Ahead of the biggest day in Britain's husky-racing calendar, meet the 'mushers' and their speed-loving companions.
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| Chariots of Fido: Andy Steadman and his dogs in training - More than 200 teams will be competing at Aviemore this weekend |
It begins as a distant howling in the forest. Quickly it comes closer, until suddenly you are confronted with a sight as breathtaking as it is unexpected. A team of four gleaming white husky dogs, careering at ears-pinned-back speed across the bumpy ground, are pulling behind them a miniature Roman chariot that is driven by a flowing-haired Gaul.
All right, so he's not actually a first-century AD chieftain, he's
Midlands-based builder and repair man Andy Steadman, and the conveyance he's
piloting is more of a heavy-duty tricycle than a front-line war vehicle.
That said, only the most battle-grizzled centurion would be brave enough to
stand in the way of him and his onrushing dog team.
Indeed, the vision is made all the more overpowering by the fact that daylight
has barely broken over the treetops. Which means that as well as having a
wildly waving mane of locks on either side of his head, Andy also has a
powerful torchlight beam emerging from its middle. This isn't just for fun.
He's here with his team to train for the season's biggest gathering, at
Aviemore in the Scottish Highlands, which takes place today and tomorrow.
It's the sort of thing you just don't expect to see in Britain. Out in the
wilds of Alaska, maybe, or skimming across the frozen wastes of Norway or
Finland. But not here in the heart of the National Forest, at Moira, in
Leicestershire. Enthusiasts will be quick to inform you, though, that husky
racing is more popular in Britain than in any other European country outside
Scandinavia.
"There's actually 800 husky racing teams in this country, but you'd never
know it," says Max Wightman, Andy's business partner and fellow "musher",
as they call the sport's exponents. "The reason no one knows about us
is because no one ever sees us. By the very nature of what we do, we have to
stick to places where there aren't many members of the public."
Whether or not the passion is attributable to the British love for dogs or contempt for safety, there is no doubting the dedication: this location, and time of day, being a case in point.
Andy, Max and their families have got up at 4am in order to be here before even the birds are awake, let alone the odd hiker or hillwalker. And this despite the fact that they've paid for a permit from the Forestry Commission, allowing them to train their teams on this specific patch of land.
"When we're training, we're pretty much restricted to either first thing in the morning, or around 9pm at night," says Andy, joining us at the end of his forest circuit. "The exception is when we're staging a big event." And that happens more often than you might think.
The husky-racing season runs from October to March (cold weather only, huskies overheat easily), and there are at least a dozen big events in the ABSA (Affiliated British Sleddog Activities) calendar, most of them attracting up to 60 entries, and taking place in well-known forests such as Sherwood, Ringwood, Wareham and the Forest of Dean. This weekend's competition involves 200 teams, and will go ahead even if there's snow on the tracks around Loch Morlich.
Size of dog teams can vary from one to eight, and races are run not head-to-head, but on a time trial basis, with teams being dispatched at two-minute intervals, across a course between three and five miles long.
Four main breeds are allowed to compete (Samoyeds, Siberian huskies, Alaskan malamutes and Canadian Eskimo dogs), and chariots, or "rigs" cost from £250 to £450 if bought from an online store such as Snowpawstore or Culpeppers, but are cheaper if bought second-hand via the Mushers Exchange website.
Some competitors even manufacture their own rigs, among them Max Wightman. "I've put together a four-wheeled rig, instead of the conventional three-wheeled version," he says, as his seven-year-old son William scoots it gently around the forest car park. "I feel a bit more secure on four wheels, having come off a three-wheeler and broken my shoulder."
Too much dog power was the culprit: often the case. "As the driver, you do have brakes, but the dogs are so strong that there's only a limited amount of time you can hold them. After that, you need to find something secure you can tie them up to."
Hence the large set of hooks-on-a-harness that are standard issue on every chariot. Indeed, no one watching husky racing can fail to be impressed both by the raw muscular oomph of the dogs, and the depth of joy and enthusiasm with which they set about their chariot-pulling.
Each time, Andy and his wife, Ann, reach into their trailer and pick out one of their 12-strong travelling team of dogs, the animal emerges not like some languorous Premier League footballer coming off the substitute's bench, but like a leaping, straining, howling force of nature.
And while the dogs race for sheer love of speed and competition, the same pretty much applies to their human counterparts. There's certainly no money in it, at least not in this country. Whereas big-race winners in Alaska can expect to take home $30,000 (£19,500), first-placed entrants in British events tend to end up with a small cup and a firm handshake from the event organiser.
Sponsors are not Coca-Cola and Barclaycard, but the upmarket German dog food suppliers Happy Dog (slogan Natürlich gesünder, "naturally healthier" – a sort of canine version of Audi's Vorsprung durch Technik).
"In this country, it's still very much a family sport, with family pets taking part," says Andy, and he should know. He himself has won the ABSA championship four times, while his 16-year-old daughter Rebecca has won the junior championship five times.
As for the Wightmans, their idea of a holiday is to drive their dogs over to Sweden and go husky-sledding across the snow. And when they're not racing with their own dogs, either in Britain or Scandinavia, they're looking after other people's: Max's wife, Heidi, runs a sleeps-50 kennel at their home in Nottinghamshire.
So was Max put off the sport by his broken shoulder? Not a bit. "I was back on the rig a couple of days later," he says. "I'm averaging 22mph now. But what makes the difference is getting that extra half-a-mile an hour. That's what we're all after."
Whether or not the passion is attributable to the British love for dogs or contempt for safety, there is no doubting the dedication: this location, and time of day, being a case in point.
Andy, Max and their families have got up at 4am in order to be here before even the birds are awake, let alone the odd hiker or hillwalker. And this despite the fact that they've paid for a permit from the Forestry Commission, allowing them to train their teams on this specific patch of land.
"When we're training, we're pretty much restricted to either first thing in the morning, or around 9pm at night," says Andy, joining us at the end of his forest circuit. "The exception is when we're staging a big event." And that happens more often than you might think.
The husky-racing season runs from October to March (cold weather only, huskies overheat easily), and there are at least a dozen big events in the ABSA (Affiliated British Sleddog Activities) calendar, most of them attracting up to 60 entries, and taking place in well-known forests such as Sherwood, Ringwood, Wareham and the Forest of Dean. This weekend's competition involves 200 teams, and will go ahead even if there's snow on the tracks around Loch Morlich.
Size of dog teams can vary from one to eight, and races are run not head-to-head, but on a time trial basis, with teams being dispatched at two-minute intervals, across a course between three and five miles long.
Four main breeds are allowed to compete (Samoyeds, Siberian huskies, Alaskan malamutes and Canadian Eskimo dogs), and chariots, or "rigs" cost from £250 to £450 if bought from an online store such as Snowpawstore or Culpeppers, but are cheaper if bought second-hand via the Mushers Exchange website.
Some competitors even manufacture their own rigs, among them Max Wightman. "I've put together a four-wheeled rig, instead of the conventional three-wheeled version," he says, as his seven-year-old son William scoots it gently around the forest car park. "I feel a bit more secure on four wheels, having come off a three-wheeler and broken my shoulder."
Too much dog power was the culprit: often the case. "As the driver, you do have brakes, but the dogs are so strong that there's only a limited amount of time you can hold them. After that, you need to find something secure you can tie them up to."
Hence the large set of hooks-on-a-harness that are standard issue on every chariot. Indeed, no one watching husky racing can fail to be impressed both by the raw muscular oomph of the dogs, and the depth of joy and enthusiasm with which they set about their chariot-pulling.
Each time, Andy and his wife, Ann, reach into their trailer and pick out one of their 12-strong travelling team of dogs, the animal emerges not like some languorous Premier League footballer coming off the substitute's bench, but like a leaping, straining, howling force of nature.
And while the dogs race for sheer love of speed and competition, the same pretty much applies to their human counterparts. There's certainly no money in it, at least not in this country. Whereas big-race winners in Alaska can expect to take home $30,000 (£19,500), first-placed entrants in British events tend to end up with a small cup and a firm handshake from the event organiser.
Sponsors are not Coca-Cola and Barclaycard, but the upmarket German dog food suppliers Happy Dog (slogan Natürlich gesünder, "naturally healthier" – a sort of canine version of Audi's Vorsprung durch Technik).
"In this country, it's still very much a family sport, with family pets taking part," says Andy, and he should know. He himself has won the ABSA championship four times, while his 16-year-old daughter Rebecca has won the junior championship five times.
As for the Wightmans, their idea of a holiday is to drive their dogs over to Sweden and go husky-sledding across the snow. And when they're not racing with their own dogs, either in Britain or Scandinavia, they're looking after other people's: Max's wife, Heidi, runs a sleeps-50 kennel at their home in Nottinghamshire.
So was Max put off the sport by his broken shoulder? Not a bit. "I was back on the rig a couple of days later," he says. "I'm averaging 22mph now. But what makes the difference is getting that extra half-a-mile an hour. That's what we're all after."
It was such a great idea that husky sledding comes to Sherwood. I think that having the husky sledding race event is so much fun. I really like to ride on a husky sleigh.
ReplyDeleteI loved the idea too. It was just a pity I had other arrangements last weekend otherwise I would have headed up north to watch the event that took place in Aviemore! I guess there's always next year!
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