June 25, 2025
Alex McPhail
Years ago, I owned Siberian huskies and spent much of my spare time immersed in the world of sled dog racing. I never owned enough dogs to field my own team, but I worked with seasoned mushers and often helped organize and officiate races.
There are two main ways to harness a dog team. The most common is the gang line—a central cable that runs from the sled like a trunk, with shorter lines branching from the trunk line to each dog. It’s orderly, efficient, and ideal for narrow, forested trails. Any dog sled picture or video you have seen probably depicted the gang line configuration.
The second method, still used in some regions, is the fan hitch. In this setup, each dog is radially connected directly to the sled with an individual line of varying length—the shortest about six feet, the longest over twenty. While harder to manage, this configuration offers more flexibility in open terrain and deep snow.
I once officiated a race where the fan hitch was in use. My role was to record checkpoint times and ensure each team followed the approved trail.
One musher arrived at the checkpoint clearly agitated. Part of his sled had come loose. He pulled off to the side and dug through his repair kit, muttering to himself as he worked. Meanwhile, other teams passed by, each one chipping away at his composure. His frustration mounted.
Eventually, he secured the broken piece, climbed back onto the sled, gripped the handle bar, and called out the command: “Hike!”—the signal for the team to move.
But the dogs had been waiting. Too long.
Restless and bored, they had drifted into a wide, uneven arc. When the musher gave the command, each dog lunged with energy—but in its own direction. The sled jerked up, down, and then toppled over. Gear scattered across the snow. The musher cursed, scrambled to upright the sled and scurried to retrieve the strewn articles and repack them in the sled. Finally, he took a moment to gather the dogs—repositioning them so that they all faced the same direction. This time they surged forward, crossing the open field ahead.
That team finished last.
Losing a race is not a tragedy. But acting without alignment can be.
On June 1, 2009, Air France Flight 447 departed Rio de Janeiro bound for Paris. Midway over the Atlantic, a sensor failure caused the autopilot to disengage. The aircraft remained fully airworthy. In theory, the crew could have continued the flight or diverted safely.
But what followed was catastrophic.
As the aircraft entered turbulence, the two pilots gave conflicting control inputs—one pulling up, the other pushing down. Unbeknownst to both of them, the Air bus flight computer processed the conflicting signals simultaneously, effectively cancelling each other out. The aircraft stalled and pancaked into the ocean, killing all 228 passengers and crew.
The Bureaud ’Enquêtes et Analyses, France’s crash investigation authority, concluded that “the crew did not succeed in establishing a shared mental model of the situation as it unfolded.” This incident is now a case study in modern aviation. It is an example in which two highly capable individuals acted with purpose, good intent, but without alignment.
In another example of catastrophic lack of alignment, on April 20, 2010, the Deepwater Horizon drilling rig, one of the deepest oil wells ever attempted, exploded and later sank.
Technically, the well was sound. Every major company involved, including BP, Transocean, and Halliburton, had highly skilled personnel on site. But their priorities were not aligned. BP, the well owner, was focused on cost and schedule. The project was millions over budget and weeks over schedule. Haliburton, which cemented the well, was focused on following proper procedures. They had flagged several issues but lacked the authority to address them. Transocean, as the rig operator, emphasized safety and maintenance, but its own documents revealed the rig crew might not have received adequate training. Each organization saw risks through different lenses, and they failed to integrate their perspectives into a common operational framework.
Methane gas from the well shot up the drill column, igniting in a fireball visible for miles, killing 11 workers and injuring 17 others. The rig burned and sank two days later, releasing millions of barrels of oil into the Gulf of Mexico over the next 87 days. It was the largest marine oil spill in history. The Joint Investigation Team of the U.S. Coast Guard and the Bureau of Ocean Energy Management, Regulation, and Enforcement concluded that the disaster resulted from “a failure of management and communication between BP, Transocean, and Halliburton,” citing inadequate integration of roles, responsibilities, and decision-making authority across the companies as a major contributing factor to the catastrophe.
Leadership isn’t just about purpose, intent, and results. It is more about aligned direction. When priorities are unclear, and roles uncoordinated, even skilled professionals and teams can pull in opposing directions, neutralizing momentum or causing catastrophic failure. Whether managing a hospital, a nuclear power plant, or resolving a complex crisis, the same truth applies: alignment must precede action. Because when you're Inside the Decision, direction matters as much as determination.
