Wild leaders understand, deep in their bones, that leadership is never a solo act. It moves through the whole team. Sled dogs illustrate this truth beautifully—and powerfully.
Yes, I am technically the leader: the musher, the one responsible for feeding them, tending their yard, training them, and caring for them in a hundred quiet ways. But out on the trail, leadership becomes something shared. It becomes partnership.
When we run, I choose our direction, but the dogs provide the power. I’m not in front, blazing the trail—I’m behind them, guiding, balancing the sled, lending a push on the hills, and watching carefully as they work. Their job is to pull. My job is to support and steer. Neither role works without the other. If they stop pulling or take a turn I didn’t call—and remember, everything is done by voice command alone—I am out of luck, in the winter in the woods with an incohesive team. We depend on each other completely.
Leadership among humans is no different. A leader who forgets that interdependence, who loses respect for the team, is surely lost in the woods. And for those who rise from being the “doer”—the one up front pulling—to becoming the one behind the team, the transition can be especially challenging. Often the most effective move is to resist jumping in and doing someone else’s task, and instead stand steady, helping the team stay aligned and on course. That form of leadership requires more discipline than doing the work ourselves.
Wild leadership is an art grounded in reciprocity, humility, and learning from the natural world around us—including a group of joyful, determined, wonderfully exuberant sled dogs.
