Nikolai to Takotna

I like Nikolai. The people that live there go all out. They bring you your straw and drop bags. They have a big barrel of hot water for the dogs. They keep a full set of tools at the checkpoint and have rebuilt more sleds (damaged crossing the Alaska Range), than I can count (the previous two years, mine was one of them). They open the school with a warm, quiet, dark, dry room to sleep in, a dryer for your soaked gear, running water, flush toilets, a microwave, a big coffee pot, a big Tang cooler and during the day they open the kitchen and cook for you. Life hasn’t been this good since we left home Sunday morning J .

I get breakfast, a nap, and lunch and head back to the dogs. This is the first time I’ve cut rest, running 10:53 to get here from Rohn and only resting 8:53. My plan is to run through to Takotna and take my 24 to make it up.

It has been warm enough I take my fleece top off and get ready to go in my t-shirt and thermal top. The dogs eat a nice breakfast. Their stools look good. Rosemary even gets up off the straw so I can bootie her. The team is coming together and I’m feeling good. At 2:18 PM we are back on the trail. I’ve still got Blaze and Thyme in lead and they are doing well.

The trail from Nikolai to McGrath is like a vacation. We are portaging across swamps and wooded areas as we cut off loops on the South Fork of the Kuskoquim River. The trail is heavily traveled by the local people. It is well established with a good base. The top of the trail is a little soft and keeps the speed down. I can almost take a nap.

At the driver’s meeting we were warned about a record number of moose in the area, but I see no wildlife. I’m grateful because with the deep snow, many moose will not get off the trail. We do pass an Idita-sport walker and then a biker (and people think we are strange to do the trail by dog team). Dukat isn’t feeling well and hasn’t been pulling since we left Nikolai. I guess it is intestinal and give him some metronidazole. Within an hour he is back to work.

About an hour out of McGrath there are two snowmachines pulling sleds stuck hard in overflow. There is about 3 feet of snow on the frozen river. The bottom ½ is saturated with water with good snow on top. If you don’t stop you can go through the bad section and never know it is there. For some reason they stopped and sank into the saturated layer and now the water is freezing around the snowmachines. Not a nice situation. There is no warning until you start to sink into it. The dogs go around the stuck machines and we are fine. When I get to McGrath I tell the officials about the snowmachines – they captured that on insider.

I shipped my extra supplies to 24 to McGrath, figuring I could haul them to Takotna if I changed my mind. This way I could 24 at either location. Takotna wins the debate. The volunteers lead me and the team around the back to my drop bags, I grab everything I need (I packed with that in mind) and strap it on the back of the sled. For three years we have taken our 24 in McGrath. I wonder how the dogs will adapt to leaving without a rest. No problem. We swing around the building and drop onto the river without a second thought. We may not be fast, but this really is a nice team. I stop, tell the dogs how proud I am, and reward them with frozen beef from the drop bags.

Another short, easy scenic run and we pull into Takotna just before 1 AM. I am the 34^th musher to arrive and the 32^nd to 24 here. It is so crowded we have to park in the overflow area. Martin Buser and Jim Lanier have gone on to Ophir but that is it. Nobody wants to break trail to Iditarod. At the drivers meeting we heard horror stories about the trail breakers taking over 3 days on snowmachine. There was talk about needing snowshoes to break out the trail through the deep snow. No one is looking forward to that.

From my perspective it’s pretty cool. All the front runners are here – Sebastian comes over to congratulate me. Jeff King says “hi” as he walks by. Ramey Smyth comes by. I’m parked next to Dee Dee, and I see Lance in the checkpoint. I’ve never seen the front of the pack on the trail before. Then it hits me. If I kept going just 25 more miles to Ophir to 24 I would be in 3^rd place! It’s not real, just an artifact of run/rest schedules, but I would frame that update sheet and hang it on the wall ;-). Reality sets in, the dogs have run far enough and deserve their rest, and Takotna has better amenities than Ophir, but man oh man…

Keep 'em Northbound

Eric

Rohn to Nikolai

Rohn is a small BLM cabin set in one of the prettiest locations on the trail. There was supposed to be a heated sleeping tent for the mushers this year, but it didn’t make the trip. Trying to sleep in one of the four bunks in the only cabin while the vets, checkers, communications guys, and the race judge take care of business is an exercise in insomnia. But it is warm and dry and my gear, hung from the rafters, dries a little more. It took us 5 hours to get to Rohn, and I give the dogs a full 6 hours of rest, pulling the hook at 6:33 PM so I can get through the gnarly sections of the trail in the daylight.

A couple of minutes through the trees and we drop onto the South Fork of the Kuskoquim River. We travel on bare ice, cross a gravel bar, a little snow, more ice, some dirt and we’ve made it to the other side. Four years ago the crossing was a big event, now it is just a typical day on the trail.

I pass Laura Daugereau and Tom Thurston when they stop for something and they follow me for a while. Then we hit the Post River Glacier. It’s normally just frozen seeps climbing a hill with a large rock on the right, but this year the whole side is glaciated and it’s a major obstacle. Blaze and Thyme try to go around it to the right (where the trail went last year), but this year’s trail crosses to the left side and goes up there. Laura and Tom pass as I lead Blaze and Thyme back to the trail. We climb up the side, following them.

We hit the higher ground and all the snow has been blown off the unprotected sections. The brake is useless and the drag only a little better. The sled pulls easily on the frozen ground. Tom and Laura are out of sight, but the dogs can smell them and are in full chase mode, running hard. Here comes the 4 foot tall dirt mound that gave everyone trouble last year. The wind is blowing the sled off the trail and we hit it at an angle, running flat out. This is going to hurt! I’m flying through the air praying hard and fast, land on the runners and stay upright. Thank You! We continue down the trail faster than ever “easy. e a s y”. The dogs run harder – they must have a sense of humor.

The wind is blowing hard from the left. We cross a large stream on glare ice and the sled weather vanes about 45 degrees to the dogs, pulling the wheel dogs to the right. Here comes the steam bank, just a 6 inch lip, but we’re moving sideways. Bang! We go up and over and land on the runners again. Hans Gatt builds a good sled. In Nikolai Mike Suprenaut tells me he hit this just like I did, went airborne, landed on his hip and the sled landed on top of him. His hip really hurt. Bjornar Andersen got hurt bad enough in this section he scratched in Takotna.

There is snow in the trees, taming the downhills and the sharp corners. I get the team back under control, none the worse for wear. Press on. We come to a stream with a large horseshoe bend. The ice must be bad because the trail goes upstream some distance, then swings across, and comes on the other side. Blaze misses the turn completely and keeps going upstream. Nothing I can do until she runs out of river at the top of the horseshoe and pulls the sled onto the snow. She wraps the team in the brush before she stops. Hmmm….

I can tell the dogs are getting tired. They are tangling more, which seldom happens when they feel good. Sisco throws up, then Dukat. The heat and hard pulling where there is snow is getting to them. I’m sure the fast chase didn’t help either.

We drop down to Farewell Lake and are officially across the Alaska Range. The lake is glare ice and the wind blows the sled off the trail again. Half the team is pulled right. The dogs strive mightily to keep us on track. With a sigh of relief we make it across the lake and back to snow. We are in rolling country with good snow covering the trail. I’m pretty beat and realize I’ve been horsing the sled around sharp corners, up and down hills, around obstacles and generally trying to avoid crashing since we left the Old Skwentna Roadhouse. There hasn’t been a lot of time to sit down and relax. I snack the dogs and look forward to easier trails.

Bison Camp is halfway between Rohn and Nikolai, sheltered from the wind in the last “hollow” before we hit the flats. John Runkle uses it as a spike camp when he guides Bison hunters, but opens it to all travelers during Iditarod. He isn’t there, but left tents and a supply of firewood. We get in just before midnight. There are 4 teams parked on the left of the trail (the camp side) but room on the right. I’m debating camping, but the dogs have recovered and look pretty good. The alternatives are to camp at Sullivan Creek, where there is a bridge over the open water, or the Salmon River fish camp, a favorite of Martin’s. Or we could go all the way to Nikolai, about another 5 ½ hours. While I’m debating, the dogs surge into their harnesses and we are off again.

At 2 AM we cross the bridge over Sullivan Creek. I’ve emptied my drink cooler and stop to get some cold water from the creek – good stuff! Add some tang to the cooler and off we go. We blow through the fish camp and the dogs seem to be getting stronger with every mile. Finally we are back on the Kuskoquim River and the dogs lope into Nikolai at 5:30 AM. Even the checker is impressed – “You were really moving out there”. I don’t know what it is, but my team always comes into Nikolai like that.

I’ve had one 4 ½ hour nap in the last three days. Guess what I’m looking forward to :-).

Keep 'em Northbound

Eric

Finger Lake to Rohn

We are into Finger Lake at 5:41PM and I stay just long enough for the vets to check Pepper after his close encounter with the tree (he is fine). We leave at 5:53 PM and I’m proud of the way the dogs go through the third checkpoint in a row.

This is where the trail starts to get interesting. We are climbing into the Alaska Range, from 980 feet at Finger Lake we will climb to 3160 feet as we crest Rainy Pass. This is deep snow country and it looks like there is 15 feet or so on the ground. As we come around corners or go down hills there are ruts cut into the trail by the teams ahead of us. It is about 10 miles from Finger Lake to the Steps and I can’t help getting a little anxious as we drive north. I haven’t slept since we got up Sunday morning and that doesn’t help. At least I’m not running a fresh team leaving the checkpoint.

Rosemary and Thyme in lead drop down and disappear. I’m on the brake in anticipation. Big drop, maybe 20 feet, nearly vertical – over 60 degrees. It’s pretty chewed up and the dogs are struggling to run down the hill. I can’t control the sled. Too steep. Can’t slow down. The brush bow is inches from Sisco and Dukat in wheel. I roll the sled on its side in the soft snow so I don’t hit my wheel dogs. Whew! What a mess. I’ve only had to do that once before in 15 year driving dogs. Catch my breath, check the dogs – everyone is ok – straighten the sled and we are off to the next challenge (the steps are still ahead).

Not a mile down the trail we hit another big drop, this one is only 15 feet, but I’m still shaky from the last one and I can’t stay upright. Man!

I dodge trees and stumps for another mile and there is the entrance to the infamous steps. The trail turns sharply left around a large tree and the whole world drops away. A long steep run, hanging on for all I’m worth, trying to stay calm “easy… easy” so the dogs don’t take that as the command to run flat out. We make the flat platform at the end of the first step, 180 degree horseshoe turn to the right and down we go again. It levels a little in the middle (this is where the disaster cams set up and catch the sleds barrel rolling into the tree – I did that in 2006), climbs a small rise and drops completely out from under you (the trench shots from the 2008 video were taken here), then eases some, makes about a 120 degree sharp left turn and drops onto Happy River. Yes! We made it! I stop to catch my breath and record my thoughts. My voice is shaky. Whew.

We go down Happy River to the Skwentna River, run up the Skwentna a little, turn up a small drainage and climb back up. The first 10 feet or so are nearly vertical as we climb up the bank of the river. A camera crew set up here and captures us. The dogs scramble up, pause as the sled (and I) hit the steep part, and then pull us over the top on command. I am so proud of them – they show the dogs on the 2^nd Versus episode.

The run to Finnbear Lake is interesting, but doesn’t compare with what we did to get here. I planned to camp at the hospitality stop here, but I’m soaked from perspiration and snow (it is still snowing lightly) and just beat from the trail and lack of sleep. The dogs are doing OK. There is a cabin (Ok, a shack) with heat and bunk beds (Ok, wooden platforms) for the mushers at Rainy Pass. It means a longer run for the dogs – I’m estimating 8 hours – but I think they are up to it (and I get a warm dry place to sleep).

We pull into Rainy at 10:28 PM after 8 ½ hours. It was a tough trail through the trees after Finnbear. It took a lot out of the dogs. They look pretty beat and don’t eat well. Maybe I made a mistake, or maybe they are echoing my feelings. Either way I’ll give them a good 8 to 9 hour rest. I get 4 ½ hours sleep in the heated shack and feel like a new man. My gear didn’t have time to completely dry, but it is better than nothing. My parka sleeves freeze while I care for the dogs and I can hardly get my hands into them. At 8:47 AM we pull the hook and head for Rainy Pass and The Dalzell Gorge.

It is snowing as we go over the pass, but for the first time in four years the wind isn’t blowing. Very nice by comparison. They told us it took about 3 days to put in the trail from Rohn to the pass. As we come down the backside I can see why. We are in thick brush, about 2” diameter stuff coming at us from all sides. Where the trail has worn into the snow, it even comes up from underneath. The dogs are dodging the big stuff, but getting smacked by the smaller branches. This isn’t fun for anyone. The weather is warm and the sugar snow is like walking in beach sand. There are wallows from previous teams and the dogs work hard to make any progress. There is a long downhill run and the dogs can’t go faster than a walk the whole way down.

We run through the trees and brush in the middle section, then drop into the gorge itself. The disaster cam set up to catch teams going over a narrow ice bridge with great ice formation on the canyon wall behind us. The dogs shy at the cameras and I have to stop and untangle them, but we make it over fine. The 2^nd Versus episode shows us crossing the bridge in a nice shot.

The rest of the George is interesting, taking corners on glare ice, dodging open water, crossing over on snow / ice / log bridges, but it can’t compare to what we’ve already done. We drop out of the gorge onto the Tatina River. In 2006 and 2008 the Tatina was glare ice, in 1007 it was snow covered and sweet. This year, after all the talk of deep snow, it is a mix, but the trail breakers managed to put the trail on the little bits of snow that were there.

Tuesday at 12:15 PM we pull into Rohn for a well deserved rest. The dogs are tired and go to sleep in the ½ hour it takes me to get a meal fixed. Nobody wants to get up and eat. I come back at 2:15 and offer it again, but nobody eats enough. I’ve got to find a solution to this problem.

Keep 'em Northbound

Eric

Anchorage to Finger Lake

The Anchorage start is just plain fun. It is all for the fans, and Barnum and Bailey couldn’t put on a better show. My Idita-rider was Dorothy Hamill, a friend of Susan Butcher who Dave Monson brought up for the dedication ceremonies that weekend. Iditarod chose me to give her a ride, pretty cool, eh? We were mobbed by the media, and Dorothy had to leave us early to be at the Providence ceremony at 1PM, but we had some time to visit and get a couple of photos. She is a very gracious lady. We dropped her off as we crossed Lake Otis, about a half hour into the ride. Dorothy missed Bonnie rolling the tag sled into the crowd by the Native Hospital (it made the Sunday paper though). What a trip. It was a little different starting so far back. We still had to be on the Avenue before 8:30, but didn’t start until almost noon. When we finally got home, I missed those two hours to do chores before mass Saturday afternoon. But it all worked out.

The re-start in Willow is different. This one counts. Dorothy’s commitments were over and she made a point of looking us up and visiting for a while. Starting 60^th, I enjoyed having the extra time to get everything ready. I’ve done this enough now, that it was just running through the routine. I can’t believe how relaxed I am (or at least I think I am J ). Before I knew it, we are in the chute and leaving for Nome. Just me, the dogs, a thousand miles of beautiful country, and a week and a half of adventure. Life gets very simple on the trail and I’m looking forward to it.

The early part of the trail is filled with blazing bonfires and people cheering us on. Last year one group offered me a beer, but I was the designated driver and had to turn them down. I pass one slow moving team fairly early and then it gets quiet. There are large crowds at the major points on the trail, like the entrance to Kroto Slough and where we leave the slough for the Yentna River, but it is getting late and some of the folks in between have left for home. At some camps, only the bonfire remains. The last three years there was a steady string of faster teams passing us, but now there are times when I can’t see another team. We have the whole river to ourselves, just like a training run. I can feel the dogs relaxing and settling into a rhythm. There is an inch of unpacked snow on the trail making it slower and harder pulling for the dogs, but I want them to go slower at the start, and all is good.

We go through Yentna at 7:51PM, and even Yentna is quieter than usual. Most teams have already gone through. I hand off my bib, sign some posters, grab a half bale of straw and 7 minutes later am back on the trail. My plan is to go another hour before we stop. This back of the pack start begins to appeal to me.

You are supposed to get off the trail to camp, but I’m post holing in the deep soft snow everytime I try. The trail is about 50 feet wide and I pull as far to the right side as I can, thinking it will be enough (The trail is marked down the middle of the river). We stop at 9:05 PM, right on schedule. Just as we settle in to sleep, teams that rested in Yentna start to pass and everyone is running of the far right side of the river – right where I camped. I feel bad about being in their way and don’t get any sleep. Pepper is playing Dr Destructo, so I took his harness and the tug lines in front of him off when we stopped. Good idea – he chewed on the gangline (cable reinforced). Frodo decided it looked like fun so he ate through the tug on his harness. I tie it back together and at 2AM, still on schedule, we are off again.

Two hours later we are in Skwentna. I grab food and gear from my drop bags for two camps (no drop bags at Finger Lake), straw and heat (fuel for the cooker) and we are gone at 4:33 AM. Blaze has some trouble with the outgoing trail and tries to park the team, then swings clear around to go back to Willow. A volunteer leads her to the correct trail (Thanks!) and we are off. It is warm (20?) and snowing lightly. I’m not wearing all my gear, but I’m still sweating heavily from even this little bit of exercise.

The trail goes down the Skwentna River and shortly leaves to run through the swamps. This is our first exposure to the “road less traveled”. The soft snow is deep enough the runners drop and my feet ride on the snow. I almost lose my balance. Interesting.

Just over an hour later we cross the Skwentna river at the old Skwentna Roadhouse and start to climb. We were here three weeks ago and this trail wasn’t in yet. I can see the difference immediately. We are wallowing through deep snow with craters as we climb through the trees. Everyone is working hard when Pepper catches his harness on a small stump, breaks his neckline and is drug backwards. Jump on the brake. Stop the team. Pepper’s tugline is stretched tight, but all the tension is in line and the harness, not the dog. I stopped just in time. Pepper has a dazed look, the harness is ruined – the whole breastplate is blown apart. It is quite a chore to get the harness loose, particularly with Pepper in it and the rest of the team screaming to go, but I eventually I manage. Pepper seems fine. Because he chews so much I’m carrying two spare harnesses in his size.

The trail continues to be slow going in the soft snow. As we pull onto One Stone Lake there is a hospitality stop. Someone set up a heated tent and packed a parking spot for the dogs, but I’m thinking to slow and by the time I recognize it in the early morning light we are past. The dogs are getting tired and at 8:15 AM I pull off the trail onto a side snowmachine track and camp. The dogs settle in to sleep before I get a meal fixed and don’t eat well. Last year it was Nikolai when they really started to eat, so I’m not happy, but not as concerned as I might be. It is still snowing and everything is getting wet. I give them team a full 6 ½ hour rest. I can’t get to sleep. At 2:41 PM we leave for an uneventful run to Finger Lake.

Keep ‘em Northbound

Eric

Elim to White Mountain

Normally we leave Elim on the sea ice, paralleling the shore until we leave to climb over Little McKinley. This year, just like my rookie year, bad ice on Norton Sound required us to take the overland route. It’s longer and hilly, but big tree country and very pretty.

I told Mike Suprenaut in Elim I would wait for him if he wanted to travel with me. I was ready first and didn’t want the dogs to wait in the checkpoint harnessed and bootied, so I’m lollygagging down the trail enjoying the scenery and being sheltered from the wind. We climb above tree line and bam, the wind hits us from the right like a hammer blow. The trail is drifted over. Thank heaven the trail markers are still there. Blaze and Rosemary put their heads down and drive into the crosswind. The trail drops back into the trees. Ww are protected again. I stop to wait for Mike and he catches me quickly.

We are going into and out of the wind, coming off a bald knob when Blaze and Rosemary loose the trail. I can see it off to our left - “Haw” - but they ignore me. I set both snowhooks in the soft snow, walk up to lead my front end left to the trail and Mike comes by – with a sharp “Haw” his leaders go down the correct trail. My team pulls both snowhooks and starts to race Mike parallel to, but off the trail.

You never run to catch the sled because that makes the velocity differential worse, you wait for the sled to come to you – my right arm is out and snags the drive bow. OUCH! There is a sharp blow to the sole of my right foot. The snowhook came through the side of the boot, through the liner and hit right in the middle of the arch. Dang that hurts. It popped right out again, so I didn’t get dragged. I don’t think it punctured the foot (I can stand on it), but it is -15 or so with a 15 to 20 mph wind blowing. There is no way I’m taking the boot off here to find out, and not much I could do if I did. I don’t think the boot is filling with blood, but I stand putting pressure on the arch to try to stop any bleeding that might be there. We are three or four hours out of White Mountain and everyone on the trail is ahead of me. Time to suck it up and keep going.

We come over the next rise into a world of featureless white. I’ve been in ground blizzards where you can’t see your dogs, but this is different. I can see the team, but in this flat light I can’t tell where the ground stops and the sky begins. Thank heaven I can see some markers, because I can’t see the ground. If it wasn’t for gravity, I could just as easily be upside down looking at the sky. I bounce from unseen bump to unseen side hill. This is strange… and a little spooky. Except for the dogs and a few stakes there are no visual references of any kind. So this is what a real white out looks like. I trust my leaders. There is no way I can see to drive in this.

Several minutes later we are out of it. Blaze and Rosemary loose the trail again. “Haw”. No response. I try to set the hook, but it won’t hold – I’m a little leery of walking (limping) down to my leaders without a good set. We go a little further and I try again. Finally the third time we hit hard windswept snow and the hooks hold. Blaze is telling me she has had enough and I move Platinum up with Rosemary. “Haw.” Platinum swings left and continues until he turns the team back on itself. “No!” He stops with his nose level with the sled. Grab his harness and lead him over towards the trail. Untangle some dogs, lead Platinum over more. Untangle more dogs, lead Platinum over more, finally he sees the trail and lines out. Finish untangling the team and we are off. Luckily this is the long drop off Little McKinley and we are done with the hills – for this run anyway.

The trip through Golovin was uneventful. I stopped in the shelter of the village to snack the dogs, then back into a headwind across Golovin Bay. Finally we are in White Mountain, the dogs are cared for and I pull my right boot off. There is no blood in the boot, none on the sock. The skin is broken like a bad bruise – contusion the vet says. The foot is sore, but good to go. We will get to finish this silly race after all.

Just before we bed down for the night we get the word – Redoubt has erupted. All flights to Anchorage are canceled until further notice. Never a dull moment on the Iditarod Trail.

Keep ‘em Northbound

Eric

Eagle Island to Elim

We got into Eagle Is land at 4:40 PM after about a 6 hour run from our camp. Equal run / rest would have us leaving at 11 PM that night. After the tough trip we had going to Eagle Island we (Tim, Rachael, and I)thought the dogs needed more rest, and we were still worried about finding the trail in the dark. We would leave at first light. While there I got to close to the heater and melted the back of my insulator jacket (worn under my parka while running. When I got up to leave Pepper had eaten the breastplate of his harness – luckily I had a spare, but obviously he had enough rest.

I pulled the hook just before 8 AM headed for Kaltag. This was a much different run. The winds died down to about 10 mph headwind. It was barely enough to blow the loose snow over the ground. As we proceeded upriver, the trail became better defined, wider and more packed. All in all, it was a pretty nice respite after the last two days. I arrived in Kaltag at 5:17 PM for a 9 hour and 20 minute run – not fast, but a whole lot better than the Eagle River run. My beaver mitts were still frozen – I had three handwarmers in each one trying to dry them out. Luckily it was warmer.

The vets commented on how good my dogs looked, they were thin but eating and drinking well. Actually they said the dogs looked much better than I did, but a good meal and a nap helped me too. The dogs weathered the storm fine and the extra rest in Eagle Island had helped. I wasn’t competitive anymore, but still wanted to get to Nome before the banquet Sunday. Marti (my wife), Penny and Adam (my sister and nephew), and Bonnie and Leslie (my good friends) were there and I wanted to see them. I was going to give the team 8 hours of rest and run all the way to Unalakleet, but my checkpoint routine completely fell apart. Finally at 3:50 AM, 2 ½ hours late, we left Kaltag.

It was a pretty uneventful run to Unalakleet. The dogs were dipping snow like mad as we left, telling me I hadn’t quite given them enough to drink. I was pretty fried and kept micro-sleeping (falling asleep on the sled only to wake up as I started to fall off). We had a light tailwind and, after the sun came up, I woke up and had a pleasant trip. I was a little worried about going past Old Woman, because we always stopped there before, but no problem. I stopped at the turn to think about it and the dogs were banging their harnesses to go.

Unalakleet was a time disaster for me. I had planned an 8 hour rest, but found out Ed Iten and Melissa Owens had scratched in Elim. The best guess was the storm took enough out of their dogs that the teams quit. This was a real warning flag for me – give the dogs some extra rest. I also heard that Shaktoolik got so crowded with the front-of-the-pack mushers waiting out the storm that they filled their small semi-protected parking space and had to park teams in the street.

A friend of a friend offered to buy me dinner at Peace-on Earth Pizza (some of he best I’ve ever had) and I let him. Big mistake – I should have slept. So I moved my out time back and then slept through my alarm. By the time we finally left at 4:40 AM we had been there 12 ½ hours.

With all the talk about deep snow, we left Unalakleet in glare ice. That should have raised warning flags because the dogs couldn’t dip snow that wasn’t there, but I was focused on getting to Nome Sunday and never thought about it. We had a nice trip over the blueberry hills, even watching the lights of Shaktoolik from the hill tops. Then we dropped to the flats and hit the wind. Again! I could watch the dogs deflate before my eyes. I thought a good meal and short rest would fix them, but the vets told me all the dogs were dehydrated and I couldn’t leave until I fixed that. The vets were right and I’m grateful they were watching my back, because I wasn’t quite there. With three good wet meals and one hour of sleep for me, we left Shaktoolik 8 hours later and once more headed into the wind going across Norton Sound to Koyuk.

Luckily my beaver mitts finally dried out because it was COLD. The teams ahead of me said the winds died down after lonely rock (just as you cross onto the ice), but it didn’t happen. I had my face mask on, my beaver mitts with liner gloves and handwarmers, and I was still cold. I had Blaze and Rosemary in lead, but after the Yukon Blaze said no more into-the-wind stuff for her. I finally put Klinger in lead with Rosemary. We went forward for a while then they started leaving the trail and tangling the team – telling me they had enough too. I had to take my mitts off to untangle the dogs and frosted my hands again. I kept working with Rosemary and Klinger and after several tangles we made it to Koyuk. I was pretty beat. My little finger on the right hand had a pretty good blister – definite sign of frostbite – and my fingers were swollen from the cold. I wasn’t in trouble out there, but I easily could have been.

I had lots of time to think during that trip. The team had never come together. We had done much better last year. What went wrong? Finally I realized that I got wrapped up in trying to race and forgot to make it fun for either me or the dogs. I am proud that we finished (there were several times that wasn’t a sure thing), and I let the dogs know that, but I never made it fun. Time to work on my attitude.

The vets in Koyuk said ½ the team looked good, but the other ½ was dehydrated. Another long stop to get more rest and liquid into the dogs. They needed it.

The run from Kouyk to Elim was another windy trip, but at least it was a crosswind instead of a headwind. The first part of the run is somewhat sheltered, but near the end we cross the Kwik River delta for about 15 miles, very exposed and windy enough there is a shelter cabin at one end and Moses Point at the other.

At Elim they told me Platinum was very dehydrated and thin. I had arrived at 6 PM and planned to leave at midnight. One of the vets asked if I would consider waiting until morning. OK, I could do that. The dogs had had another hard run and could use the rest. Then the other vet asked if I would consider dropping two dogs. I knew one was Platinum. He was my best go-into-the-wind leader in 2008, and Blaze wasn’t too excited about the wind (not that I could blame her). I’d rather not, if I could stay longer and get him back it would be worth it. Pump three large wet meals into him – he ate double portions of all three. The fourth meal, a rich fish soup, was pretty much ignored, but I left the fish there and everyone ate it latter.

The winds were blowing right down the dog lot in Elim. The volunteers worked hard to use all the extra straw bags to form a wind break, but there was only so much they could do. The dogs were exposed to the wind and that compromised the quality of their rest. Unfortunately there was no better place to park them. About noon Mark Nordman called, more as a friend than as the race marshal, to see what the problem was. I explained “thin dogs” and he understood, but recommended we get out of dodge. If you wait too long the hot worm of scratching starts to eat at you.

I asked the vets about Platinum – “bring him in where we can take his coat off and get a good look at him”. His hydration was good, but he was very thin. The vet decided he was close but OK and cleared him to go. Thank heavens. They couldn’t identify the second dog, even after rechecking the entire team, so I guess the rest and wet sloppy meals worked.

Keep ‘em Northbound

Eric

The Frost Fiend – Grayling to Eagle Island

I got into Grayling at 11:33 AM Sunday, 3/15, very much in race mode. The dogs looked good and I thought a 6 hour rest would keep them that way. Immediately I’m told how bad the winds were last night, how two good mushers left only to come back saying it was stupid to try. Fourteen mushers had spent the night, leaving Grayling between first light (as the winds died down) and 1230. I was getting ready to leave at 5:00 PM when Mike Suprenaut came in with an email – National Weather Service Wind Chill Advisory until noon Monday - expect temperatures to -30, winds to 15 mph, wind chill to -50 – ITC says to expect 12 hour runs. I wasn’t sure my dogs would break trail into the wind for that long and didn’t want to go alone. We decided as a group to leave at first light and try to catch the same break in the wind the folks here had Sunday morning.

At 8:42 Monday, after 21 hours of rest, I pull the hook and go onto the river and into the wind. Everyone else was up, but nobody was getting ready to go. It is supposed to be a race and the storm was supposed to be easing, maybe I’ll get a jump on them. I have Platinum in lead – my best go into the wind leader last year.

That wind is cold! I tighten my ruff down against my face and thank God for my heavy beaver mitts. For two hours we go straight into a stiffening headwind, there is no sign of easing. The trail is alternating between being swept clean and being drifted over with 3 to 4 inches of soft snow. Pretty tough pulling. Platinum starts telling me he has had enough, dropping back with a slack tug. Move Blaze and Rosemary into lead and we continue into the storm. Blaze is either loosing the trail or getting tired and ducking off the trail seeking relief. I gee or haw her back and she responds. We are doing pretty well. I can see far enough ahead in the daylight to tell Blaze where the trail will come out. Thank heaven we didn’t try this at night. The wind is blowing loose snow several inches over the ground, quickly covering our tracks.

We turn a small corner and the wind becomes a steady 25 mph straight into our face. We go OK for a while. Then Blaze and Rosemary mutiny and come back into the team. “No!” “ Stop!” Now my 2^nd set of team dogs are in lead and I have a tangle like I have not seen for years. Pull off the heavy beaver mitts, lay them on the sled so they don’t’ swing on the idiot strings and spook the dogs. Start on the tangle in my thin liner gloves. Cold Hands – stick them down my bibs to warm. Continue. Repeat. Fifteen minutes or so later we are straight.

Within 10 minutes they do it again. Dang! Same process. Same cold hands inside bibs. We are finally straight and I move Platinum up with Blaze, wipe the snow from their eyes and off we go again. Within 20 minutes they stop, but this time I stop the team before they come back. Move Rosemary up with Platinum. Off we go. They stop. Move Blaze up with Rosemary. At hike the team moves, but Rosemary and Blaze just sit there. Walk up and lead them to line out. At hike they still sit there, while the team moves. This is bad. Dee Dee scratched here in a storm just like this in 1999. Line out the dogs and talk to Blaze and Rosemary – they are not happy. Lie down in the snow to block the wind for them a little. Now what?

The blowing snow has stuck to my liner gloves and melted, now the liner gloves are starting to freeze on my hands. Pull them off and stick the gloves down my bibs to thaw. Put my bare hands back into my beaver mitts, but the storm has blown spindrift (fine loose snow) into the mitts. I pull out what I can, but the damage is done, the mitts are damp and starting to stiffen as they freeze. This is not good. Put three handwarmers in each mitt. My hands are ok, but the mitts are not drying out – I’m just staying even. It is 12:30 PM. We cannot stay here exposed to this vicious wind. Turn the team back and look for shelter against the bank. I think we have something and stop to check it out; it is just a lull in the wind, which soon picks up and drives us on. Try again, same result. At 1:30PM I stop to snack the team – I might have to go all the way back to Grayling to get out of the storm. There is a team coming. Tom Thurston passes, then Tim Osmar. Tim looks at me facing the wrong way “Are you going to chuck it in, or turn around and follow us?” It is just the kick in the pants I need. I finish snacking, turn the team and follow Jeff Holt, the 4^th and last musher in line. I learned later that Mike Suprenaut left with them, but went back to Grayling to wait out the storm. Tom is faster and pulls away. I’m faster than Jeff and pass him to follow Rachael. Blaze and Rosemary do a good job of chasing, but I don’t trust them to try to take the lead again.

It is a tough run – if Tim gets too far ahead, Rachael’s leaders lose sight of him and start to leave the trail. Blaze and Rosemary are only too happy to follow Rachael. I try to run between Tim and Rachael, but Rachael’s leaders are used to following Tim, not me. I let her pass me and off we go again. If I am more than 30 seconds behind Rachael, all sign of her passage is obliterated in the drifting snow.

I talk to Tim – he is planning to stop at Blackburn (a fish camp about 22 miles out of Eagle Island) for 3 or 4 hours, then push into Eagle Island for a real rest. At 1010 PM after nearly 14 hours on the trail for me, Tim pulls off the trail onto a gentle slope and stops. This is where we will camp for the night. It is exposed, but no worse than anywhere else we have seen. We haven’t seen Blackburn yet, but we can’t find the trail in the dark and have to wait for daylight to continue. Jeff Holt catches up and pulls in beside me.

Fix a hot meal for the dogs. Jeff has dug a trench to sleep in. Great idea and I quickly do the same. The snow is packed so tight here I need the axe to break it up and then scoop it out with my 1 qt scoop. We all tip our sleds over to break the wind, which is quickly drifting snow over the dogs (which should protect them) and hunker down behind the sleds. I sit in my trench behind my sled eating a warm meal – not too bad. Climb into my bag and try to go to sleep. The wind is blowing snow into the trench, but I think it will be ok.

My feet are cold. My socks are damp so I pull them off (inside the mummy bag – no small feat) and stuff them down my drawers to dry for morning. The bottom of the bag feels damp and my feet won’t warm up. Curl up into a fetal position as much as the mummy bag will allow so I can conserve warmth. Still no good. There are dry socks in a ziplock bag in the sled. Open the bag – everything is scattered because it’s sideways. Find the socks. My hands are cold, stuff them down my drawers to warm against my groin. Close the sledbag and put on the socks. My feet are still cold. This is bad. Finally realize the wind is blowing spindrift through the zipper into the sleeping bag.

This is not working. If I don’t get warm soon, I’ll be in real trouble. Get up and get fully dressed (hard because I’m already chilled) and start walking to generate body warmth. Check on the dogs – all I see are muzzles sticking out of mounds of snow. After a couple of hours I’m finally warm. Check on the dogs again and I can’t see Throttle’s muzzle anymore. Is she still breathing!?! I call her name – then tap the snow and her head comes up. Whew. Get my tarp and lie down in the lee of the sled (the trench is half full of snow) with the tarp as a wind break.

I’ve got to relieve myself and the tarp blows away. Walk to warm up again. Finally about 6 AM I lie down fully dressed and wrap my sleeping bag around me in the lee of the sled and drift off to sleep. At 7:30 Tim calls “Get up, it’s time to get moving” daylight is here.

Tired and miserable, I fix the dogs a hot meal. As I rouse them from their beds they look as cold and miserable as I do. There are blocks of snow about 2 inches on a side sticking to their coats. The dogs eat poorly, many preferring to just sit there and feel bad. The snow over Thyme is crusted so hard she can’t get up – I have to kick it apart, then she stands and cries, moves over and pees enough to start a minor flood. Poor girl.

Jeff Holt has had it. He is dug in, his dogs are dug in. He decides to stay and asks us to send help (rescue) when we get to Eagle Island. Tim and Rachael get ready faster than I do. I dug out my spare liner gloves, but my hands are stiff from the cold and booting the dogs takes longer than I figured. Will Blaze and Rosemary still follow the trail after 20 minutes? They take off and we work it out together. When they drift off, I call them back and they correct. We pass Blackburn about 15 minutes after we leave camp. A native gentleman snowshoes out and asks me to ask Eagle Island to call Grayling and tell them he got his snowmachine stuck.

I’m starting to regain my confidence in my leaders. The dogs seem to be warming up and feeling better as we move down the trail. A couple hours out we catch Rachael and follow her again.

The wind finally starts to ease. The snow is no longer blowing across the trail and it is not as drifted over as before. Finally at 4:40 PM Tuesday afternoon, after almost 32 hours on the trail and the most miserable night I can remember, we pull into Eagle Island. Jim Galley has moved the dog lot into the slew and we are out of the wind at last. Whew!

I delivered my messages and the Iditarod Air Force flew out in the dying storm and rescued Jeff and his dogs and the native gentleman whose snowmachine had fallen through the ice (I guess that’s stuck).

What an education. I met the Frost Fiend up close and personal that night. And it was only 25 to 30 mph winds at -25. It could have been 50 to 70 mph winds at -35! I had one more layer to put on, but if it was like that I’d have gone back to Grayling and waited. I got a real appreciation for what the old timers went through 100 years ago – there was no rescue then. If you guessed wrong and underdressed or didn’t carry enough food, you froze. You could feel it coming – you got cold and could not get warm. Scary.

Keep ‘em Northbound

Eric

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Keep 'em Northbound

Eric O. Rogers
R Northbound Dogs

Eagle River, AK

eorogers@gci.net

http://www.rnorthbounddogs.com   (website)
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