Chak de! has now become something of a catchphrase. National pastimes do not suffer from shadows of colonial rule or alien influence. The portly Sumo wrestlers of Japan or the kick-boxers of Cambodia will probably drive this point home. Alaskans similarly pride themselves on dog sledding, or ‘mushing’, as their state sport. Their ultimate test of endurance is the Iditarod — the annual 1,150-mile dogsled race from Anchorage to the town of Nome over 9 relentless days of blizzards, ice and snow.

One August evening, our helicopter reared up from a small airstrip in the Alaskan capital of Juneau under the shadows of snow-capped mountains. Ahead of us loomed Mendenhall Glacier — a wall of ice sloping into the lake waters. As the pilot negotiated the landing upon the glacier’s vast body, I saw rows of kennels below — mere specks on the spotless white landscape. A hundred restless dogs broke into an orchestra of continual barking which my kindly guide, Ben Steyer, interpreted as welcome-party excitement.

Ben harnessed 11 sled dogs as a ‘gangline team’ — pairs on either side arranged in five rows for a two-mile sled ride around base camp. At the lead would be precious seven-year-old Jellybean. Lead dogs have a mind of their own. They regulate the speed of the team and negotiate danger. Jumpier Ferret and Beagle were the ‘swing’ dogs, right behind the lead. The heavier ones ahead of the sled were the ‘wheel’ dogs. The rest were ‘team’ dogs trained for their stamina and endurance. The sled was fitted with a bar to stand on, complete with ‘snow hook’ brakes, a crude device that dug into the white terrain upon pressure.

... contd.