Dog Sledding in Montana’s Wilderness

DOG sledding is an exercise in changed states, of chaos turning to order. One moment dogs were barking, yapping, whining, snarling, scrapping, jumping, biting and all the other things dogs do. The next moment they were straining at the gang line, and with a burst of acceleration, all turned silent but for the hiss of the runners on the snow and the sound of my own exhilarated breathing.

We were mushing in southern Montana earlier this winter in the Beartooth Mountains, near Yellowstone National Park, where long, gliding downhills followed laborious uphills. As we crested a small hill, the valley opened, and brilliant Pilot Peak burst into view in stark relief against a black snow cloud. “This is why I do this,” Jason Matthews said, standing on the sled runner next to me. “This is why I’m out here.”

Mr. Matthews, sled-dog racer and guide, runs Yellowstone Dog Sled Adventures of Immigrant, Mont. Like many sled-dog outfitters — there are dozens of small businesses that run trips across North America, from Alaska to the Rockies to Maine — Mr. Matthews is peddling the romance of age-old wilderness travel amid stunning scenery, and the intense experience of working closely with trained, selectively bred dogs.

Dog sledding is an exhilarating and nostalgic way to travel through wild country — quieter than snowmobiles, faster than skis or snowshoes. To join a tour requires no experience, though it does take a bit of effort. And this pristine region on the Montana-Wyoming border is one of the most breathtaking spots, literally and figuratively, to do it.

Mr. Matthews offers a range of trips — from his two-hour “sled-dog sampler” on a groomed, nearly level trail, to overnight cabin stays high in the mountains. I had signed up for two long day trips. The other paying customers were Wes Herren, known as Hondo, and Sam Wipf, Montanans from White Sulphur Springs. The friends were animal experts in their own right — both were rodeo bull riders for a while.

“I don’t claim it though,” Mr. Wipf said slyly. Raised speaking German in one of Montana’s many Hutterite communities — a way of life he has since left — Mr. Wipf was at once gentlemanly yet direct. “If I’d been real successful, I’d probably still be doing it,” he said of bull riding. Between them, Mr. Herren and Mr. Wipf have broken ribs and legs, punctured lungs and liver and bruised kidneys and heart. “Oh, and I forgot,” Mr. Herren added, “I fractured my skull and walked around six months.”

Mr. Herren now installs phone and Internet lines. He signed up for dog sledding because, he said, “I thought it would be something wonderful to try.” Mr. Wipf was drawn to try dog sledding by his taste for adventure and his interest in dogs. A ranch hand, he breaks horses and also trains border collies to herd cattle. “I love dogs,” he said. “I really do.”

We had rendezvoused in Gardiner that morning, and we drove through Yellowstone National Park to reach the high-altitude snowfields near Cooke City, Mont. Driving through the Lamar River Valley, we spotted bison, elk, a brace of coyotes crossing the road — and a cluster of biologists and tourists watching wolves through scopes and binoculars. “The Lamar Valley — a lot of people call it the Serengeti of the Rockies,” Mr. Matthews said. Deep snows in the high country push bison, elk and mule deer to lower altitudes. Wolves, cougars and other predators follow. “It is incredible wildlife viewing,” he added.

Mr. Matthews is an encyclopedia of sled dog information, peppering his conversation with allusions to movies and novels featuring sled dogs. “Just like in ‘Call of the Wild,’ ” he said one moment. “If you’ve ever seen that movie ‘Eight Below,’ ” he added a bit later. And then, to make another point: “Especially if you watch ‘Iron Will.’ ”

Plenty of dogs pull sleds, he said. Muscular Alaskan malamutes can drag tremendous loads but lack speed and long-distance stamina. Photogenic Siberian huskies of the pointed ears, bristling coat, wolfish face and blue eyes have lost some of their stamina through breeding for show. Mr. Matthews runs Alaskan huskies, an unregistered breed as far as the American Kennel Club is concerned, but bred since the days of the gold rush to run fast and forever.