Rule # 1: Hang on. Rule # 2: Don't let go.

We set off in single file, with the lead chap in front of me, Barb behind me, Karen behind her and Valerie at the back. Valerie had done this before and was therefore trusted not to need nursemaiding. The first few seconds were terrifying.That optical illusion of speed near the ground kicked in...perhaps experienced skiers are used to this but, well I've mentioned that little issue. Holding on was about all I could manage and there was a bend looming. Frantic that I'd forgotten which way to lean, I ran little diagrams of train crashes in my head to make sure I was going to get it right, but I got my weight on the correct ski, stayed on the sled and made the turn.

I was just congratulating myself on a job well done when a driverless sled slapped into the back of my legs. The leader chappie stopped his sled as it crashed past him too. I remembered where the brake was and stopped mine behind him as a pile of extra dogs appeared from all directions and mayhem broke out. Karen had fallen off (presumably not holding onto her sled in the process) and Barb had left her braking a little late, when she saw us stopped in front of her.

It took a while to sort everyone out, get Barb's dogs backed up, get Karen back on her sled etc. but eventually we all set off again. This was much better, I knew I could do it now. I made it round the next turn relaxed and began to grin; but the loose sled and overlapping dogs thing happened all over again and we stopped to see if Karen was ok. She was unhurt but had decided that maybe her skills lay elsewhere, she didn't really want to go on. So, we waited a while for another worker to come out to us, who popped Karen in the seat at the front of her sled and took over the driving.

The leader was beginning to get a bit irritable with Barb by this time, who was still stopping her sled a tad late when something happened. I was getting the point of all that, since I nearly lost my balance each time her dogs cannoned into my knees and was starting to feel a bit bruised. The third time it happened he lost patience, popped Barb into the seat of Valerie's sled and rearranged the dogs to give her more pulling power. Thus re-organised again we all set off somewhat grumpily. Especially Barb, who hadn't really had the chance to fix what was going wrong, it seemed to me that a spot of more attentive training might have done the trick.

But then we were off properly, taking turns, bouncing about, having a blast. I fell once, misjudging a tight corner, and landed in the snow. I held on to my sled! 'Use the brake' came an instruction wafting from behind somewhere and I remembered that technique, pushing the brake into the snow as you turn the sled upright so that the dogs can't run off while you get back on. And then it was even better because I knew that I knew how to fall off, so the turns got a bit more daring and I finished the course with no more incidents and a huge soppy grin on my face. Want more dogs next time.

As the only newbie to finish the trail actually driving (and the daft Brit) I got a bit of a 'you did well' from the staff as we unharnessed the dogs and calmed down from the trip, but my happy dance of success had to be put off for another time, since Valerie's sled arrived back with a spot of damage. They'd managed to hit a tree. Grumpiness spread. I think I was the only one who actually had a good day, so I will celebrate here and now. It was the most marvellous fun and more like driving that like skiing and I am cock-a-hoop that I picked it up.

But you did have to learn fast or people got hurt. I ended up thinking that they should maybe have had a little practise run to put everyone round before setting off for real, after all no-one expects you to get in a car and get it right first time. I asked Valerie later whether she'd been given any advice on how to handle a sled with a passenger in. It stood to reason to me that the change in weight distribution would mean you had to take bends a bit differently, but she said she'd not been told anything new. Which is probably why they met the tree.

We stopped off for consolation at The Mad Musher, had the finest French Onion Soup known to man and some very passable chips and the girls perked up a bit. We polished off all the leftovers of food and booze that evening, had one more night in the yurt and headed home to tell tales of snow and derring do. Well, I did.

So, would I go winter camping again? Probably. Dog sledding again? Absolutely, but maybe with a different company. Perhaps this lilly-livered Brit has finally found a reason to be outdoorsy. I've picked up a brochure for longer back-country trips where you sled all day and camp at night. Must call Valerie and suggest it for next year.

By the way...

I've been asked about the bells and pepper.

It's probably an inevitable aspect of being an immigrant anywhere; the tendency of the host population to tell a few tall stories. Countries with an indigenous sense of humour do this so well that it can be hard to sort the gentle ribbing from the genuine advice. Brits excel at it of course. 'Be sure to check out the echo in the reading room of the British Museum'...'It is customary to shake hands with each passenger in your carriage on an underground train'...you know the sort of thing.

Well, Canadians do it too. We were regaled, quite early on, with tales of the traditional pumpkin hunting season for Thanksgiving. The hunt leader blows a whistle to frighten the pumpkins so that they run about in their patch, then you can pick one and shoot it; it is considered most unsporting to shoot a resting pumpkin. Now I may be a daft Brit, and a city kid to boot, but even I know that pumpkins are vegetables. (Although, now when I see a pumpkin patch, it does look remarkably as though they are all just resting up, ready to run about and get some exercise as soon as your back is turned.) But anyway, when the same person began to tell me all about Groundhog Day, I assumed it was another wind up. But Groundhog Day, turned out to be real. Who knew?

Then these people start to tell you about bear country. What to believe? Bear attacks are real enough, they are on the news surprisingly often. The advice for walking in bear country is to wear little bells because bears are most dangerous when you surprise them so it's good if they can hear you coming. This could well be true, proper winter outfitters sell bear bells, I've seen them. Google 'bear bells'...they exist. No, really, try it. (I'm quite charmed by the idea of these rugged fearless types adding a few Morris Dancing features to their kit.) The other thing you are supposed to carry in bear country is pepper spray. A close encounter with a bear is unlikely to end well, unless you are very good at rapid tree climbing, but in extremis pepper spray can buy you some time.

I am unlikely to find myself alone in bear country, but with my ignorance of the geography of this huge land it behoves one to learn what one can, just in case. Our little camping trip in Cathedral Grove, Vancouver Island taught us a thing or two, the terrifying Sindy wouldn't allow anything that smelt of anything in the tents, no toothpaste or deodorant, and all our food had to be hung high in the trees. Just in case. A simple road trip up the Bruce Peninsula in Ontario had us foraging about on roads that had 'beware bears' signs posted on the trees, and we'd only stopped to take photos, so you never know. Besides, it's interesting. But the advice is a little contradictory. Once you've done all the bell ringing and pepper spraying, some experts tell you to wave your arms about and act aggressive, others advise 'playing dead' by adopting the foetal position with your backpack towards the bear for protection.

I discussed all this one morning over breakfast, back at the B and B, with a pukka wildlife expert who happened to be staying with us. 'Ah' he said. 'The confusion there is because it makes a difference whether you are in Black Bear country or Grizzly Bear country. Black Bears are more easily intimidated, so you'd wave at them but it's better to play dead for a Grizzly.'

I was suckered in. How do you tell the difference? And the answer, of course, is to examine the scat. Black bears are a bit more able to manage on a herbivore diet, so their scat will contain bits of acorn husks and pine cones and some berries. Since the two species tend to occupy different bits of land, the acorny, piney stuff means you are in arm waving territory.

The scat in Grizzly country looks a little different; pull it apart carefully and you will find, mainly,

bells and pepper.

Ithengyow...

More dog sledding shortly.

Mush

Day three, after another sensational sunset. We weren't due to start dog-sledding until 1.30, so spent the time with showers and a leisurely breakfast. I'm generally a yoghourt and muesli sort of person in the morning but all that bracing fresh air and fallingover in the snow seemed to make bacon, eggs and toast quite welcome. Although I have decided to introduce the ladies to the concept of kedgeree next time, that must be possible on a camping stove.

Espying The Mad Musher restaurant on the way to our appointment with winter fun, we decided to pop in for (remarkably decent) coffee and thoroughly get ourselves in the mood. Much of the talk was about how it's just like skiing. (Valerie had tried it before, but then Valerie has done most things before.) I had my first inkling that this might be harder than it appeared. Although, I should confess right now that when she first mentioned dog sledding I had visions of the sort they did in Narnia, all wrapped up in furs in a comfy sledge eating Turkish Delight. I only realised that this was the kind of thing where you stand on the back and yell at your dogs when I checked out the website of the company Valerie had booked us in with and saw pictures. But we were committed by then.

The talk of skiiing was a bit perturbing. I'd tried cross-country skiing once and had entertained all and sundry with my hilarious impressions of your classical upended turtle, it sounded like today would follow similar lines.

The first job when we arrived to meet the dogs was to sign a huge waiver full of items to initial. We had to acknowledge that we knew dogs to be unpredictable, that people fell off things and that stupidity got people hurt. I had an OMG moment and then merrily signed it all thinking that this stuff merely applied to stupid people and we were all at least intelligent and capable, if not very athletic. It would be fine really. Off we went to beard the beasties in their dens, which turned to be a clutch of little individual kennels in the woods, impeccably clean and tidy. The dogs were lazing about, sunbathing on their little roofs or standing on their houses better to see who was approaching. It was an idyllic picture until we hove into view, whereupon they got the idea that there may be some running about soon and the noise level went ballistic.

We had instructions for how to stand on the sled, how to take bends, how to go down hills how to stop and how to fall off. Some of it was hard to hear over the noise of the dogs but we did our best to get it. The main things seemed to be; remember where the brake is, lean into turns and if you fall off...hang on to the sled at all costs. I reckoned I'd be ok at that bit, when I fell off that horse last Thanksgiving I had landed still clutching the reins with all my might. It hadn't been a useful skill then, so I was glad to think I'd already practiced some dogsledding finesse. Hanging on to the sled when you fell was a vital safety feature since the dogs would keep running otherwise and the unweighted sled would fly about hurting people. You would fall if you didn't lean the right way taking turns, as centrifugal force would lift the inner ski and deposit it and you into the snow. Braking on hills was to keep the reins tight, otherwise you'd catch the dogs up and get tangled.

'It's pretty simple if you can ski' said the lady. I looked worried and the other three laughed at me.
'She's a Brit, they don't ski.'
'Oh, a Brit, you'll fall off, they always do.'
'Really?'
'Yes, but they're nice about it, they always laugh.'
Well that was good to know.

Then we had a lesson on how to harness the dogs, apparently it was good for them to be handled by us before we set off...that made sense. Getting the harness on was easy enough, but the walking them to their sled to clip them in had me dragged all over the place getting tangled in this that and the other as I finally realised how strong these amazing animals were. 'You're quite light aren't you? We'll only give you two dogs.' I was a bit miffed, everyone else got three dogs. But it had to do with us all going at about the same speed instead of the pint-sized person racing ahead, so I decided to be flattered that there was somewhere in the world where I was considered to be small, and be pleased with my two gorgeous dogs. Both white husky-crosses, although it was hard to see what they were crossed with and I forgot to ask. The sleds, now that I came to look at them properly, seemed a little flimsy. There wasn't going to be much between me and the ground, and it did look horribly like skiing.

The final lesson was Husky-speak. Mushers are mushers but they don't say mush. The word is 'hike' but it didn't look as though we'd be needing it, all the dogs by now were beside themselves with glee and pulling to get started; I had my entire bodyweight on the brake, spikes that cut into the snow, and it was only just enough. 'Oh, your dog is a leader,' I was told just before we set off. 'Mostly they just follow the one in front but you might need to tell her which way to go if she develops a mind of her own. It's 'gee' for right and 'haw' for left.'  I nodded sagely and immediately forgot both words. I was still transfixed by the mantra 'don't let go'...
'Is there anything we shouldn't say to the dogs?' asked Valerie.
"Not really, just try not to scream. They don't like that.'