Sled Dogs - Kisa Storey

August 21, 2025

Kisa Storey, AVC 2026, travelled to Hopedale and Sheshatshiu as one of the student participants on the Chinook Project. As part of the experience, the students craft various pieces of writing.

Peering from above, within a turbulent Twin Otter aircraft, was the first glance I had at the remote community where we were to spend our next week- Hopedale.  A cheery town of bright buildings nestled in a rocky valley against the sea. It was a blip of colour on the land that was no longer green and mountainous, as it had been in Goosebay. As we had flown further north, I watched as veins and pools of water hugged bare cavernous rocks, like the world was slowly sinking into an icy bath. 

The moment we touched down on the short strip of runway, we were greeted by friendly strangers eager to lend their hands and their trucks to help us de-plane our bags and medical cargo. The community center, where we began to set up our clinic, lay on the edge of town, overlooking the bay of sparkling water leading out to sea. We had set up surgery tables in front of the long windows that framed the view, and made short work organizing the rest of our supplies into areas for appointments and anesthesia. At 6 o’clock, the sun still high, we were ready for our first patients. Only tonight, they weren’t going to arrive at our makeshift clinic- we were going to them. 

Day One in Hopedale

I climbed into the bed of our truck, still in clothes from the plane, and braced my hands against the cold metal as we took off down the road. Fine dirt rose up in billows behind us as we made our way to a mass of rock jutting out along the bay. As we drove up, I could spot them, dotted along the rock. Sled dogs- huskies. A team of them, tied in an intricate lacing of chains that allowed them access to various buckets of water or small wooden dog houses. They stood at a friendly alert, tails wagging, fuzzy triangular ears pointed forward, as we parked and grabbed our supplies. Vaccines. They each needed two. I began to count the dogs but quickly lost track as I noticed more in every direction I looked. Snuggled between the dirt and rocks, the darkest coats blending into the ground. Above me, beside me, vocalizing with excitement. 

The work was clear- though there was no shortage of hands needed to complete it. Dog owners and their families joined us. They were our fast friends; laughing and chatting with us, asking our opinions on their concerns, helping hold the dogs that thrashed or barked during an injection. Through the bent needles, the fumbling hands and awkward angles, they were patient with my new skills. Eventually I got faster, and used to the thicker fur and skin the dogs had. After finishing the sled team, the sky still a watery blue, we had made our way into the town. There were dogs to be vaccinated here, too. Mothers of fat, squirming puppies. 

At our very last house, we sat outside, holding sleeping puppies tightly in our laps. The air had cooled and the sun had finally begun to dip as we talked idly with their owners. That day, and throughout the rest of my time in Hopedale, I learned a lot about the people who live there. About the overwhelming pride in their community, their culture. The resourcefulness and grit they possessed to live on such tough land. But I had discovered perhaps the most important thing, necessary to thrive in the frigid Labradorian winters, was their warmth and kindness