Is Cani-Hiking Your New Outdoor Resolution?
A loud squeal I barely recognize as my own voice echoes through a dreamy autumn forest in Quebec. I’m mid-air and caught off-guard as the leash clipped to my waist harness jerks me forward. Determined to claim his rightful place as leader, Raphael charges the trail in front of me. I scramble but regain balance and avoid eating dirt when my feet finally touch the ground. Cani-hiking, despite what you might think, isn’t your average [dog] walk in the park.
As a dog fanatic, I was excited to try cani-hiking during a recent visit to Ferme 5 Étoiles in Quebec’s Sacré-Cœur region. Often described as “dog sledding on foot,” cani-hiking (or cani-marche) pairs hikers with high-energy Nordic sled dogs who live to pull. It’s a great way to get outside, exercise and connect with the dogs in a beautiful forest setting.
Part working farm, part sanctuary, Ferme 5 Étoiles is a place where rescued or retired animals live alongside visiting travellers. Earlier that day, our group zipped through the same network of trails on ATVs led by Samuel Morin, who, along with his brother and cousin, recently became the third-generation owners. In 1979, their grandparents opened the farm with a vision to create a place where people could connect with nature and themselves in meaningful ways.
After the ride, we wandered the property, meeting deer, llamas with cool haircuts, curious birds and even a pair of wolves. Then came the sound that defined the afternoon—the yips, barks and howls in unison from huskies, pleading to be chosen.
“We all love dogs, right?” musher guide Fabian Drugeon grinned. “Okay. Then let’s talk about what we’re going to experience.”
After signing the waiver, Drugeon asked if I’d ever hiked with dogs. Thinking it would be a breeze since I manage two unruly canines back home, I laughed. He adjusted my hip harness snugly, then began matching us with pooch partners. “The dogs are between 20 and 42 kilos,” he said. “It’s different from walking, you’ll need to watch your feet and your balance.”
Vibrating with excitement, Drugeon unclipped the dogs one by one and hopped the overzealous furry pogo-stick-like pups towards us, their front paws barely touching the ground. Instantly, I knew which dog I’d be assigned. Restless, he leapt up and down, paced and yipped. He was born ready. Sporting a thick white coat and glacial blue eyes, Raphael’s energy matched my inner frenzy. When he greeted me with a slobbery full-face lick, I knew I’d been chosen.
We set out in high spirits, laughing and fawning over our new partners, adjusting to their fervour and strength. Within seconds, I was jolted forward, surprised by Raphael, the pack’s eldest pupper at 13, smaller than my pups. It sounds simple—they pull, you hike—and try to remain upright.
“Walk together,” Drugeon shouted from ahead as my friend Sabrina’s even wilder dog Sambuca, tried to cut in front of mine. “Keep them side by side. It’s easier!” Easier, perhaps, for him. A born leader, Raphael wasn’t impressed that we were at the back. Small but brawny, he leaned into the harness with fierce determination.
This full-body workout blissfully disguised as a forest adventure, is equal parts cardio, comedy and wholesome delight.
We laughed until we cried over the 1.5 hour pull-along, stopping often to catch our breath, and then onward again. Raphael crouched low, hindquarters nearly at ground level, nails dug for traction—his “let me lead” stance. Sambuca zigzagged across the trail, entangling herself with Raphael and dragging Sabrina into bushes with chaotic enthusiasm. Eventually Sambuca’s impeccable timing met a mud-slicked puddle, and Sabrina went down, thankfully laughing, ego bruised more than body.
These dogs were magnificent, and relentless. The moment I wasn’t in a quarter-squat, heels dug in, leaning back as counterweight, Raphael knew and took it as permission to do what he loved most—lead. The awkward posture made my quads and calves burn, but the gleeful mayhem easily eclipsed my discomfort.
Eventually, we found our (fast) groove. I stopped steering, leaned into Raphael’s momentum and trusted his pull to set the pace. Between bursts of speed, I noticed the forest: red and gold leaves underfoot, glimpses of the Fjord-du-Saguenay and an imminent pink sunset. Pauses were brief—Raphael’s tugs a constant reminder of who led this partnership.
Even in the off-season, pulling is in a sled dog’s nature. These huskies yearn to work, and cani-hiking allows them to do what they love. Though I’m considering hitting the gym harder, my adventure with Raphael felt reciprocal. I got a humbling workout and a lesson in surrender; Raphael got to run with purpose.
Putting together a 2026 resolutions list? Consider clipping into a cani-hike and letting a dog lead you, literally and metaphorically. You might just discover the joy of being pulled into nature, laughing all the way.
And if you’re seeking a new partner in crime, consider adopting a retired sled dog from Ferme 5 Étoiles. Raphael, for one, is still looking for a home.
Disclosure: Jenn was hosted as a guest of Bonjour Québec, who neither reviewed nor approved this article.
