Churchill Redux Part II: The Dogs of Churchill

Canadian Eskimo dog puppy, typical of his breed, tethered outside of the Arctic Trading Company, Churchill, Manitoba

The North Country is dog country, and working dog country at that. The archaeological and historical records show that native peoples of the circum-arctic region - Canada, the U.S. (Alaska), Russia, Norway, Greenland - have used dogs as beasts of burden, to pull sleds, and as vital collaborators in the hunt (bears, seals, muskox) for at least two millennia. Their ancestors are known to have brought the progenitors of the modern arctic dogs with them on their migrations from Asia to North America thousands of years ago.

Americans are familiar with the most refined breeds of sled dogs in which specific features such as size and weight, stance, fur type, coloration, and conformation, consistently meet defined standards. These include the Siberian husky and the Alaskan malamute, both of which are most commonly kept as house pets, although they can and do work in harness as well. But as usual, what we think we know about something, we don't really. On this November trip we received an introductory education to the complex world of sled (or sledge) dogs, as understood by the people of Churchill. No visit to Churchill is complete without it.

Miniature carved caribou antler dog musher, sled and team, Eskimo Museum, Churchill, MB. The card says, "Man with Dog Team: The driver indicated direction by calling to the lead dog. He emitted various sounds to encourage the group. A whip kept the lead dog in line or alerted the tired dog which would stop at the slightest provocation. Sometimes tufts of fur or skin on top of the tail or body would be torn off and the dog would yelp. The whip was rolled by being brought quickly back and then forward suddenly with a quick movement."

There are two major "camps" of sled dog breeders/ keepers in Churchill. The first is comprised of traditional mushers, that is, people who hitch dogs to sleds for transportation, recreation, and for competition, such as that spectacular test of canine and hominid endurance, Alaska's nearly 1,050 mile Iditarod race, or, in Churchill's case, the 220 mile  Hudson Bay Quest. In Churchill, we were treated to a visit to Wapusk Adventures, hosted by its bigger-than-life founder and owner, Dave Daley. Musher Daley clearly is committed to educating visitors to the world of Canadian sled dogs, which, as far as I can tell, is a catch-all term that refers to dogs that are long-legged, lean running machines. Although they live their lives outdoors (except for the shelter of plywood houses, door lee to the wind, with a pile of insulating straw bedding), they are carefully socialized to people. And Dave Daley makes sure his dogs know he is their alpha, their leader, their security, their feeder, and their source of joy in life. Daley keeps a kennel of maybe 40 dogs, and breeds them to produce only the occasional litter to assure that as his older dogs retire their replacements are trained, conditioned and ready to go. Here are some pups from the 2012 litter, kenneled at the visitor center, eager and available for pats and "conversation" with friends and strangers alike:

This is where the adults spend their non-working hours:

 

But as soon as the tourist bus pulls up, all are on alert. They are hoping, hope against hope, that it will be their turn to pull a musher (driver) and two riders for an all-too-quick spin through the forest path. When the harnesses come out, they start to bark and yowl, begging to be chosen for the job!

That wide mouth and show of teeth and the loud barks and yelps you can imagine to mean, "I can't wait to get running!" This particular dog was so funny, with his little boots. He must have been sore of foot, but a back bootie fell off early in the game and he ran all his circuits with just three, with no hint of lameness. 

I love the guy in the back there, with so much enthusiasm that as long as he can't move forward, he will move upward!

Here's what the rig looks like: one tourist seated, one standing, and a spot in back for the musher to stand (not visible in this photo):

Video © K.L. Kuehnel 

And they're off! It's amply clear the dogs live for this moment. The sensation is that they reach top speed - let's say, 3 to 4 miles per hour - as soon as the musher lets off the brake. Then the only sound is the sled's runners on the hard-packed snow and the occasional soft patting of the dogs' feet (the camera's microphone exaggerates the sound of the wind). It's very interesting to ride behind them and see how each animal has its distinct gait, pull-strength, and level of concentration - that's how a good musher like Dave Daley knows how to position his dogs - lead, swing dog, wheel dog, etc. - for the best speed, control, and peaceful achievement of distance. 

And here they come, having completed a bracing turn through the woods with their thrilled guests in tow. The cold was unnoticeable in that late afternoon light and peerless fresh air, steadily sailing along behind these fulfilled athletes. Dog-sledding now ranks high on my list of life's great pleasures.

This is Venus, of Wapusk Adventures. Isn't she lovely, with her ice blue eyes and sexy black "eye-liner"? Note, however, that her build, typical of a Canadian sled dog, is not that of a husky or malamute, nor does she have the thick fur expected of an animal that works and plays in the extreme cold of the Arctic.

The Canadian Eskimo dog, unlike the more common Canadian sled dogs that look like their genetic heritage might be a bit helter-skelter, is recognized by the Canadian Kennel Club as an endangered breed.

The long history of this rugged indigenous dog, so closely intertwined with that of the Inuit peoples, came perilously close to an end in the 1970's as the Inuit adopted mechanized means of transport like snow-mobiles and ATVs, removing the motivation to keep dogs - the Canadian Eskimo's metabolism is that of a pure carnivore, and in that sense it expensively competes with people for sources of quality protein and fat. Various organizations and individuals around Canada still breed the dog to keep it from the brink of extinction, and among them, the most well-known and controversial by far is Churchill's Brian Ladoon. Ladoon virtually single-handedly represents the second "camp" of dog breeders in Churchill.
 

Ladoon's dogs are particularly famous because they are "tied down" - that is, each on a 15 or so foot chain tethered to long cable anchored in the ground, Inuit-style - in prime polar bear country.  Photographer par excellence Norbert Rosing happened to witness and document the apparently remarkable interactions between the restrained dogs and bears awaiting freeze-up on Hudson Bay. Rosing's images show what, to all appearances, is affectionate play among bears and dogs, and the behavior has been observed regularly since. (Follow the link to see Rosing's photos; the images below are all mine.) As far as I can determine, from a scientific standpoint the behavior remains poorly understood.  

Not everyone believes these interactions are so charmingly innocent, however. Ladoon, whose very large pack of dogs has to be fed meat, profits from charging delighted visitors to enter the dog's unfenced compound. He has often been accused of baiting the bears by over-feeding the dogs, thus attracting more visitors hoping to see the bears romping and snuggling with their canine pals. The leftover food would of course attract the fasting bears, which, apparently satisfied with the meat, do not kill/eat the dogs. At least they don't usually kill the dogs; in fact, several fatal bear-dog interactions, whether intentional or accidental on the part of the bears, have been documented to occur each year. Ladoon blames this on the interference of wildlife managers that have removed the bears because of their habituation, which in turn makes room for aggressive bears to enter the area and kill the dogs. 

Unlike the sled dogs of Wapusk Adventures whose plywood houses are nestled in the windbreak of the forest, and where visitation by bears is vigorously discouraged, Ladoon's Inuit-style tie-down is on a highly exposed acre or two of tundra with no shelter what-so-ever, winter, spring, summer or fall. The tie-down is no where near Ladoon's home, nor that of anyone else, for that matter. What happens to the dogs out there happens, almost always, with no opportunity for human intervention.

This polar bear, easily identified by the pattern of scars on his old face, is known as "Dancer" and in spite of the defensive response from the dogs, never approached them or otherwise behaved threateningly as we watched for over half an hour one morning.

Even if Ladoon's feeding practice is not in fact attracting polar bears, there is plenty more basis for concern. The Inuit didn't invite their dogs into their igloos when the daily highs fell below-zero and stayed there all winter long; hunkered down in the snow, the dogs were sufficiently protected by their fur and body fat, and Ladoon's dogs apparently are too. But nobody talks to winter tourists about what happens when the temperature stays above freezing, as it does in the subarctic summers. While in the winter, dog excrement quickly freezes and is in effect vaporized by the friction of the dogs' chains dragging across it, in summer, it seems likely the feces pile up and particularly attract the intense irruptions of biting flies the tundra is famous for.  Although each chained animal has a circle of about 30 feet in which to move around, it cannot be healthy for the dogs to be restrained in proximity to excrement, nor can it be humane to set up a situation in which they cannot escape hoards of biting insects.

The internet is more than full of opinions about Ladoon: he's a saint who is saving a unique indigenous working dog, caring for them the way they were bred to live, he is misdirected and self-glorifying at the expense of his animals... But in my mind, what is incontestably egregious is not that the dogs are exposed to the elements (by far the most common complaint) - after all, they appear healthy and show a lively response to the presence of visitors - and bears - but the fact that they are never harnessed to sled. They are born and bred to work, but as far as I could determine, Ladoon's dogs never get beyond the small circles to which they are chained. This seems to me to be the ultimate justification for revoking Ladoon's license - which, by the way, is not official, but at the behest of Churchill's leadership, which doubtless has its reasons for supporting tourist attractions and local business. I was also given to understand that Ladoon does not readily give or sell his dogs to others who might harness and run them - it appears that he in essence hoards them in the name of saving the breed. 

Adult dogs at Ladoon's tie-down on the tundra

Canadian Eskimo dog puppy tethered in front of a shop in town where tourists can pat and contribute to the socialization of the pups

Carved baleen silhouette, Eskimo Museum, Churchill, probably dating from the 1940s or '50s

Traditional Inuit seal-hunting vignette in tufted caribou fur by Churchillian Myrtle Demeulles

If you know, or feel, differently about Ladoon's or Daley's dogs, kindly comment, as my opinions are formed on the basis of limited personal experience and a great deal of third-party opinion, which is consistent only in that it is inconsistent. 

Go to Part III

Churchill Redux Part I: Introduction to 2012, and Getting There by Air

Jim Halfpenny at the Churchill Northern Studies Centre, November 2012

We have returned from a second trip to Churchill, Manitoba; if you haven't already, I encourage you to read last year's trip report, starting with Part I and concluding with Something about Winnipeg. However spectacular last year's journey was, this was more so. When we returned to Chicago late last October, we were fulfilled and thrilled with our experiences, yet had the feeling that we had not absorbed all there was, that we had missed important things, that certain occasions bore re-visiting, and that we simply weren't done yet. When we learned our friends Tonya and Jane had also been to Churchill, under different leadership, a little later, a little colder, and had seen 75 or 80 more polar bears than we, we knew what we had to do. Much earlier in 2012 than was really seemly for a November trip, we got in touch with Jim Halfpenny, renowned naturalist, teacher, researcher and guide, who takes one group of about 18 people each year for intense immersion, instruction, and enjoyment under the rubric of his one-man tour company, A Naturalist's World. I had never previously met Jim, though he lives in Gardiner, Montana, at Yellowstone's North Entrance, and teaches about predatory mammals, tracking, and other interesting subjects at the Yellowstone Association's Institute and at his own Track Education Center and Museum in Gardiner. I have long had two of his many books on my shelf at home: Winter: An Ecological Handbook (with Roy Douglas Ozanne) and Scats and Tracks of the Rocky Mountains: A Field Guide to the Signs of 70 Wildlife Species.  More about this interesting man later...

In this year's series I'm going to post on topics that weren't covered, or weren't thoroughly covered, either by blogging, experience, or instruction, last year. First up: one of Canada's workhorse regional air transportation companies, Calm Air, and the reasons for loving to fly. Canada's regional transportation needs present very different issues than those of the United States. Unlike ours, which is more or less evenly distributed, Canada's population density drops off strikingly the farther north you go (the red star on Hudson Bay is Churchill):

View map source here

However, low density doesn't mean no one lives there. There are four major groups who make the northlands their home: the Inuit, the First Nations (aboriginal) peoples such as the Dene, and the Cree/Ojibway, and the Métis, or people of mixed aboriginal-European heritage. Also permanently or intermittently resident "north of the green dots" are many people of European ancestry. 

The completely roadless remoteness presents many challenges for delivering goods and services, for conducting business (including extractive industries and tourism), for sustaining household economies, for education, communication, and perhaps above all else, for routine and emergency medical care. The distances are significant. From Winnipeg in lower Manitoba to Churchill, is 850 miles. For those who live beyond, it can be nearly twice as far by air, and only a few locations (including Churchill) are served by rail. Regional air services are the workhorses and saviors for the inhabitants of those tiny green dots.

Women living in towns as "large" as Churchill (the year-round population is about 800) and as small as a couple of hundred people, are flown to the nearest town or city to give birth, even when no problems are anticipated. People who suffer accidents - of which there must be plenty in this land of heavy physical labor - and acute or chronic illnesses also must be air lifted to towns with trauma centers and full medical services. On our leg from Winnipeg to Churchill was a very young woman with her baby girl of just 48 hours, flyinghome from Winnipeg to Arviat via Churchill. Young mother was by herself: no mother or grandmother, no sister, no baby father, no money provided for anyone to accompany her to the bright lights of a major urban labor and delivery room and back home with her tiny infant. She was cheerful and sweetly confident, and her baby was content throughout the 2 hour 15 minute flight to Churchill.

Our flight left before dawn on a darkly overcast, slightly rainy Winnipeg morning. Once checked in, our group of 19, the young mother and child, and a sprinkling of other travelers were quickly boarded on the day's first flight out on Calm Air's model ATR 42 300 turboprop, with seating for 42 passengers that is much more comfortable than your average Boeing 737. This is an aircraft with the wing at the top of the body ("high wing" design), which means good views for most passengers. Since the major joy of flying for me is the prospect of views, I was delighted. The clouds weren't so thick that we weren't above them almost immediately, so I sat back and watched the delicate pale blue of the sky lighten ever so gently. 

 

Calm Air lived up to its name as were served a little box breakfast. When was the last time you were served reasonable food on a flight that short? When was the last time your seat pocket provided a handy written (Roman letters and Canadian Aboriginal Syllabic) and transliterated translation of English to Inuktituk (the language of the Inuit) of phrases commonly needed by the traveler?  

Then suddenly it was dawn no more: the sun had breached the clouds below, revealing spots of dirt on the window and the glorious deep blue skies of the day.

But  soon we were to lose sight of the sun once again as we, calmly of course, set down on the 9,200 foot tarmac of Churchill's little airport. Read the interesting history of this little airport at Transport Canada's website. Suffice it to say, the extremely long runway is a U.S. Department of Defense strategic legacy.  

Last year we arrived in a wet windstorm, with very little visibility from the air. But this year, when we popped down below the cloud deck, I got my first shots of the tundra with a bit of boreal forest for relief of the otherwise watery, nearly flat, and featureless monochromatic landscape: 

Alas, the weather was not so sparklingly bright on the ground either, but here's a view of our commodious chariot from the outside.

 

And Churchill's cheery little terminal

 

Our departure a week later finally afforded more substantially interesting views. In this image, the edge of Hudson Bay, with its fast-developing shore ice, and the Churchill River, which already had significant ice formation, are clearly visible:

In this more inland view, it's easy to see how wide and braided the Churchill River is:

This shot of what has to be called "Heart Lake" was taken some distance west and south of Churchill, as is evident by the taiga (thick forestation), but still in very remote territory nonetheless:

I look at this and think, what goes on down there? Do people occupy these empty spaces, with all their features and beauty evident from above? Has someone mapped and studied every one of those little ponds and pools and lakes? Is it a great place to fish in the summer? Is it protected land? Or will it be despoiled by extractive activities, will it have disappeared the next time I fly over?

Paying attention to what's below the aircraft can add immeasurably to one's conception of land forms, impressions of population density (none, in the case of northern Manitoba), and man's use and abuse of the earth. And it can awe one's spirit in its with majesty and beauty.  Oh, and how I do love powerfully noisy machines (turn on your sound for the best effect)!

(The apparently slow movement of the propeller is an artifact of the use of a DSLR rather than a proper video camera.)

 Stay Calm and Carry On.

 
Go to Part II: The Dogs of Churchill

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