Nook back, but Nook moved at the very last second and Sencha swiped into thin air, stumbling again.

  And so it went for a few minutes, with Sencha trying to get the upper hand and Nook explaining in plain actions that no, that was not the way to behave. When Sencha bumped Nook, the husky either ignored her or pushed her off course enough to make her flounder. Finally Sencha tripped up and fell, dragging in the traces for a few heartbeats. Just as Hannah’s foot began to press on the brake, the plucky Dal gained traction and began running again. For a while she ran very close to Nook, and Hannah could see them trading shoulder rubs in quick succession. But each time there was contact, the Dal’s tail went lower and lower, until finally she spread out about a hand’s width away from Nook, put her head down, and ran.

  “Get up, Nook, good girl, good girl!” sang Hannah. The lead dog looked back for a second without breaking stride, and Hannah could have sworn the old girl grinned at her.

  Then they were running, and the white world shushed by as they sped on.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  It all went right for long enough for Hannah to relax. She let Nook set the pace — a fast lope that was about the same as Hannah’s stride when she was doing the long-distance run at school. The air was still, and the clouds hung like magnets stuck to the sky. The sled pulled straight. Hannah began to feel the sled like a memory; she remembered riding it when she was younger with her dad, with her mom. Remembered how the sled was one thing, but also it was many things, many individual pieces of thin wood lashed together with rope and even sinew, for Pierre had made their sled the old way, the way his father had done. The sled creaked and bent and bowed under the pressures of winter: the dogs pulling, and the snow pushing up, and the ice pieces reaching in to hook the underbelly of the basket and scrape the brushbow. But it held, the pieces leaning on each other. For a few minutes Hannah was both the driver and the sled, feeling the trail through her feet on the long runners, her soles pressing down in the small dimples set on the top of the runners to provide traction for the driver. She was both in her memories and present. It was a very lulling feeling.

  Then the line started to slacken as Bogey slowed down again.

  “Get up, Bogey, get up!” she called, and the brown Lab took three, four more strides, pulling, then he shied sideways heavily, the sled nearly tipping over as his big body pulled everything askew.

  Hannah yelled and tried to stamp on the brake, but the sled had lurched sideways and she was thrown into the handlebars. The breath went out of her for a moment. The sled tilted dangerously and she thought, Things happen very fast out here, and chastised herself for not paying attention as the sled slowly, slowly tilted back and settled on the ru
nners, creaking and groaning like the trees around them under the weight of snow. They stopped.

  Bogey ignored them all, his flanks heaving as he barfed up everything he had just eaten and then moved a few feet away from it, still dry-heaving. She quickly realized her error as the rank smell of half-digested meat sifted through the dead air around them, realized why Nook and Rudy had not eaten. They were better at this than her, and she felt a flush of shame creep up her neck as she remembered thinking badly of them. They had not eaten because running was hard, and on a full stomach it made one sick, so they would rather go hungry than end up like Bogey was now.

  “Stupid, stupid!” she muttered to herself as she walked forward and unclipped the Lab’s neckline and tugline. He wandered off, still heaving and hacking, looking miserable as only a Labrador retriever could, with the skin under his eyes sagging and his thick, otter-like tail flat against his crouching body. He moved off a little more and hunched over again, this time letting loose a stream of diarrhea.

  Hannah looked at Sencha. The Dalmatian did not seem to be affected, but Hannah let her off anyway, to do her business and just in case she was feeling sick. Hannah herself was feeling sick, too, and the smell of barf and stool made her stomach turn tightly. Her stomach definitely felt … wrong somehow, as though it were trying to digest a lump of coal. She wiped sweat off her forehead and used her shirt to mop up the sweat under her arms. She got out the water dish and filled it for Bogey, and he drank.

  She looked at the low clouds. She was getting a headache, so it was going to snow any minute now, she guessed. She called Sencha over; the Dalmatian trotted over expectantly, and Hannah reached over and hooked her up to the sled. Bogey’s tail was wagging again, a sure sign he was feeling better. When he was back in his place in the lineup, Hannah pushed off. It was time to get going.