Go Dog, Go! happens to be the title of a best seller that Philip D. Eastman of Amherst, Massachusetts penned back in 1961 and it was a real page-turner among the six year-old Seuss set. In the colorful reader, still a kiddie lit classic, several mad dogs speed around as fast as they can – in little convertible sports cars. “Go dog, go!” repeats the text again and again, as the hounds, their long ears flapping in the breeze, zip across the pages and even drive straight up into lollipop-shaped trees.
“Go dog, go!” could likewise be the motto of the Husky Works Mushing Company, established in woodsy West Wardsboro in 2007. There aren’t any racecars there, however – just teams of sled dogs loping along a pretty 3-mile forest trail. Behind them is a 10-foot ash-frame sled, carrying one expert musher and you.
Once five to ten of his Siberian huskies are strapped into their nylon webbing harnesses with their necklines secured for pulling, company co-owner Jeremy Bedortha says, “gee,” “haw,” “ let’s go,” “easy,” and “whoa” for turn right, turn left, go ahead, slow down and stop. Sled dogs are not controlled by reins like a horse or by yanking their gangline, as the rig is called, but by the musher’s clear and confident voice commands.
“Cinders!” he says to the female lead, “Gee!” and the whole line of black-white, gray-white, all white, sable-colored and spotted “piebald” dogs arcs gracefully as Cinders turns them into a clearing ahead. “Sasha!” he says, getting the attention of the point dog who is second in line on the right-hand side of the mainline before telling her, too, to pull into the forthcoming curve: “Gee!” Two wheel dogs, as they are curiously called, are the ones closest to the front the sled and they are typically the heaviest dogs; Nashashuck’s and Yuma’s job is to calmly power the sled forward, out and around sharp corners and to make wider turns to steer the weight of the toboggan and its passengers past obstacles such as trees or posts. “Easy!” he says softly, encouraging the last pair to take the turn slowly and not tip the sled or its load. Sometimes Barren and Wazika work as the wheels.
Company co-owner Laura Bedortha, who is Jeremy’s wife, and Ben Hescock, a Wardsboro resident and a lifelong friend of Jeremy’s, are both capable Husky Works mushers. “Jeremy and I got hooked on mushing after we went on a sled tour at Mont Tremblaut outside Montreal several years ago,” recalls Laura. “They let us drive our own sleds pulled by four dogs over a couple of miles of trail,” she says. Jeremy, who already had a pet Siberian named Scout, bought a second husky, Kayla. Soon, they bought a third, Sasha, then a forth. Next, they bred a litter, all five of which the Bedortha’s kept. Then came a litter of four, of which they raised just two. Later, the couple adopted several more Siberians and paid a premium price to buy an experienced lead dog from a New Hampshire musher who was shutting down his business and who also sold them his used sleds.
Some seven years after that first ride in Canada, there are 20 clean and healthy sled-trained Siberians kenneled two to four to a pen in a half-dozen six-foot high chain link runs behind a yellow house at the corner of Route 100 and the Stratton-Arlington Road, an old cape which is the base of the Husky Works company. “We were giving our friends rides, and everyone loved it,” says Laura, “so it just made sense for us to start a dogsledding tour company.”
“I like to get four or five hundred miles on the dogs before the season even begins,” says Jeremy. Hitching all the huskies (except the retired Moma Kata) to the front of his ATV as soon as the autumn temperatures fall below 50 degrees, he lets the dogs pull him along on the four-wheeler with the motor off and the gears in neutral. Mushers and dogs train like this three or four nights a week until it snows. Just like athletes,” he says, speaking as if he is the head coach of a major league football team with a superbowl championship at stake, “we need to be in shape for our sport and practice for our position on the team.”
The winter sled tours begin as soon as there is a foot of snow on the trails which Jeremy carefully grooms and packs using a large roller and a weighted drag attached to the back of his ATV. The private property where Husky Works is located consists of more than 70 acres with paths that loop through a clearing, around a small pond and over Wardsboro’s hilly terrain. A professional dog team in peak condition running an ideal track could tally up to one hundred miles in a 24-hour period, but Husky Works’ dogs are rarely expected to run more than 10 miles a day. Year-old “pups in training,” bother-sister littermates Max and Panda, are hitched to the team, too.
Using either flat-bottomed toboggan sleds or raised basket sleds on runners, the company offers tours to the public on Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays whenever weather and trail conditions permit. Fully licensed by the Town and by State authorities, Husky Works is only allowed to operate during daylight hours. “Our neighbors expressed some concerns when we applied for our business permits,” admits Jeremy, but aside from the few minutes of excited barking, yodeling and howling at feeding time, mushing Siberians through the mountains is a quiet, eco-friendly enterprise.
This extraordinary relationship – working canines and human beings – long precedes written history and among North America’s native tribes it significantly predates utilization of the horse as a draft animal. There is some archaeological evidence that pulling dogs were employed more than 4,000 years ago (some claim 10,000), however the earliest written record of a dog sled competition in the U.S. goes back only to the 1850s. It was an informal challenge between travelers on the route from Winnipeg, Canada to St. Paul, Minnesota.
Then, in 1973, came the race that changed dogsledding forever: the approximately 1,151-mile Iditarod. Winners and top-ranking mushers and their dogs emerged as international celebrities; today, the annual Iditarod is rated as the most popular sporting event in Alaska and is generally credited with bringing about a resurgence of recreational mushing nationwide since the 1970s. The Bedorthas comment proudly that one of their Siberians, the ever-so-slightly favored Motomo, is the grandson of an Iditarod finisher.
The mushing adventure that Husky Works offers is far from being a subzero, weeklong tribulation. It’s a well-staged, comfortable, hour-long jaunt. They typically run two sleds at a time, each of which can carry up to 350 pounds or two adult passengers. There is a mid-way stop to rest and water the panting dogs, and to check their paws for signs of abrasion or injury. The break, at an elevated point on the trail, gives the mushers and their guests a chance to warm up over a cup of hot chocolate while they enjoy the panoramic vistas of the sparkling snowscape spread out across still-unspoiled West Wardsboro.
“Dogsled touring is a great family outing,” says Laura, “but it is not for toddlers.” To be sure, it’s not for the timid either whenever there is a combination of gusty winds, occasional ice and a speedy track. Adds Laura, “I can’t let any children pet the dogs when they’re working.” That’s because at the mere sight of a sled or rig, the Siberians are amped up for pulling and they will pull hard no matter what. “If I don’t stop the sled properly with the claw brake or the snow anchor, they’ll run forever,” Jeremy says, clearly speaking from experience. The Siberians’ paws are furred between the toes, which adds traction to their pads as they seemingly fly without effort across the slippery snow. (You may not know that not all huskies are Siberians. Alaskan huskies are a mix of several Northern breeds, whereas Siberians have purer bloodlines. Alaskan malamutes are stronger dogs but are not as fast as race-bred Siberians.)
“Step over!” says Ben Hescock, rather matter-of-factly when Storm, one of the team dogs in the middle of the hitch, puts his foot down on the wrong side of the mainline. “Good job,” he praises, as the dog at fault obeys and glances back, just confirming that the maneuver is what Ben wanted him to do. “Angel, let’s go!” he says to the almond-eyed lead dog, giving her permission to pick up the pace. Passengers readily catch on to the astonishing two-way conversation between the animals in front of them and the musher standing behind them. When several Siberians simultaneously cock their heads back to make eye contact with the driver, it is usually to collectively ask, “Why you stopping us here?” or it is to wordlessly plead, “Let’s go faster!”
“They thrive as a pack,” says Jeremy, who himself is the most athletically fit, undisputed alpha dog of all at Husky Works. Even the largest, boldest 70-pound Siberian is friendly and rolls onto his back to “submit” when Jeremy playfully grabs the scruff of the dog’s neck. “There is a definite hierarchy among the dogs, but they all get along well,” he confirms. “You can see the pack mentality especially when they are working, it’s so instinctive.” In front of a sled, the dogs are synchronized and quick; light on their feet, they pull level, without lumbering, even at full speed.
Yet, part of being a good musher is knowing each dog’s individual quirks, understanding each dog’s unique personality and remembering what it takes to get each dog to precisely follow the musher’s critical commands. Not overly aggressive as a breed, Siberian huskies are characteristically loyal and fortunately, intelligent enough to be perpetually eager to please. Sometimes, the Bedortha’s energetic huskies are even comical, tripping over their own paws and each other to be the first to leap off all fours and greet the mushers nose to nose, bestowing licks and love nips. Rowdy, untamed and wolfish though they may seem whenever all twenty dogs are let loose inside the fence of their huge exercise yard to romp and socialize, together these animals, the Bedorthas and Hescock are a joyous, homogenous bunch who are all genuinely fond of one another. Some of the Bedortha’s dogs enjoy the same privileges as every other pampered family pooch. “Three of the lead dogs come indoors every night,” says Laura, “Sadie, a female, and two males, Tonka and Motomo sleep in the house.” Most evenings after their run and supper, the young couple and their contented pets are quintuplet couch potatoes.
When it comes to sledding though, the Bedorthas are all business. Jeremy, Laura and Ben have perfected the logic that goes into hitching up each team, choosing the right lead dog that as often as not is a female rather than a male. “Running in tandem, you want to try to pair them up by similar size, strength and gait,” Jeremy says. “You want a fluid team.” When the musher finally releases the snub line that tethers the sled to a tree or pick-up truck bumper while the dogs are being harnessed, the launch into a trot and then a slow lope is unexpectedly smooth.
For the passengers sitting in the handsomely varnished toboggans, the ride is gentle, silent and subdued except for the calm cadence of the musher’s calls, the swish of the trees above and the occasional creaking sounds as the wooden sled creases the snow. They might hear an elated yip now and then from Polar, Zudkik, Dawson or Fern, four of the team dogs. All they feel is dog power, pure dog power.
No one actually says it, but what you are thinking over and over again as you are skimming across the sun-warmed clearings and gliding through the chilly deep woods is this:
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