Are There Huskies in Heaven?
HETTA (ENONTEKIO), FINLAND: September 3-November 14, 2013
Steve: Living and
working at the Hetta Huskies dog farm…both everything and nothing like we
thought it would be. Upon applying over a year ago we had received a 110+ page
Guide Manual that covered in detail what to expect during our stay. We knew the
hours would be long, space would be limited, only food basics would be provided
and the work would be demanding. But what the manual didn’t and couldn’t
capture was the utter frustration, delight, moments of anger and of peace,
numbingly cold fingers and toes, nighttime light displays, warm husky nuzzles
and an indescribable sense of fulfillment. That said I will do my best to
describe the past two and half months on a Finnish husky farm in the Arctic
Circle in as few words as possible…which is easier said than done.
In our last post, Leah detailed some of the day to day tasks
so I’ll try to not repeat what has already been written. I should also note
that it was probably better that I didn’t write the first post or any other
during our first month in Hetta. It would be safe to say that I was quite
miserable after having had a rough first week of training and had not yet adjusted
to the dynamics and personality quirks of all the fellow guides, Anna and Pasi
and the Hetta Huskies’ small business corporatocracy in general. However we
were starting to see signs of how we would fit into the system and the larger
picture was becoming clearer and clearer. Ergo we steeled ourselves to stay the
course and, as I sit typing and reflecting at the Helsinki airport, am
eternally grateful for the good, the bad and the furry that made an indelible
impression on our hearts forever.
First I should paint a picture of the landscapes that served
as a daily backdrop to our workplace. Be it at Hetta or the smaller rural
Darwin farm, everything was covered in a clean blanket of white snow from the
end of September on. It will be how I remember Hetta even though the first part
of our stay was filled with green and the burning colors of autumn. Bare birch
trees were repurposed as boughs for snow to rest and in no time lakes started
freezing over—luckily Leah and I were able to take one of Anna and Pasi’s
canoes for a jaunt on beautiful Lake Ounasjarvi just in time. At night the
white forest floors served to reflect the brilliant moonlight and of course the epic northern lights. Yup, we saw the aurora borealis…many times at that and I think
I speak for both of us in saying it never got old. Our first sighting was
during week two with our friends Emmanuelle and Mona but the most memorable
came during late September when Leah and I were stationed alone at the Darwin
farm. Around 10:30 p.m. we heard a lot of chatter from the dogs—you get to know the
difference between the many dog howls and barks, some of which indicate a loose
or tangled pup—and decided to make sure nothing was amiss. To our eternal
amazement we stepped into a wonderland of brilliant dancing color dripping from
the sky; as Leah says it was like “angels fingerpainting.” The dogs all had
their heads cocked and howled and hollered at the movement in the sky. A moment
like no other and one to which we compared the many other aurora borealis
events that followed us during our stay. 
She genuinely cared about every guide and made a
diligent effort to make the most of their time in Finnish Lapland, doing her
best to reward them with experiences. When she heard we were having a bit of a
rough time while at Darwin—I had just found out that my great-aunt Carmen whom
all my family was close to had passed away—she had a bottle of wine sent out us
(I don’t think the other guides know about that one!). Then while her parents
were visiting from the UK we were asked to accompany them to the spa in the
resort town of Levi; this was considered a “work day” but who wouldn’t enjoy
lovely company and an afternoon at an indoor aquatic retreat? To top it off
Anna brought us along while taking her parents to the airport at the Paris of the
North—Tromso, Norway. This ended up being a lovely excursion, complete with the
iconic Norwegian fjords, museum-hopping, an aerial tramway and even a chance to
skinny dip in the Arctic Ocean underneath the northern lights (you read it
right…check that one off the ol’ bucket list). In short we were able to get to
know the caring and lovely human being who just happened to be our boss at
Hetta Huskies. Upon leaving she mentioned that aside from just being guides we
would have been the kind of people who she would have liked to have had as
friends in a different life. I hope she knows that we consider her a friend in
this one.
That brings us to the other Finnish half of the Hetta
Huskies team, the deep-voiced Antarctic adventurer, Pasi. Almost the polar
opposite to Anna (pun completely intended), he was a man of few words and did
not have as much contact with the volunteers, however, we will walk away with
many fond memories of this prototypical Finn. First let me put things into
context; I suggest you watch this YouTube video which is an
advertisement for Visit Finland. It’s in Finnish (with English subtitles) but it will give you an idea
of what it sounds like to have Pasi respond to questions such as “how did you train for your trek to
the South Pole?” with a curt yet to-the-point “I did not train.” And in all
fairness he was not saying that in arrogance, he really was just an
adventure-racing machine at the time so he really didn’t have to train per se. As
quiet as he was, it was warming to see him around the dogs, tenderly calling
them by name, murmuring in Finnish and showing that he had a relationship with each one. In the end I
may remember Pasi most for the meal that he cooked at our leaving dinner; an
avid elk hunter on the side, he served up a dish of just-killed (how else do
you put it?) elk cutlets, grilled reindeer and bacon. Oh. My. God. Carnivore
heaven. Add to that a few beers, some scotch and good company and it might be
one of our most memorable meals ever. 
I know you’re asking yourselves ‘what is this crazy new diet
routine, Steve?’ It’s called working your ass off twelve hours a day. In the
last post Leah went through the typical daily rituals of watering, pooping and
feeding 116 huskies, which in itself is quite an active endeavor. Add to this a
plethora of other urgent and varied tasks and increasingly hostile weather and
you have days that often end with sore bodies, cuts and/or bruises. Some of the
more memorable jobs will be trenching through frozen earth on multiple occasions (shout
outs to Lonan, Dave, George and Tom all of whom worked alongside me!) which was
unfathomably frustrating but ultimately rewarding when done; hurriedly
constructing new cages for sick dogs (injured pups will inevitably pile up
during sled safaris) at the Darwin farm with new snow cropping up on your
workspace every day; and working on the massive new kota on a day that dipped down to -22° C (that’s -8° F
for my fellow compatriots). I did my best to keep at it that day since Tim the
lead guide and resident construction guru doesn’t so much demand as deserve a
hard and competent worker, but holy hell did I have to run off from time to
time so as to warm up my numbing fingers and toes.
There were some other tasks that, while I might not have
minded so much, were very trying for Leah. I think she’ll agree that I’m not
calling out weaknesses but vulnerabilities that come with a not-fully-recovered
emotional framework. On several occasions we had large game delivered to be
used as meat for the dogs—the first time being elk off-cuts and the second a
horse that had to be put down. While we’re both able to recognize the inherent
value and respect for life that come in not wasting an animal, it’s something
else to have to hack it up to pieces. I’ll start by saying I didn’t mind
handling and slicing away at a recently killed animal; Leah on the other hand didn’t
mind the elk so much but the horse, which was still warm, proved to hit a bit
too close to home. Without going into detail I’ll just say the bloody horse all
over the dog kitchen floor brought to mind the graphic images of Jayna’s crime
scene. She kept a straight face and maintained her professionalism but tears
came streaming out later in the day when I asked her how it went.
Another difficult job for Leah was the all-important quad
training that started during the first week of our Hetta Huskies stint. Prior
to the snowfall it is vitally important to get the dogs physically and mentally
accustomed to running in line, obeying commands and pulling as part of a team.
As one can imagine, getting up to 40+ dogs (and many more during client season)
collected, harnessed and clipped into the sled lines is a noisy and stressful
experience. Dogs are barking in frenzied anticipation, humans are yelling at
each other—usually just to be heard but sometimes out of frustration—and
tensions are rising all around. It is a spine-tingling experience that
generally results in intense satisfaction when the teams are finally released
and the running begins; however quite often the quad training also results in
dog fights and Leah had to run interference one too many times. She was never
seriously injured herself—maybe a cut or scrape but we all get them—but having
seen some of the pups at their worst produced its own irreparable scars. To
some degree we loved each and every one of those dogs and when Leah had to tend
to the occasional bloody bite she felt that the responsibility lay solely at
her feet. It didn’t, these things happen of course, but by the end of our stay
at Hetta Leah turned into a ball of anxiety when she had to be part of a quad
training team.
Leah: Eh, that was
part of it. I did hate breaking up fights, perhaps because I often seemed to be
the closest to them and therefore the first responder until others could come
running. One of the worst was toward the end at Valimaa when giant, jowly Roi
and his beefy son, Ronnie (who had snapped his chain and escaped his running
circle) ganged up on Borgi—who was still on his circle and couldn’t escape—over
a bone. The feeling that you may see an animal literally torn apart in front of
your eyes if you don’t act immediately remains indescribable; adrenaline takes
over and you throw yourself into the fray without regard for personal safety,
so great is the desire to prevent more harm from coming from the interaction.
Needless to say, having to pull a Pyranese mastiff and his massive son away
from a smaller husky was wretched and even more so when I saw Borgi’s
injuries—puncture bite wounds to his head, muzzle and near his eyes, the
largest of which looked like a gunshot wound right in the middle of his
forehead and was so deep that you could see bone.
But fights aside, I didn’t mind getting the teams ready for
quad training—that was fine. It was just that for everyone else the stress
typically abated a bit once the dogs were running but for me it only
heightened. I was concerned about not driving over the wheel dogs in the rear,
not bottoming out the quad, trying to learn the trails, paying attention to the
teams in front and back in case they needed help, keeping a steady pace,
getting the commands right, anticipating fights in line, keeping an eye out for
injuries, etc., etc. I could never just relax and watch the dogs do their thing
because I was such a knot of anxiety. I did it without complaint since it was
part of the job, but anytime someone was around who truly enjoyed going out
with the dogs I’d happily pass over the reins, assisting only with the
harnessing and other prep work before waving the teams off.
Speaking of mental and tough jobs, I also never thought a
few months ago that I’d be assisting with a dog necropsy in below freezing temperatures,
let alone skinning the animal afterward, but maybe I should back up. Our best
friend at Hetta, Emmanuelle, aka “Manou”, is pre-vet and despite classwork and
helping out other vets at her animal clinic job, she’s never had the chance to
practice a neutering procedure on her own, let alone a solo dissection. When
the wrenching decision was made to put down one of the chronically ill dogs,
Ted, due to intense pain and no surgery options for his ruptured anal glands,
Anna asked Manou if she’d like to practice a neutering procedure as well as a
necropsy assisted by the local vet; somehow I found myself wandering into the
outdoor garage, curious to see and unable to look away...and perhaps facing
some of my demons?
I won’t go into details, but Ted’s body was treated with the
utmost respect and Manou was thrilled to actually have a chance to learn
valuable skills and anatomy that books and lectures just can’t teach. As for
me, I somehow managed to turn off my heart and let the scientific side of my
brain take over, viewing this as an incredible, albeit intense, learning opportunity.
In retrospect I’m pretty certain I just dissociated and had an almost out of
body experience, especially when it came to the skinning process. Although I
originally would have been appalled at the idea before arriving at Hetta
Huskies, they treat their RIP dogs with a reverence redolent of the Native
Americans. While every dog’s final remains receive their own marked grave in a
patch of forest (graves are dug in the summer before the ground freezes just in
case they lose dogs over the winter), if the animal’s body can be used to teach
or if its fur can be used as a living memorial to a life well lived (in the
form of warm clothing), then so be it. I understand how that might not sit well
with some of you; I would have been in that camp a few months ago and would still
never think of doing the same with a personal pet. However, I now appreciate the
value in it, especially in such a harsh environment where nothing is wasted on
a farm that treats its animals better than any other husky farm around.
On a happier note, I enjoyed the highly pleasurable chance
to put my dormant mentoring skills to use in the form of working with 15-year-old
Marika, the granddaughter of a Hetta local. She lived in Rovaniemi, over 3
hours away, but had always wanted to see Hetta Huskies from the inside and had
the perfect opportunity in the form of a national mandatory one-week internship
for students her age. Anna referred to her as “the kiddie” and had to juggle
who to partner her with since she couldn’t do any of the intense tasks; I
happily volunteered and never regretted it. While a bit mousy and waifish, Marika
proved to be a vivacious young teen with dreams of one day visiting Japan
(she’s studying the language and has a fixation with all things Japanese), and
walked around in a dreamlike state that she had managed to procure volunteer
work at a place she had worshipped from afar ever since she was young.
Over her week at Hetta Huskies she enthralled me with the
meanings behind dogs’ names (Keri Keri means “faster, faster” and is something
usually shouted at the end of a race) and asked myriad questions to try and
understand the farm workings, since her family, and indeed the entire village,
remains guarded and unsure about what actually happens on the dog farm. Her
dogged determination to try any task we threw at her was admirable and I
realized just how much I had missed interaction with female teenagers (like
those who had comprised my beloved HIV/sexual health advocacy group for four
years back at the Girl Scouts). Also, since I wasn’t technically training her,
I was able to relax and share info and stories instead of worrying about if I
was covering every bullet point on the exhaustive training checklist.
She joined us on our last outing at the farm the night
before we left and afterward she came into the kitchen to say goodbye since she
knew we’d be leaving in the morning and she still had one more day on the farm.
Imagine my surprise when she gave me a massive hug and then instantly dissolved
into a fit of sobs. Not typical behavior from a Finn, especially as they’re
known to be a stalwart, undemonstrative people. Normally fluent in English, she
faltered to find the words to thank me for my time with her over the last week
and instead kept bursting into fresh tears and giving me hug after hug. I was
blown away that I had obviously made such an impression on her in such a little
time, but as I gave her a final hug and felt myself tearing up as well, I
caught a knowing glance from Steve. We’ve been been praying for guidance in
terms of job vocations when we return home and it was difficult to feel that
this wasn’t some sort of sign that maybe I do have a gift when it comes to
youth and should keep my eyes and heart open to that possibility post-trip.
Another highlight was being able to celebrate my 32nd
birthday in this arctic fairyscape, which proved particularly crazy when I
realized that a year ago I was hoofing it up steep steps in the humid Peruvian jungle
on the way to Macchu Picchu. My birthday in Hetta was a particularly crap day
in terms of weather, from a rainy grey day that greeted us to a temperature
that hovered just above freezing so that everything turned muddy and gross
instead of being covered in a blanket of fresh snow. Not too bad all things
considered, but this is a husky farm and dogs need to be fed and pooped no
matter what, so everyone was vying for coveted jobs that would keep them inside
away from the abysmally cold and dreary weather. However, my Hetta Huskies
family was incredible and as a present they refused to let me do anything
outside, shouldering that burden themselves. I spent the day playing with
Eliel, checking out a local property for sale with Anna and her visiting
parents, going to the thrift store with them, attending Eliel’s playgroup and
was even treated to a reindeer burger at Café Silja. The work day capped off
with cake and beers at the farmhouse (baked by Manou and Bridget the night
before) and then once back at the guidehouse Steve and I cooked up a Mexican
feast for all with supplies from Ma & Pa McFail’s care package goods. We
decorated the dogs in my birthday streamers and hats, goofed around and
generally had a lovely, low-key evening.
Soon thereafter Manou, Bridget, Steve and I were gifted the
experience of being in Valimaa—just the four of us. Anna knew we were all close
but hadn’t realized that we kept being sent to different places and therefore
often wouldn’t see each other; she felt bad and made an effort to give us some
time together, which we definitely appreciated. Upon our return to Hetta the
four of us had a day off together and kicked off the day with a sinfully
decadent breakfast (again, most of which was procured from the seemingly
bottomless McFail parent box) before heading into town for a hike up to the
jypera (open fire structure with stunning views of the lake and Hetta), a
stroll through the exquisitely done Nature Center, reindeer burgers and a final
stop at one of the silver shops in town, Koru Laakso, so I could buy a
jewelry reminder of my time in Lapland in the form of a traditional pendant design. As it turns out, the owner, Tuomo, was also in the semifinals of Finland’s Got
Talent for his traditional Lappish Yoik skills, a traditional singingstyle.
The four of us begged him for an impromptu performance, which he obliged us
with in full costume behind the counter as his hypnotic serenade soon had us
covered in goosebumps and fully riveted by his voice.
A final birthday surprise also happened around the end of
October when I was Skyping with my parents at the tail end of a nasty cold/bout
of laryngitis and also having a tough time at work. Toward the end of our
conversation they teasingly mentioned that Steve and I had received a mystery
package with a New Zealand postmark; they asked if we wanted them to open it on
camera or wait until we were at home, so of course we jumped at the chance of
live present unwrapping across the miles. As it turns out, our beloved Joan,
the matriarch of the Irish family living in Barry’s Bay where we had our final
Kiwi Workaway, and who we still keep in contact with (and basically judge all
other Workaways by) had sent the package unbeknownst to us. As we watched my
parents unfurled a handmade card written to them, one to me and Steve and a set
of stunning tea towels with a Kiwi bird and a fantail, the latter of which might
rival my hummingbird obsession at this point. I instantly dissolved into tears
(I do that a lot lately) and both Steve and I were, needless to say, incredibly
touched and blown away by the thoughtfulness of the gesture. We’re constantly
reminded that the most meaningful parts of this trip center around the people
we’ve met along the way; we’re looking forward already to the point in time
when we can visit one of our favorite families again in their paradise by the
sea.
For me this job has been more difficult then my stint in the Peace Corps in every way; for my friends who were/are currently in the PC, you know just how much that statement means. I reached and surpassed my breaking point multiple times, questioned everything I thought I knew about my personal limits and had both the highest highs and lowest lows while here. However, would I do it again? In a heartbeat. The people I was privileged enough to meet, the dogs who ruled my life and the bosses who demanded the world but rewarded you tenfold when you gave them your all made every second justifiably worth it. And while this job was also the most intense and stressful I've ever had (if I screwed up at my former job I might have an irate parent screaming at me over the phone, while if I screwed up here I might have a dead dog), I know that I am 100% equipped to tackle anything, anywhere after this.
Steve: Take all
these loaded elements, plus the hundred others we didn’t touch on, roll them
into a neat little ball and put them aside. Let’s fast forward to our last day
at Hetta and talk about the number one reason we came to this husky farm—the
sled dogs. Through sheer fortune and some forward-thinking from Anna and Pasi
we were able to take the dogs on their first sled run of the season. Just
enough snow had fallen, Pasi had prepped the trails with his snowmobile and it
was now time to leave the quads up at the farmhouse. It was a nippy -17°C and
the sun was already making it’s 3:30 PM departure. We set up four teams with
lead guide Lorin in the front, followed by myself, Leah and the ever-so-lucky
Marika. I had Bino and Nomad in the lead position, Timur alone in team, and
the big-time brotherly duo of Yesper and Yasper in wheel; Leah had an efficient
all-ladies team led by Cherry and Diva, followed by Meggy, Mighty Mouse and
Minnie. After all teams were prepped, Pasi—who would lead and oversee us via
his snowmobile—brought us to an unprepped sleigh to give us quick instructions
on how to drive the sled…or better yet how to brake and hold on for dear life.
As he wrapped up his minute lesson—with dogs barking in frenetic
anticipation—Leah asked the question that was on all of our minds: ‘what are these
for?,’ referring to the handle-like devices with straps that were given to each
of us. In classic Pasi fashion he
responded “to climb your way out of the ice” and walked off. Ice picks to climb
out of the frozen lake if it gives way during our trek? Oh shit doesn’t quite capture the unspoken sentiment shared amongst
the group.
Climbing aboard our respective sleds and standing firmly on
the brakes, Pasi and Emmanuelle untied the ropes that secured us to the holding
posts and unchained the lead dogs from the safety line that kept the team in
place. Like a loaded gun with the safety off, we were ready to go; Lorin in the
lead raised her hand to signal her readiness and we all did the same. Pasi
started off on his snowmobile and the command was given—“LET’S GO!” Months of
training and anticipation led up to this moment and the dogs could feel it too;
nothing could really prepare us for the neck-snapping quickness with which the
dogs took off from the starting line. I had to practically ride the brake pad
so as not to overtake Lorin…this was heavily due in part to the fact that the
ginormous brothers Yesper and Yasper were pulling from the wheel position right
in front of the sled. A year-and-a-half ago I might have had a little more
weight for the dogs to pull and to leverage on the brake, but now all I could
do was hold on for dear life and rely on commands when necessary. Holding on was
really all you can do as the dogs whisked us through the 2k loop that we had
quad trained them on so often. The difference was palpable though as the sled
skidded to and fro on icy sections and you really had to lean into turns so as
not to tip over and wreck.
Before long we found ourselves entering uncharted territory
as Pasi guided us onto a new 5k loop that took us over frozen marshes and bogs
and eventually onto a frozen lake. Realization set in that we had the ice picks
for this very reason, however the dogs kept chugging and with little time to
think we were quickly back onto solid albeit slippery ground. I can honestly
say that I caught air at least two times and probably thought I was going to
tip over at least five but I still managed to relax a bit and I eventually started
to gain some confidence in myself, the dogs and the sled. At the halfway point
of this 5k journey Pasi had the teams stop to take a quick breather; some dogs ate
snow, others might have rolled around or simply caught their breaths. Us guides
on the other hand took stock of the indescribably picturesque landscape around
us—a darkening sky with a fiery pink horizon, reflected from below by an open
white expanse that was untouched save for the tracks made by the sleds and our
canine cohorts. With a moment to think it dawned on us that this is what
everything—the frustration, happiness, pooping, feeding, quad training, people
dynamics, biting cold, sore bodies, elk and horse carcasses, etc., etc., etc.—this
is what it all came down to. Teams of working dogs, happily and healthily in
their environment, doing what they were bred to do. As we continued on and hit
the gates of the farm my eyes welled up and tears, which froze instantly, ran down my cheeks. Adrenaline still coursing through my veins and my
hands stiff from my grip, I now knew that I was part of something special.
After our aforementioned leaving dinner was over and
everyone was getting ready for the ride back to the guide house, Leah and I
took a moment to head down to the farm one last time. Somebody had forgotten
the farm lights and the overhead floodlights left the main path illuminated. We
made a quick stop at the souvenir shop to pick up a gift for our Helsinki
CouchSurfer and hurriedly locked up and turned off the lights so as to get out
of the frigid cold. As we started to walk down the causeway, with running
circles to our left and to our right, we slowed our gait as the scene before us
made us catch our breaths. A full moon enchanted the snow-covered ground, trees
and kennels with a magical blue-white glow and for maybe the first time ever not
a dog was in sight. Every kennel had a chain coming out of it as our beloved
huskies huddled in their houses to guard against the frozen night. Then one by
one howls began to emerge from all corners of the running circles in the
crescendo we knew so well. The silence wasn’t broken so much as accompanied as
Leah and I received our last and final salute from the dogs to whom we gave it
all. Sobbing messes, we stepped through the gates knowing that we would see
them all again one day either in this life or the next—for these dog-lovers, this is probably what heaven must
be like.
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Incredible!
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