A Determining Race

Three years ago today, I was making a fool of myself right around this time. I was out on the trail attempting to pee privately and failing with something less than style. Needless to say, I survived, and so did the dogs, and so did the guy who ran over me while I was mid-try.

It was the beginning of one of my favorite mushing experiences (not the peeing part). The Copper Basin 300, a race some have called the toughest mid distance race on the books. It was my first race over 150 miles, coming on the heels of a long and tough season of handling at mushing at the Seavey kennel. We had been training so hard that a race felt like a relief. I was exhausted and not at all sure I could do it or that afterwords I would ever want to do it again. My dreams of running Iditarod seemed nebulous and doubtful-- I didn't know if it was something I wanted or something I had convinced myself to want.

I went on the Copper Basin in part because the kennel told me too (I was a good little cog!), but in part because I needed to find something out.

Sitting bare-assed on the trail in the brief hours of sunlight at the beginning of that race, I was pretty sure I knew what my answer would be.

Screaming wind, glare ice, a little open water, crashing northern lights, and true extreme cold later, I really had the final tally.

I loved it. Don't get me wrong... When I was out on the flat lakes in the middle of no where, snow caving down with closing fists and feeling like I was in a tiny suffocating room and promptly fell asleep and my sled and I tipped right over on flat trail... Walking up and down the long torturous hill at Sourdough to retrieve a drop bag that had opened and spilled in all directions... Feeling cold, cold down to bones and past... I hated it. But something about mushing either attracts the crazies or makes them. Because when I finally saw the lights in Tolsona, pulled quietly up across the lonely finish line with a checker and my fellow handler to greet me... After the dogs were cared for and put up into their warm safe boxes, and after we went into the lodge... There was a quiet congratulation, a nod, a well-done given here and there from the people waiting up for the other racers. I ate a hamburger which was probably the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted, and I sat, just sat, exhausted. And I wanted more. I was ready. Just an hour of sleep, maybe, and I could go on. I wanted to mush back into the dark.

So I knew then.

I knew I wanted Iditarod. And I knew I could do it.

Sometimes, maybe, to go towards something you have to go away from it first. I'm doing something so antithetical, in some ways, to mushing that it seems odd or off. It's not. It's a quiet foundation. I'm building my base. It's hard, it's the toughest part of mushing I've ever done-- to not mush. I want to be out with dogs. I want to be at the start line on Saturday.

The Copper Basin begins Saturday, and I won't be there. I'm half glad I won't be. I don't want to be a spectator, I don't even want to be a filmer. I want to be there, I want to be in it. Making stupid mistakes with peeing routines, feeling the complete roller coaster of defeat and victory that is mushing. And being with the dogs.

Someday I will be. Meanwhile, I'll remember. And follow closely to the race.

The Copper Basin 300 website is www.cb300.com

You can read my blog posts from that racing time here.

"We are here... about a race!"

I was fortunate-- thanks to hosting by Lara-Ke Kennel and a slew of friends-- to be able to fly up to Fairbanks this weekend and watch/handle/film one of the first sled dog races of the 2013/2014 season. Right now I'm sitting in the airport (for my commute back to work in Anchorage). I'm pretty sure they are basically waking the plane up now. Meanwhile, I'll try to write a little about the non-mushing side of a race experience.

I've gotten to race sled dogs off and on since I was 14. Because of the kennels where I worked and handled, I got to spend most of my time training dogs or racing dogs. Only over the last few years have I gotten, also, to handle for races. This is a unique and kind of weird experience, especially if you're used to being on the other side of the runners.

This weekend was no exception. It may have even felt stranger because I was not only on this side of the runners- I was on the operating end of a video camera as well.

The main reason I came up to Fairbanks this weekend was to do some filming for a project proposal I'm putting together.

Since it's in the works, I don't want to talk too much about it specifically, but it's a mushing project. What a great excuse to visit friends and see a race!

I ended up taking about four hours of footage at the race start, checkpoint, and road crossing. The race was populated by a huge range of experience. I even boldly did some interviews-- something I really don't love, necessarily. I know how frustrating it can be to be asked a lot of distracting questions when you are trying to get your head in a race space, or even just trying to figure out where that bag of booties you packed went. I tried to be respectful of my interviewees... I'm going to throw together a quick vid this week about the race, and I hope fans enjoy a glimpse into the start, especially. I'm not going to lie... I only interviewed people I know! So although Iditarod and Quest champs Lance Mackey and Jeff King were very much a part of the race, they have no idea who I am, and I didn't feel comfortable, yet, acting the paparazzi. I guess if I do want to keep filming races I'll have to get over it. Ultimately, while I love filming and I hope it brings a cool piece of the race to fans who can't be present, my real goal and desire is on the business end of the runners.

I was really impressed that the Two Rivers Dog Mushers Association handled a suddenly and surprisingly big field, as well as a plot twist in trail conditions, with apparent ease and dexterity. It wasn't easy, but I think their work was appreciated. I'm making this leap because as I filmed at the road crossing, almost every single musher as they popped up onto pavement for a brief second, shouted out to all the volunteers a resounding "Thank you!" I was really pleased with how grateful the racers seemed. I hope the volunteers who worked hard, seemed to be everywhere, stayed up late, broke trail, created a last-minute new checkpoint, and put on a really nice race felt as appreciated as they deserved. If not, let me express it from a handler/spectator perspective: Nice work TRDMA. And thanks!

Besides filming, I did a little handling. The main duty in this case was driving to the checkpoint to get dropped dogs if there were any. The way this race worked is that there were actually two races going on at once- the Solstice 100 and the Solstice 50. You can guess from their titles how long each race was. The 100 stopped at the checkpoint, rested a mandatory 4 hours, and went back over the same trail to return to the starting point at the Pleasant Valley Store. The 50 racers actually finished at the "checkpoint." This meant that all of their handlers had to be there and ready not to pick up a couple of dogs if necessary... But to load up a whole team as well as musher and gear. The real trick was getting back out of the finish/checkpoint. There was a real jigsaw of dog teams in place when I arrived at the Shooting Range where the finish/checkpoint was located. Don't worry, no one was doing any target practice while teams were around. This location was a last minute change. Normally for this race the checkpoint is Angel Creek Lodge, but due to recent heavy snows that bow tree limbs down and close off the trail, there was suddenly no dog team access to the regular stop. The race organization opted to turn a relatively open spot on the trail into a checkpoint with a wall tent, a barrel of water over a fire to provide water for dogs, and a little parking space. For 24 teams doing a layover and 19 finishing a race, it was as tight squeeze! But it was pulled off well.

Because it was tight, the race asked 100 mile handlers to not park in the checkpoint. We were actually easily able to find spots on the road, just a short walk from the teams on the "pond" where they were parked.

The checkpoint was a chance to be social, film a little, and talk dogs. With only a four hour layover relatively early in the evening, most mushers didn't try to sleep. I got to see teams all across the board. Since it was the actual solstice, there was only about three and a half hours of daylight. The race took off in light but the checkpoint was dark and the finish was pretty dark too. Out away from a lot of civilization, the starscape was massive and clear. As 100 mile teams left the checkpoint for their second leg, a rocking-chair half-moon rose orange and watching over the hills. I worked in Two Rivers for a (cold) season, so I'm used to it being well below zero when the stars shine out in December. It was a perfect temp, though, an easy couple degrees above zero. It was a beautiful night. As I watched the moon rise and the teams shush off into the night I was wishing the hardest that day that I was going out next with my team on quiet runners in the quiet snow.

I did have a job though: that was to take up straw. The purview of a dutiful handler. I helped pick up straw for four teams, the two Lara-Ke teams (Judy Currier and Chase Tingle), and the two Smokin' Aces teams (Matt Hall and Riley Dyche). The goal is to leave the camp site as clean as it was before the teams entered. 

After all four teams were out, it was about eleven. My co-handler Guro and I headed back to the kennel to tend to the two dropped dogs we had on hand, get a little food, and get ready to see the finish. Back at the store, we missed Aliy finishing by just a few minutes... About five to be exact. Matt Hall finished 5 minutes behind her, and we actually (probably annoyingly, sorry Matt!) drove behind his team on a short section of trail that is also the road to Lara-Ke kennel. He turned where the trail became dedicated trail again, and we zoomed ahead to try to catch finishes. We pulled into the parking lot just in time to see Matt arrive, but too late for Aliy. She was speedy! Instead of loading dogs into a truck for a really short jaunt back to their kennel, Aliy just drove her team home. The other SPK teams did as well, and so did Judy and Chase.

At the kennel, Guro and I helped unhook dogs, dole out a hearty feeding, and make sure everyone looked and felt good. Chase, Judy, Guro, and I went our separate ways for bedtime around 3:30 in the morning. It had been a long night, but a great one. I'm pretty sure I curled up and passed out with a list of new experiences, about 4 hours of great film, and huge smile on my face.

Two Rivers Solstice 100/50: Sled Dogs for America

I have a new "real" job, a really great one I might add. However, it's limited my ability to go out and be part of the mushing circles lately. This weekend, though, I got to head north to Two Rivers and hang out-- and do some filming-- at the Two Rivers Solstice 100/50 mile race. The 100/50 mile part means that there were essentially two races-- a 100 mile race that happened in two legs of 50 miles (with a four hour layover in between), and a 50 mile race that ended where the 100 mile layover occurred.

I have a lot more to say about this race. It was a much bigger turnout than expected, with about 45 mushers in both races. It's always fun to just get to hang around dog people... It was a blast to get to be around this particular race. One nice facet (especially for filming) was that the race was located just miles away from my host-house of Lara-Ke Kennel. That meant that between the start, road crossing, and checkpoint I could go back to the house and charge my cold camera batteries!

I got about four hours of great footage. I'm going to do a variety of things with it, but for now this is the first little piece I put together. It's another installment of Sled Dogs for America... a campaign for the best thing ever (and one without an election? Still you should vote...).

Here's the next video: Sled Dogs for America with Riley Dyche

Nostalgia

This morning I got to help out at Martin Buser's Happy Trails Kennel. I scooped, helped hook up, and rode along on a four wheeler run. It was a blast, and, despite a lot of new construction that has taken place since I first started mushing in 2000, really took me back to my early days.

I remember everything about the first time I ever ran dogs. I had asked Martin, really nervously, if I could have a sled dog ride as part of a school project I was doing on the Iditarod. Honestly, I'd been jonesing to be on the back of a dog sled for years. Being friends with the Buser boys had me so close to mushing... But so far. My brother and Martin's two sons and I would all play Legos, build forts, and do what kids do. We played with the puppies a bit-- This was one of our "jobs," to help socialize the young dogs. But that was the closest I ever got to sled dogs, really.

So finally I asked for this ride, and Martin had said yes. I remember walking out to the dog yard wearing whatever silly winter gear I'd found. The dogs went nuts. Martin showed me how to harness a dog. He talked about the way a dog's legs move. ("They don't have ball socket shoulders, like we do, so you can't pull their arm sideways.") He showed me tug and neckline and gangline. It was spring, after Iditarod, and getting warmer. Martin, his son Nikolai, and I all headed off on a puppy run, training young dogs how to run in the team. We did five runs that day. On the last run, with me driving, and Nikolai in the basket of the sled, Martin hopped off the runners just before our loop. It was a huge surprise! But off we went, Martin waving and grinning behind us, letting us figure things out on our own. We came to our turn, and called "Gee." I think I braked too late, or the dogs were excited to go "Haw" instead, so we had to stop and show them the correct trail. Nikolai and I worked together and got it done and in short order had picked Martin back up again.

Refreshment after the run

Going back to the kennel where I first learned to mush was very in keeping with the theme of this year. Moving back to my hometown has been a series of flashbacks, but also a poignant reflection on how much I have changed. This place has changed, too, in a lot of ways-- And in other ways, not at all. The dogs are older. Wandering around Martin's lot was a very old man dog, a black dog with distinctive orange and white markings. I thought I recognized him. I asked Martin who it was. "That's Van Gogh!" he told me, and I laughed, because I remember that dog well. I knew him as a puppy when I worked at Happy Trails fourteen years ago. He was a litter of one, and for some reason-- I can't remember why-- something happened to his ear. Maybe his momma bit it, or maybe someone else. Anyway, one of his ears was missing a chunk, so he earned his artistic name. So strange to remember that rough and tumble solo pup, now an old, old man, free to roam where he wanted.

The past two weeks, I've gotten to help at various kennels all over the state. I'm really grateful to be able to work with dogs, even if I'm not handling or mushing right now. It's incredible to see all these different folks working in different ways towards a kind of common idea. There are the races-- and that's important-- but more universally, there's a great joy in just running those dogs. Yes, everyone is eager for snow. But most of all, all these mushers walk through their lots, and you can see they are family with the canines who bark and keen to go. It's a dirty, messy, sloppy love. It's silly and not at all nice and neat. It's expensive, and time-swallowing, and hard work. I absolutely love it.

How I Feel About Things

Whatever your stance on things, currently, I think we can all get behind this. Chase Tingle, Judy Currier's handler this season (lara-ke.blogspot.com) features in this brief message brought to you by sled dogs everywhere. Especially in America.