The real winner

The sun glinted off the compacted snow, causing me to squint my eyes to narrow slits. It was mid-January, and the eager gathering of people was heading in a single, definite direction.

I could feel the cold steel through my heavy-duty jeans and long johns as the crowd pushed me against the frost-covered chain link fence. I leaned over the icy cold wire and strained to see the reason for the crowd’s excitement. The pressing spectators shouted and screamed as though gladiators had been turned loose on the strip of snow-packed trail no wider than four feet.

A sudden hush fell over the crowd. Excited barking of dogs could be heard in the distance.

A harsh blast from a bullhorn signaled, “Go.” Simultaneously, the crowd came alive, yelling, screaming and jumping up and down in their excitement.

I leaned even farther across the fence, watching as furry blurs, eight and 10 at a time went charging past. Wooden runners on sleds made an almost silent swishing sound as they sliced through the snow against the icy ground.

I heard the commanding shouts of a musher as he clung tightly to the back of his sled. As the last team pulled in front of me I felt a sudden kinship with the lead dog. He strained proudly against the harness and, at the same time, kept the other dogs in pace and heading in the right direction. It seemed as though hard work was the only life he knew. His paws digging into the snow and his sleek body straining against the harness would earn his keep for another day. His heart pounding with excitement at the task before him, it appeared he was ready to give his all.

Suddenly, I realized the team was no longer in front of me, but was fast fading into the distance. My heart began to beat faster and a feeling of pride swelled in my chest, forcing a lump to my throat. I felt a soaring sense of freedom as I realized we, the lead dog and I, had a mutual attitude toward life. Almost sadly, though, I knew I would not be able to express this feeling to anyone else in this crowd of people.

I brushed away the tears of fierce pride and pretended they were just a result of the cold. I turned up my collar, my neck and ears appreciating the newfound warmth, and waited in the milling crowd. My thoughts became my own, and I thanked my Creator for letting me live in such a unique place.

Excitement stirred the crowd into action again, and I heard children shouting, “Here they come.”

I was too embarrassed to let my emotions show, so I stood in quiet awe as the furry servants of man in all his pursuits — earnest labor or sheer pleasure — returned. Their tongues were hanging out, and white foamy saliva was frozen to their fur. Their sides were heaving as they labored for breath, and the swishing of the wooden sled runners was not as fast as before as they reached the finish line.

I walked over to greet the champion team. Their tails drooped as they dug at the snow, licking at it to satisfy their thirst. One by one they fell on the frozen earth, quivering from exhaustion while their musher checked the pads of their paws and dutifully patted each one. Some managed to move their heads, but most responded with a simple thump of their tail upon the ground.

The smell of wet fur filled the air, while the crowd’s excited chatter gradually drowned out the sound of panting dogs.

The Blue Ribbon went to the winning musher, but even as he received the award, the lead dog lifted his head momentarily, and my eyes met his. “You and I know who the real winner is. Don’t we old friend?” I thought as a mutual understanding seemed to pass between us.

As I turned to leave, I glanced from the tired dogs to the snow covered mountains only a mile or so away. Taking a deep contented breath, I started to walk at a brisk pace, singing, “To an Old Sourdough Like Me.”

I knew at that moment, that I was really a part of this magical wilderness, called Alaska.

Ruth Moore lives and writes in Palmer.