2006 Iditarod Race Journal

Iditarod 2006 Race Report

A rainy day in April...what better time to sit down, listen to some John Prine tunes, and think about the 2005/2006 mushing season. I have deliberately taken my time in writing about the 2006 Iditarod for two reasons: one, my hand still hurts a bit, slowing my typing and two, I wanted some perspective so I could share the experience in a more positive light. Still working on that but I've come a long way reminding myself of a number of life's great cliches - get better, not bitter; ... what doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, and so on.

Devan and I are just so fortunate to be among the few in the world to run Iditarod, share our lives with 50 wonderful, furry athletes, and live on the edge of the worlds last, great wilderness, it is impossible to stay down for very long. I am a competitive person too, determined to learn from mistakes and improve our team so analyzing what went right and wrong is always top on the list of to do's.

"Consistent training" are two words which come to mind first and foremost and something I thought alot about while we took a second twenty-four hour break in Safety, just 22 miles from the finish line. Like young children or soldiers, sleddogs (and mushers) require consistent training which will ingrain an appropriate and desired behavior. It is interesting (to me) that the synonyms for consistent (uniform, faithful, undeviating, unwavering, dependable, invariable) and training (cultivation, drill, development, exercise, instruction, practice, form, prepare, control and harden) all describe so well what every musher needs to apply preparing their team for a race such as Iditarod. Next year's training regimen will have to focus on consistently training the musher to train the team to dependably respond as requested in all situations. Simple. Right.

Beyond the training, there were innumerable "what if's" which might have resulted in an extremely positive race result. If you received my fall training update, you know that in September we nearly lost Imac, my steady Eddy leader for the first half of last year's Iditarod. Fortunately, Imac survived his brush with death but he would not be capable of training for the 2006 race. Strike One for the team. His leadership was sorely missed

Most of you know too that about a month prior to the race, I collided with a tree, breaking my nose and blackening both eyes, numbing one side of my face. I was lucky the result was not worse, but this did not set a good precedent for the upcoming race.

On day two of the Iditarod, enroute to Finger Lake my team missed a 90 degree turn in the trail, taking me onto a side trail. Setting the hook, I went forward to see whether this trail returned to main trail - which it did; I then went to pull the hook but the team lunged forward, popping the hook in the air where it collided with my outstretched (right) hand. Ouch! The initial pain did not seem too dramatic. Bruised, I thought. But by the time I reached Finger Lake checkpoint, half of my hand was encased in a hematoma and any contact with the first three fingers was extremely painful. We pulled into checkpoint in fifth place, parking next to fellow musher, Dr. Robert Bundtzen. Bob was helpful in looking at the hand and told me he did not think it was broken; the swelling on the underside of the hand hid well the break in the metacarpal. So thinking it might feel better with time I continued with the race.

But I was not the only team member hurting at Finger Lake. Diesel, one of my main leaders, was limping as we approached the checkpoint. The veterinarians quickly diagnosed a strained biceps muscle. Most dogs would run out of this with a bit of massage and good trail but unfortunately the hilliest part of the race lay just ahead so I knew he was best off dropped there. A great loss for the front end of the team. Strike two for the team. Diesel was one of my speed leaders, capable of setting a great pace.

Leaving Finger Lake, my greatest fear was that with my right hand of little use, I would not be able to handle to sled well enough through the difficult trail ahead. Fortunately, the trail to Rainy Pass was well padded with fresh snow so the few crashes I took were not too bad. While the trail was reasonable, the pain in my hand was increasing and I thought often about Martin Buser's 2005 race when he ran with two recently severed fingers; if Martin could do it, then certainly I could too. Nevertheless, scratching at Rainy Pass crossed my mind many times as we approached the checkpoint. The Dalzell Gorge, potentially the worst part of the trail, was still ahead so I wondered repeatedly whether we could negotiate the trail safely.

Prior to the race, I had written a race schedule which had me stopping at Skwentna, then two hours after Finger Lake, and then soon after Rainy Pass. Right from the start, the trail proved slower than I anticipated, so the run to Skwentna took an hour longer as did the run to Finger Lake which meant my run/rest schedule was off from the get-go. The run to Rainy Pass also took longer than it should have, in part due to my hand, and it was very, very cold when we arrived so I decided then that we would rest there after all and plan to pass through Rohn if the next run went well. The only thing good about the Rainy Pass checkpoint this year was that I arrived there later in the day so the tourist planes were not buzzing overhead, harassing the dogs as they tried to rest. Otherwise, it was really cold (-40 Fahrenheit I thin) and there was little room for mushers to sleep and no heat where there was space. I was fortunate to see my neighbor, Rick Swenson, there; half-dazed and groggy I complained to him about my hand and he offered me some Celebrex pills to relieve the pain and swelling.

After a five hour rest, I slowly booted the team and exited the checkpoint bound for the Dalzell with fifteen dogs still in the team. Compared with 2005, the trail through Rainy Pass and the Dalzell Gorge was easy. There was plenty of snow and the trail had set-up far better. Descending into the Gorge, all of the mushers on the trail could not help but think of the dangers inherent in traveling the trail and the tragedy which had occurred just weeks before the race. Richard Strick was a long-time Iditarod volunteer working to set the trail from Rohn to Rainy Pass when his snowmachine triggered an avalanche in the narrows of the Gorge. He was killed instantly by the heavy snow pack, his body recovered shortly before the race. Eerily looking above me at the overhanging cliffs of snow, I wondered where the tragedy took place, then it became very obvious as the trail ascended over a large snow run out and I passed marker flags denoting where the his body had been recovered. Passing by I thanked Richard for his sacrifice and wished I had a flower to leave at the site.

A bit further down the trail I approached a team from behind. It was Terry Adkins, a veteran Iditarod musher, traveling the trail again for first time in many years. Terry was worried. He had just loaded two injured dogs in his sled and still had to maneuver some dramatic downhills ahead, not an easy task. He asked me to warn the checkpoint officials to send a search party if he did not show within a few hours as he was concerned he, the sled, or the team might get hurt negotiating the trail. As it turns out he managed quite fine but later in the race would scratch because of too many injuries in his team.

We arrived safely in Rohn after the four hour run from Rainy, picked up supplies for our next rest stop and headed out planning to rest two hours down the trail. Unlike most year's when large sections are barren of snow or simply ice, the trail to Nicolai was covered with snow and nicely packed, probably the best trail condition in decades. I knew roughly where I wished to camp and parked the team soon after a creek crossing, next to Jason Barron, Aarron Burmeister, and Jessie Royer.

I parked in a spot where there was already straw - Doug Swingley had vacated it shortly before my arrival - then added my own straw to make the dogs comfortable. It was a great camping site with open water nearby but perhaps a poor choice since my front end dogs would develop diarrea on the run to Nicolai. Was it the parking spot or had they simply been exposed on the trail? Certainly I realized too late, that I could have done a better job of protecting them from the "Iditarod Crud" which would stay with us for the remainder of the race.

Despite the crud, the team moved well into Nicolai and then on into McGrath and Takotna where we overnighted for our mandatory twenty-four rest. In Takotna I was happy to meet up with Aliy, share war stories, sleep alot, fill up on steak and lobster (!!!), and stock up on 400mg Ibuprofin pills to relieve the persistent swelling in my hand.

I was really concerned about the team though. They were not eating well, three of my leaders were sore with various ouchies, they also had the crud, and most importantly, Sundance was not acting like himself. Sundance is the leader we turn to when the trail gets tough, whether windy, punchy, or wet; he is just the toughest dog we own and very dependable in the worst conditions, especially on the River and the Coast. Even before Iditarod started, Sundance had been a bit "off" but finding nothing specific wrong, we hoped he would turn around with time on the trail. In Takotna I decided I would take him on the short run to Ophir and decide enroute if he would continue on or not.

After the long rest, the team exited Takotna looking mildly refreshed but they did not storm out of the checkpoint. And, unfortunately, Sundance was not contributing much to the effort as we traveled the 26 miles to Ophir. Though he was not holding us back, I thought it unfair to take him on the long trek to Cripple and Ruby so I dropped him off at the Ophir checkpoint. (Strike three!) The consequences of loosing Sundance would become obvious to me just a few runs later.

I think Iditarod historians would describe the 2006 race as "more like the old days" with real trail and weather related challenges. Our first night out of Ophir was testimony to the tough weather as the temperatures dipped to -50 Fahrenheit as we camped out a three hours short of the Cripple checkpoint. As I fitfully slept atop my sled, I distinctly remember wondering why my sleeping bag and parka were not keeping me as comfortable as usual. No doubt the dogs wondered the same and did not benefit much from the cold campout. The dogs were probably happy to get moving after a five & half hour rest at -50 but less happy to arrive at the Cripple checkpoint only to pick up supplies and travel another two hours to Poorman, an abandoned gold mining town.

Many of you race watchers were excited to see me check out of Cripple in seventh position (later corrected to 9th), ahead of some big name mushers who would soon end their twenty-four hour rests and run straight through to Ruby. I was pleased with the position too but I was also very aware of how my team looked, particularly my front end dogs; I knew already that the team was fragile and could break with another twist in the trail.

The run to Ruby seemed like the longest of the race with many gradual hills and an approach to the village which seemed to take forever. I passed Norwegian duo of Tore and Tove about four hours short of Ruby and then was passed by Ken Anderson soon after although not because his team was faster at the time. I simply had too many stops and starts due to front end dogs who could not keep the team moving consistently down the trail; it was a pattern which would repeat itself over and over till the end of the race. Ken and I traded lead several times and then I decided to stay behind rather than disrupt the continuity of his team.

Ken and I passed by a camped Martin Buser three or so hours out of Ruby and were grateful to learn we had only 28 miles to the checkpoint. I never imagined I would be passing Martin Buser at that stage in the race and wondered what was going on with his team; certainly, he or I was in unfamiliar territory.

The descent into Ruby - the first checkpoint on the Yukon River - must be exceptionally beautiful in the daylight and no doubt there is more view property there then anywhere in the lower 48! It was, however, also very scary since the dutiful plow truck operator had scraped clear of most snow off the five mile downhill road into Ruby. My brake claws must have been igniting sparks as I attempted to slow the team's descent; I was really afraid that I would hit a patch of ice, flip the sled, and loose the team. As we approached the bottom of the hill, I was very relieved and gee'd the dogs toward the checkpoint only to round a corner, hit glare ice, and land on my hip as we slid across a glaciated piece of road. Still I was thankful it was at the bottom and we did arrive safely at the checkpoint in 26th position, just minutes behind Ken, ready for a much needed eight hour rest.

The checkpoint headquarters was very crowded and more chaotic than most. Because so many mushers take their mandatory 8 hour rest there, floor space for sleeping was at a premium. I ended up laying down on the floor in the corner, no sleeping bag, or pad; I just slept, unprotected amidst the hubbub of the room. Martin, Rick, Ramy Brooks were mingling with the middle of the pack. It seemed a strange atmosphere.

There was talk about weather and wind but I was just barely comprehending. I did understand that the wind would be at our back so I was grateful for that. When it came time to leave the checkpoint, the team was reluctant and several teams passed us before we left the town. They had not eaten or drunk well while there and did not look sharp; my own lagging energy was transferring to the team. Once we were out of the town and onto the ice, the wind kicked us from behind in dramatic fashion causing already reluctant leaders to veer off the trail. About then Martin's team passed by and seeing we were stalling a bit, he waited for us to follow which we did for a bit. Then I made a bad decision to stop and take off a few coats which were getting blown off from behind the dogs; while doing this, Martin's team disappeared in the swirl of wind as did the trail and trail markers.

The wind was so strong, I could lean into it at a 45 degree angle and not fall over; walking back to the sled was a battle. Even from behind, the wind proved very disconcerting to my team and they struggled to stay on the trail. For the first mile or so we walked marker to marker and at one point totally lost the trail, floundering in winddrifts, loosing almost all the booties so recently put on. With no team to follow and no Sundance to lead us through the weather, I struggled for to find the right combination of leaders and swing dogs and finally ended up with Dell at single lead. He was not a leader to easily leave checkpoints, but once out he did leave he did his best to lead the team and would basically run single lead from Ruby to Elim, about 374 miles.

The wind was extremely powerful for about the first 10 miles out of Ruby, then mellowed but trail remained blown in and punchy from Ruby all the way to Kaltag. For me and the team, the Yukon River was (almost) the worst part of the race. Our runs were slower, due in part to a loss of speed, but mostly due to inconsistent front-end leadership. Dell could not do it all on his own and he was not getting much help from dogs who should have been supporting him. Despite all this we arrived in Kaltag in 30th position, just 15 hours out of fifth place. Looking back now, I do kick myself a bit. I rested nearly 13 hours in Kaltag. Could we have managed with just 6 or 8 hours? Did the dogs or I benefit from the longer rest? It is likely a moot question since my team was not "coming together" and thus in a position to make a strong finishing run; instead, I was just trying to keep them together and finish the race with seemingly one leader pulling the team in. To be continued......