The arrival into Kaltag brings a huge sense of
accomplishment to every musher who has ever run the Iditarod and mushed the
Yukon River. It is a major step in the race, and the finish line suddenly feels
within reach. As I cared for my team in Kaltag and prepared for our next leg of
the race, I discussed this with my fellow racers (there were about a dozen of
us parked together at the checkpoint). A few people in particular were getting
excited about how close we were to Nome. There was a pause in conversation,
followed by a contemplative silence as everyone calculated how far the finish
really was. A somber mood fell with the snow, as I pointed out that we still
had over 300 miles left in the race. This was actually the first time that I
thought about the finish of the race, and looked at the big picture.
It is very important when running such a long distance, with
so many runs and rests, to focus on one leg at a time. “How is the team looking,
and what is my plan for the next run (or two or three at most)?” It tends to be
quite discouraging to look 300 miles down the trail and try and think about
scenarios that are days away, and out of your immediate control. Our
conversation in Kaltag did not help any of our spirits, and made the remaining
part of the race seem quite daunting. With a team of eight dogs, I had to
really fight the feeling of being overwhelmed. For a brief moment, I started to
compare the remaining part of this race to the Copper Basin (a 300 mile race
that is one of the toughest in the world, and one I have run a few times). I
had to quickly change my outlook, and go back to focusing on the immediate: “How
are we going to most successfully run the next 80 miles to Unalakleet?”
The goal of “racing” had long since been set aside, and the focus
was now on making it to Nome with the remaining eight dogs. Peter Fleck and I had
made a plan to run the remaining race together. We had a well matched group of
dogs, and each team had different strengths. My dogs were always eager to jump off
the straw, and Pete’s group (still having 12 members) had a little more power
to break trail. With the trail conditions, the plan for the remaining part of
the race was to stop at every available opportunity. Old Woman cabin (located
at mile 40 on the way to the Bering Sea coast) conveniently broke this upcoming
run in half. We would stop here for a couple hours and give the dogs a meal and
a rest. I knew the trail conditions would be slow, and I was not disappointed.
Having a GPS is not always helpful when running dogs, and it
was quite discouraging to look down and read that we were moving at just over
six miles per hour. This was especially annoying because for the first time in
a few hundred miles, we were actually following fresh snowmachine tracks. But,
the quality of the snow had recently changed, and this new texture was quite abrasive
and grippy (a coastal snow, which is known for having the texture of sand). All
in all, the run to Old Woman was uneventful and smooth, but just felt to be
passing in slow motion.
In the light of early morning, we arrived at our camp. The
dogs ate, and then curled on their straw. We were getting a reprieve from the
snow, and I took the opportunity to stretch out and sleep with my team. It was
a quality nap, and I awoke feeling rested and ready for the coast, which was
now one run away. A few miles out of Old Woman, I came across a team stretched
out in the middle of the trail. They were in full on camp mode, and I
recognized the musher immediately.
Brad Farquhar had been a beginning musher the year before,
and had lived and worked for Ken Anderson, one of our neighbors who has run the
Iditarod for the last two decades. Brad had learned to mush and run his
Iditarod qualifiers in one year, and was now attempting to finish Iditarod
before moving on to his next “bucket list” item. This phenomenon is somewhat
popular with Iditarod, and the musher is known as a “rent a teamer” (because
they lease a dog team to race with). A lot of mushers who own their own kennels
and have put in the time and labor of raising and training their own group of
dogs, are a bit prejudice towards “rent a teamers.” The resentment typically
stems from the feeling that these people are simply buying their way into an
experience that most people have worked and sacrificed for years to achieve.
Regardless, there is no doubt that someone who is running a new team, with
little experience in mushing, tends to be more at risk for having difficulty
while travelling such a long distance.
Brad had left Old Woman an hour or so in front of me. After
a couple miles, he had trouble convincing his dogs to keep moving down the
trail and had no leaders to take the team forward. As I came upon him spread
across the trail, I had to call my dogs around his crashed out team and
convince them to pass his piles of food. I had to jump off the sled and guide
the team by, acting as the lead dog. This was the only time in the entire race
I had to do this. As I returned to my sled, my anger and frustration (about far
more than this team being in the trail) was directed at Brad. I unloaded on
him, and pointed out that he needed to move his outfit off the trail for other
teams that were going to need to pass. I explained this in short order, with a
few expletives thrown in for good measure, and then called to my team to leave
this show behind. I was mean, and as soon as we got back to moving, I felt bad.
A few miles down the trail, I looked back to see a team
quickly approaching. Expecting to see Pete, I was surprised to see Brad (easily
recognizable with his bright, orange hat). I put on the brakes as he caught up,
and hollered back to apologize for yelling at him. Brad is a very nice guy, and
took it in stride with no hard feelings. He responded by saying that “you
wouldn’t believe it, but as you went by, my dogs jumped right up to follow you.”
I shook my head, knowing how dogs love to chase, and we continued towards
Unalakleet, his team following mine for motivation.
 |
| The trail from Kaltag to Unalakleet. An overland trade route that has existed for millenia, connecting the Bering Sea to the Interior and the Yukon River. |
Mushers often forget the amount of hills that surround
Norton Sound. They are not to be overlooked! With the exception of the second
coastal run from Shaktoolik to Koyuk, which is all on frozen sea ice, the other
four runs have monster rolling hills. These add thousands of feet of climbing
in the last 250 miles of the race. Although these hills are an incredible
workout, for dogs and musher alike, they give way to amazing views at the top,
making the reward worth the work.
The weather had started to break as we mushed from Koyuk to
Elim, and by the time we left Elim in late afternoon, the skies were clear. The
45 miles from Elim to White Mountain were a culmination of a season’s worth of
hard work, and embodied everything that the Iditarod represents to me as a
musher.
 |
| Resting in Elim. Well, everyone but Knox. |
At this point in the race, I knew that one way or another we
would reach the finish line. With that realization, I was able to set aside any
stress, and with clear skies and only minimal wind, enjoy every moment of this
run. We started with a seven mile climb up “Little McKinley,” bringing us about
2000 above the coast. We then followed one ridgeline to the next, chasing the
setting sun. The views were incredible in all directions, and the color in the
sky was just amazing to watch (especially after over a week of nothing but
snow). In the distance, I could watch Pete and Brad slowly gain ground on us.
It was fun to feel that comradery of traveling with other mushers, knowing they
too were enjoying this amazing piece of trail.
 |
| The view as we mush towards White Mountain |
At last, the two larger teams caught up to us, and together
we ran over the remaining 10 miles of hills into Golovin (a small community
about 16 miles from White Mountain). Just as we approached town, the northern
lights came out, and we pointed a portion of our attention to the sky. At this
point, Pete and Brad had passed me. On the other side of Golovin, I stopped to
put on dog jackets and give my team a snack. The wind had picked up, and the
temperature had fallen to -15. I was so startled and confused, when suddenly a
team came up behind me and went whizzing by! After initial surprise, I started
laughing as I realized it was Brad. Apparently, he had devoted a little too
much attention to the sky, and missed the trail out of Golovin.
Leaving the town, we run across Golovin Bay. With a nice
tail wind, I was able to sit on my sled, shut off my light, and watch the sky.
Even though I have grown up in Alaska, and see the lights frequently throughout
the winter, the aurora never loses its beauty and intrigue, and I spent the
better part of two hours watching it dance, the lights of Golovin slowly fading
behind us. The emotional realization that this was our last night on the trail,
and that we were going to finish, suddenly hit me. With tears in my eyes I
watched the form of my team move in the subtle light from the sky. I thought
back across the last 11 days, and the ups and downs of the race. I thanked my
team. I thanked them for their loyalty and their strength. I thanked them for
their intelligence and their drive. I thanked them for being there as my
family. I knew that this had not been an easy race for them, but these eight
dogs had tackled the challenges head on, and had never shown a moment of hesitation.
In that moment, I felt that I could travel with them, like this, forever.
As we prepped to leave White Mountain, after serving our
mandatory eight hours, I almost regretted having to call this our last run.
Reality took hold, however, and I thought about the remaining 60 miles. Many a
team has had their race come to an end in this stretch, and that thought helped
to get me back on track. A breeze had picked up on the river where we were
parked, beneath White Mountain, and I knew that this was an ominous sign of the
miles to come. If it is windy here, the exposed Topkok Hills would be storm.
And past that, the coast of Norton Sound, and the infamous “blowhole,” would be
wild!
In 2014, this section of trail completely changed the
outcome of the Iditarod front pack. Jeff King had his entire team blown off
course in the “blowhole,” and the dogs got tangled in driftwood lining the
coast. In the time it took him to get them untangled, they laid down and
decided it was time to camp. Aliy Zirkle then passed him, unknowingly, and when
she reached the final checkpoint of Safety, stopped to reassess her team. As
she was stopped, Dallas Seavey mushed through. He signed in and out of the
checkpoint, and went on to win the race, all the while thinking that he was still
in third position.
Three miles out of White Mountain, we climbed off Fish River
and were confronted with a strong breeze. Looking across the five mile swamp we
were currently running, the Topkok hills were locked in cloud cover. Except, it
was a blue sky day, and there were no other clouds around. What I was seeing,
in fact, was blowing snow, crowning off the hills and forming “snow clouds.” I
decided I was now ready for the race to be over. I did not want to face anymore
wind.
In a protected spot just before the hills, I stopped and put
jackets back on the dogs. I had removed them before leaving the checkpoint,
thinking the temperature was going to rise. It was currently five degrees,
however, and it looked like we were going to be facing dangerous winds as we
got into the hills. As I pulled the hook and climbed the first small rise into
the hills, the strong breeze turned into a 40 mile per hour cross wind. Despite
the fact that Pete was only minutes in front of us, Qarth and Knox were
breaking through belly deep drifts with no sign of any other team. We would see
obvious sled tracks and an icy, rock hard trail one moment, and then bottomless
drifts and soft powder the next. While I fought to keep the sled behind the
dogs, cutting one side slope after another, the dogs fought to keep their
footing and a steady pace with the extreme variation in snow conditions. We
were about 12 miles into a 60 mile run… By the time two and a half hours had
passed, my shoulders and arms were more fatigued then they had been the entire
race. The side hills, coupled with the strong winds made for some of the most
demanding sled driving of the whole race. And, I knew we had not hit the worst
of it.
After about 25 miles, the trail through the Topkok Hills spits
you out onto the coast of Norton Sound for the remaining 35 miles to Nome. But,
you must immediately pass through an eight mile section known as the “blowhole.”
Regardless of the weather, this piece of the coastline is pummeled by a
constant wind that funnels out of the mountains and straight out to sea. This
constant wind only increases when there is a storm, of course. During the last
couple miles of the Topkoks, I could look out to sea and watch the wind rip across
patches of open water. The view was amazing! Watching the turbulent salt water
while mushing at five degrees in a winter storm, was a very cool experience. Rounding
the final hill, I could keep one eye on the open water and then look over the
coast to a grey/white expanse. What is usually definable coastline, was nothing
but a cloud. One look told me that was the “blowhole,” and I could follow the
distant trail markers straight into the middle of a whiteout.
As we dropped out of the hills and approached the edge of
what now looked like a living beast, I was met with a single second of
hesitation. Just before we hit the coastline, there is a tiny safety cabin.
Parked against that cabin, was a team that had left White Mountain four hours
in front of us. Knox saw them, and before I could give it thought, I was
calling him and Qarth out towards the coastline. The power of the wind that hit
us twenty steps later, is hard to describe. I had one more second of mental
pause, and then watched the way my two leaders leaned into the wind and hit the
storm with more drive than I could have ever asked for. I knew at that moment
that there was nothing else in the world except the here and now. It was time
to mush!
The wind went from strong to absurd! I had never mushed in anything
close to these conditions before. I went from an aggressive crouch, to sitting on
my right heel and holding onto the base of the upright stanchions, my hands
positioned only about six inches off the runners. I was trying to get as low as
possible and hold the sled down to the trail. Any moment that I relaxed, the
sled would spin perpendicular to the dog team, pointing into the wind. In order
to keep the sled tracking behind the dogs, I pulled out my knife and drug its
blade through the ice on the uphill side of the sled, using it as a rudder. This
was a first!
Fifteen minutes into the harshest of the wind, I needed to
reposition my legs. After sheathing my knife, I straightened my back. As I did
so, the wind caught my body and immediately blew us over. This would be the one
and only point in the entire race where I tipped my sled and drug behind the dogs.
The ground was completely flat.
I estimate the wind was blowing a steady 70 miles per hour
for this eight miles of trail. I stopped twice in this section. Once with my
tipping and dragging activity, and then again as Mereen got blown into her
brother and tangled in his line. Each time I walked to the front of the team,
the dogs would have a layer of snow and ice caked to one side of their tail and
face (the majority of their bodies being protected by the jackets). I would
brush them off, give them a quick pat, and then get back to my sled which was
ready to go airborne if not for the snowhook rope keeping it anchored down. Every
time they felt me pull the hook, they hit their tugs and were eager to get
going. I guess they trusted that I would get them out of this weather
eventually.
At last, the wind calmed to a pleasant 30 miles per hour,
and I deemed it safe to stop and make a snack break. In the last mile, I had
noticed Qarth make a change to his gait, and now as he stood in lead, I could
see that he had pulled something in his back. It was time to give my heaviest
dog a ride in the sled. He did not protest, and seemed happy to find reprieve
from the storm. With Braavos joining Knox in lead, we continued our progress towards
the finish line, albeit at a markedly slower pace with now only seven dogs in
harness. I pulled out the ski pole and began my familiar motion of pedaling and
ski poling with the team. The wind was now calm enough I could stand upright on
the runners, and only needed to have a mild lean into the wind.
The final challenge before reaching the burled arch of the
finish, is a climb over “Cape Nome.” Just for fun, the race trail goes up and
over a thousand foot hill 12 miles from Nome. Although there is a trail around
the “mountain,” the markers take teams straight up the long climb. The view of
the western Seward Peninsula is admittedly beautiful, but I am not sure it is
worth the tradeoff. This hill was a workout for the seven dogs hauling Qarth, but
they tackled it honestly, and reached the top with wagging tails and alert
eyes. This would be our final stop on the Iditarod Trail, and I took a moment
to give every dog another snack, a fresh change of booties, and a quick rub. In
this time, Brad gained on us and attempted a pass. Although his team had
somehow been able to power through the “blowhole” on their own, the team was
not motivated to stay in front of my dogs. After a few attempts, he took my
suggestion and stayed a little ways behind me for the remaining miles to Nome.
It is a bizarre experience to go from the complete
remoteness of the Topkok Hills (and the majority of the Iditarod Trail, for
that matter), to the relative urban development of Nome. As we trotted down the
beach towards the city, cars drove up and down the road next to us,
snowmachines buzzed by, a jet took flight in the distance. We were still
mushing, still leaning into a steady cross wind, but something had changed. I
embraced the change. I congratulated the dogs. As we approached Front Street, I
made a quick stop. I pulled Qarth out of the sled and put him in team next to
his sister. This dog had led through each of the most difficult sections of trail on
this race, and I thought he deserved to be a legitimate finisher, in harness. I
guess, it was what I wanted to see from him, more than anything.
The eight dogs
that had run with me for the last 450 miles moved as they had for days, light
and easy, making their steps seem effortless. As we ran down the paved street
to the finish line, and KattiJo and my Mom who were eagerly awaiting, I could
see more finishes in their future.
Thank you to my amazing group of dogs!
Finishers:
Knox – Led for over half the race, and has attitude and
endurance that is unmatched
Qarth – The most incredible dog I have ever owned!
Mereen – Smooth and fierce, her future is bright
Braavos – The most eager dog in this year’s race, he loved
tailing Spears (who was in heat, haha)
Tundra – At 10, this was his final Iditarod. The couch is in
his future
Spears – The easiest dog on the team, her four foot leap to
run is pretty inspiring
Moe – A surprise finisher! Let’s see if he is ready for next
year.
Whiskey – Our youngest team member, at 20 months. Super
appetite, light step. Good boy!
Dropped:
Polar – (Anvik) I had the hardest
time dropping this guy. He has grown immensely this year, and should make next year’s
team
Ambler – (Shageluk) Super strong,
but suffering from chronic shoulder issues, Ambler’s racing career is uncertain
Frito – (Iditarod) This guy loved
every minute of the race. A swollen wrist knocked him out this year, but he
will be back next year
Forty – (Ophir) Outgoing as ever,
he should be ready for next year
India – (McGrath) As with her son,
Ambler, her shoulders have proven to be a problem on tough trails. Her attitude
on new trails, however, is great!
Pogo – (McGrath) The smartest
Gee/Haw leader we have! I sure hope I can get this guy through next year’s race
(his physical durability is the issue)
Elton – (McGrath) This little nut
is living on the couch! He was adopted after the race by a local Fairbanks
resident
Yunkai – (Nikolai) A beast! No dog
has his appetite, or his semi-psychotic attitude… His racing career comes down
to whether or not he wants it. It is all mental with Yunkai
