Early on a crisp autumn morning, I was feeling a little apprehensive as I wound my way down a country road near Parkton, Maryland, about a half-hour’s drive north of Baltimore. My contact, Catherine Benson, had dropped a pin on a map, mentioning cornfields and a wooded trail.
“Bring a helmet,” she’d written in an email. “Any kind of helmet is fine.” Oh, and one more thing. “Clothes that can get a little dog fur on them are also a good idea.”
I wondered if it would be obvious where to stop. As I went around a curve, I realized I needn’t have worried. Nine stunning Siberian huskies, all clipped to a chain alongside a pickup truck, raised their heads in unison at my approach.
As soon as I got out of the car, the dogs began barking and howling and pacing, straining against their leads. They were clearly ready for what was coming. I couldn’t quite say the same.
I quickly spotted Benson, who was readying the rig that would be our transport on the Torrey C. Brown Rail Trail, part of Gunpowder Falls State Park. Benson is the owner and tour leader of Maryland Sled Dog Adventures, which offers families, school groups, Scout troops and other winter sports enthusiasts a taste of the Iditarod-style mushing that most people associate with Alaska. She and her late husband, Eric, began the business in 2007 when they were looking for an energy outlet for their rambunctious husky Zoe. Benson is also a practicing lawyer and mother of three. It’s clear that the dogs are part of the family, too.
Splitting her time between Maryland and Maine, she does both traditional dog sledding on snow as well as dryland dog sledding, also known as dryland mushing, where the dog team pulls a wheeled rig instead of a sled.
Originally developed as an out-of-season training option for sled dogs, dryland mushing has become an established sport in its own right, mimicking the excitement and speed of sledding but without relying on Jack Frost to cooperate. Mushing has its roots in the French term marcher (“to walk”) and is thought to have originated with the French “voyageurs” who explored and hunted across the North American continent in the 1800s.
After asking me to sign a waiver and don my helmet and safety glasses, Benson said, “Let me introduce you to the dogs,” explaining that she uses only purebred Siberian huskies versus Alaskan huskies, a class of mixed-breed working dogs used in sledding races like the Iditarod. Siberians were originally bred by the Chukchi people of northeast Asia and are universally prized for their beauty and strength—with thick coats and piercing blue, brown or heterochromatic (one of each) eyes.
The first dog I met was Boss, a pretty chill fellow for being under 2 years of age. His teammates include Drogo (named for the “Game of Thrones” warrior), A Boy Named Sue (whom Benson calls “Cash,” as in Johnny), Stark, Zoom, Casco Bay, Ebony, Nisha and Teji. Most of the dogs in the team of six males and three females are intact—not neutered or spayed—and their overall energy is high.
Benson immediately put me to work harnessing the dogs. Putting a harness on a big husky you’ve only just met is not for the faint of heart. I finally got one on correctly in the time it took Benson to do the rest.
Next, she sat me in the rig—a three-wheeled cart with a seat similar to that of a recumbent bike. One by one, she put the dogs into their places on the line, with Drogo and Stark leading the pack.
“Line out!” Benson commanded, and the dogs immediately pulled the line taut so she could continue hooking them on. Closest to me at the nearly 200-pound rig was Cash, the strongest and biggest of the bunch, whose back is thick with musculature. As a team, the dogs can pull about 1,000 pounds.
With all the dogs loaded up and Benson standing behind me in the rig, I felt a little like Santa Claus with his reindeer. “You better hold onto that,” she joked as I pulled out my phone to take pictures. (At least I think she was joking.) “If you drop your phone, we’re not stopping.”
Then, with a single command—“Hike!”—we were off and running, the dogs’ legs powerfully working, their back muscles hunched and engaged, the colorful autumn leaves flying by in a blur. Using the word “Mush!” to begin a sledding ride is Hollywood fiction, according to Benson. The term is simply too soft to be authoritative.
The team of canines that had initially registered as nine individuals with distinct personalities now pulled as one, in perfect synchronicity, reminding me a little of a rowing team. Although the dogs clearly responded to Benson’s commands, they also responded to the pace set by Drogo and Stark. When the two lead dogs slowed, the rest of the team slowed; when they picked up the pace, everyone did.
The trail’s mostly flat surface was ideal for mushing, although the dogs can certainly handle inclines too, Benson said as she gave me a crash course in dog sledding terminology: “Gee” means right and “Haw” means left, so commonly used phrases include “Gee over,” meaning “move right,” or “Come haw,” meaning make a U-turn left.
During our mushing session—which covered 4 miles at a brisk, blowing-my-hair-back pace—she used one phrase above all others: “On by,” which means “go on by,” or stop looking at that squirrel or sniffing those flowers on the side of the trail.
“On by!” she yelled to the dogs as a man walking his clearly inferior-feeling mutt passed us. “ON! BY! ON! BY!” Dogs are dogs, after all, and they are curious.
People are curious, too, and nearly every person we passed stopped and gawked. That made me feel less like Santa and more like Queen Elizabeth in her gilded horse-drawn carriage. I couldn’t resist extending a few royal waves.
At the halfway point, Benson and the team executed a flawless U-turn to point us back toward the road. As we sped back, she told me about the many Scout troops and other groups she’s hosted for mushing rides. (Because the rig fits only one passenger at a time, she takes people on short trips, one by one, or spreads them down the trail, relay style, and picks them up and drops them off in succession.) She also does school presentations, usually in conjunction with some curriculum around the Iditarod or Alaska, and the huskies are always treated like rock stars.
She brings the dogs to sledding races throughout the winter, such as the annual Maine State Championship Sled Dog Race in Farmington, Maine. With their thick coats, huskies are suited to cold weather. Except for the most frigid winter days, Benson runs her tours early in the morning so the dogs don’t overheat.
Back at the truck, it was time to feed the team their kibble, which she measured out carefully based on each individual dog’s dietary needs, pouring water into each bowl of food—a common practice among mushers because it helps to keep the water from freezing in winter temperatures and ensures greater hydration for tuckered-out dogs.
Collectively, the pack goes through about 4,000 pounds of food per year. Cash, the big fellow who pulled closest to the rig, finished his bowl in about two bites.
And with that, it was time for me to make my way home. But now I had memories of a thrilling dog sledding adventure—and, yes, a little dog fur on my jeans.
If You Go
Parkton, Maryland, is about 30 miles north of Baltimore.
Casual Woodfire Kitchen is the perfect place to relax with a glass of wine and a rustic wood-fired pizza or a “sammie” served with house-cut fries. The high gabled ceiling and wood paneling add to its cozy ski-lodge feel.
Casa Mia’s, owned by the husband-and-wife team of George and Catherine Nichols, offers a blend of Greek, Italian and American fare. The undisputed star of the menu is their “Colossal Crab Cake”—a “no filler, no filter” version of the Maryland staple that patrons can either eat in the restaurant or purchase online for shipping.
Walking into the red main building of Bull House Winery would feel like stepping back in time if the entertainment weren’t so fresh and modern. The winery hosts live music, painting parties, food trucks, charcuterie classes and more. And wine. Lots of wine.
At Big Truck Farm Brewery, come for the cool truck illustrations on the cans and glasses, and stay for the beer. The regular menu of ales and lagers is supplemented with a rotating array of seasonal and specialty brews.
After a day spent outdoors, treat yourself to some pampering at Elizabeth Jacob Spa & Salon. The full-service salon and spa offers a range of rejuvenating treatments including facials, massage and full body scrubs, as well as hair, makeup and nail care. Guests can also spend time in the sauna and “serenity room.”
Kim O’Connell is a writer based in Aurora Highlands and a longtime cat person, but the huskies may have changed her mind about dogs.