The cable strummed on the hard packed snow as eleven huskies jumped, barked, and heaved on their chains. I pushed the long wooden Nansen sledge up the snow slope; the Huns knew a sledge run was imminent. The place was the glacial Adelaide Island, south of the Antarctic Circle, and forty years back. A cool southerly wind came in from the unfrozen sea, and whipped a few snowflakes up into the pale late winter sky.

I anchored the sledge and the main pulling trace into the snow with metal pickets. Each of the seven dogs was harnessed, and attached to the side traces, and in their eagerness I was the one pulled towards each trace. The rest of the huskies left behind barked and howled in frustration. This was my second year and second dog team that I had fed, looked after, and run. Apart from my first husky run at Deception Island, further north, which is another story, the runs had always gone well.

Instead of using the more obedient Bev as leader I decided to go with Count the official leader despite his fickle and flighty tendencies. The previous year he had led the Hun team to the top of an iceberg, and then peered over the thirty-foot drop on the other side. He was some times reluctant to lead; there were always other dogs wanting to chomp on him. Behind Count's lead trace were paired Podger and Notus. Podger was big and friendly. Notus having been savaged as a pup was left with a left broke ear, and the unwillingness to pull with a team. With some care and personal attention over the winter his pulling improved. Next came the brothers Satchmo and Dizzy. Named after jazz players these two showed little enthusiasm for their supposed pulling instincts. To keep these two pulling the two best fighters and pullers, Nero and Caesar, were right behind. A fully loaded sledge weighed half a ton; Nero and Caesar could move it themselves.

As it was a normal run the sledge leapt forward as the pickets were removed, and for the first mile or two we sailed over the smooth wind flattened snow. I rode on the ends of the runner. We had the normal "begin the run" fight. One husky would lunge at another, others would join in, and some just danced around the edge and got nips in where they could. I would immediately turn the sledge upside down for anchorage. Getting rid of pent up frustrations and personal animosities was normal for the team. The males would go head to head worrying each other's ruff. If I ran females they would fight "dirty," and try and disable the other female husky's back leg. A bit of judicious whacking with the three-inch thick rope thumper broke up this particular fight, and we were ready to head up the slowly rising glacier to the distant mountains.

I walked to the back of the sledge; most of the huskies were satisfied with the fracas. Count, however, ever nervous of the two main fighters or not use to leadership, suddenly whipped around and flipped the sledge upright and headed back to base. The Huns as one followed. I grabbed the trailing safety rope hanging from the back, and missed. From my prone position I saw the team heading straight down the glacier toward the ice cliffs, north of our base. The forty-foot cliffs plunged into the cold open sea, dotted with icebergs.

I trudged back to the base. I ignored the derisive comments from the others as I organized a rescue. In my imagination I saw the whole team plunging into the sea. Six of us put on skis, and headed along the edge of the ice cliffs.

We found the team. I presume Count saw the base on his left as the team hurtled down to the edge of the cliffs, and abruptly turned. The team immediately followed. The sledge flipped over, and the handlebars wedged themselves into a crevasse six feet from the edge of the drop. The dogs stopped. Relieved we sorted them out, and led the dogs up the slope to safety with the sledge bouncing along behind.

I got back into the "saddle" the next day by having a short uneventful run, which Count led well enough. I might have been the "alpha dog" for the Huns, but as it had been said by many husky dog drivers, most of us never had complete management of the dogs. There were too many occasions and too many dogs to have total control all the time. For the base members Warr had 'done it again.' They would eagerly wait for the next occasion.