The Time I Lost My Sled But Gained a Friend
I’m gonna tell a story about the time that I lost my sled but gained a friend.
Now one of the cardinal rules of dog driving is: do not let go. Under any circumstance. Whatever happens, you don’t let go of your sled. The reason is simple: if you let go, those dogs will run. They will disappear down the trail, and you’ll be left behind swearing and wondering whether you’re ever going to find them again. These dogs most likely won’t stop for you. Your only job is to hold on, stay upright, and keep going.
That’s the rule. And it’s a good one. But – yes, there’s a but – we do lose sleds. And I must admit I’ve lost mine on more occasions than I’d like to admit. This is the story of the first time I seriously lost my sled.
I had decided to participate in a race and was doing a shakedown run. Nothing serious, just wanted to test the dogs, see how fast they were, how they moved, and shake out any issues. I had driven the team to Ruunaa, where there’s a great circular trail that loops around the area which is about 30 km, give or take.
So I get there, set up the dogs, hook them up, and take off down the trail. There was a bit of fresh snow, and we were cruising at a good clip. Then I stopped just for a moment just to readjust my gloves and jacket. I told the dogs to stop, they did. I adjusted myself, said “Ready? Go!” and—off they went. Without me.
The sled slid out from under me and my team tore off down the trail full speed, with me standing there like an idiot.
So I started running. Swearing. Panicking. Wondering what’s going to happen. I knew the trail well enough to know they could run for ages before stopping, and if they crashed into something, there would be no one to help them.It’s one of the scariest things that can happen in this job.
While running, I pulled out my phone and called my wife Veronika. “I lost the team,” I told her. “They’re gone.” I asked her to call her boss. At the time, she was working at Ruunaa Matkailu the local café and tourism place. Veronika worked the kitchen and café, and her boss’s son-in-law Jarkko handled maintenance.
So she called Jarkko. Now Jarkko didn’t live in Ruunaa, he lived about 30 km away. But he jumped into his car, drove to get the snowmobile, and then came to pick me up.
Meanwhile, I’m still running. Stripping layers as I go. Jacket off, gloves off. Still cursing, still hot and worried. It took about an hour in total – half an hour for him to get to the café, half an hour to get the snowmobile – but eventually Jarkko showed up behind me on the trail.
We rode out together and eventually we found the team. They had wrapped themselves around a tree. Thankfully, there were no major injuries. One of the dogs was limping a little bit, but nothing broken, no deep cuts. He could not race anymore, but he was otherwise okay. The rest of the team? Just excited. Probably had the time of their lives running free without me!
That was the first time I met Jarkko. We have been friends ever since. In fact, he became the godfather to my daughter Saaga. These days he runs Ruunaa Matkailu together with his wife Päivi, taking over from his father-in-law, while we’re up in the north.
And that’s how I lost my sled … but gained a friend.
— Valentijn Beets
Bearhill Husky
