One of the things I love about racing sled dog is that life gets real simple. It is arduous, but you only have to worry about getting to the next checkpoint with healthy, happy dogs. The mortgage, credit cards, health issues, and any family problems all go away for the duration of the race. The Willow-Tug was no different. I had run all these trails before and while I knew some better than others, there were no problem areas here. I quickly relaxed and the dogs settled into a nice pace. The trail ran gently through the trees in the Nancy Lake State Park down to Big Lake to the old Iditarod race trail. Four hours later we arrived at Flathorn Lake and pulled off for a planned three hour camp.
I had intended to stop on the other side of Flathorn, but this spot was sunny and I thought the dogs would enjoy it. Job one was to spread out straw and get the dogs resting, then take booties off and feed them a light meal using the hot water in the cooler. Then fix those darned chewed tug lines.
The Seavey double tree system has a spreader bar on the gangline that makes the tugs run straight back from the dogs harness. That means you can run shorter tug lines and shorten the entire gangline. To make that work you have a loop in the tug to fasten to the gangline, then pass it through a hole on the spreader bar, with a knot in the line on both sides to keep it from slipping too far, to another loop that connects to the harness. My tugs are longer with a loop in each end. That meant I had to undo one loop to get an end that would pass through the spreader bar hole, tie the two overhand knots and a knot or two to adjust the length, then make a loop at the end. Do this twice and check my watch to see how much longer to rest.
Just time for a snack for me, bootie the dogs and we were off again. It was 30 minutes later when I realized I had misread my watch and we only rested 2 hours instead of three. I apologized to the dogs, promised them more rest on the next loop, and vowed to double check any more time calculations!
Fifteen years ago on my first trip over this trail, the drop onto the Susitna River took me by surprise. It was almost 15 nearly vertical feet. My leader gleefully plunged over the side and by the time I saw it and got the sled stopped, she was standing on the river while my swing dogs and first team dogs were leaning against the wall mostly suspended by their harnesses. There was no cure but to plunge over the side and follow them. It was a lot like falling. I’ve done this drop many times since then, some better and some worse depending on how low the river was when it froze and how much snow the trailbreakers had to build a ramp, but that first memory was always there. This year was pretty mild.
Martin Buser was traveling the trail by snowmachine, mostly in the back of the pack, to mentor potential Iditarod rookies using this race as a qualifier. As we crossed the Susitna to go up the old Rabbit Lake trail (where Susan Butcher was stomped by a moose in 1985) Martin went past us pulling a large trailer sled. The ramp up off the river on the other side was a twin to the one we had just come down. Martin gunned the machine but it stalled half-way up. He tried to back down, but the trailer runners were designed to go forward and got stuck. He is completely blocking the trail, and apologized to me – got off the sled and tried to pull it sideways, he finally had to unhook it and I helped him pull it off to the side. As I went past him I smiled – I mean how often does a back of the pack musher like me, driving a dog team in a race, get to pass Martin Buser. Martin just laughed and said it probably wouldn’t be the last time in this race – and he was right! He is a great guy.
We had a heavy dump of snow the week before the race, resulting in deep unpacked snow and overflow at the planned half-way point. At the start they told us they couldn’t get there from here and were re-routing the trail. Rather than go to TalVista lodge (by back trails to make up the miles), we would loop from Yentna to Skwentna and back twice.
The Rabbit Lake Trail had about 5 feet of snow on the ground and was trenched deep enough that the dogs couldn’t see over the edge much of the way. Martin calls that “trench warfare” – it make passing extremely difficult and stopping for any reason is sure to build a traffic jam.
Sure enough about half-way to Eagle Song Lodge we hit a jam. Some poor driver up ahead was having problems and 4 teams were stuck behind him. Martin tried to swing around us and stuck the snowmachine and trailer again. When we finally got passed the lead team, we saw cupid had been the problem all along. There was a girl in heat, an unplanned mating and it took 30 minutes to clear – poor guy had his team off into the snow at the side of the trail and if God hadn’t made his legs meet in the middle he would still be sinking.
The rest of the run to Yentna was a beautiful trip under clear skies and dropping temperatures. The forecast before we left was a low of -10 F Friday night, warming up Saturday to +30 F with Saturday night getting down to +15. I debated my light bibs and parka in those warm temperatures, but at the last minute decided not to risk it and wore my heavy gear. Boy was I glad – it was pushing -20 F on the Yentna as I finished my chores and walked up to the lodge to find a place to sleep and wait out our mandatory 6 hour rest.
Keep 'em Northbound
Eric
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Willow Tug 300 Part 1
When I was in college, the night before final exams I would have nightmares about having registered for a class and forgotten all about it until that night. Sometime it was so real I would get up and check my schedule to reassure myself.
The 2011 Willow Tug 300 started much like that. I used to be able to put a 300 mile race together at the drop of a hat, but it had been two years and I had a definite feeling I was forgetting something essential – like dogs or a sled?
Dallas Seavey called me a week before the race and asked if I would run a team for him while he was doing the Yukon Quest. He had some dogs he wanted available for the Iditarod – dogs that could do 1 one thousand mile race, but not 2 – and some young dogs that needed race experience. Since he was paying the bills (and being broke was the only reason I wasn’t racing my team this year) I said sure. I asked Pat Schue, another Texas transplant, if she would help me get started and meet me at the finish line, and she was wonderful!
Pat and I drove up to Willow to get the dogs getting there in the dark. Jen had left our 12 dogs in three rows and I asked Pat to load them while I got the other stuff we needed. Ready to go, I count the dogs in the truck and come up with 11. Pat counts them, only 11 dogs. I look at the three lines of houses – no dogs. Check the truck – nobody is hiding. I walk down the line of houses – sure enough, Lucky, a female wheel dog, is lying in her house sound asleep (or faking it well). Convincing Lucky that she really does want to run, I load her and we are off. Is this an omen?
Race day dawned clear and cold, a beautiful day for running dogs. The race started at 10 AM, I was bib number 20. With 2 minutes between mushers I easily came up with a 10:18 start time (I do have a Ph. D. In Physics no less!). I packed the sled while Pat dropped dogs and started getting them ready. Watching time closely, I feared we were running just a little late and started to push. The team ahead of me was hooking up and we were not done booting. Push just a little bit harder and we had everybody in line ready to go a 10:15 – Whew.
But the 18th place team hadn’t left yet. Hmmm. Check my watch – it is 10:20 and they still hadn’t left. The starters must be running a little late. Watch the dogs closely and it dawns on me that 20 times 2 = 40, not 20 and my start time is 10:38! Oh, well – we are ready. Pat and I visit a little. At 10:30 I notice Soleil in swing, was on her neckline. The snap on her tug must have come loose – walk up there and Roadie had chewed through Soleil’s tug line. For some funny reason Dallas uses the Seavey double tree system where the tug goes through a spreader on the gangline and isn’t easily replaced. And I have no spares! Now what? Grab my conventional spare tug out of my sled, tie a knot in it to make it shorter and promise Soleil to fix it later. Then notice a chewed neckline. Replace that only to see another chewed tug line on Roadie. Oops! Run back to the truck, starting to sweat a little, and strip 4 tug lines off my gangline section. Replace Roadie’s tug with another straight tug with a knot to make the distance right and find two more chewed necklines. That is the last of my spare necklines from Jen, grab some of mine, run back to the sled and the timer says “go” – what an auspicious start to a three hundred mile race! :-)
Eric
The 2011 Willow Tug 300 started much like that. I used to be able to put a 300 mile race together at the drop of a hat, but it had been two years and I had a definite feeling I was forgetting something essential – like dogs or a sled?
Dallas Seavey called me a week before the race and asked if I would run a team for him while he was doing the Yukon Quest. He had some dogs he wanted available for the Iditarod – dogs that could do 1 one thousand mile race, but not 2 – and some young dogs that needed race experience. Since he was paying the bills (and being broke was the only reason I wasn’t racing my team this year) I said sure. I asked Pat Schue, another Texas transplant, if she would help me get started and meet me at the finish line, and she was wonderful!
Pat and I drove up to Willow to get the dogs getting there in the dark. Jen had left our 12 dogs in three rows and I asked Pat to load them while I got the other stuff we needed. Ready to go, I count the dogs in the truck and come up with 11. Pat counts them, only 11 dogs. I look at the three lines of houses – no dogs. Check the truck – nobody is hiding. I walk down the line of houses – sure enough, Lucky, a female wheel dog, is lying in her house sound asleep (or faking it well). Convincing Lucky that she really does want to run, I load her and we are off. Is this an omen?
Race day dawned clear and cold, a beautiful day for running dogs. The race started at 10 AM, I was bib number 20. With 2 minutes between mushers I easily came up with a 10:18 start time (I do have a Ph. D. In Physics no less!). I packed the sled while Pat dropped dogs and started getting them ready. Watching time closely, I feared we were running just a little late and started to push. The team ahead of me was hooking up and we were not done booting. Push just a little bit harder and we had everybody in line ready to go a 10:15 – Whew.
But the 18th place team hadn’t left yet. Hmmm. Check my watch – it is 10:20 and they still hadn’t left. The starters must be running a little late. Watch the dogs closely and it dawns on me that 20 times 2 = 40, not 20 and my start time is 10:38! Oh, well – we are ready. Pat and I visit a little. At 10:30 I notice Soleil in swing, was on her neckline. The snap on her tug must have come loose – walk up there and Roadie had chewed through Soleil’s tug line. For some funny reason Dallas uses the Seavey double tree system where the tug goes through a spreader on the gangline and isn’t easily replaced. And I have no spares! Now what? Grab my conventional spare tug out of my sled, tie a knot in it to make it shorter and promise Soleil to fix it later. Then notice a chewed neckline. Replace that only to see another chewed tug line on Roadie. Oops! Run back to the truck, starting to sweat a little, and strip 4 tug lines off my gangline section. Replace Roadie’s tug with another straight tug with a knot to make the distance right and find two more chewed necklines. That is the last of my spare necklines from Jen, grab some of mine, run back to the sled and the timer says “go” – what an auspicious start to a three hundred mile race! :-)
Eric
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