At the foot of glistening Mount Nasaasaaq — “the king of the mountains” — in Sisimiut, Greenland, hundreds of spectators bundled in bright jackets, insulated pants and heavy boots lined a snow-packed trail on Saturday waiting for the racers to glide past.
The low sun glinted off the ice. The snow squeaked underfoot, fine and dry like sifted flour. Red and white Greenlandic flags popped up everywhere — from poles, tucked into hoods, flapping in mittened hands.
For more than three decades, Greenland has held a national dog sledding championship — the Avannaata Qimussersua, which means, in Greenlandic language, “The Great Race of the North.” This year the event brought together more than 25 mushers — including a pretty tough 14-year-old boy — and at least 400 dogs. It’s a tradition deeply rooted in the country’s culture, where dogs are not just animals, but partners in survival. And usually, the race doesn’t attract much international attention.
But this year it was swept into a major geopolitical storm when the White House announced that Usha Vance, the wife of Vice President JD Vance, and one of their sons would attend. With Greenlanders gearing up to protest, Ms. Vance ended up canceling her trip.
Ms. Vance had tried to frame her visit as a gesture of cultural appreciation. The Greenlanders didn’t buy it. President Trump has been fixated on taking over Greenland — a semiautonomous territory of Denmark — and has steadily ratcheted up his talk to “get it, one way or the other,” as he has said.
Many Greenlanders (and Danes) saw the visit as a threat. The race organizers quickly issued a pointed statement saying the Vances had not been invited. A spokeswoman for Ms. Vance denied this, saying the second lady had received “multiple invitations.”
Ms. Vance, along with her husband and some other officials, did come to Greenland, but ending up spending less than three hours on Friday at the Pituffik Space Base, a remote American missile defense station on Greenland’s northern coast, miles from any town.
The race, though, went on, just as planned. For the competitors, it was the culmination of years of daily care, discipline and deep mutual understanding between human and dog.
On Saturday afternoon, a voice crackled over the loudspeaker with updates on the competitors’ progress as they cut across the grueling 26-mile course. Children bounced to stay warm. In the distance, sharp barks echoed across the mountain.
“We’re not trying to impress anyone,” said Inuna Davidsen, a spectator who was alertly waiting for the sleds to appear. “We just want to stay close to nature and to each other.”
Like many others here, she saw the event not only as a competition but as a gathering — a space where people from distant settlements meet, celebrate and reconnect in the snow. Sisimiut, which hosted the race this year, is the second largest town in Greenland, with a population of around 5,000.
Mikaela Eliassen, an entrepreneur from Sisimiut, was standing by the finish line with her children. She said she was a little disappointed that the Vances didn’t come.
“We never get visitors,” she said. “So when we finally heard someone important was coming here, I was excited.”
Greenlanders have been working with sled dogs for hundreds of years. They used them to travel to faraway villages and to hunt seals and reindeer.
In 1968 when a U.S. nuclear-armed bomber crashed through the ice near what is now the Pituffik base, sled dog teams were called in to help with the cleanup. The dogs’ ability to move across the fragile ice made them essential to the efforts.
Today, dogs are still important, assisting Greenlanders in ice fishing, hauling supplies, taking tourists for a ride and even delivering mail.
Only one breed is permitted in the Arctic region of Greenland: the purebred Greenlandic sled dog. This breed has evolved over centuries to work in the cold, and, the thinking goes, any mixing could hurt its hardiness.
A former musher herself, Ms. Eliassen started driving sleds at age 6.
“Dog sledding is not just a sport,” she said. “It teaches responsibility, patience and respect.”
“They say the musher whose dogs respect him most is the one who wins,” she added.
As the first sled crested the final ridge and came into view, the crowd erupted. Henrik Jensen, a 26-year-old musher from Ilulissat in northern Greenland, broke the finish line — his face wind-burned, his dogs frosted with ice and foam but still pulling strong.
His supporters surged forward. Some were dressed in matching black jackets with “Team Henrik” emblazoned across their backs.
As he sat on his sled, grinning and stunned, a group of fans lifted the wooden sled high into the air — dogs still barking and twisting in their harnesses, energized by the roar of the crowd.
“I’ve been preparing for this for years,” he said, his father smiling proudly with a hand on his shoulder.
And if any Americans were tuning in, he said, that’s a good thing.
“It’s great that you’re following along,” he said. “There should be room for everyone here.”