One Traveling by dogsled

Musher driving a sled dog team through the maple forests of southern Quebec. Photograph: Douglas Mckinlay

It's cold, somewhere near -25C, but with the wind it feels more like -35C. My eyes keep tearing up, creating small rivers of saline that run down my cheeks and freeze solid; tiny icicles form on my eyelashes, threatening to weld my contact lenses to my corneas. This is winter in the Duchesnay region of Quebec, Canada's largest province, and I am driving a team of sled dogs across a landscape locked in a deep freeze.

Nicolas is a burly, slightly serious fellow, but projects a quiet confidence. He knows all 28 of his dogs by name and temperament, and picks the best 14 from among the barking and howling chaos of the kennel. Even though he is only 25, he has a lifetime of experience among the province's forests, lakes and rivers. He is very Canadian that way.

Canada is somewhat rare in the world: it's a modern, tech-savvy country with well-educated people occupying the planet's third-greatest landmass, but still one of the least densely populated countries on Earth. It is a country of vast emptiness and serious outdoor environments. Having read Jack London's White Fang and Call of the Wild as a teenager, I can't think of a better – or more privileged – way to experience it than being out in the wilds with only dogs and a guide.

"Hep, hep, hep, " calls Nicolas, his command to get his team of dogs moving. A winter sun hangs low in the distance, giving only the illusion of warmth in the dense, snow-covered forest of silver birch, spruce and sugar maples, the source of Quebec's most famous export.

The air has a slightly metallic smell, an odour most Canadians associate with the coming of snow. It's the first morning of a three-day 150km dog-sled trek and, despite being clad in a thick snowmobile suit and boots, I can feel the cold seeping between the stitching. The only solution is to get my team on the trail. But it takes about 90 minutes to get the dogs rounded up and hooked to the sleds; I have six, while Nicolas hooks up eight. They are all adrenaline: barking and howling, pulling at the harnesses, eager to go. Once we're off, they fall into an easy gait, mostly quiet with tongues dangling.