The rain started the night before, a steady drumbeat on the tents that turned the ground into a quagmire by morning. But no amount of mud was going to dampen the spirits of the Trailmen. This was the Yukon Adventure—one of Trail Life’s longest-running and most challenging events—and they had come prepared.
The air was thick with the smell of wet earth and wood smoke. Boots squelched with every step. A steady drizzle blurred the edges of the forest, and mist curled around the waiting sleds. The racecourse, normally a crisp, snow-packed track, had turned into a swampy gauntlet. This would be no smooth ride. This would be a slog—a brutal, muscle-burning test of endurance.
Nine patrols lined up at the starting line, each behind a sled packed with their gear—wood, food, tents, and even their homemade stoves. But unlike the Iditarod, where dogs pull the sled, here, the Trailmen themselves were the dogs. The patrol leader served as the musher, shouting commands while his patrol mates strained against the harness, their boots digging into the muck.
At the starting line, nine sleds stood ready, lined up like warhorses before a charge. Patrols crouched low, hands gripping the ropes tight. Faces were smeared with mud before the race had even begun. Then—
"GO!"
The word cracked through the air like a whip. Boots pounded against the mud, legs driving forward, muscles straining. The first few yards were chaos—sleds fishtailing, boys slipping, runners screeching as they dragged through the slop. Mud exploded into the air in thick sprays. Some patrols found their rhythm early, others floundered, scrambling to stay upright as the course funneled into its first tight turn.
The track narrowed—this was the moment to get ahead. A patrol on the left surged forward, their musher bellowing commands. Another patrol veered wide, trying to pass, but their sled caught on a root and pitched sideways. Gear spilled. Boys shouted, grabbing frantically for their supplies, their chance at victory slipping away into the muck.
Then came the first challenge. The Trailmen skidded to a halt, breath steaming in the cold air. Wet ropes waited in their hands. Fingers numb, minds racing, they fought to tie square knots before scrambling back to their sleds. Some patrols nailed it. Others fumbled, precious seconds ticking away.
Later, they had to switch out their “dogs” mid-race. But the biggest surprise came when they found Trailmaster Fred Mapes, at the edge of the course, sprawled on the ground. He clutched his stomach, face twisted in pain.
One patrol skidded to a stop, eyes darting between the fallen man and the track ahead. "You okay, sir?" one of them asked, already kneeling, already reaching out.
Then the realization hit—it was a test. Mapes nodded, waving them on. But they had already shown who they were. And later, when the race was over, those same boys returned to the course—not to compete, but to help struggling patrols make it across the finish line.
“That was the icing on the cake for me,” one adult leader later said. “They proved themselves to be Good Samaritans, and that’s what really mattered.”
Then came the cruelest twist. At the third checkpoint, the patrol leader was pulled from the race. Not only that, but the assistant patrol leader had to sit in the sled, adding his weight to the burden his team had to bear. And all of this came in the final stretch, when exhaustion had already set in.
“It was pretty diabolical,” adult volunteer Eric Tanner chuckled. “We really saved the hardest for last this time around. The last leg of the course was all uphill, which the mud only made even more difficult.”
The Yukon Adventure isn’t just about the sled race—that’s just one of the many events on the itinerary. Before the sled race, the morning began with the ‘Eggstrordinary’ cooking competition. No fried or poached eggs allowed—only scrambled. Patrols whipped up creative concoctions, proving that even in the wilderness, breakfast could be gourmet.
After the sled race, the boys still had a full day ahead of them, packed with competitions designed to test their skill, endurance, and teamwork. Every event earned points. Patrols could add more by reciting Bible verses—one point for reading a verse, two for memorizing one, three for reciting three.
Fresh off of the thrill of the sled race, the boys plunged right into the first aid challenge. Patrol leaders played the victims, exhibiting symptoms ranging from ankle injuries to full-body collapse. The catch? You couldn’t rescue your own patrol leader. One group blew past their assigned victim entirely, venturing off on a wild goose chase before realizing their mistake too late.
For lunch, Trailmen made fires and cooked their meals using hobo stoves they had crafted the night before from number 10 cans. Then, they built emergency shelters that had to house the entire patrol utilizing 6 different knots and at least one form of lashings. Later, they lashed their standards together, using them to trigger a rat trap from twelve feet away—a test of both engineering and ingenuity.
The final event of the day demanded patience and precision: the Sanitation Slam. Using a four-tub cleaning method relay, each boy had to complete his task with military-level discipline—without spilling a drop. Every mistake cost them time and points.
After dinner, the Trailmen gathered for the campfire and chapel service. Points had been tallied. In true ‘House Cup’ style, the overall winners were announced: Patrol KY-0413 from Louisville.
The Yukon Adventure has a way of testing a boy’s resolve. Some patrols buckle under the weight of competition. Others rise. One Troop, years ago, came in dead last and spent an entire year training so it wouldn’t happen again. The next year, they were unstoppable.
By the end of the weekend, the Trailmen were covered in mud, sore from head to toe—but closer than ever. They had battled the elements, their own exhaustion, and the mayhem of the sled race, and they had come out stronger.
“One thing that really stands out to me,” Eric Tanner recalls, “is that at the end of the day, the boys still wanted to be together. It’d be understandable if, after such a full day of competition and challenge, some of the boys felt they’d had enough of each other. But it was just the opposite. The patrols were sitting together, encouraging each other and joking around. The day had bonded them, whether through triumph or frustration.”
That night, the flickering glow of the campfire lit up tired faces, hands wrapped around steaming cups of hot cocoa. The air buzzed with stories—of near-disasters, of successes, of lessons learned in the mud and rain. One Trailman, preparing to stand before his church to become a member, said it outright: "This weekend changed me."
A few weeks later, a second Yukon event would follow. Even more boys from all across Ohio and Kentucky were diligently preparing their sleds and prepping for the challenges that lay ahead of them, hoping to bring honor to their Troop and patrol by winning the day. This second event was blessed with picturesque snow, in stark contrast to the soggy mud the first crew slogged through. As they packed up to leave after the first weekend, the rain started again. A badge of honor, reflected one Trailman. After all, the worse the weather, the better the bragging rights.
All across America, Trail Life Troops are forging boys into men through competition, challenge, discipleship, and adventure. Boys were made for this. They soak up the frost-covered mud and cherish memories of overcoming challenges with their brothers. These experiences are not only fun, but formational. Through them, they discover that they can do hard things and glorify God in the process.