Matthew Dickerson, Reprinted from the Addison Independent, March 23, 2000.
Until this winter I'd never even heard of the sport of skijoring. During the last few months, however, I've seen a number of references to the sport in national magazines and newspapers. It's apparently a big deal in Norway, and has been rapidly growing in popularity in our own country. Still, I didn't quite take it seriously until recently when I met several of its practitioners. (Skijorists?).
For those of you still in the dark, skijoring is a cross between cross-country skiing (ski-touring) and dog-sledding. It requires snow, cross-country skis, a pair of harnesses, some sort of tether (preferably with a little elasticity) and a willing dog. It's that final item on the list that really defines the sport. And at this point, even if you've never heard the term "skijoring" before, you've probably guessed the rest. One harness is worn by the dog and the other is for the human. (The skis are for the human, too, in case you're wondering.) The skier simply tethers herself to the dog (or maybe it's the other way around) and goes for a ride.
Of course the goal of skijoring is for the dog to do a significant part of the work, but that depends considerably on the dog. On a recent plane flight to Austin I met my first live skijorists. Finding myself in a row next to a couple from rural Wisconsin, I naturally got into a conversation about the outdoors. It turned out that both of them were avid outdoors-people with a love for canoeing, hiking, and especially cross-country skiing. When I mentioned having read about this new sport called skijoring, they looked at each other with knowing smiles. The ensuing conversation revealed a lot about the sport, at least as it's currently practiced in this country.
"So you're both into skijoring?" I asked.
"We are. It's one of our favorite activities together."
Now from what I'd read so, there isn't any standard skijoring dog breed. However some dogs are more readily trained than others. Also, since most American dogs are couch potatos, there are special training camps for them. Anyway, I made the next natural inquiry. "What kind of dogs do you have?"
"We only have one," the man replied, withing mentioning the breed.
The woman must have seen my eyebrows open in curiosity. "We take turns," she explained. Then, with an embarassed smile, she added, "One of us has to ski on ahead and call the dog. Otherwise it won't go anywhere."
She didn't have to say anymore. My family has recently aquired a dog named Lady. She's a healthy mix of breeds, as the saying goes, but with a dominant streak of Border Collie. She has plenty of juice, and can easily run myself and my three boys into the ground. I haven't yet tried skijoring with her, but I did get a hint of what she might be capable of this past winter. On a whim I hooked her leash onto a sled carrying my two-year old son Peter. Lady gave a confused look for several seconds, clueless about what she was supposed to do. So I gave the sled a little push to start it moving, then ran away and called her. Once she realized the sled was mobile, Lady was off on a tear. And as long as I ran beside her, she continued to give Peter his best ride of the winter. I then tried sitting in the sled myself, but something about those extra hundred and seventy-five pounds seemed to put an end to things. Maybe now, however, I have an answer--as long as I can find somebody to run ahead of me the entire time calling the dog.