Nunavut man pours love, time into sled dogs and training

On of John Hickes’ dogs enjoys a meal of ham, Arctic char and dog food. (PHOTO BY THOMAS ROHNER)

John Hickes with Tiny Tim. (PHOTO BY THOMAS ROHNER)

John Makayak Hickes is never happier than when he’s with his dogs. (PHOTO BY THOMAS ROHNER)

Preparing dog food: a mixture of ham, Arctic char and kibble. (PHOTO BY THOMAS ROHNER)

RANKIN INLET—John Makayak Hickes is in his happy place.

Surrounded by 30-odd sled dogs in front of Nanuq Lodge in Rankin Inlet, Hickes smiles as he walks along the rows of doghouses.

The dogs, straining at the chains that tether them to their individual homes, greet Hickes, who towers over them, with barks, yelps and frothy wet tongues.

It’s feeding time—a tense and chaotic scene for anyone not used to being surrounded by so many dogs.

But the animals show no aggression as Hickes tows a big rubber bin filled with a stew only a dog would love: big hunks of ham and Arctic char bob up and down in a broth made thick with soggy dog food.

“Some people do drugs or alcohol, probably cause all sorts of problems and spend all kinds of money. Me, I just do dogs, I train sled dogs,” Hickes said Sept. 29.

Hickes, who owns and runs Nanuq Lodge with his partner, Page Burt, has been training sled dogs since he was a teenager.

As a youth in Churchill, Hickes said he would deliver newspapers to customers four miles outside of town.

“I bet they never had a paper boy by dog sled before, or since,” Hickes laughed.

Running Nanuq Lodge is more of a lifestyle choice, said Hickes, who also works as a political negotiator for the Kivalliq region.

For the past 10 years, Hickes has passed down his dog-training skills and love for dogs to local youth.

Once the winter starts up, the youth start their training for the season of sled-dog racing.

Hickes said the youth he trains are really good at staying on the sled because he’ll start them off on a sled pulled by a snowmobile Hickes drives.

“The kids stick to the sleds like shit on a blanket. Other kids only train on straight, flat stretches.”

The fenced-in area in front of the lodge where Hickes keeps his dogs is split into four areas: a main area for active sled dogs, a small area for dogs too young to start breeding, a back area for dogs unable to pull sleds because of age or injury and a small area for young puppies.

Hickes fills up a food bowl for each dog, but takes more time with some dogs than others, especially the eight rescue dogs he owns.

One dog, named Cola, a former national champion, was likely starved into obedience by his former owner, Hickes said.

“But he’s come a long way,” said Hickes as he kneels down besides Cola and cups the dog’s chin in his palm.

Some of the rescue dogs refuse to eat out of their bowls—likely because they were beaten with their food dishes, Hickes said—so Hickes lays raw chicken wings on the roof of their doghouses.

Hickes has a name and a story ready for almost every dog.

There’s Tiny Tim, who can smile on command but can’t pull a sled any more because of a fractured leg bone he suffered.

Toots, named after local hockey hero Jordin Tootoo, is small and scrappy.

Spike acts tough and confident like a lead sled dog, but he’s a pretend leader, Hickes said.

And there’s Silver, who survived a bear attack.

“The kids come up with the names for all the dogs, but I don’t know how they come up with some of these names,” Hickes said, smiling and shaking his head.

Hickes lets the dogs off their chains and the animals race around the fenced-in area, jump on top of the doghouses and compete for Hickes’ attention and affection.

“Dogs are great. Even if you’re the biggest jerk, they’ll still give you unconditional love.”