After feeding the team, Jeremy the videographer and I took the long walk up to Norm and Whitney’s cabin, where fresh coffee, hot pancakes and dog talk awaited. Norm Lewis, the owner of Seboomook Wilderness Camps, is a retired K9 Maine Game Warden. His son, John Lewis, who had accompanied his father out to camp to meet us, is a K9 policeman in Norway Maine. Both of them had their work dogs with them. Between the three of us there was at least 60 years of working dog stories to tell, and tell them we did.
Every sporting camp that had hosted me had been so kind. Seboomook was no exception. Whitney went out of her way to make Seboomook as welcoming as possible. They weren’t open for the winter; they’d come out here just to host our team. When I asked for a total price of her purchases for reimbursement her reply was “It’s our contribution to the expedition.” And their fellowship was as sweet as their generosity.
I hitched the team and took off. “Woah! Haw!” Realizing that I’d left some gear back at the cabin I turned around and went back. Shortly after, I realized I’d left my ski pole too. This rough start served as a harbinger of the coming day. The moment we left shore, my greatest fears were realized. The recent snowfall had buried any hopes of finding old trailpack, and the driving winds piled snowdrifts atop overflows.
This morning was the most physically trying portion of the expedition. An hour after slogging our way south, I looked behind to see where we started—it was less than a mile away. My leaders, Druid and Frost, were losing confidence. Sleddog leaders follow trails, and when no course is easier than another, they wander. I eventually had to lead the team on foot, marching in calf-to-knee deep snow for two hours. It took us three and a half hours to travel just seven miles.
Suddenly, a lone snowmobile passed within three hundred yards. “We have ourselves a path, kiddos!” I said. Over the next ten miles, it became clear my leaders were burning out. I eventually moved Vodka into single lead, but even she began breaking for the shoreline as we approached Mount Kineo. The mountain was dramatic and majestic, a welcome surprise even if I approached from the wrong side for the videographer.
I sat for a moment with my map. It was here I decided to put Bear in lead next to Vodka. Bear is a strong male who likes going straight. He ensured we made progress South by yanking Vodka back on course every time she tried to turn toward the shoreline.
Eventually, I tried a risky move: putting Frost and Vodka side-by-side. They despise one another, but that competitive spirit worked. Each wanted to be in front of the other, and soon we were flying faster than at any other point in the expedition.
By the time we passed between Deer and Sugar Islands, the temperature was dropping and the trail was hardening. The sun was setting by Big Moose Mountain and a magnificent full moon was rising. In the distance, I could see the white alpine cap of Mount Katahdin.
A snowmobiler named Bill approached to tell me folks were gathering in town. “The mayor of Greenville wants to know what time you think you will arrive.” I told him an hour. The moon lit the way, and I kept my headlamp blinking red to alert the many snowmobilers coming out to see us.
I was excited to see my family, but sad it was over. I’d grown so much as a musher. For the first time, my life was truly dependent on my dogs’ performance, and theirs on my care. That symbiosis brought us to another level as a team.
I could hear people cheering, then the voices of my wife and daughter. Faces came into view as we drove onto the shore at Thoreau park.
The mayor was there, but it felt strange—like finishing Marine training. I was tired. I needed to feed and load the dogs. Cynthia Robbins approached me about retiring Sawyer at the Poland Spring Resort. It was poetic: Sawyer, a descendant of Togo, would retire to the same mansion and fireside that Togo did almost 100 years ago.
The trip was over. I’d lost eight pounds and almost lost my toes to frostbite, but I’d gained respect for my team. Faith married to action can move mountains. I hope you’ve enjoyed joining me on this trip. I want to encourage you to also join us in building a statue in Togo’s honor at Poland Spring.
