Each year as I become more consumed by my mushing habit, the question always arises—How will I fund my obsession? It’s no secret that there’s no money in dog sledding. Sure, you’ll receive a little over $1000 consolation prize for just finishing the Iditarod, but compare that to the $3000 entry fee, booties, shipping of gear etc, and the checkbook just doesn’t balance. Not to mention, the $1000 prize is rumored to have been implemented so that mushers would have enough money to fly home once they arrived in Nome. And yet, we always come back for more.
So how do we fund our obsession? Some mushers have full-time jobs like accounting, contracting, or teaching. Others own touring operations or lease out their dogs. Some are independently wealthy or have sponsors. Most are a combination of the above. Two summers ago, I tried out a couple different touring operations, and while enjoyable, this summer, I was looking for something different. And that’s where Ray Crowe, Aliy’s brother-in-law, came in.
For too many years to count, Ray has been involved with the Alaska Fire Service. He’s done it all, from hotshots to fire service specialists to his current position as logistics coordinator, so when he started telling stories of fire and flames and helicopters and remote lands, I was intrigued. He suggested I sign up for a variety of jobs and crews, in particular the North Star Fire Crew. Long story short, I was accepted as one of the 28 starting crewmembers for the North Star Crew and began to try and get in shape for the physical test on the first day. Even with all of Ray’s great advice, I still had no idea what I’d signed myself up for.
The North Star Fire Crew is the preparatory crew for the hotshots, in particular the two Alaska Fire Service (AFS) hotshot crews: Chena and Midnight Suns. Chena and the Suns are known for being hardcore, productive crews and ranked among the top in the nation. Therefore, the purpose of the North Stars is to introduce rookie fire fighters to strategies and physical demands of a hotshot crew and see if it’s still of interest. On average, over half of the North Star crewmembers quit or are fired. As we learned quickly, fire fighting is not for everyone. At the end of the season, 12 of the 28 remained.
In order to adequately recount the whole summer, I’d have to write a novel. You can pack a lot of action into three months of sixteen-hour work days. So instead I’ve compiled a list of personal highlights: • Travelling around interior Alaska by helicopter • Becoming somewhat capable of handling a chainsaw (I was teased for being one of the slowest sawyers on the crew but take note- I never once nicked my chaps, which not everyone can brag) • Reaching a personal best in upper body strength (If Aliy compliments my forearms, that’s saying something!) • Lighting a chunk of forest on fire with drip torches only to be chased out of camp by that same fire later that night • Living in a tent for 14+ days at a time with one pair of clothes and no showers • Working with fun, motivated guys all summer long, who challenged me to push myself more than any other job I’ve ever had
In the end, the North Star Crew was one of the most rewarding experiences to date. I received the North Star stamp for a hotshot recommendation with the reminder to not talk so much, refrain from laughing at inappropriate times, and remain focused all season long (ie don’t start talking about dogs and racing when the fire season is nearing it’s end). A big thanks to Ray for getting me started with AFS and all the wonderful advice.
With summer gone and snow in the air, dog sledding is life. I’m once again working with Aliy and Allen; however, they’ve offered me the opportunity of a lifetime. This March, I’ll be taking a team of SP Kennel dogs in the 1,000-mile Iditarod Sled Dog Race (www.iditarod.com). This has been a long term goal of mine, so I couldn’t be more thrilled about racing the Super Bowl of dog sledding with such phenomenal dogs. Training is in full swing, the ground is frozen, and temperatures are dropping. From fire to ice.
As you'll see in the video, the adult dogs aren't the only ones getting ready...
After months of cold days and long nights, I can finally say that Spring has arrived. The temperatures now range from a pleasant 0 to +45, rather than 0 to -45. Puddles are beginning to form and icicles hang from roof edges (something that never occurs when the day’s high is 20 below). And with the sun rising at 6:00 AM and setting at 9:30 PM, I have yet to use my headlamp in recent weeks.
Ah yes, Spring is in the air.
Unfortunately, the arrival of Spring also means that areas once isolated by snow and cold are now accessible to droves of fair-weather outdoorsman and once-frozen heavy machinery, which means…plowed roads. With high berms and little to no snow in which to secure a snowhook, plowed roads are not the ideal mushing trail. Recognizing the lack of control, your calm trotting dog team can turn into an energetic sprint team with no comprehension of the word Whoa! Or if plowed down to gravel, the exact opposite happens with the dog team grinding to a halt on the abrasive rock. Either way, not ideal. Especially when we needed a team of dogs to run 400 miles for Dr. Mike Davis’s treadmill study.
As I had mentioned in my previous blog post, Dr. Mike Davis conducts a number of different studies on sled dogs testing their stamina and trying to better understand their physiology. For the current study, Dr. Davis needed biopsies from three groups of dogs, one of which just completed a 400-mile run and then trotted on the treadmill for 25 minutes. In addition to SPK dogs, Jake Berkowitz’s dogs were involved in the study.
Originally, the plan had been for me to race the Taiga 300, add a few more miles on after the race, and then run four of the dogs on the treadmill. However, the race was canceled, so we moved on to plan B. With Aliy and Allen leading their Adventure Trips on the Denali Highway, it seemed like the perfect opportunity for me to take the team from Cantwell to Paxson and back. In the winter, the Denali Highway is an unmaintained road known for its beauty and remoteness, making it a favorite for mushers and snowmachines alike. Along the way, Maclaren Lodge and Alpine Lodge provide nice breaks between Cantwell and Paxson. Aliy and Allen were going to leave drop bags at the lodges to resupply me along the way. But as is always with mushing, you have to be flexible. First, have a plan. Make sure to have a Plan B. And more often than not, and Plan C and D are good ideas too.
Sure enough, the day I was going to leave for Cantwell, Jake Berkowitz called and informed me that the Department of Defense had plowed the first 60 miles of the Denali Highway down to gravel. Back in November, a jet crashed just off the Highway, so the DOD was bringing in enormous machinery to collect all the pieces of the plane in case a Russian spy or avid firearms collector scoured the crash site first. I can understand their reasoning, but it sure throws a wrench in our plans. A memo or “heads up we’re driving machines the size of two-story houses down the Highway” would have been much appreciated. But secretive as always, the DOD didn’t even communicate with the Department of Transportation about their plans! So… Plan C?
Since we still had decent trails in Two Rivers, Jake decided to join me for the remainder of his 400 miles (he’d already completed 180 miles), and then I’d assess my options for the rest of my 400 miles. He arrived that evening, and we left the kennel at 9:00 PM for a long run on the Two Rivers training trails. Even with the warm weather, the trails were still in good condition until we reached our furthest turnaround. During the season, we regularly ran to the end of Baseline and turned around a large grove of trees, briefly crossing over private property and traveling through an open gate with a “No Trespassing” sign attached to the front. So why would this time be any different?
Sure enough as I came around the corner, I saw a four-foot high wall of snow and realized… they’d plowed the road. Apparently this warm weather makes folks want to get out and be productive. Regardless, I didn’t think twice about blasting over the berm and hopping down on the to the road, thinking I’d just give a sharp “Haw” and we’d jump right back over the berm when we reached the turn off. In the dark and with the light snow and wind, I failed to see that not only was the road plowed, but the gate was closed as well. I immediately hollered out a calm “Whoa” and applied pressure on my claw break. Unfortunately, the sound of the claw break scraping on solid ground had the opposite effect. Plan B- I called “Whoa” a couple more times, grabbed my snow hook, and started dragging it along the ground trying to find any grove in which to set it. Once again, the metallic noise only excited them causing the dogs to run faster! It’s almost as if they hear the scraping of metal on ice, know I now have zero control, and feed off my vulnerability. I realized it was hopeless when my lead dogs easily slid under the gate. I was never good at Limbo, but I hoped that if I ducked down, we’d just slide right under the gate. However, as I got closer, I realized I wasn’t going to make it under. Plan C- throw the sled on its side and slide under, dragging on my belly. My last ditch effort proved futile; I had waited too long. I clipped the gate as I went under, but as I waited for the sound of breaking metal or a jarring halt, all I heard was a loud crash and the gate swung open with the team. The mushing gods had smiled on us.
Getting off the road was a challenge as well because who in their right mind would trade a fast, frictionless trail for a couple feet of powder? This time, I was able to set the hook in the berm, walk up to my leaders, and point them in the right direction. But of course, it couldn’t be that easy. The trail had been blown over by drifts of snow, and my team jumbled up into one big mass of excited dogs. I pulled up my snowhook, walked to the front of the team, and began struggling through the thigh-deep powder. Ranger, one of my leaders and a favorite for his go-get-‘em attitude, started towing everyone, barking and wagging his tail at all the thrill and excitement. Finally, we reached the packed trail. Jake arrived shortly after with his own tangle of dogs, and we set off for the remainder of the run. All that trouble due to one plowed road. Of course, where’s the fun without a little bit of excitement?
The rest of the 180 miles went smoothly. We explored the hills across the road, rested in a cabin, and ran a few loops around the kennel, finishing in the wee hours of the morning a day later. When we arrived, I was pleased to find Allen with the truck loaded down with a four-wheeler, meat trailer, and other gear meaning that I would be joining them on the Denali Highway! At nine that same morning, we headed off for Cantwell and the remainder of the 400-mile run.
Even though the Denali Highway had received a little bit of snow, it was still plowed with intermittent patches of gravel. Like a true hillbilly, we hooked the dogs up to the four wheeler, strapped my sled onto the meat trailer, and drove to the Adventure Trip camp thirty miles in. I stayed a few hours at the camp with Aliy, Allen, and seasoned Adventure Trip mushers Sandra, Julie, and Chris. From there, we (my dog team and I) mushed to Maclaren Lodge, stayed for the afternoon, then ran the 90 miles back to Cantwell. Along the way we wove through spectacular mountains, often spotting moose, ptarmigan, and fox. Rather than describe the scenery, I recorded a short video:
At three in the morning, we arrived back at Cantwell after covering the last thirty miles of gravelly road. Dr. Davis was there to meet us, and I have to admit I was in a bit of a “state”. Sorry, Dr. Davis. In the dark, I had not navigated the team around the gravel patches, instead mushing right through them. When the sled traveled over gravel, I hopped off and ran next to it, hoping the runners wouldn’t be completely trashed. Not only did it feel like I ran thirty miles next to my sled, but while running, I had lost one of my beaver mitts. Even with A's in two middle school homemaking classes, the fact remains: I’m an awful seamstress. So after spending the drive down to Cantwell sewing and stitching my mitts onto the Idiot Strings, my seams failed and one of my beaver mitts was left behind. Dr. Davis helped me load up the team and sled, and then six hours later we began the treadmill study.
Around noon, Dr. Davis and I met up with Kaz, Doug, and Mickey at the entrance to the Denali Highway. The Adventure Trip crew was going to be arriving shortly, and we were there to meet Aliy, Allen, Julie, Sandra, and Chris at the end of their trip. I was still frustrated about the loss of my mitt and the condition of the trail, but I was about to be humbled. Over the hill came Aliy with five dogs pulling the four-wheeler and Julie, Sandra, and Chris with their four dog teams and huge smiles across their faces. Essentially, I was being a sissy. I guess the trail really wasn’t that bad, and luckily a snowplow driver had picked up my mitt and gave it to Aliy! What luck!
In the end, Plan C could not have gone smoother. Without Aliy, Allen, Kaz, Doug, and Mickey shuffling cars, leaving messages, and organizing gear, the 400-mile run would not have been possible. I’ve really enjoyed being a part of Dr. Davis’s studies and research, especially since he’s so good at simplifying the concepts so that I understand! Regardless of plowed roads, it was a trip to remember. The trails were spectacular, the views phenomenal, and the company…the best. Few people have the opportunity to travel on the Denali Highway, much less with a friendly, talented team of dogs. So while I’m glad that Spring has finally arrived, I couldn’t be more excited about the prospects of next year.
If you turn on Sports Center or ESPN2 during the month of March, all you’ll find is basketball. Whether it’s a game between two obscure colleges or a highlight reel of identical three-point shots, basketball manages to overshadow an event with far more excitement, unpredictability, and athleticism: The Iditarod. Compared to the Iditarod, all other sports are merely circus acts. Both dogs and mushers are on their feet as much as twenty hours out of the day, navigating through mountain passes, windswept rivers, and ground blizzards with temperatures ranging from 40 above to 40 below. Day and night, the teams are moving. There are no substitutions in this sport. Just one musher and sixteen dogs for 1000 miles. ESPN, take note, those are real athletes.
To truly tell the story of the Iditarod, I should start back in October, when we began putting base miles on the dogs. And progress to December and January, when we began the preliminary races, during which we strengthened both body and mind. I’d mention the hours and hours of cutting and packaging food, bagging booties, and organizing gear. I’d go over every minute detail of Iditarod preparation. But I don’t feel like writing the preface to this story, so we’ll skip to the good part: the Iditarod Start.
Before the official start in Willow, the teams parade through downtown Anchorage in the 12-mile Ceremonial Start. Each musher has a rider in their sled basket and a tag sled pulled behind as they wave and smile their way through throngs of fans. For my first time, I had the opportunity to actively participate and drive Aliy’s second sled. It was an incredible experience. All the dogs feed off the excitement of the crowd and other teams, barking, howling, and screaming at the starting line. Weaving our way through the streets, we try to keep smiles plastered on our face, although Aliy was a bit better at it than I was. Luckily, I could eat the free hotdogs passed out by Iditarod partiers and give my smiling muscles a break.
After the ceremonial start, it was time to get serious. Aliy and Allen packed their sleds and organized all their gear. Bridgett and I gave the dogs some rub downs and pep talks. The next morning, we all drove out to Willow for the official start for which Allen would start 5th and Aliy 16th. Unlike the Ceremonial Start, everyone was a bit more reserved. It was time to get down to business. We managed to get both teams hooked up and walked to the starting line with minimal issues, and as I watched Aliy take off out of the starting shoot, I realized I was wound up like a spring. There was no sigh of relief to see the teams on the trail after all the hard work and preparation, rather I felt like one of the dogs left in the yard. I wanted to start sprinting down the trail yelling, “Wait for me!” Luckily, there are the GPS trackers.
And so began my Iditarod madness. Wake up; check the tracker. Eat breakfast; watch the tracker. Feed the dogs; run back in and check the tracker. Clean the yard; check the tracker. Run dogs; carry my cell phone so that if anything happened on the tracker, Bridgett could call and fill me in. Unhook the dogs, check the tracker. Luckily, my friend James came up from Kansas to experience the Great North, and he kept from planting myself at the table and staring at the computer screen for hours on end.
The day before I was scheduled to fly to Nome for the end of the Iditarod, I entered the Chatanika 100 sled dog race, which conveniently ended at the Pleasant Valley Store just down the street from our kennel. I left around noon on Friday, ran for 5 hours, camped 2 hours, and finished in the wee hours of the morning on Saturday (which is the same day I flew out to Nome). James and Misha were my superstar handlers for the race, sending me out with a spunky young team of Honda, Pud, Sissy, Scooter, Schmoe, Waylon, Lester, Cutter, Viper, Kit Kat, and Newt. They were so fired up, I was on the brake the majority of the race!
Saturday evening, I arrived in Anchorage after a short flight and left the following morning for Nome. However, I wasn’t stopping in Nome. Bridgett and Scotty had given me a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to fly out to Unalakleet, which is the first coastal checkpoint in the Iditarod. Once teams hit Unalakleet, they have about 300 more miles to go. In Nome, I hopped on a little puddle-jumper and flew to the small native community of Unalakleet. For anyone that watches Flying Wild Alaska, this is one of the towns filmed. It’s nestled between the coast and a river, completely susceptible to all ocean storms and weather. The coast has a reputation for being nasty due to hurricane-like winds and whiteout blizzards, but this year the weather gods were smiling on us. Other than a slight breeze, temps were high and mushers’ spirits higher. Aliy arrived at Unalakleet, but chose not stay. Running through a checkpoint can be a real struggle for dog teams because mentally, they see a checkpoint and are ready for a break. But Aliy put young Quito in single-lead, hollered ‘Ready!’ a couple times, and took off down the trail. Aliy’s team, by far, was the most impressive that came through Unalakleet. Shortly after, Allen arrived and stopped for a few hours. It was fun to see him and hear his stories from the trail. Before leaving, he swapped to his lighter sled he’d shipped into Unalakleet, emptied all extra gear, grabbed his two ski poles, and took off. “I’ve only got a Copper Basin left. It’s time to race!”
From Unalakleet, Bridgett and I flew back to Nome. This time, however, the pilot flew closer to the shoreline so Bridgett could point out the trail route. With zero trees and a few small hills, I can’t imagine traveling by dog team during one of their coastal blizzards. Incredible.
That evening, Bridgett, her friend Rochelle, and I packed up a couple snowmachines and drove the 70+ miles out to the last checkpoint on the Iditarod trail: White Mountain. Seventy miles on a snowmachine is about all I can handle, so when we arrived at the village of White Mountain around 7 AM, I was ecstatic. Forty minutes later, Aliy checked in. Mushers are required to take a mandatory 8 hours of rest here, so there was no way that Aliy could take off without visiting with us first (Aliy stayed in maybe five checkpoints the entire race!) A short nap and a meal later, Aliy was excitedly talking about her race thus far. Only one leg of trail left! Right after Aliy left, we jumped back on the snowmachines and headed back towards Nome. I would have liked to have seen Allen in White Mountain, but if we waited we would miss Aliy’s finish.
During the drive back, we hit the infamous “Blowhole.” You can see it from a ways off. It looks like low hanging clouds, or perhaps a layer of fog. The closer you get, the sooner you realize that it’s no cloud, but a raging ground blizzard. On a snowmachine, the ten-mile section of powerful wind, blowing the machine sideways was exhilarating. On a dog team…I can only imagine. Aliy’s video can help you get an idea.
Safe and sound in Nome, we all prepared for Aliy’s finish. To see her one last time before she arrived, we drove a few miles out of town to where the trail crosses the road. Of course, don’t forget during all this, we are continually checking the GPS tracker. And it was on the tracker that we realized the race was about to get even more exciting: Aliy was gaining on DeeDee Jonrowe. At the road crossing, DeeDee came by and Aliy passed about one and half miles behind her. With only a few miles to go in the race and Aliy not peddling or ski-poling, we believed that Aliy would not have time to catch DeeDee before the finish. At the finishline, under the arch, we stood there “having a pity party” as Bridgett put it, surrounded by DeeDee fans. Finally a dog team came up onto front street, and it wasn’t until the team was twenty feet away that we realized it was Aliy. All the SPK crowd erupted, smothering the DeeDee fans in cheers and hollers, and rushed towards the dogs. Quito and Biscuit barely managed to slide under the arch before they were bombarded with praise. A perfect end to a perfect race.
While we’d been following Aliy’s trek from White Mountain to the finish, Allen was having an adventure of his own. Out on the sea ice, a fellow musher’s team had quit, leaving her stranded and cold. When Allen came upon her, she was hypothermic, so he strung their teams together and drove both groups of dogs into the next checkpoint. This demonstrates not only Allen’s character, but the strength of the dogs as well. They didn’t feed off the other dog’s negativity, rather pulled harder to carry another team.
Allen finished the Iditarod shortly after with a strong healthy team of dogs. They relaxed in Bridgett’s backyard and flew out of Nome shortly after I left. In Anchorage, Doug (Aliy’s dad) and I picked up all the canine athletes and drove them back to Two Rivers. This evening was the finish banquet, where Aliy earned the prestigious Humanitarian award for best cared for dog team, and Allen won the Sportsmanship award for saving a fellow musher's life. I’m so impressed and honored to call myself part of the SP Kennel team.
It’s hard to believe that the racing season is actually over. So much excitement packed into just a few months. However, when there’s snow on the ground, there’s dog sledding. Aliy and Allen will be leading week-long adventure trips on the Denali Highway. I’ll be taking a team of dogs out on the highway for a 350-mile run in preparation for the final treadmill study of the season. I’ll make sure to post a blog about the trip. Yes…what athletes. Just a 350-mile run like a walk in the park. The REAL athletes.
I really apologize, but blogging took a back seat once the racing season began. I’ve done a poor job of keeping everyone updated, but I’ll try to pack all the exhilaration of the past month into one blog post.
After the Copper Basin 300, our focus turned to Allen’s 1000-mile Yukon Quest and Aliy and I’s Quest 300 races. Dogs were trained. Drop bags were packed. And logistics were worked out. For all those unfamiliar with sled dog races, the Yukon Quest is the lesser-known of the two thousand mile races- the Quest and the Iditarod. Like the Iditarod, the Yukon Quest trail alternates routes depending on the year, but this year the race began in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory and ends in Fairbanks, Alaska…40 miles past our backdoor. Knowing that the dogs would be inclined to stop at the kennel rather than continuing on 40 miles down the Chena River to downtown Fairbanks, Allen and I prepared the dogs by running the 75-miles from the last checkpoint, all the way past the kennel to downtown and ending with staw, food, and lots of atta-boys to ensure they understood that Fairbanks is the end (in just a couple days we’ll see if our training paid off). Those 75 to 80 mile runs were also essential in preparing Allen’s team for his first Quest appearance.
In addition to those runs, I was training a range of slower/older/younger/less experienced dogs, some of whom would run on Aliy and my Quest teams. Among them were a few of my favorite dogs at the kennel- the Fab Four Yearlings (Spoog, Schmoe, Sissy, and Scooter). These four had never before camped out or rested while in harness, so we had a couple trial runs hoping that the overly excited pups would get the idea to lay down and rest on the straw rather than keep barking obnoxiously and lunging into harness. Luckily, they quickly learned the basics of camping after only two short campouts, and come race time, I decided to bring along Scooter and Sissy on their first big race. Exciting!
In between training runs, we were packing food drop bags to be sent out to the different checkpoints and to resupply us along the trail. The Quest is unique in that the checkpoints are few and far between. For comparison, the Iditarod has around twenty checkpoints, and the Quest has only nine! Allen had sections of trail without a checkpoint for over 200 miles! For the Quest 300, we had 70-100 miles between checkpoints, so I planned on camping between each one and packed accordingly. In the drop bags were food for the dogs (fish snacks, horse snacks, beef snacks, fat snacks, fat crumbs, MVP dog food, soaked dog food, cooked fish, and tripe), gear for the dogs (booties, blankets, any vet gear like wrist wraps or Algyval massage oil), gear and food for me (chocolate, chocolate, and more chocolate with perhaps a granola bar thrown in or a Mountain House dehydrated meal), and whatever else we might need. We sealed those up then dropped them off in Fairbanks to be shipped to the various checkpoints along the trail.
On February 1st Allen, Aliy, Ray (Aliy’s brother-in-law), 38 dogs, and I loaded into the two dog trucks and began the 12+ hour drive to Whitehorse. Luckily the roads were relatively clear, and we arrived later that evening. Even though the race wouldn’t start until Saturday the 5th, Allen had numerous meetings, his vet check, and banquets to attend before the start of the race. In between all the hubbub, Aliy and I wanted to stretch out the dog teams since they were basically living on a dog truck for a week prior to the start. With the race beginning in downtown Whitehorse and continuing down the Yukon River, it seemed easiest to just hop right on the race trail and go for a couple hours. However, Whitehorse was currently melting in uncommonly warm temperatures (which we struggled to convert to Fahrenheit every time the weather was shown on TV), so our nice stretch-out run became a mushy, chaotic swim. At one point Aliy’s dogs were swimming in overflow! I had strategically chosen the second team, so Aliy’s dogs tested the waters and let me know where to steer clear. An hour later, wet and worried, we returned to Ray and the dog truck and began to ponder the upcoming race only two days away. Would the trail be ready? The trail markers had lead right through the worst of the puddles. How would we prepare the dogs? How would we prepare ourselves? Should we buy waders?
Luckily, the next two days brought colder temperatures and solidified the trail for our Saturday starts. The AMAZING handlers Ray, Dave (a friend of Aliy and Allen), and Doug (Aliy’s dad) helped Allen leave at 11 in the morning and then Aliy and I around five that evening. The trail was fast and perfect for the entire race!
I was very excited about my dog team with the yearlings Sissy and Scooter, trail-hardened veterans Bullet, Teddy, and ChaCha (all 8-9), and my bedmate Stormy. Other superstars Hank, Lester, Newt, Pepper, Moonpie, and Tug rounded out the team for a nice mix of young and old, experienced and novices.
Throughout the race, we camped twice when the distances between checkpoints were too far to make in one run (Whitehorse to Braeburn and Braeburn to Carmacks). We saw nights full of vibrant, green Northern lights and beautiful scenery along the frozen lakes and Yukon River.
The dogs were incredible, and motored along all the way to the finish line on Tuesday. Even when I thought we’d taken the wrong trail and backtracked to Stepping Stone Hospitality Stop, only to find out it was the correct trail, the dogs trotted on at an even brisk pace. I’m so thankful for the all the help from Dave, Doug, and Ray as well as the strength and happy attitude of my dog team. The Yukon Quest 300 could not have gone better.
At some of the checkpoints, we were running with the “Big Dogs” (the 1000-mile Quest mushers), making me excited to someday tackle the real thing!
Immediately after I finished my race, Doug drove the dogs and me to Dawson City where the rest of the SP Kennel crew was awaiting Allen’s arrival for his 36-hour mandatory layover. Each team is assigned a camping spot, and the handlers are allowed to turn their area into a little doggie day spa so that Allen’s team would be comfortable, warm, and pampered during their 36-hour break in the middle of the race. That evening, Allen arrived with a very strong dog team. Allen went back to the hotel to get some much deserved sleep while Aliy, Ray, Dave, and I settled the dogs into their new home for the next couple of evenings. Over the next 36 hours, we messaged, fed, walked, and pampered all the dogs. Allen organized his sled and prepared himself for the road ahead.
At 11:16 AM, Allen and his team took off from Dawson on their way home. Currently he’s between Mile 101 and Two Rivers. Since Dawson, the dog teams have experienced more bad weather, overflow, slow trail, and challenges than thought possible. Dog teams have faltered, at least 10 teams have scratched, fingers have been frostbitten, sleds and mushers submerged in overflow, and sadly two dogs have expired. But even with all the adversities, teams are pushing through. Allen’s tenacity and sheer determination to get his team off the Yukon, through the overflow and -50 temps on Birch Creek, and over Eagle Summit dog by dog is unbelievable. I’ve learned so much just by watching him and the other mushers persevere through all Mother Nature throws at them, and hope that when my turn comes, I’ll have the strength to do the same.
The race is almost over, so be sure to check out www.spkdoglog.com for faster updates.
ALSO:
My brother Nick is keeping a blog (http://www.guayusagoodtome.blogspot.com/) about his experiences working for Runa in a remote town in Ecuador. SP kennel is represented in Ecuador!
I know I already discussed a bit about being a handler in my previous post, but I wrote a little something for the SPK Dog Log and figured I might as well post it here too.
2011 Copper Basin: Handler’s Perspective
For many folks unfamiliar with the world of dog sled racing, I’ve decided to give a slightly different perspective of the CB300 and highlight a group of people easily overlooked: the handlers. Before I delve into the trail, checkpoints, and challenges of the race from the eyes of handler, I’ll first explain who/what exactly is a handler.
Handlers are essential to most races (excluding the Iditarod), and yet we can do so little during the actually competition. In fact, the term ‘handler’ is a bit misleading, seeing as we cannot touch the dogs or assist the musher once the race begins. Perhaps, a more accurate title would be ‘observer’. Essentially, we’re like a pit crew at Talladega that can’t actually touch the car, instead saying, “Hey Dale, it looks like you’ve got a flat tire. You might want to fix that.” We can’t help bootie or feed the dogs; we can’t heat up water; we can’t lie out straw; we can’t even pet or massage the dogs. So what can we do? We can scout out a checkpoint before our musher arrives and stomp out the perfect spot for our team to camp. We can find where the water, drop bags, straw, food, and lodgings are located. As the mushers tire, we can gently remind them that they were going to wrap so-and-so’s wrist, or that they wanted to feed the two wheel dogs too. We can keep track of their rest times and wake them up when it’s time to leave. Once the musher and the dogs hit the trail, we can clean up their campsite, pack up the truck, take any dropped dogs with us, then drive to the next checkpoint to wait and watch some more. In between driving, waiting, watching, and cleaning, we catch a few moments sleep. After reading the responsibilities of a handler, you may wonder who in their right mind would sign up for that job? And the answer is…everyone. Often times we’re volunteers who just like to be a part of the dog sledding world for a weekend. For many, meeting and interacting with the other handlers is half the fun. We’re an eclectic bunch, ranging in age, profession, interests, and experience, but for some reason we all find ourselves standing at -10, anxiously waiting for a light to start winding its way through the trees. Among the many characters I met were a young couple from Norway, a fellow Alabamian experiencing her first Alaskan winter, a guy from Anchorage with zero dog knowledge, and a “multi-handler” who has no real kennel affiliation but shows up to races and handles for whoever needs assistance. The excitement of racing and the enthusiasm of the dogs draw people from all walks of life who just want to be a part of the experience, myself included.
Now that I’ve established who/what is a handler, we’ll look at the Copper Basin 300 through the eyes of a participant who never sees more than 50 yards of the trail. Let’s start with the weather. During most of the race, the temperatures were warm by Copper Basin standards: 10 to -10 degrees. For handlers, this was wonderful. It is much more enjoyable to wait outside in these temps than the typical -30 to -40 degrees commonly found during Copper Basin. For the musher, however, this meant more open water and deep overflow, so that they returned from runs wet and cold. This year’s trail route also varied from previous years. The race started from Paxson, and once all teams were on the trail, the handlers could drive the 3-4 hours to the next checkpoint, Chistochina. For the mushers, starting in Paxson meant that they were able to tackle the enormous hill with a fresh dog team right from the beginning. For the handlers, the already long drive from Paxson to Chistochina was further complicated by the 2-hour time differential between the first and last bibs (aka Aliy and Allen). The addition of the Spot Trackers in this year’s race was also incredibly helpful for the handlers, when they worked. Now only if we could get wireless or even cell phone reception at each of the checkpoints. And finally the finish in Paxson along Paxson Lake and the airstrip, while long for the mushers, gave the handlers a heads up as to their arrival so that we weren’t caught sleeping when they crossed the finish line.
Overall, handling for the SP Kennel teams in the Copper Basin 300 was three days packed with fun and excitement. I had the chance to learn from veteran CB300 handlers, Ray and Bob, and I’m looking forward to the upcoming races!
One week ago, we were experiencing -40 to -45 temperatures, and today? Yes, we're not running dogs because it's too WARM! Record high of 45 above zero!
MIDDLE TANANA VALLEY- INCLUDING...FAIRBANKS...FORT WAINWRIGHT...EIELSON AFB...ESTER... NORTH POLE...MOOSE CREEK...TWO RIVERS...FOX...CHATANIKA...CHENA HOT SPRINGS...SOURDOUGH CAMP 447 AM AKST SUN JAN 2 2011
...RECORD HIGH TEMPERATURES THIS MORNING... .TODAY...MOSTLY CLOUDY. HIGHS 30 TO 45. TEMPERATURES SLOWLY FALLING IN THE AFTERNOON. EAST WINDS 10 TO 20 MPH. LOCAL GUSTS TO 25 MPH ON THE HILLS IN THE MORNING. .TONIGHT...MOSTLY CLOUDY. LOWS 10 TO 20 ABOVE. SOUTHEAST WINDS AROUND 15 MPH. .MONDAY...MOSTLY CLOUDY. HIGHS 15 TO 25 ABOVE. EAST WINDS 10 TO 20 MPH. .MONDAY NIGHT...MOSTLY CLOUDY. LOWS ZERO TO 5 ABOVE ZERO. EAST WINDS 15 TO 20 MPH.
Last weekend we competed in our first race of the season, the Sheep Mountain 150 (Allen, Aliy, and Bridgett raced. I handled). After months of training and preparation, the racing season has finally arrived. This is what we’ve been waiting for. The many hours on the back of a sled in below zero temperatures, the shovel full after shovel full of dog poop, the sorting and resorting of gear, the frustration of nothing working at forty below--- has all come down to this: Racing. Some folks might ask, “Why do you enjoy racing sled dogs?” But this is a question best left unanalyzed. No good will come of pondering why you paid money to drive a dog team at 3:00 in the morning after sleeping two hours when it’s -20 degrees and you can’t feel you fingers. The fact is we race because we want to. I’ll admit I don’t enjoy every second of a race, but something about working with dogs and overcoming the challenges Mother Nature can dish out makes racing surprisingly rewarding. And with maybe five people waiting at the finish line, it better not be for the glory.
At this particular race, I was handling for Allen, Aliy, and Bridgett. For those unfamiliar with sled dog racing, a handler is a person who assists the musher during a race by taking dropped dogs and helping manage run/rest times. Ironically, the term ‘handler’ could not be farther from the truth in a race setting. I do no ‘handling.’ I can’t even touch the dogs. I’m like a pit crew at Talladega that can’t touch the car, but instead says, “Hey Dale, it looks like you need to change your tires. You might want to do that.” The inactivity can be slightly frustrating when all I want to do is start rubbing down the dogs or help booty the team. Rather than “handler,” I should be called an “observer.”
Even as an “observer” I thoroughly enjoyed the Sheep Mountain 150. I had the chance to watch 40 dog teams in action and compare the checkpoint routines of some of the top distance mushers. Combine that with the breathtaking beauty of the surrounding mountains, and the Sheep Mountain 150 is one of the best.
