Mango - The Dog Who Would Never Quit
You can’t talk about Kurt – that powerful, no-nonsense lead dog who opened my eyes to what sled dogs are capable of – without mentioning Mango, his son.
Mango was born from a pairing between Kurt and a female named Hukka, who I bought from Jukkko Honkkapirtti. Hukka came from slightly sprintier lines, but with Kurt’s endurance-focused genetics, I knew there was potential for something solid. That litter produced a whole fruit basket of dogs – Mango, Melon, Apple, Cherry, and a few others. Mango and Melon stayed with me, and right from the start, both showed promise.
Not much to look at – But all heart
Mango wasn’t flashy. He was a black-and-white dog, not particularly well-built or striking to look at, but he was solid. He kept his line tight, did his job, and never made a fuss. He wasn’t the kind of dog I originally pegged as a lead, but that changed, as it often does, by chance.
I was out training dogs one day and needed to take a left turn. My lead dog, Spike, decided we were going right. I was yelling commands: “Haw! Haw! Left!” … and Spike just wasn’t having it. But in the middle of the team, I noticed Mango turning his head, clearly picking up on what I wanted.
So I did a quick swap: Mango up front, Spike back in the team. I gave the command again – “Haw!” – and Mango led the team to the left, just like that. From that day on, I started letting him lead more and more. And over time, he proved himself to be one of the most reliable lead dogs I’ve ever had.
Obsessive, consistent, and utterly unstoppable
Mango wasn’t perfect. He had quirks. Once he learned a trail, he wanted to run only that trail. He’d stick to a route like it was burned into his brain, even when I tried to steer him another way. That could be frustrating – especially when I wanted to turn right, and Mango was dead set on going left because “that’s the way we went yesterday.”
But his greatest strength? He never quit.
No matter the conditions, the job, the repetition, or the distance – Mango would go. He never got bored, never refused to work, never showed signs of checking out. For the kind of daily grind we sometimes do – hauling guests, short loops for charter flights, repetitive pickup runs – that kind of work ethic is gold.
He had this little pirouette he’d do every time we stopped. A quick twist on the line. You had to let him do it, or he’d get tangled. If you knew Mango, you let him spin – and then carry on.
He was so dependable that I used to joke, “If Mango could drive the truck to the kennel himself, I wouldn’t need a handler.”
The race that proved everything
In 2013, I entered the Pasvik Trail – my first real long-distance sled dog race. Like many rookies, I made plenty of mistakes. Toward the end of the race, my team was tired. I was debating whether to stop and give them a snack break, but I knew that if I did, they might just lie down and not get up again. So I pushed forward – the final hour – hoping we could bite down, get to the finish line, and rest after.
That’s when another team started to gain on me. I looked over my shoulder and saw a tight six-dog team coming up fast, lights glowing in the darkness. A small woman was driving – tiny compared to me – and her team looked fresh, strong, and fast.
I figured once they passed, I’d let my dogs follow, pick up some motivation, and maybe keep pace to the finish.
But when her lead dogs came alongside mine… they stopped. Just laid down and parked. No matter what she did, they wouldn’t move.
And now, because I’d slowed down to let them pass, my team parked too. Both of us were just sitting there, on the trail, with two teams that didn’t want to go.
Enter Mango
The woman explained that her dogs had parked earlier in the race and it had taken her two and a half hours to get them going again. She’d only just gotten them motivated enough to catch up to me – and now here we were again.
I told her, “I’ve got a dog. He’s not fast, but he will go. His name is Mango.”
I put Mango in the lead, thanked Mörkö (who had been leading up until then), and gave the command.
Mango didn’t hesitate. He stood up, ears forward, and started moving. The rest of the team followed. No questions asked. No drama.
The woman saw us moving, and her dogs, inspired by Mango’s quiet resolve, got going again too. But here’s the thing – her team was technically faster. But her lead dogs wouldn’t pass Mango.
So we led the final stretch of the race – at Mango’s steady pace – with her faster team stuck behind us. Mango just kept on going. No ego, no flash, no flair. Just the dog who would never quit.
We didn’t place high. In fact, we finished toward the back. But we finished. And that was enough for me.
That day I learned something crucial:
You don’t always need the fastest dog team to win.
Sometimes, you need the toughest one.
And Mango? He was the most determined dog I’ve ever driven.
— Valentijn Beets
Bearhill Husky
