Although I had anticipated that it would happen, it was still with some surprise that I found myself being dragged in the snow behind eight powerful, excited Siberian huskies, one desperate hand on the sled handle and legs flailing behind me in what our guide good-naturedly referred to as "an Indiana Jones."

I managed to pull myself back on the sled and bring it to a halt. As I waited for my wife, Kerry, to limp her way over because she had been knocked off the sled halfway down the hill, I found myself breathing heavily, surrounded by a stunning, snowy landscape. I was utterly exhilarated.

It had been Kerry's idea.

"Dog-sledding in February? In Canada?" I had asked somewhat incredulously, given Kerry's persistent efforts to turn up the thermostat at home. We've hiked and camped extensively, but northern Ontario is bitterly cold in the winter, and we're not really "dog people."

Kerry discovered White Wolf Wilderness Expeditions on the Internet, and booked the trip after speaking with the owner / guide, Jeff Zuchlinski. A number of outfitters run dog-sledding trips in the northern United States, but we found the Ontario outfitter to be much cheaper than American ones. We and four friends flew to Toronto and met Jeff and his assistant, Duncan Quick, four hours north, in Sudbury, Ontario. (They have since moved their headquarters to nearby Temagami.)

We spent the first night at an old hunting and fishing place, Lakeland Lodge, in Skead, Ontario. The lodge is run by Buck and Gail Olivier. They take clients bear and moose hunting, fishing, trapping and snowmobiling, and continue to work a 100-mile-long trapline for local sale, as evidenced by the animal pelts hanging in clusters around the main lodge.

In her spare time, Gail splits the wood by hand every day for all the stoves in the lodge and surrounding cabins, which helps explain the bone-crushing handshake that accompanies her warm and gracious smile.

Spirited dogs

Saturday morning, it was overcast and snowing lightly, and the temperature was in the 20s, which is balmy for Sudbury in February. The dogs are kept overnight on a line of chains in the snow to minimize fighting. But we witnessed the first of what would be many fights during the trip. One of the few instructions Jeff had given us was to stand clear from any brawl, because although the dogs are unfailingly friendly toward people, they could accidentally bite one of us in the melee.

By yelling, tugging and hitting one dog repeatedly on the snout, Jeff finally managed to separate the two animals, leaving the white snow flecked with the bright blood of the losing dog.

It was thus with some trepidation that we took the padded harnesses we were given and began muscling the dogs into them. They willingly let us do this task. Knowing that the time to run with the four sleds was near, the 23 dogs began a cacophony of excited and agitated barking. We could scarcely hear Jeff's urgent, shouted instructions as he directed us to clip the dogs' harnesses into the sled ropes in particular spots.

Each sled was tied to a tree, but the small trees were shaking furiously as the dogs barked and hurled themselves forward in their harnesses in an increasingly frenzied attempt to run with the sleds, which jumped off the snow as the lines on either side came taut.

We finally got all the dogs in place, and Jeff released his sled at the lead, with the others following in line. Kerry and I stood nervously with one foot on a runner and the other on the brake, a metal bar with a hook that we could drive into the snow to slow the sled.

When our turn came, I popped the quick-release hook on the line that held us to the tree. We rocketed forward, even though I was standing on the brake. We hurtled down a small hill and out onto the lake, almost tipping over as one runner went over a snow bank on a turn.

The dogs were unable to pull the loaded sleds with us on them up the numerous hills, so we had to jump off and push, which was fairly strenuous. As we crested the top of each hill, the dogs started gaining speed, and we ran and jumped on the runners.

Duncan explained that it's possible to steer by leaning hard to one side and dragging a foot in the snow to act as a rudder, but our technique was lacking. This was worrisome at times, and going downhill we had several close calls at high speeds with large trees. Most of us were tossed off the sleds at various times, and some sleds tipped over and were dragged by the dogs down the slope.

Descending each steep hill, Kerry and I tried to hang on while standing with all our weight on the brake, but the weight of the sled and the force of the running dogs meant that we could only slow the sled, not stop it. Slowing was critical, because if unbraked, the sled would run down the dogs, or there would be enough slack in the harnesses that the dogs could get tangled up and break a leg, or worse.

Late in the afternoon we stopped and waited for the last sled to catch up. It was getting close to dusk, so Jeff gave us directions for chaining up the dogs, and we unloaded the sleds. He took a sled and turned back to find the others, leaving us to do our best preparing a campsite on a slope just off the trail. We gathered firewood and, following Jeff's instructions, used snowshoes as snow shovels, building up and then packing down a level bed of snow on which we could all sleep.

An hour or so later, we saw the light of Jeff's headlamp coming down the hill. Duncan's sled had completely broken apart going down a hill, and the remnants were packed onto Jeff's sled. We celebrated the arrival of the others with a bracing round of vodka, and then got back to work in the dark and cold, preparing the tent. Inside the tent, Jeff assembled and lighted a small metal stove that was vented to the outside.

It was 9 p.m. when we retreated inside. We were tired and cold but in good spirits, taking pride in our accomplishments in this unfamiliar terrain. Soon, Jeff produced a set of thick steaks, cooked to our individual liking, and scalloped potatoes (no shortage of refrigeration), and before long, we all turned in.

I was awakened at 3 a.m. when I overheard someone whisper calmly, "Jeff, the tent is on fire."

Flames were leaping up in the corner of the tent. I shouted in my deepest, loudest voice, "Fire in the tent!" but it turns out we were all quite awake at the point, and I would later be mocked for excessive melodrama.

At the time, though, it was serious enough. The snow under the firewood had melted, and some of the wood had slid under the stove and ignited. Jeff grabbed a pot of water and doused it, which flooded the tent with acrid smoke. When our hearts had stopped pounding and the air had cleared, we got back into our sleeping bags and tried to go back to sleep.

A warm bond

In the morning, Jeff lighted the fire again and soon was serving us pancakes. The conversation was lighthearted and leisurely, with good-natured complaints about aching muscles and dramatic recountings of the fire and other events of the previous day and night. When we began harnessing the dogs, we were better at it.

The second day out went much smoother. We were faster with our gear, and we had two extra dogs to each sled, although two of the three sleds had gained an extra passenger as a result of the demise of the fourth sled. After an hour or so, we left the trail and broke a new path through the thick forest.

We returned to camp late in the afternoon, where we sawed and chopped firewood to ensure a full night's supply. Jeff and Duncan prepared a delicious meal of fettuccine Alfredo with crab meat, and as we all sat up in our sleeping bags and exchanged toasts and stories, the hassles and concerns of deskbound work and daily living seemed far away and insignificant. The triumphs and small miseries of the trip had created a warm camaraderie among the group.

On our last day, we harnessed the dogs while it was still dark. We needed to get an early start to make it back in time for our flights home. I tried to take in the images of beauty around me, feeling pride at having gained a little competence at this peculiar endeavor. I now attend parties looking for any opening to say, "That reminds me of the time we went dog-sledding in northern Ontario."

When you go

Getting there: Several airlines fly from BWI to Toronto. Connecting flights from Toronto to North Bay, Ontario, are available, where White Wolf Wilderness Expeditions will meet you. Driving from Toronto to Temagami takes about four hours.

White Wolf Wilderness Expeditions, P.O. Box 134, Temagami, Ontario, Canada P0H 2H0

888-713-5440

www.whitewolf.ca

An inexpensive way to experience dog-sledding with few creature comforts. Cost: About $313 ($489 Canadian) for one night in a lodge and two nights dog-sledding and camping. Other options are available.

Other outfitters: The Ely, Minn., Chamber of Commerce Web site (www.ely.org) lists a number of American outfitters that run dog-sledding trips in the beautiful Boundary Waters area near the Canadian border.

Perhaps the most established operator is Wintergreen Dogsled Lodge in Ely (218-365-6022; www.dogsledding.com). Cost: About $850 for two nights at the lodge and three nights of camping. Longer trips are also offered, and, for those so inclined, trips to the Russian Arctic or the North Pole can be arranged.

Mushing Magazine also offers a good Web site listing a number of outfitters in the United States and Canada, and a helpful list of questions to ask about dog-sledding trips: www.mushing.com / tours.htm.