June 25, 2025
Alex McPhail
Years ago, I owned Siberian huskies and spent time immersed in the world of sled dog racing. I never had enough dogs to field my own team, but I worked closely 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 gangline—a central cable that runs from the sled like a trunk, with shorter lines branching out to each dog. It’s orderly, efficient, and ideal for narrow, forested trails.
The second method, still used in some regions, is the fan hitch. In this setup, each dog is 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 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 handlebar, 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 flipped over. Gear scattered across the snow. The musher cursed, scrambled to upright the sled and repacked it with the strewn articles, and finally he took a moment to gather the dogs—repositioning them to face the same way. This time they surged forward, crossing the 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 Airbus flight computer processed the conflicting signals simultaneously, effectively cancelling each other out. The aircraft stalled, descended rapidly, and pancaked into the ocean at a vertical speed of 200 km/h. All 228 passengers and crew perished.
This incident is now a case study in modern aviation—an example of highly capable individuals acting with purpose but without alignment.
Leadership isn’t just about energy, effort, insight, or action—it’s more about direction. When priorities are unclear, and roles uncoordinated, even skilled professionals can pull in opposing directions, neutralizing momentum or causing catastrophic failure. Whether managing a racing team, a proposal pursuit, or a complex crisis, the same truth applies: alignment must precede action. Because when you’re inside the decision, direction matters as much as determination.
