17. He who walks ... 
Musher The word Creole has an etymology. Word vagrant, he is French-born, before returning to misrepresent English language in his country of origin. Musher just Mush!, Injunction initiated by the leaders of sled dogs in their cattle. Mush! Ma'sh! Walk! Originally a French Canadian word from the mouths distorted Ango-Saxon.
The musher is in fact a walker. And indeed, the sleigh, as practiced today has little to do with the sled of yesteryear.
past, mushers were foremost providers of skin, equipment or food. They made the trips and forwards between the village and the forest camp, went to get the skins from trappers indigenous northern white, they sometimes skidding wood in the forest. The sled on packed snow trails, they often had to open Snowshoe, forcing the dogs to pass the most difficult places, to lift the soul to the pyre or fallen wood to build bridges of snow.
Today in the era of ecotourism, outfitters of outdoor sensations that we maintain the roads, riding on snowmobiles, chain saw in hand. If this work is not less exacting, at least it is faster. Albeit with Jo last week, we have failed to fully open the track that goes from our hut in the camp Arka, via Lake Superior. In the most difficult passages, we will not advance more than one kilometer per hour.
This week the sky has given us a surplus of snow, I'm back as a walker. The background lent itself well, I had with me a trainee musher Eric, and he did well, so I shoved my habits and we opened a path.
We took a strong team, Call, Khufu, Kameroun, of course, Keff, mashk, Krija, Arka, Viko, Skouta and the young Kaptein who found this a chance to harden a little. On the first day we joined the camp Arka through the notch and tight under a shower of snow, in an effort rather long, and especially intense.
The next day, the legs were heavy-legs, for that matter. The goal of the day was to open the track of the Lady-who-falls to Lake Superior, nearly empty sledges, and back. Call me and Keffi suddenly remembered that the early season had left traces and only if six years is the age of full maturity for a dog, it's also the end of their youth spirited. Keff, the body buried in snow up to his mouth, shortness of breath, as to call it simply refused to work in mind. So rather than let me go to a futile rage against this lack of enthusiasm, I found the footsteps of the ancients.
snow shoes, I'm back walking, sometimes ordering dog does not move when I was looking for a way or I sawed a tree, calling to follow in my footsteps when I found the path. An intense effort that has found its reward in a sunny Lake Falardeau for them, and a meal around the fire for us.
The next day, great weather we intimated to seek once more the dogs for a walk to the camp trapper, via Lake of lynx and the Great Savannah. A route that is of course a clean track, but which proved, here too, very spicy with six inches of fresh snow made by a mercury Rapone at -25 ° C.
Then the last day I'm done, once again, Walker. Morning stiffness that had not won legs, and heads as if the dogs knew how to show fiery on the comeback trail, they balk at any effort as soon as we walked away from our roads. I have all of
even decided to cross the lake to rejoin the Pike entrance to a bad track, full of fallen timber and forest drains. I did not want to borrow it, just see if the weather had reduced my efforts last year to zero. And like Call did not want to know anything, I took the lead. I walked the lake, quietly, Khufu and Kameroun to my left, Call to my right, all seek from time to time a wave of his hand, never let me down or try to overtake me, they were so tired .
few years ago, I would have won against that call did not go forward, but as time passes me the lesson, the lesson of the wood. It is useless to struggle and exhaustion cons about what you can not have taken. There is no defeat, only a path that ends, whatever way. And we can all share with our dogs, and fatigue.
Thanks to Eric for his photos: others on http://skimok.blogspot.com
