2005 Iditarod Journal

Home from Nome – Post Race Report 2005

It has been nearly four weeks since we finished the race and I have been biding my time, waiting for my energy level to return to normal and a persistent cold to abate. Still waiting so I thought I’d better start putting my thoughts down on paper (or file) before I forget all the bad stuff and remember only the good. Tends to be a common occurrence among Iditarod mushers thus contributing to run after run down The Trail.

It may be hard to forget all the tough aspects of the race since I start my day with two Ibuprofen, one cold pill, and a cup of coffee. If my back does not loosen up within a few hours then it takes another two pills to keep me upright. And if my congestion does not relieve, then I also need another cold pill to get me going. You’d think with all that stimulation, I’d have no trouble getting up to speed! Anyway, I thought I would fill you all in on the whole experience of 2005 Iditarod, start to finish. I’ll break into two segments: Tough Terrain, Terrible Trail (The Start to McGrath) and Global Warning – The Warming is Real (McGrath to Nome). Hope you have a bit of time to read on….

March Madness – Tough Terrain, Terrible Trail

Iditarod. In the mushing world it’s the equivalent of the Superbowl, the Indy 500, the Kentucky Derby, the Ironman; the difference being that it requires elements of all four. You need a super team of athletes with great endurance, unbreakable equipment, reasonable speed, a well conditioned driver, and a bit of luck. For Alaskans celebrating the arrival of March, the Iditarod has evolved into the major event of the winter, drawing spectators and participants from all around the state, the country and the world. The race represents Alaska’s very own form of March Madness.

When I first learned of the Iditarod back in ‘85, I was in awe of the mushers and dogs who participated whether they were at the front of the pack or back. Twenty years later and having finished two races now, I am still in awe and very grateful to have been able to participate and finish. The Iditarod Trail truly is tough and in 2005 it seemed pretty terrible too. Since I had not run the race since 1999, I was – before the start - a bit delusional about the difficulty of the trail. Time had erased my memory of the tough trail, leaving me casually optimistic about the trail which awaited. No problem, I thought. I’ve been there, done that. So has Devan. If he can do it twice, no doubt I can!

The first day of the race seemed to affirm my confidence that the trail was not "too" difficult. I traveled with reasonable speed from the start, passing ’04 Champion, Mitch Seavey, and top finisher Ed Iten with ease. "What was up with that?", I wondered as we cruised by. Was I letting my team travel too fast too early? Perhaps (both Ed and Mitch were on the brake trying to keep their team at 10 miles per hour ). But the team was moving at the speed we trained at most the year so I was comfortable with that. Shortly before reaching Yentna Station checkpoint, Ramy Brooks sped by my team so I knew that at least one team was setting a faster pace than I.

Running a big river for the first time with two novice leaders was a bit of a challenge, one I won’t repeat next year. Three year old leaders, Dell and Imac, were a bit overwhelmed by the many trail choices on the Big Susitna and Yentna Rivers which are both wide, braided rivers on which the snowmachiners set unending numbers of alternatives to the marked trail. Just imagine how those young boys felt when confronted with a quarter mile wide expanse of trail options. Despite this stress, they managed to stay on the marked Iditarod trail most of the time. When they did stray though, it was not easy getting a sixteen dogs string back on the correct track. I’m sure I lost ten to fifteen minutes just redirecting the team.

After four hours of running , we pulled into Yentna Station parking behind Ramy and settled in for a rest which would get us into the 6pm to midnight schedule. The checkpoint had dog water available from a hole in the river ice and the lodge offered a free spaghetti dinner to mushers so I took full advantage of the amenities before leaving early evening.

Traveling between the Yentna and Skwentna checkpoints was surreal. Daylight was fading but I could still make out the outlines of teams and mushers parked along the riverbank, camping out or getting ready for the next run. Sometimes I could identify the musher based on the color and type of their parka, sponsor signage on sledbag, the make of their sled, and their harness type – I picked out Aliy easily with her red gear and sponsor signs. Some teams were identifiable by the color or size of their dogs – Jim Lanier’s team was all white, Ken Andersons had many small black with white dogs, Karen Ramstead’s Siberians looked furry and familiar. As darkness descended, headlights popped up all over the river, some behind me, some ahead, some still parked. I did not feel alone in the wilderness.

My dogs were cruising along good on this stretch. I had chosen Diesel and Yukon to lead, figuring the two big dogs would set a steady pace, and knowing Yukon (who was on loan from Willow based Russ Bybee) was more familiar with river running than my leaders. The two did well but the pace was still faster than most teams on the river. We passed quite a few teams from behind and never got passed ourselves. I was feeling pretty good about that. As we approached the Skwentna checkpoint I could see that there were quite a few teams camping there. I quickly signed in and out, stuffed my straw bag with a 1⁄2 bale, and threw my To Go bag of dog food in the sledbag. I noticed I was the 4th musher to leave the checkpoint. Pretty cool. My head was full of grand ideas. Silly me. It was only the first night of the race!

The trail leading to Finger Lake was reasonably good. Not as bumpy as in prior years, but also not as hard. The temperatures were moderate so the trail was set, but a bit soft; I did not need a parka to keep warm. About two and a half hours out of the checkpoint, just beyond Onestone Lake, we pulled off the trail for a 5 hour rest. The "Pitstop" routine, as with car racing, is one of the keys to success in Iditarod so I did my best to efficiently settle the dogs in for the night. The routine was: secure the front end of the team, snack them, start my cooker melting snow, take off their booties, distribute straw, feed & water them, feed myself, sleep a bit, water them, pack up, boot ‘em up again, and go.

About 6:45 am we left camp and headed toward Finger Lake. We passed a number of teams camped out (they had passed by us during our rest) and passed a few teams enroute. Notably, Jeff King passed me from behind soon after we picked up camp. His team was moving great as they had already warmed up and were rolling along nicely; it looked like a team to beat. Finger Lake was just a two hour run from camp. As we approached, we found ourselves among a train of teams including Zack Steer, Ramy Brooks, Hugh Neff, all quickly checking in and out of the checkpoint. The Wintersong Lodge there at Finger Lake is known for its gourmet fare and beautiful lodge so I wished I could stay at least for a coffee but sticking to my schedule though, I passed on by.

Rainy Pass was the next checkpoint destination and the trail enroute was renowned for its dicey "Steps," several steep plunges down hill along a thin ledge of a trail. Though I could not remember precisely where the Steps were, I soon clued into their location when I heard the Outdoor Life Network helicopter circling above. The cameras they carried were positioned ideally to film the teams as they maneuvered down the Steps. Like any movie maker they were looking for the crashes! Again, I had my two novice leaders, Dell and Imac, up front. My biggest concern was not my team but the team coming behind me because the trail was so soft and chewed up that setting a hook was not a reliable option should I need to use it. What if we crashed and rolled down the hill? Would the other team be able to stop or avoid us? Would we end up in a massive tangle? Fortunately for me, the only mishap we experienced was a brief stall at the top of the second Step. Dell and Imac looked over the edge and decided going uphill might be a more desirable option. Imagine that! I could feel Hugh Neff’s team bearing down on us so I quickly grabbed the leaders and dropped them over the edge of the step; there was only one option for them then - down. The other team members followed suit and I grabbed the sled as it slid past me and we all floundered our way to the bottom. Eve lost her footing halfway down but fortunately avoided injury. Later in the race I heard that a number of mushers had rolled their sleds – including one of my famous neighbors - on that section so I felt very lucky to avoid the crash highlights.

Arriving at Rainy Pass, we were the 8th team to check in. Again, a big head rush for me to be resting among some of the top teams. Later I would tease Devan that I got to sleep with the best (mushers that is) - Jeff King, Mitch Seavey, Ed Iten, John Baker, and Aliy too. Jon Little, writer for the Cabelas website) was there at the checkpoint and commented that the team looked very good in comparison to some of the others. They – the dogs – were perky, eating well, and their stools were solid (stressed dogs will have diarrhea) Joe Runyon, commentator for Outdoor Life and past Iditarod champion, paused at my sled and raised an eyebrow. "You’re among good company" he commented and walked on by. He was thinking the same thing I was: "I may be in the lead pack today but tomorrow will be a different deal". I was not pushing the dogs to get where I was, though, just sticking to the schedule outlined before the race. My race schedule was for 11.5 days; the mushers camping there that afternoon were planning for nine days. It was not likely I would see them again until Nome.

After a solid rest in the afternoon sun, the team and I left Rainy Pass at 6:50 pm in 23rd position. I noticed before we had run even 100 yards that Couders was uncomfortable; her stomach was distended, filled with gas. It was a condition we had observed several times during the season and thought we had addressed. Wrong. She was not happy to run so I turned the team around, returned to the checkpoint and asked the veterinarians to look her over. Her temperature was slightly elevated but otherwise they thought she was good to go. I did not really agree but turned my team around and left again. This time we got 200 yards down the trail and Couders was really putting the brakes on. If I wanted to keep her in the team I would need to carry her over the Pass and hope that the gassy episode went away on its own. Instead, I turned the team back to the checkpoint a second time and told the vets that I was dropping her there regardless of their opinion. Forty five minutes after checking out we were back on the trail, this time with fifteen dogs.

Dropping Couders then was probably the best decision I made the entire race, because the trail between Rainy and Rohn was the worst we would encounter. There giant freezer-sized ditches formed by snowmachines traveling over soft snow every 20 yards or so. And every so often the dogs would find a piece of seemingly firm trail only to punch through frustratingly. As we neared the summit of Rainy Pass a snow squall pelted us with wet snow blurring the trail as dark descended. To add to the frustration several of my larger dogs who had not trained all season with the new half harnesses struggled with bottomless trail, frequently finding themselves tangled and causing me to stop and fix the tangle. After crossing over the Pass we descended into the Dalzell Gorge where we again found tough trail conditions. This is where I hit my first physical "wall." The excitement of the start, lack of sleep, and tough trail took its toll, sapping my strength, making it difficult to keep the sled upright. I was not a great help to the team as made our way through the Gorge.

Perhaps as a result of my struggle, Diesel would hurt his shoulder somewhere between the Pass and Rohn. More than Couders, I viewed Diesel as vital to my long term success in the race. He was a reasonable leader and solid team dog who had traveled much of the trail with Devan the previous year; I really did not want to leave behind one of my few veterans. I hoped a long, eight hour rest at Rohn would be sufficient to to help Diesel’s soreness; he moved fine on good trail, it was the punchy trail which aggravated his shoulder. Based on the trail conditions I had seen up until that point, I had to assume that the trail was not going to get better so once again I dropped a lead dog and headed down the trail, this time leaving in 35th position.

The trail leading from Rohn to Nicolai is about 80 miles or so with the first 30 miles representing the bigger challenges in the form of rocky, snowless trail as well as lakes of glare ice. It was crossing one of the boulder fields that I probably broke the bed of my sled, the team dragging it directly over a 18" high boulder. Fortunately, the hairline crack, which I did not notice until it grew into a real cravass of a crack, did not cause a problem until just 15 miles short of McGrath where my replacement sled awaited. We also experienced our first bone crushing fall along this stretch when we traversed a frozen berm of dirt, landing on our side as we came off the bump. Ooch! There was absolutely no give to the ground and it was covered with rocks. I was lucky though; Jim Lanier who passed through about the same time, landed wrong on his ankle and was quite certain he broke it. Still, he limped along behind his team for another 800 miles, ultimately finishing the race despite a hairline break. Tough guy!

Half way to Nicolai, about 1am in the afternoon we stopped for a break at the Buffalo Camp, a small configuration of wall tents which are there to house Buffalo hunters in season. This year there were no hunters in residence, so the mushers were making themselves at home. When I arrived Ken Anderson and Harmony Barron were parked there and soon after Hans Gatt arrived and Vern Halter passed by. Having run only 4 hours or so, we camped here only 4 1⁄2 hours until 5:30pm to get back on a good schedule for the dogs. From Buffalo Camp to Nicolai it was an easy 4 1⁄2 hour run with few surprises and probably the best trail of the entire race.

Arriving in Nicolai, Rhody the Race Judge informed me that only one of the three food bags shipped to Nicolai were there (the two would later show up in Kaltag of all places) and she asked what I would need. The list was short but important: booties, meat, kibble, and algyval. Within a short time she had found the necessary items and we settled in for another rest. This is where I learned that I needed a better clock system. I intended to stay only 5 hours (I probably should not have stopped at all) but overslept by two 1⁄2 hours. My competitive edge was slipping but at least I was still on (my) schedule.

At 6:15 am we were again on the trail, headed to McGrath. My original intention had been to take my 24 hour in Takotna which is about 8 hours from Nicolai, but enroute to McGrath I discovered the damage to my sled bed and realized I would need to stop in McGrath longer than anticipated. Given that fact, it seemed most beneficial to take the 24 hour there. As it turns out McGrath offered the mushers a super layover spot, with quiet sleeping quarters, showers, hot food twenty four hours a day, and sunny sites for the dogs to relax. During the long layover, I ate, slept, fed the dogs, moved my gear from one sled to another, ate, slept, showered, massaged dogs, called Devan, ate and slept some more, then packed to go.

Global Warning, I Mean Warming –McGrath to Nome

True to form (not pushing too hard), I actually stayed in McGrath thirty minutes longer than necessary hoping that clouds would ease the burn of the midday sun. Despite the sun (our second to last sunny day of the race), the dogs set a good pace to Takotna, posting the sixth fastest time enroute; a real surprise to me because I really did not feel like we were moving very fast. They followed this run up with another solid run to the ghost town of Ophir, thirty something miles down the trail. Here we rested 6 1⁄2 hours before attempting the long run to Iditarod.

It did not take long for me to make my first strategic mistake of the second half of the race. From Takotna, Don’s Cabin (just a shack at this point) is half-way to Iditarod, but from Ophir it is only 1/3 the way. My mistake was to stop at Don’s after five hours, leaving a much longer run for the second leg to Iditarod. After two hours at the Cabin, I realized my mistake, picked up camp and moved another two hours down the trail. Rounding a bend in the trail, I came upon Bill Steyer and Bill Cotter (briefly named the B2’s) camped in a slough. I asked if I could join them and they said "sure," so I attempted to find a parking spot nearby. Fortunately, as it turns out, I did not find a spot right away and continued down the trail until my leaders, Dell and Imac, came upon an open creek. Young, inexperienced leaders, they did not wish to cross the creek on their own and the team bunched up in a mess beside the creek. This proved to be a situation where running with out necklines and using the Guard, half harness is a real drawback because pulling a team across the water is nearly impossible. Thankfully, Karen Ramstead was camped nearby on the other side of the creek and assisted me in pulling them over.

Karen had a nice camp site with running water close by and little traffic, so we rested there til late afternoon. The big plus was that we had gotten beyond the open water thus we did not have to change booties two times. From this point til Grayling, Karen and I would camp together. She was great company and we were able to exchange food goodies which was great for the tastebuds. I had great meals cooked by Konnie and Karen had some McDonalds breakfast sandwiches that really hit the spot for me, something I will remember for next year.

I would really enjoy Karen’s company on the trail, but realize now, it probably was strategically not good for my race. The more I talked, the less I slept. At night it was not an issue, but during the day, I really needed to get as much sleep as possible. Karen too.

The run into Iditarod was not a pleasure as the trail was bottomless and thoroughly rutted by mushers ahead and snowmachine tourists traveling the trail. Mother nature threw us a twist too, shedding rain and snow on us for several hours. I did have another objective other than reaching Iditarod to think about though. Prior to the race I had promised a friend of mine, Gayle Cyra, that I would take her husband, Chuck, with me to Iditarod. Chuck had passed away suddenly the previously fall, leaving Gayle with a long list of wonderful trips they would have enjoyed together. Both Gayle and I knew Chuck would appreciate sharing the ride with me, so Gayle carefully packaged his ashes in rugged leather pouches one of which I carried from the start and one which I picked up in McGrath. The first pouch was spread with the wind as we summited Rainy Pass, one the world’s most beautiful places and the second was reserved for the town of Iditarod. So, just before entering the checkpoint there and in the dusky, early evening, Chuck was again released to the wind, joining the wild, quiet land of Iditarod.

The Iditarod checkpoint considered a remote checkpoint, is inhabited only once a year for the race. The last time I ran, the sleeping accommodations for mushers were limited to a tent set up on the cold of the river. Straw lined the floor and a heater attempted to warm the tent but it really was not a comfortable place to stay. Three years ago, Iditarod volunteers constructed a new cabin in Iditarod, outfitted with a wood stove and lots of bunk space for sleepy mushers. It even included a means to dry damp clothing. Much better. Should I ever run the southern route again, I think I would consider taking my 24 hour rest there now that the cabin is available.

Anyway, Karen and I hatched a plan which we hoped would get us to Anvik in two runs. Our first run would take us about 15 miles short of Shageluk and the second to Anvik. We started out very early that morning and traveled till about noon. It was a beautiful, sunny day, one of the very few days when we had to put on our sunglasses. Little did we know that Mother Nature would again throw us a curveball, showering our teams with rain and wet snow as we approached Anvik. The rain continued through the night, providing the dogs with a less than ideal night of sleep. Imac, my trusty leader to that point, was dropped in Anvik. I had carried him for twenty miles into Anvik as his performance had deteriorated dramatically. The veterinarians checked him out quickly, recommending he be dropped. His temperature was 103 degrees and he was not eating and drinking well like the rest of the team. It may have been the warm weather or a virus; regardless, he got an easy ride home and well deserved rest.

After a long night in Anvik, Karen and I reluctantly prepared to leave Anvik. It was still raining outside and we were both leaving without our most reliable leaders. Checkpoint volunteers helped outfit us for our impending slush, fitting us with rugged plastic straw bags as raingear. What fun. No doubt the dogs picked up on my attitude during the run to Grayling – not my best of the race. Since I arrived at Grayling at 10:20 am, I decided to sit out the middle of the day and restart after lunch. Thinking back I have to wonder why I stopped there; the run to Grayling had been only three hours after a rest of more than nine. The dogs were not tired; it must have been the musher!

Leaving Grayling proved to be the most difficult departure of the race. Changing my routine of five/six hour (or more) rests, I attempted to leave after four hours. Mistake. The dogs were not quite ready for this change and balked at leaving the checkpoint comfort. The second mistake was not dropping Furbi before trying to leave. Although not obviously hurt, he had not seemed himself for several runs and this was his third run down the Trail. He was tired and ready to go home. I had already dropped Tina before leaving, so it was a mental blow to drop two dogs at the same checkpoint. My team was now down to eleven.

Still on the river for another two runs, we managed to get moving well again after a rest just short of Eagle Island. The weather was staying warm, with grey clouds hovering close. You could feel the moisture in the air. If the dogs or I stepped off the packed trail, we sunk two feet into the snow sometimes encountering water beneath the snow. I sensed that break up was going to come early to the Yukon River this year.

My next dilemma developed as we approached Eagle Island. Dell, my most reliable leader to that point, started limping just a few miles before the checkpoint. It’s likely he slipped off the trail into the mushy snow, but I had not seen this happen. When I signed into the checkpoint, I asked the veterinarian to look him over to help me determine whether he should go on. The vet could not find a problem despite the obvious limp so it was my call. I decided to keep him in the team knowing the trail was flat to Kaltag and carrying him would not be difficult as he was one of my smallest teammates. As we moved up the trail, Dell continued working and did not seem to get worse.

Arriving in Kaltag about 9pm, I again had the veterinarians check Dell thoroughly and applied ointment and massage to the sore muscles. In hindsight, I really wish I had planned to drop him quickly there, pick up supplies and travel a few more hours down the trail. But my foggy, sleep deprived mind was convinced I needed Dell in the team to continue on. As it turns out, I left Kaltag after a long overnight with Dell in the team, but soon put him in the sled, carrying him nearly sixty miles to Unalakleet where I finally sent him home for a well deserved rest. He had done a super job.

When we departed Kaltag, I was told by officials that the trail had been rerouted into Unalakleet because the river had washed out. Given that the trail normally approaches on the river, I was happy to learn there was an alternative route! As it turns out, the new trail was an adventure, taking us high above the village of Unalakleet. While I would never want to add another 15 miles to the trail again, I wish the run had been in the daylight because the view must have been spectacular.

Though I had not realized it at the time, a small pack of mushers running at a similar pace had developed on the Yukon River: Bill Steyer, Aaron Peck, Kelly Griffin, and Eric Butcher. Kelly was a bit ahead of the other three but we would all catch up to her in Shaktoolik. It was a nice group to run with and we enjoyed each others company.

From Unalakleet to Nome, Adobe, her daughter, Serena, and Sundance would take turns leading us down the trail. Based on our run times, I’d have to say they did a really good job. Even, Sundance, the slowest of all the dogs remaining in the team, would set a pace at lead that put us in the top ten for all of the runs from Shaktoolik to the finish. Our run from White Mountain to Safety was the third fastest , while the run from Safety to Nome the ninth fastest of 63 finishers!

Overall, the 2005 Iditarod run was a great training run for the two year olds and also for me. We finished in just 12 days and change, posting a three day improvement over my first run in 1999. Running single lead up Front Street in Nome, Adobe took us right down the middle of the street and into the finish chute like a Pro. Hiding there, behind my husband was my 73 year young mother, Ruth, having traveled even further than I did in order to surprise me at the finish line. There were lots of smiles there in the chute… I think even the dogs were smiling; they knew their job was done and done well.