You come to Ryno Kennel as a relative novice with just one season as a tour-musher under your belt. So what’re you going to expect when you show up? How to run dogs, of course. But in order for the dogs to run the kennel has to run, and in order for the kennel to run, the equipment has to run, and that’s really the kicker. We’re in off-grid cabins and as of November we’ve landed in the negative temps. You need to learn about working with machines in the cold. It would help to be mechanically inclined or knowledgable — that’s too bad. Well, strap yourself in there, bud. Oh, the spring is broken, you have to pull it out and then you can click the buckle in. Ok, strapped in?

Around here, the first thing you’ll require to get anything started is for the local handy-man (Ryne’s husband, Derek) to have spoken with said piece of equipment beforehand. The aftermath of such conversations usually leaves machinery with unique anthropomorphisms. What that means is that you’ll need a lesson from Derek, or someone who has already had a lesson from Derek, on how to operate the damn thing. If you happen to be mechanically literate, and also lucky, you might be able to get away with skipping the tutorial on half of the things you’ll have to interact with on a daily basis.

The best I can do to explain what it’s like is through a few non-sequitur interactions around some of the equipment we work with.

The green dog truck:

“You’ll have to make sure you’ve let the Webasto run for 30-45 minutes before you try to start it. Here’s the switch. Then, at least at this temperature, you’ll have to let the engine warm up for 15-20 minutes. That’ll change when it gets colder.”

“What’s a Webasto do?”

“Mm, I’m not exactly sure. You’ll have to ask Derek. OK, when you do get it started you have to make sure that the lights are on. Derek had to re-wire some things and when he did for some reason the lights have to be on or there’s no power to the engine. Also, sometimes if you try to turn the volume on the radio down it actually turns it up and then you’ll be stuck at that volume. Just a warning.”

Also, it’s not your imagination that the truck pulls to the left on straight-aways. According to Derek, that’s just because people have been driving it in 4-wheel drive too much. Noted. Also, there’s no gas pedal. Well, ok, there’s technically a gas pedal, the “pedal” part is just missing.

Chainsaw/s:

“Do you have your finger on the throttle?”

“Yes. Sometimes… the pull cord… is just… tough… to pull.”

“Can I try?”

“Sure. If you get it started I’m goi—“ The chainsaw starts. “You suck.”

“Hey, I got that one Stihl running yesterday but then it just gave up and I couldn’t get it started again.”

“Ya, it’s not really a cold weather saw. Once the moisture from the snow gets in there it’ll quit. I put a new piston in that other one but I still have to mess with it a little. Just use the new one.” — The new one that Derek was forced to buy because the other five (no kidding) chainsaws weren’t functioning. Although the other day the trigger release jiggled loose when it was riding on the back of the snow machine, sorry Derek.

Little Ford:

“First trip on paved road with a new bearing, let’s see how she rides. Oh boy, smooth! Let’s road trip to Anchorage!”

“Why are all the dash lights flashing?”

“Oh that’s normal, don’t worry about it.”

Apparently, the little ford thinks it’s being stolen when you turn it on and that’s the alarm system flashing, there’s just no sound.

ATVs:

Tip: never trust a gas gauge.

“Derek got tired of waiting for that axle part to show up in the mail so he just welded the tire onto the camo ATV. Maybe before you take it out for a run give it a wiggle to see if the tire’s loose and make sure the weld doesn’t have a crack in it or anything.”
I have come to believe that there is not an ATV with all four wheels securely attached that is owned by a musher within the Two Rivers community. I assume this is why the common name is ATV and not the misnomer “4-wheeler”.

“I can’t get this ATV to shift.”
Ryne hops on. Giving it some good shoves as she says, “That’s because… you gotta… jostle it. There.”

“Ah, yes, of course.”

“Does it always make those creaking noises?”

“Yes.”

Meat (band) saw and snow machine:

Ryne gives the instructions for the meat saw and finishes by saying, “Be super friggen careful, OK? Most mushers you see who are missing fingers — it’s not because of frostbite, it’s because they were cutting frozen meat. Alright, I’m gonna head out on a run with the yearlings, good luck.”

Me to myself: “Super careful, alright. Super friggen careful. Add it to the list of things mom doesn’t need to know about.” I start cutting the blocks of meat. The band breaks. There’s blood everywhere. The tip of my index finger is — just kidding.

I poke my head in the cabin door: “Hey Derek, the band to the meat saw just broke. Is there another one lying around?”

“You have enough meat cut for the night? I’ll just put a new one on tomorrow.”

OK, now, in order to move the heavy-as-nuts generator that was powering the meat saw back to the generator shed, you have to drag it behind the snow machine. Ryne just dragged the generator over here before she left. I know it should start.

“Hey Simon. Hey Simon!” He’s in the dog yard and they’re all barking. “Hey, do you know how to start this snow machine? There’s no key in this ignition… There’s this thingy. And this. Here’s the choke. This button, this button. Nope.” Simon doesn’t know.

I poke my head in the cabin door: “Hey Derek, how do you start the snow machine out there by the meat tent?”

“Make sure the choke is up two clicks. Is the pull cord not catching? It does that sometimes.”—This is Derek kindly assuming that I’m not a snow-machine-inept-idiot and that I already knew it was a pull start.

Walking back out to the meat tent I have a conversation under my breath: “It’s a pull start you damn-dumb-dummy. Open your friggen eyes.” I see Simon amongst barking in the dog yard. “Hey Simon! Simon! It’s a pull start!” Simon says that he could’ve started it if he knew it was a pull start. Thanks, Simon.

I get the thing started and drive it over to the shed. Now, to turn it off. Let’s see, uhhh, here’s the kill-switch. Poke. Nothing. Poke. Nothing. Poke-poke-poke-poke. Nothing. There's an exposed wire that looks like it should be connected to the kill-switch. It happens to be one of those educational wires that teaches you how electricity works when you grab it. Some people might call it a live wire. Bonus points if you grab it with a wet glove on. I get my refresher lesson in electricity.

I poke my head in the cabin door: “Hey Derek, how do you turn that snow machine off?”

“Just flip the choke.”

Turns out you can also touch the two kill-switch wires that have escaped their button cover together to turn off the snow machine.

Tip: If you’re trying to start the snow machine and you’re fishing with the pull cord, trying to get it to catch (it helps if you vacantly look off into the void) — you’ve got one hand on the throttle to help it out if it ever does decide to catch — but it’s still not starting, you might want to double check that the two kill-switch wires aren’t touching, you dummy.

Generator/s:

Which one? Don’t get me started.

https://imgur.com/gallery/nHFx8