This is a story of a very special man who has had a lifelong passion for the sport of skidooing. His passion has been infectious to a lot of people, friends and family included. I can’t say if there is a special gene for this passion, but if there is, it has travelled down in our family for many generations, and will be passed down to many more.
How it started
In 1972, my father, Tom Hogg, purchased his first sled, a Polaris 175. Soon after that, my uncle, Orville Barsi, purchased a Bombardier 299, and that's when our family sport of skidooing began. It included husbands, wives and seven children ranging in ages from three to seven.
For the children, Tom and Orville used old car hoods and flipped them upside down, drilled holes and attached ropes from the sleds to the car hoods, creating metal toboggans for the kids to ride on. The kids looked forward to going out to the farm in Sangudo, Alberta, for a day of riding in the pasture. For the first few years of sledding, my father can recall when the snow was too deep for the snowmobiles. One trail always had to be travelled regularly so that they always had a track to drive on. Going off that trail was impossible—the snow banks on each side of the track would be so high, it was like riding in a deep trench.
In 1973, Tom purchased a Bombardier 229. Then in 1975, both Tom and Orville purchased 1975 TNT 340s. Both men wanted better, faster and stronger. They also purchased cutters to pull the children. The children were ecstatic, since the cutters were faster and easier to stay on. Then in 1977, Tom purchased a brand new 1977 Everest 340 for his wife, Iris. From then on, he stayed loyal to Ski-Doo and never wavered from that brand.
Not many people can say they have stuck to one sport for so many years and that they have also stuck with the same brand of equipment. But my father can—except for the first machine—that was of a different type. My brother and I also use the same brand and now my son does too. It is truly amazing how a sport and a specific make of a machine can be passed down through the years and generations like it has for this family.
My first sled
My parents had a hard and fast rule—you could purchase your own sled when you were in Grade 6, and you had to pay for it yourself. So when I was a mere six years old—and my brother, Brent, was eight—we took on a flyer route to start earning money. For years we had been dreaming of having our own sleds.
In 1975, Brent purchased his first Ski-Doo, a Moto-Ski 250. He was 11 years old, and in Grade 6. For two more years, I counted the days and the sleeps until I would finally get my own sled. But I was still happy as I could still go skidooing.
In 1979, I got my own sled. I bought a 1978 Elan 250. It was my pride and joy, and the first thing I had to do was paint it. The previous owner painted over the decals and his paint job was shoddy. My dad and I sanded down the hood, painted it and put new decals on it. In 1980, I sold that beloved sled to my twin sister, Brenda, and turned around and purchased a 1975 TNT 340.
Passing it along
My uncle, Orville, purchased new sleds each year, usually John Deere, and then switched over to Yamaha. Each year, the sleds were handed down—the older siblings receiving a newer sled, and handing down their sled to the younger siblings.
As the years went on, the machines improved and everyone had their own sleds. The rides grew longer and farther away from the pasture. Other farmers in the area who had their own sleds would sometimes join the trips. Every weekend, the farmers would call to ask where we were going and if they could come. Most trips had anywhere from 10 to 26 sleds, travelling a distance of 80 to 100 miles, stopping only for a wiener roast and then continuing on.
As the years went, on our family grew, and my dad became a grandfather five times over. He’s had the experience of sledding with his grandchildren—Erik, Lyndsay, Brandon, Kyle and Mikayla. There were times where we all went out to my uncle Glen’s acreage in Sangudo and 11 sledders would ride around for the day, then have a nice birthday dinner for Glen.
Heading to the hills
In 1989, I had the experience of going to Valemount, B.C., with some co-workers, and it was the time of my life. The next year, I convinced the rest of the family to go to Valemount to skidoo in the mountains. They were unsure of what to expect as they were used to sledding in fields and on the Pembina River and Paddle Creek—which are both in the Sangudo area. But they relented and went, and new traditions were born.
Now, the whole family prefers mountain riding, and we look forward to the winter season, or as we call it, skidoo season.
Between 1992 and 1994, my wife and I would take our sons, Brandon and Kyle, and do shorter day trips. We would meet up with my dad, and sled around Lac St. Anne and Big Lake, Alberta. My dad enjoyed those trips with his grandsons, continuing on the family sport. We would stop half-way through the day and build a fire to have a wiener roast and share some laughs about the day’s challenges.
Another generation comes along
In October of 1994, I became the proud father of a new baby girl, Mikayla. We lived on an acreage at the time, and would skidoo over to visit neighbours in the area. Mikayla was only a few months old at the time, so her mother wrapped her up and put the bundle right into a helmet. When Mikayla was two she would stay awake into the wee hours, waiting for Daddy to pull into the driveway. She was very determined and adamant that she was going to get a ride. So I would unload my sled and take her down the road aways, and then park it. The smile on that little girl’s face was bigger than she was.
By the time Mikayla hit five or six years old, there was no way she wanted to ride with her mom anymore. She insisted on being on Daddy’s sled, because Mom was “too slow.” Already that girl needed speed and power—she must have gotten that from her skidoo nut father!
Sled trips in Alberta and B.C.
My dad also got to have quite a few skidoo trips with my sister and her family. They would go on trips to Golden and Valemount, B.C. Their day trips took them to the coulees near Leduc, south of Edmonton, Alberta.
Time passed by, and the group came down to my father, my brother and I. When there was enough snow, we would ride locally, but going to the mountains was always a must. Even though it was down to a few riders, it was still the greatest group to be with. We shared a lot of laughs and created memories that will last a lifetime.
Bringing out The Brotherhood
My brother Brent works with a group of sledders who call themselves The Brotherhood. Brent would tell them about his adventures of sledding in the mountains with his father and me. They asked if they could join our group, so in 2008, The Brotherhood joined us in Whitecourt, Alberta, for a day trip. Then in 2009, they came with us to Valemount to experience mountain sledding. We were their tour guides for that weekend and we shared so many laughs with the virgin mountain sledders and their funny antics—like getting stuck in the oddest places about 20 times per day.
So for the past three years, we have all met up in Valemount, at an average of three to five times a year. Two years ago, we started going on week-long trips rather than just weekend jaunts. We have formed lasting friendships with these guys based on our love of snowmobiling.
We have gone to Valemount pretty much every year for the past 22 years. We have also skidooed in McBride, Golden, Enderby and Revelstoke, B.C. We prefer Valemount of all the mountainous areas, because it has everything we want—trails that are groomed perfectly, nice bowls to play in and peaks to climb. Valemount is what we are very familiar with, and we know that each visit there will be a great holiday.
Teaching a new mountain rider
This past season, my son, Kyle, purchased his first snowmobile and started riding in the mountains, which sure made his grandfather and me proud. Each time that Kyle would join us, we knew that there were going to be many laughs.
By the end of the first trip, Kyle ended up with a few new nicknames—like Woodchuck—because he would get so close to the trees that he would actually take the bark off them. Another name he earned was Stitch because he used mechanic's wire to stitch up his windshield.
Kyle is a very comical driver, giving us endless laughs. My dad’s favourite chuckle came when Kyle got ripped off the sled by tree branches. For some odd reason, Kyle insisted on driving too close to the trees; it is like he has a tree magnet in his sled!
Favourite laughs
Throughout the years, we have created a lot of memories, shared many laughs and have enjoyed every moment we spent together. Two of my favourite laughs that I would like to share are about Tom, and his moments of hilarity.
We were sledding at Valemount, having a great day, when I turned around and saw my dad’s Ski-Doo racing down the hill, without my dad on it. I looked up the hill and saw him running like mad, trying to catch his racing sled, but the sled was gaining speed. I hit my throttle, and gave chase to the renegade sled. I caught up to it quickly and used the brakes on both machines to stop. Tom finally caught up to me; he was kind of speechless and in shock that the sled took off with a mind of its own. Brent never got to see this happen, but came looking for us lost sledders. He noticed a line of footprints leading down the slope and was quite baffled by this. He followed those footprints and they led him straight to his dad. Tom then told us that he was atop a mountain ridge and he had hit something with his ski and the sled threw him right off, so then he just started running. It was such a hilarious mishap, we laughed till our sides ached.
And then it happened again! But this time Tom wasn’t about to even try to give chase. Instead, he just went for a leisurely stroll in the direction his sled went. He knew that I would be there to rescue his beloved machine. This time there were more witnesses, which I think made it all the more amusing.
One of the witnesses, Danny, picked up Tom and drove him back to his sled. The whole group watched with amusement as I gave chase to the runaway sled. I think that my dad was quite embarrassed by this mishap, especially when someone piped up and said he’s like a cowboy, lassooing a calf! We all had a good laugh, including Tom, even though it was at his expense this time.
There are so many more stories I could share with you about each and every sledder. A lot of times when the family gets together, we reminisce about all of the moments of hilarity and mishaps. We go through our photo albums and remember all the great times we shared. By August, we start planning our next Ski-Doo trips, and dream of the good times to come. Because of this, we have very strong family bonds, and a lot of great friends. I feel very blessed in being a part of the Hogg family.
A sledding legend
Tom Hogg has been riding for four decades and has had a lifetime of great experiences—40 years of snowmobiling, 10 snowmobiles (or more), thousands of miles of sledding and millions of smiles and laughter. His guidance, experience and knowledge have been passed down from generation to generation. His dedication to his family and to the sport has made a huge impact on the family. He is extremely happy that his whole family is so passionate about skidooing, and that he brought this passion to the family.
As time is flying by, his body is not keeping up to his passion for snowmobiling. Everyone hopes that he can and will keep sledding and that shorter, easier trips can and will be planned. And if it is time to hang up his helmet, we will sure miss riding with him.
We are beyond proud of the head of our family—he is a great skidooer as well as a great leader, father and a great dad!
