They’re As Stinky As They Are Cute
The mushers arriving in Dog Town, Sisimiut, Greenland
The wood beneath us creaked and heaved like a boat on rolling seas, slowly at first, as twelve dogs pulled the sled on which we were perched. The rocking was the only tactile sensation I had until we started to gain speed, that was when the wind stung my face. It was remarkable how powerful the dogs were, though I know from experience that even my twenty three pound pup at the peak of her strength could pull me off of my feet. However, this was raw and wild power. Power drawn from the rock, ice, snow and wind that has sculpted the landscape that towered above us. Behind me stood the tall lean musher named Miki, just 16 years old. “Huma!”, or was it Uma!…I couldn’t tell. Regardless of which one it was, the meaning was clear: GO! And go, these dogs did.
When a westerner thinks of Greenland, the first thing that often comes to mind is cold, snow, Erik Thorvaldsson (better known as Erik the Red), and the deceptive name he bequeathed upon the island in an attempt to get people to settle here. While not incorrect on some of those counts, there’s much more. 4,000 years of habitation, settled in four waves of migration, three from the Aleutian Islands of Alaska and northern Canada, and one from Noraway. Another fact is the rocks that make up the foundation of the world’s largest island, even bigger than the continent of Australia, are among the oldest rocks on the planet. In those 4,000 years, canine and human developed a relationship that is more akin to controlled chaos.
Dog Town, Sisimiut, Greenland
Dog Town lies at the furthest reach of Sisimiut, Greenland’s second largest city, just north of the Arctic Circle. My bride to be and I arrived via a shuttle, which was actually the personal pickup truck of a woman who worked for Hotel Søma. Prior to leaving the hotel, she lead us to the basement level where the gear room was located. My fiancé and I had brought our own cold weather gear, but we were discouraged from wearing ours in preference for a pair of heavy winter boots, and a giant insulated suit and became adult sized toddlers. The reason for this would become clearer once we arrived in Dog Town. Our friend Miki, different than the musher, caught a ride out to Dog Town with us. On the drive up I started to sweat, so once we arrived I was out of the truck and unzipped the top of my fur lined hooded insulated suit and tied the arms around my waist. The air was cool, but nothing that was uncomfortable, especially in the bright sun.
The three of us trudged up the hill to the rendezvous where we were to meet the dogsled team who was on their way back from an earlier trip. Miki broke out his phone to shoot some video while he chatted with my fiancé Robin and I took photos. We reached the crown of a small hill and I became acutely aware that we were not alone. All around us were countless pairs of dark eyes that watched our every move. Some from prominent positions on the top of rocky snow covered hills, others from their wooden dens, like soldiers in pill boxes. I heard a bark and one stepped out. They resembled my dog! Just about the same stature, though the majority of them were creamy white.
To most of us, a dog is a pet, a trusted companion that we sometimes allow to sleep in our beds, or sit on opposite ends of the couch while watching an episode of Game of Thrones while knitting. That’s not this kind of dog. Earlier, we were told about a recent unfortunate accident where someone kept sled dogs in town and a toddler fell and was killed. That is not to say that these dogs are not cared for. They are deeply part of the dynamic of human and land, but caution must be taken.
Once we reached the edge of Dog Town, a tiny fuzzball ran over to us, followed by several more.
“These are ok to pet if you want”, Miki said.
“Oh my God, they’re so cute!”
Greenlandic Dog Puppy, Dog Town, Sisimiut, Greenland. This puppy almost took me home with it.
“They’re as stinky as they are cute”, he snickered, walking away to shoot some more video on his phone.
I do not need to be told twice that it’s ok to pet a dog. I crouched down and stuck both of my hands out. It ambled over to me as its tail wagged. If I had one, mine would have wagged too. In the distance we heard the approach of the dog sled teams. The dogs of Dog Town heard them first. At first, one started to howl, then a primal chorus rose from every throat; ears back, noses pointed to the sky, and lips pushed forward as a wail was lifted to great their kin.
Greenlandic dogs hearing the arrival of another sled team entering Dog Town in Sisimiut Greenland (unmute for a sound of the wild).
Dog Town is the gateway to a series of open glacial valleys leading to Oqummiannguup Tasia, the reservoir for the city of Sisimiut. The broad valley is U-shaped, the typical shape carved by glaciers, unlike the river valleys that I grew up with that are V-shaped cut by rivers. There were a few sedges that poked up through the compacted snow, but not a tree is sight. There was no escaping the blinding sun reflecting upon the snow, and oddly very little wind because the valley was protected by the towering bare mountains around us.
Our Mushers pulled up and parked themselves, their passengers unloaded and made their way down the hill. We were joined by four more people whom I later learned were from a residential program for people with autism. Before we could board our sleds, the twelve lines that coupled each dog to the sled needed to be untangled. I thought that it couldn’t have been possible to untangle the thick braid of ropes, but each musher methodically picked up dog, passed it under an adjacent line, put the dog down, and picked the next one up. In no time they were ready for us. The lead musher Tore, the father of the two other boys named Miki and Malik, came over to us and told each of us where to sit and who was going to be the musher. He explained that Malik, the older of the two, and Miki had been training for many years. Miki indicated that he was ready for us to climb aboard, and I took position behind Robin on the back of the wooden sled clad in the hide of a reindeer.
“Is it ok to hold onto the ropes?”, I asked Miki.
“Oh yes! Huma!”, he shouted, and the dogs dug into the snow, and with a shove, we were off. I tried to figure out how to position my body comfortably and still hold onto my camera. Either my knees were bent awkwardly, or my hips ached. Neither position worked. Our two hour trip might be uncomfortable I thought. As we approached the first significant hill, our sled slowed significantly.
“HUMA! HUMA!”, Miki commanded. Forty eight feet dug into the snow. The sled slowed even more.
Oh great, I thought, they can’t haul our fat American carcasses up this hill.
“They’re just tired from the previous trip”, Miki said. He must have caught onto what I was thinking. “Could you both get off until we reach the top of the hill?”
We both got off of the sled.
“Huma!” The sled lurched forward, easier without Americans on board.
Once they crossed the knoll, Miki hung onto the back of the sled as it gained speed. “Ok, get on!”
We both ran for the sled as fast as we could and heaved ourselves aboard and gained speed as we slid downward to the ice and snow covered Oqummiannguup Tasia. If we gained too much speed, Miki dragged his foot a to keep the sled from going out of control. If it was necessary to come to a full stop, he had a loop of rope to toss around the front of one of the runners. We reached the frozen surface of the lake, and gained speed speed as Miki, as if to prove his skill over his elder, passed by his father and took the lead. We made a turn to the right and they fell out of sight.
It was about this point that we discovered why we shouldn’t wear our own gear. While we were at full speed, and my mouth was open, one dog started to poop on the fly. Once one started, it was a cascade of twelve dogs taking turns evacuating their bowels. Sometimes one would try to stop to do business, but more often than not, it was go on the go. Then I remembered that Dog Town had a certain shade to the snow.
Oh! They don’t want our personal gear to get covered in a fecal veneer. I did my best to shake the scent from my sinuses and decided to keep my mouth closed.
The valley broadened out even further. Surrounded by towering mountains and fields of ice, I tried to imagine what it must be like in the depths of winter in the coastal communities who are completely dependent upon sea ice for the hunt, the movement of supplies from one settlement to another, or even just to get together while you are so isolated and how they are perfectly suited to this. While Sisimiut is connected by airplane through Kangerlssuaq, the international airport of Greenland that was once an American Airforce Base in 1941, it is not connected to other towns by any other means than boat and dog. Greenland does not have road infrastructure to connect one town to another. North of the Arctic Circle and in Eastern Greenland, one of the most reliable forms of transport from settlement to settlement, is by dogsled. The sea ice is the winter highway of the Arctic.
Soon this may no longer be possible. Things are already changing. The dogs of Dog Town and communities further north now spend a month longer chained or left on an island for the summer months. This leads to muscle loss, lowered stamina, and a decline in health for the dogs. This also leads to a month less of hunting for sea mammals and fishing that most of the rural communities, which is most of the country, depend upon for sustenance. Increased melting of the ice sheet of Greenland is changing the salinity of the water within the fjords, causing a change in what fish and crustaceans can survive in the cold water. A world away, most people do not know of the changes that are taking place, not just in Greenland, but the Arctic as a whole. The Arctic holds just as much, if not more sway over our planet than the equatorial rainforest.
Once we reached the base of the rise called the Bone Breaker, Miki’s father caught up to us and indicated that we were going to stop. We stopped, and all of the dogs collapsed in the snow for rest. Most fell asleep in the sun of this windless valley in a literal dog pile. Exhausted, we were told that if we wanted to, we could pet some of the adult dogs. I picked a black and white dog. “That’s Panda, she’s one of mine”, Miki said.
Panda, Sisimiut, Greenland.
I wanted to have my own moment, out of sight of the rest of the group, and commune with the ice, Earth, and silence. I continued along the dog track, then up a slight rise that turned to the right, my boots crunching in the less compacted snow. Though I had my camera in hand, as I almost always do, I held it at my hip. In my giant insulated suit, even with the arms wrapped around my waist, I was warm. The air was still and the sun bright. Eastward was the rise of The Bone Breaker and the turquoise horizon, to the west the sun blazed it’s way southward to briefly dip below the horizon before it rose again, the sky never to reach total darkness. This has happened for countless millennia. Still will.
I still remain speechless.