mushing | Joseph Lawrence Olbrych

Maintaining a remote glacier camp isn’t easy. When long days of summer heat, persistent rain, the warmth of 183 dogs and a busy camp melt away the previous winter’s snowfall to a thousand foot layer of glacier ice, it is essential to move further up glacier where snow is more abundant. Why wouldn’t we just start where there is more snow? The further up glacier our camp sits, the more likely we will experience poor weather, thus fewer opportunities to offer tours.

Since our initial camp at the base of a towering peak with the name “The Guardian”, we have moved our entire operation twice–both moves vastly different than the other. Our first move was all hands on deck–our entire team of twenty, along with the support of two pilots and their A-Star helicopters. In probably one of Juneau’s hottest summer days, we moved 65,000 pounds of stuff, dogs and all, 6 miles to our “Howling Huskies” camp up the middle branch of the Norris Glacier. Several trips and about thirteen quick hours later, we were settled into our new camp between two massive hanging glaciers on either side of us, and a granite peak whose form is reminiscent of two howling huskies.

After about a month at “Howling Huskies”, we knew we’d move again, but when the decision to do so was made, it was without any warning. Not only was this camp sitting on just two feet of snow, but water was beginning to seep up from the glacier, forming pools of water throughout the kennel. So after a full day of working and waiting for the weather to clear for tours, we ate an early dinner around 6:00 and began moving everything. Although we only moved a little over a mile, we had just three snow machines (the Alaskan way to say snowmobile), half our crew, and a full day of work already behind us.

Instead of loading dogs into helicopters, we took teams of 14-16 dogs directly to the new camp, where we unhooked them and introduced them to their new homes. Unlike Camp Move #1, rain hardly let up, it was dark enough to see the light of distant snow machines between camps, and it was cold–the Alaska I had imagined and expected. But we finished in a just under four hours. If we had gone any later I’m not sure I’d have been able to function for morning tours. But by 11:00 I was in my sleeping bag with the propane heater on high, drying out myself and my clothes. And without any weather canceling, we began a regular day of tours at 8:30–after a hot breakfast of course.

We begin to hear the whump-whump-whump of the helicopters before they crest the final ridgeline before camp. To us, the sound means “it’s go-time.” In a second, the copters are just barely visible dots coming into the valley, and in a few more, they are on the snow with travelers from all over the world. From a distance, their smiles break any language barrier. From their perspective in the helicopter, the sound of slowing rotor blades drown out the 180 howling huskies before them, all eager to run.

“Welcome to Dog World,” we say as we greet visitors and take their safety fanny packs. After directing them to the opposite side of the helicopter, we juggle their fancy cameras to get their photos while talking small talk—“Where are you from?”, “Is this your first time to Alaska?”, “Have you ever been on a glacier before?”, “Do you have a dog?” et cetera ad nausium. But in that brief amount of time I get with them before they take their tour with our mushers, I am reminded at how amazing it is to be in a place like this for the first time.

As I flew over that last ridgeline and caught my first glimpse of my summer home on the Norris Glacier, I could still hardly believe it. It was even more amazing than I had imagined from the video (see below). The camp, the dogs, the people—the whole operation collectively referred to as Dog World was as foreign as the moon. In the evening, I saw my co-workers eyes for the first time which were hidden throughout the day by glacier glasses, their shape outlined by suntanned skin.

Throughout a day of tours I am constantly reminded that I have the best job in the world. I’ll believe that. It is pretty awesome. But what is even more satisfying is the chance I get to be a part of so many people’s “life changing experiences.” For them, it is the trip of a lifetime, a major check off a bucket list, or whatever other way they categorize the experience.

For a better idea of what our operation is all about, check out the Alaska Heli-Mush promo video (It may have been a reason I chose to work at a sled dog tour kennel for the summer to begin with)

Joseph Lawrence Olbrych

Tag Archives: mushing

Moving a camp on ice

I live at a place referred to as “dog world”