I’m reading a new-to-me book at the moment that I got from Paperbackswap, and I’m enjoying it very much. Polar Dream by Helen Thayer. It’s the story of the first woman to sled (pulling it herself) solo to the North Magnetic Pole. She wanted to document the Arctic and then share it in school lessons, and as a livelong adventurer, she had a great appreciation for her compass and wanted to see the “source.”.
Remarkable story, but the best part of it for me is the growing relationship with the dog. She trained physically for two years to prepare herself, but then she stayed with some Inuit for a period before setting off, to get a better education in Arctic 101. Their general reaction was, “You’re going to get yourself killed.” Reason #1: Polar bears. Nobody heads out solo across the Arctic. Even if you don’t have companions, which are highly recommended, you want a sled dog team, which will make bears wary and at least notify you of them. She insisted nope, she wanted to do it under her own power, pulling her own sled. Didn’t want a dog team. Finally, they convinced her to take just one dog. He pulled a small sled that held only his dog food; all of her expedition stuff was on her sled. But this particular dog was trained to alert on polar bears and even close with them when released if a bear couldn’t be discouraged any other way (he stayed on the back legs to avoid those front paw swipes). Best bear dog in the village.
Like most Inuit dogs, at least of that time, he was not a pet. They lived outside 24/7, were purely utilitarian, and didn’t even have names. She named this one promptly and trained with him for a few weeks, teaching him to walk beside her. Of course, she also started giving him pats, belly rubs, special snacks, etc. The dog, no fool he, promptly changed frameworks and concluded he had won the lottery. Lots of funny moments of the dog quickly learning how to be a “pet” dog in spite of his thoroughly earned title as best bear dog around, which he did live up to on the trail.
But I have to smile at episodes like the night she set up her tent, then got feeling sorry for the dog, who had rolled into a ball on the ice exactly like he and many others had lived just fine for years. So she went out to unchain him and move him into the “porch” of the tent, for a little shelter but still in a position to bear watch. Once unchained, he promptly dove clear into the tent, climbed in her sleeping bag, rolled up, and fell into instant “sleep.” She (a petite woman) was trying to drag and roll and shift this big dog out of her sleeping bag, and he was a canine possum, knowing that she wasn’t going to whip or kick him or such to make him move.
It’s an enjoyable and well-written book, but the dog is equally a starring character in it as he quickly shifts from village bear dog chained out on the ice to having her wrapped around his paws.
