State gets all mushy about dog-sledding

PLAIN, Chelan County — Snowflakes circled like dizzy moths tumbling from the heavens. Twenty-one dogs, tethered to their huts, circled, panted and yipped, eager to run.

Ringneck and Ribbon, Silver and Menke were the first to be strapped into their nylon harnesses. Then came Mystery and Mounds, Spot and Streak. They leapt up and licked Perry Solmonson's face. Finally came Charlie and Babe, Graystreak and Silver.

At last, Solmonson stepped onto the runners of the sled and gave the call: "Hike!"

With a jarring start, the 12 Alaskan huskies sprang forward onto the snow-packed trail, dashing through the meadow and into the forest, the sled hissing behind them.

Dog-sledding, once exclusively the sport of the frigid far north, is growing in popularity in Washington state and elsewhere. It's no longer limited to people who live in states with heavy snowfall or those aiming to compete in Alaska's famed 1,150-mile Iditarod dog-sled race.

Now mushers — those who "drive" the sled — include children, like Solmonson's daughter, Mira, 9, and "hobby" dog-sledders, such as Mary Welborn, 51, a forest ranger who lives in Snoqualmie.

Welborn got hooked on the sport after getting just one dog who loved to pull.

"From there, it was a slippery slope," she said.

She now has seven dogs and, like many other Seattle-area dog-sledders, runs her team along the U.S. Forest Service roads from Crystal Springs near Snoqualmie Pass. And she finds herself deep into the subject of harnesses, mushing clothes, watching the weather report for a good snow and buying 40 pounds of dog food a week. When they're not on the trail, her dogs are mainly pets who lounge about the house like any pampered pooches and run free through her acreage.

Gaining fans

Starting Friday, some 30 mushers and dog teams from as far away as Michigan and Tennessee will gather in Plain, 13 miles north of Leavenworth, for the 18th annual Cascade Quest Sled Dog Race. But there will be many more fans, family and other supporters who will also come to watch the teams of either six or 12 dogs compete in two separate races — a 75- or 200-mile course over Entiat Ridge to the community of Ardenvoir and beyond.

It's just one of many similar races around the nation. There has been a 95 percent increase in the number of dog-sled events over the past 15 years, say dog-sled racing officials.

Jane Riffle, co-owner of Nordkyn Outfitters in Eatonville, one of the nation's oldest manufacturers of sled-dog and other working-dog equipment, says the sled-dog market has grown an average 10 to 15 percent annually. And one of the biggest markets now is in equipment for skijoring — a sport where one or two harnessed dogs pull a cross-country skier who wears a safety belt with a quick-release clip.

But it's dog-sledding that appealed to Riffle's family — her husband, Rip Riffle, and their two (now grown) children.

"It's one of the cleanest sports there is" for families, she said. "When you're getting up at 5 to go sledding, there's not much time for getting into alcohol and drugs."

Sled-dog terminology


Alaskan husky: A type of dog bred for pulling sleds, but actually a hardy mixed-breed dog.

Musher: The sled driver.

Commands: "Hike" signals the team forward. "Haw" means turn left. "Gee" means turn right. "On by" means go straight. "Whoa" means to stop. Only in Hollywood do mushers yell "mush!" which comes from the French word, "marchon," or to move.

Leaders: The two dogs at the head of the team who set the pace.

Swing dogs and wheel dogs: Swing dogs are the two dogs immediately behind the leaders and are considered secondary leaders. Wheel dogs are behind the swing dogs and are usually larger and stronger dogs to help the sled turn and keep it from tipping over.

Skijoring: The sport of being pulled on cross-country skis by a dog.

The best thing about it is the peacefulness of being out on a trail with a team of dogs, she said.

"Once you get the dogs hooked up and you're in the forest, all you hear is the pant-pant-pant and the swish of the runners," she said.

Even at 9, Mira Solmonson likes the quiet and the bonding with the dogs. It's something so private, she doesn't share it with her friends at school.

"After school I go see my dogs and it makes me feel really good," she said.

Starting early

The family's fascination with dog-sledding began almost 10 years ago when they were living in Alaska. Perry Solmonson, 48, got hooked after a snowboarding injury kept him off the slopes for months. To keep busy, he tinkered with making a sled out of an old ski. Pleased with his product, he then needed dogs to pull it.

He eventually found himself caring for the team of a down-on-his-luck musher who was leaving Alaska. Next thing the family knew, they had a sled-dog team. And four years ago, Solmonson entered the Iditarod for the first of the four times he has competed.

He finished last once, receiving the Red Lantern Award for bringing up the rear.

The grueling race is not for the timid or the poor. It costs Solmonson about $30,000 — some $1,800 in entry fees — the rest in supplies, transportation and equipment, vet bills, dog food for their total of 35 dogs (many are just pups and not used yet for sledding) and transportation to Alaska from Plain, where the family lives most of the year.

In general, keeping the dogs costs about $1,000 a month in food and basic veterinarian care, not including race equipment or the $200 entry fees for events — like one in Joseph, Ore., last weekend in which Solmonson competed.

Every summer the Solmonsons return to Whittier, Alaska, where they give sea-kayak tours, returning to Washington in time for the children to start school.

"Like teachers, the dogs get the summer off," said Solmonson's wife, Lois. But by autumn the dogs are restless. When the temperature drops, they sniff the air as if they know snow is soon to come. And it's then they begin their dog-sled touring business, taking customers into the mountains.

Although competitive dog-sledding began in Alaska, where the first Iditarod, as it's known today, started in 1973, there are now dog-sled races in Poland, Czech Republic, and even Japan.

Training the dogs

When the snow finally arrives every year, Perry Solmonson hitches up the team. First, it's only short runs. Then, as they build stamina, he increases the length.

The puppies — when they're 3 months old — will be introduced to the harness with something lightweight attached behind to get them used to the idea. They are hitched together in a small team at 5 or 6 months and taught commands. They begin pulling tires, but won't pull anything heavier until they are at least a year old, providing they show an interest in being a sled dog. Not all do and if they don't, they are not forced.

Although the Iditarod, in particular, has been harshly criticized as being cruel to the dogs, Solmonson and other mushers insist incidents of abuse are rare and that only dogs who naturally want to run get to run.

Once hitched to his sled, Solmonson's dogs settle into a hypnotic stride as they pass through the snow-laden forests, the sled swerving right and left as he calls out the commands, "gee" for right and "haw" for left. The dogs are not controlled by reins, only voice.

The dogs can travel to up 25 mph, depending on trail conditions. There are no weight restrictions for the sleds they pull, but the long-distance races, like the Iditarod, require carrying a variety of items, including an ax, dog food, change of booties that protect the dogs' feet and other items.

Solmonson, who traded in his Harley-Davidson motorcycle to buy a truck to haul the dogs, is hooked on the bond with the animals, the challenge and the lure of the outdoors.

When he is not giving summer sea-kayaking tours, he gives dog-sled rides and tours in Plain. The dogs allow him and his family a way of life that's interwoven with the seasons.

"Sled dogs are raw and pure. They want to be out there," he said. And so does he.

Nancy Bartley: 206-464-8522 or nbartley@seattletimes.com