Five Frame Advancement - Letters by dog sled

(This vintage postcard is a photograph of artic mail carriers around the turn of the 20th century.)

Letters by dog sled

Sven Nortigern leaned towards the sled and plucked one of the priority letters from the mail sack.

     “We done taking a break?” his partner London Smith said.

Sven pulled down his face collar and spit a stream of tobacco juice into the snow, and then began to open the letter.

     “What the devil you doin? That’s somebodies mail Sven,” London said, moving closer.

     “I need to know why we had to come to God forsaken Hiske for this one letter. It’s the right I have for risking my life,” he answered.

     “Come now Sven. You know that we would be in a heap o’ trouble if the Service ever found out that we are reading people’s letters. When you become a mail carrier you make that oath,” London said.

But Sven was not to be persuaded, and he continued ripping the letter. His hand hurt a little from the cold outside his mittens.  He unfolded the single sheet of paper and started to read it.

After a minute, London was clearly aching to know what it said, but Sven read on until he had finished it.

     “Well? What is it Sven?” said London.

 Sven looked up. His eyes were hard and the hairs of his beard were tiny spikes streaked with frozen  tobacco juice.

    “It’s a goddam letter from the Postal Service. They are reducing the pay for all dog sled mail carriers in our region,” he said coldly. London looked surprised as it was the last thing he expected from the letter. He had thought for certain it was some low level correspondence to an area governor, or at least a love letter from one of them. After a few seconds he turned his face, and looked out over the vast expanse of frozen space around them. The snow was smooth from last nights fall, and the Yukon trail was only slightly visible where it dove into the trees a quarter of a mile away.

    “You know what I think Smithy,” Sven said, for he always called London “Smithy.”

   “What Sven?”

   “I think underpaid postal workers in the arctic sometimes lose a few letters. You never know when the tough and dangerous trail might take a letter. Just the way it takes a few men and dogs each year.”

    “Damn right it does.” London said. Then he turned back to the sled to prepare the dogs.