For Anishinaabe musher, the sport connects him to the outdoors, his past and those dogs

GRAND PORTAGE, MINN. – Jesse Terry wanted to hang onto his standing.

The 41-year-old musher from Sioux Lookout, Ontario, was in third place before the final stretch of the 267-mile John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon — a section of trail pocked with gravel and slush.

He traded soaked mukluks for lighter boots so he could run along the sled, giving the dogs an easier pull. He tossed out his repair kit, cooler, leads and anything extra that might sap their strength in those pivotal hours.

“I’m a member of this team; not just the coach who says what happens,” Terry had said before the three-day race that began March 2.

He finished third, about 75 minutes behind winner Erin Aili. But that kind of showing among past champions and seasoned veterans had him “stoked,” he said, as he showered his dogs with affection moments after crossing the finish line.

That upbeat joyfulness is the signature outlook of Terry, the only Anishinaabe musher in this year’s full race — a race named after John Beargrease, son of an Anishinaabe chief, who in the late 1800s delivered mail in winter on a rugged trail or on the lake, traveling between Two Harbors and Grand Marais.

Beargrease used sled dogs for hunting and trapping, so a mail route was a natural extension, said his great-grandson, Mike Keyport, Beargrease board president and a member of the Grand Portage Band of Lake Superior Chippewa.

“It’s likely not in our kids' history books, but to me, it’s a very huge part of northern Minnesota history,” he said of the Beargrease mail run that connected the North Shore’s settlers to the rest of the world.

Marathon leaders maintain a connection to the race’s Ojibwe namesake in various ways, including pipe or drumming ceremonies before the start. But it’s uncommon to have a musher in the race who is also Anishinaabe.

So, Terry’s participation “means a ton to me. It really does,” Keyport said.

It’s also meaningful to Terry. But he doesn’t want to be the token Anishinaabe man, just racing to finish, he said. He races to win.

The Beargrease is the longest sled dog race of its kind in the lower 48 United States. The day before the marathon began, teams convened at the Buffalo House in Duluth to meet with veterinarians and kick off the event.

Terry, who was about to embark on his third Beargrease, readied his team for checks. A believer that dogs feed off their human’s energy, he moved through the line sharing a moment with each, offering jubilant encouragement.

Team handler BJ Egerter said Terry takes great pride in honoring his dogs and ensuring their well-being.

At race checkpoints, “he would rather starve and go thirsty with no rest to make sure his dogs had that,” he said.

Terry’s view of his dogs — athletes he and his family have raised from birth — stems from his own childhood. He grew up with Alaskan husky sled dogs in the close-knit northwestern Ontario town of fewer than 6,000 people, about 340 miles north of Duluth.

His father got into mushing recreationally when Terry was 11, and he often joined him. His grandfather used sled dogs for work, as they helped him travel through the remote wilderness of western Ontario.

Terry is a member of the Lac Seul First Nation. His mother was forced into one of Canada’s residential, or boarding schools, where Indigenous language and culture were systematically stripped away. She lost her knowledge of the Ojibwe language, unable to pass it on to her children.

But Terry’s family was deeply connected to the land around them, keen on long, back country canoe trips and a life in the woods with no running water when he was young.

Now, mushing keeps him grounded. When he’s on a trail, he notices the types of trees he passes and which animal tracks crisscross the path he’s on.

“This is someone else’s home, right?” he said.

Being outdoors and living off the land is a part of him, but centuries of colonization have eroded that connection for countless Indigenous people.

For Terry, raising and training sled dogs helps him, in a healthy way, try to overcome the historical and generational trauma that assimilation caused.

The outdoor industry in general is “pretty white-washed,” Terry said, referring to the lack of color among outdoor enthusiasts, something he’s noticed across North America when he’s practiced rock climbing, mountaineering and paddling.

So, when he races, he knows he’s representing his heritage.

“There’s just so much negativity out there, so much racism,” he said. “I need to, as best I can, represent my people in a good way.”

He and his wife, Mary England, live on a forested lake in a rustic wooden house with a kennel of more than 30 dogs, called On the Land Sled Dogs. He typically competes in two races a year; this year he started with the much colder 450-mile Yukon Quest in the Yukon Territory. His 11- and 14-year-old children often help and are responsible for naming the litters tagged with “Frozen” character and favorite lake names.

England, a family medicine doctor who ran a younger team of their dogs in the Beargrease, said Terry is proud of his ancestral traditions, but he’s “a modern Indigenous man.”

“He’s driven to succeed and driven to run an exceptional kennel,” she said, and when he’s racing, “the harder it gets, the happier he gets.”

Terry hopes to take on the 1,000-mile Alaskan Iditarod next year, and knows his mind and team are ready.

Mushers have powerful connections with their dogs that go beyond companionship, he said, and it’s why most do it despite the cost and hard work.

“You’re providing this outlet for this dog who has hundreds of years of genetics and breeding behind them to want to do this,” Terry said. “When you’re out there with your team, and you’ve spent all this time with them, and they trust you, and you trust them ... it’s probably one of the most special things I’ve ever felt in my life.”