Endurance Kennels Featured in Duluth Superior Magazine

Josh Tesch

Such horrific screams were coming from Josh Tesch’s truck, parked in a Superior Municipal Forest ski-trail lot, that a concerned citizen called the cops. When Tesch returned from skijoring (which is skiing and being pulled, in this case, by a dog) the responding officer was waiting.

Tesch, a 32-year-old, world-class dog-skijoring racer, smiles while telling the story. “It was Verdi,” he says. “I was doing short out-and-back training runs, switching back and forth between dogs, and when I put Verdi in the truck and took the other dogs, he just about turned himself inside out.”

Like many people who work or compete with dogs, Tesch exudes a reticent, unsentimental, intense affection for his partners. “There’s the old man,” he gently says with a melancholy grin when, while scrolling through computer-photo folders, he unexpectedly finds a shot of him and 10-year-old Aero, his first dog, in their last race before Aero’s retirement. It’s a form of affection not (usually) expressed in “Who’s a good dog!?” baby talk and under-the-table treats; it’s more about reciprocal accountability and respect, and the inexpressible camaraderie built while sharing hard work.

Well-treated competitive dogs don’t run if they refuse to or shouldn’t. Mindful, experienced guys like Tesch and Tone Coughlin, a 32-year-old sprint musher and bikejorer, can discern exhaustion, coyness, passive-aggression, illness, joy and many other states in their animals. They know when hard work means damage, and they tolerate no action that approaches mistreatment.

“They want to run,” Coughlin says of dogs Helena, Toivo, Åsa (pronounce it oh-sah), Magnus, Valor, and Seppo, the sinewy crew he’s acquired from well-regarded sled-dog breeders. “They want to please you.”

Coughlin, a Denfeld graduate, spent his teens and twenties as an elite endurance runner, skier, and cyclist. He’s now a swim coach, for Cloquet High School and the UMD Rec Sports Program’s North Shore Swim Club.

“I didn’t swim till I was a student at UMD,” he says. “But the discipline required for cross-country ski technique definitely applies to swimming, which is also a very technical sport.”

That taste for mastering combinations of demanding technique and physical exertion led Coughlin to try skijoring a few years ago.

“After having Helena for about three years,” he says, “I got Toivo to keep her company. He kept growing and growing”—Toivo is a tall dog, with legs long enough for him to trot at 14 mph—”and I was curious about skijoring, so I got him into a harness.”

Skijorers wear a hip belt that’s connected to a bungee-type line that clips onto a harness that allows the dog to run and pull safely and comfortably. “It was so much fun to have a training partner,” Coughlin says. “My friends used to just whine, but Toivo never does.”

He eventually transitioned to bikejoring—the dogs still wear a harness, but the bungee line is attached to the front of his mountain-bike. Sometimes he runs one dog, sometimes two. Never on sidewalks or roads.

“We run at 4:30 on summer mornings,” he says. “If it’s more than 55 degrees, we do maybe one loop through Hartley then everyone goes in the pond to cool off. We had a hot September, so on most of those days I’d get on the bike and just let the dogs run for five or six miles.”

Coughlin says that a common first impression of both skijoring and bikejoring is that the dog is doing all the work.

“But one dog can barely pull you from a dead stop. If you’re up to speed on a flat, you might be able to hit five or six miles per hour without pedaling.” He does say that once, Magnus and Valor topped out at 23 mph on a flat.

“Obviously,” he says, “the more dogs you have, the faster you can go. And the more dangerous it becomes.”

Dangerous for the human on the bike, that is.

“Your bike-handling skills have to be very good,” Coughlin says. “Especially in corners. You always have to anticipate. I’ve had a couple friends, good cyclists, try it, wipe out, and not want to do it again. I’ve had some good crashes, too. Once last year, while heading downhill into a left-hand turn, the dogs took off after a deer. It wasn’t pretty.”

Coughlin is the team’s coach and Toivo is the captain. “Toivo’s good at stopping if he hears something crazy going on behind him. If he looks back and I’m not there, he’ll stop.”

Tesch, a Wausau, WI, native whose past also includes a lot of high-level ski racing, and who teaches physical education, health and wellness, and basic exercise science courses at Lake Superior College, says teaching dogs to pull can be challenging.

“Looking back,” Tesch says, “and knowing what I know now, I see how much I was asking of Aero, physically and mentally, to understand what I wanted him to do. Every dog that’s added to a team makes it easier for the whole team to stay out front, not turn around, and have confidence.

“My dog Ulu won’t pull if she’s by herself. She gets confused. But if she’s hooked up with another dog she’ll go, even if it means dragging the other dog. Aero did a really good job. He was a confident guy. Now he’s a huge asset. The best way to teach a dog to skijor is to put it next to a dog that knows what’s happening.”

Coughlin adds, “Don’t get frustrated with a confused dog. Be patient. Work with them. Make it fun and positive. Dogs see anger and frustration, and it affects them.”
Tesch says any willing dog can be taught to skijor.

“You don’t have to have a special kind of dog,” he says. “All they need to be able to do is stay out in front of you. The best way to start is to go with someone who knows what they’re doing, and borrow equipment. The initial setup can be expensive, and using a regular dog collar and leash, or a static rope, is unacceptable.”

Tesch and Coughlin have full competitive winters planned. Tesch and his wife, Karen, will do some cani-cross (trail-running while hooked to a dog) this fall, and skijoring events most weekends once it snows. Since winter bikejoring races don’t exist, Coughlin bought a small sled that he’ll hook four dogs to for sprint races, which are usually a bit more or less than five miles.

Tesch gets pumped up talking about his plans.

“Some people look at mushing sports and wonder if they’re humane,” he says. “But if you watch these dogs before a race, you’ll see they’re not sitting still. They’re vibrating. I call it sizzling. We get into the parking lot, and it becomes a dog party. It’s noisy and exciting, and the dogs just quiver with anticipation.

“Then there’s something about being out there with a dog you’ve raised and trained. You’re both working so hard, and the dogs aren’t making any noise, and it seems like they know exactly what you’re doing. It creates a unique bond, working with them to do this thing.”