Rogues Gallery Kennel Blog

At Paxson, it had become clear to us that our goal was to complete the race, not make a last ditch effort to finish in the Top 7 which is how far the purse paid out. I wanted to gain the valuable experience of running 300 miles and have a happy healthy team when I crossed the finish line. Our strategy became to focus on dog care. We elected to rest the team longer that it took to run to the checkpoint. Joseph studied other teams and veteran mushers to glean information on relieving sore muscles, determining injury versus fatigue, and how to survive the cold. One of the most valuable lessons I learned was working to stretch out and warm up the dogs before assembling them to leave the checkpoint. I walked them around the checkpoint using a tug line like a leash. This technique allowed the dogs to warm up, have a little stimulation sniffing around the checkpoint, catch the attention of other dogs in the team –further perking them up, and it gave me a chance to really look at each dog and access where they were at both physically and mentally. Winds were kicking up and I was having trouble keeping myself warm enough to tend to the dogs as best as I knew how. Two more lessons on this pilgrimage: don’t use metal bowls in -30 (the dog’s nose’s and tongue’s would stick to them); and do your best to camp out of the wind, even if it means fancy maneuvering to get to that spot initially. I managed to get about 1 hour of sleep… one more thing I learned is sleep when you can, fatigue begins to hurt like any other pain in your body.
My team rested well and left the checkpoint ready and confident. Paxson Lake was very trying right off the bat. Windswept ice left minimal trail to follow. It was quickly evident that teams had wandered all over the lake looking for trails. Some sections were frictionless slicks while others were chest-deep drifts. Each was equally challenging for dogs to navigate, but once again I was proud of my team to the point of tears. Then suddenly came a headlamp, and eventually a team met mine head-on. Another musher was calling it quits after losing the trail and circling the lake. He headed back to the checkpoint concerned, disappointed, frustrated. We made it off the lake and proceeded to engage what felt like the longest ascent I’ve ever done, punctuated with false summits seemingly laughing at me. We hit a pocket of warmer temperature, or so it seemed as my face dripped with sweat. The dogs appeared uncomfortably warm so I stopped and removed all of the coats I had carefully put on each one before leaving Paxson as protection from the wind and cold. Up. Up. Up. That’s what I remember. Around half way to Sourdough I came upon a team stopped in the trail, the same one that had quit on the climb off of Summit Lake. The musher said, “When you get to Sourdough let them know that I scratch. My team quit and I can’t get them moving again, I think I’ll need help getting out of here.” I offered assistance but she seemed resolved to scratch. I agreed to carry her message and relay it to the checkers but explained that I did not want to stop for too long myself out of concern for my own team staying motivated, and she understood, so off I went. From there the trail became more technical than I had experienced yet. Swerving around trees, hoping on and off rivers, snaking through the wilderness. I often couldn’t see the front end of my rig as they were already on the next curve as I was coming out of the previous one. It was much harder that the previous leg, but over 10 miles shorter made it quite enjoyable. Through my exhaustion I managed to have the most enjoyable and exciting 60 miles of mushing I can remember.
Into Sourdough I was beyond tired, and moving sluggish. Joseph tried giving me intricate instructions on where we were parking in the corded checkpoint, which I blew anyway in my sleep-deprived state. We managed to get the team over in some deep snow off the trail, and I stomped out a camp spot and gave them plenty of straw to bed down in. My body was barely responding to the directions my brain was giving it. Everything was taking me 3x as long as usual, which I recognized, but still couldn’t help. Cold. The temperature plummeted at this point hovering around 40 below. Even Joseph, who vigilantly guarded the team at each checkpoint while the dogs and I rested, had to get in the truck periodically to warm up. I fed and fed and fed, since the dogs ate voraciously despite how tired they were. I then dragged myself uphill to small cabin (designated for race happenings) with a wonderful and blazingly active wood stove. I arranged gear around the fire, my suit –frozen with sweat on the inside and frost on the outside, rock-hard drinks and food I was unable to consume until they defrosted a bit, and my contact solution which again was frozen solid. I took my sleeping bag upstairs and slept for 2 hours which felt like heaven. Joseph woke me at the designated time and later admitted it was the worst he’s ever seen me look. I was so dehydrated I could barely speak, but my things had warmed by the fire and I immediately drank everything I could. I was still moving slower than I wanted to but felt a thousand times better. Time to focus on the dogs.
I left Sourdough soon after daylight. Our game plan was for me to make the 112 mile push to the finish. We had made 100-mile pushes before in other races, but never after covering so many miles of arduous terrain. What a test… for me and even more so for the team. Our expectation was for mostly flat or downhill trail along rivers and across lakes. I remember crossing several huge lakes, trying to keep my skin covered from the whipping chill, and at one point I stopped and put penis protectors over the males to keep them from freezing up which is dangerous, and all too possible in temperatures so extreme. I actually had only one “peter heater” which I put on Cyder, and then used my knife and two emergency zip ties I was carrying to make one for Goliath out of a belly blanket. I didn’t want to use whole coats for most of the team because they were working hard and the sun was out, I just wanted to cover the ones that needed it. I was also snacking more frequently than ever and their appetites seemed to increase. Despite trail reports of the terrain being mostly flat to the finish, I remember screaming in my head over and over, “This is supposed to be downhill! When is the easy part.” Eventually I found out that that part would never come. About 5 minutes before arriving at Wolverine I stopped the team and snacked one more time, hoping to eliminate any reason for them to want to stay at the checkpoint and not push through. Dogs are like people who run marathons or hike long distance: it is easy to stay warmed up and moving, but once you stop and cool down it can be a little stiff feeling to get going again. On our approach to the checkpoint, tears rolled down my cheeks as I asked the dogs to trust me and follow my lead. I also apologized to Penny because I wasn’t going to take her any further due to a sore wrist. Even though her heart was still in it and I knew she would do it for the team and for me, she was uncomfortable and I didn’t want to risk her well-being. I would rather she be able to recover for our next adventure. Cyder was in single lead at this point and definitely tentative about approaching strangers (the checkers). Joseph called to him but was (as always) also trying to capture the race on camera which Cyder didn’t like the sight of. We got in with a couple zig-zags and I quickly grabbed the gear out of my drop bags that I wanted to take along, mostly a few more dog snacks for the trail. I asked if there was anything to drink and sprinted the 50 yards to the lodge where a case of room temperature waters were. I grabbed one, thought about it and grabbed a second, thanking the checkers as I ran back to my sled. Joseph warned me that teams ahead were having a lot of trouble getting out of the Tolsana checkpoint. He also cautioned me that a turn was coming up that some teams had missed and gone down the wrong trail. Stay focused.
Back out to the lake with no protests I cheered the dogs, praised them, and then thanked them for their dedication. I chugged one bottle of water before it froze and then cut the bottom off and poured some of the second bottle into it, set a hook, and offered each dog some fresh water. Some had a few sips, others weren’t interested. I changed some dog positions around and we quickly got moving again. Within a few miles we passed a team again parked in the middle of the trail. I had a little trouble getting by, I think because the dogs were surprised… most of this race we spent in solitude (behind the fastest teams, but ahead of the slower half of the pack) so it was startling to come up on 12 dogs at this point. We made it by and I undid some tangles and got going again. Then it happened… the switch you hear about and wonder if you’ll ever witness. Something in the physiology of the dogs causes them to tap into stored fat instead of the available energy in the system and it all becomes fluid motion. Part of something greater. We zipped over hills to Tolsona, again stopping prior to the checkpoint to snack. About 8 miles from the checkpoint Oaky and then Nuk both seemed to become sore, and while both were still pulling, they were not moving in their usual rhythmic way. I put them in the sled bag, and rearranged the team again to keep up moral. They were starting to need a little more encouragement, but responded well when they receive it. We had one more talk about trust, and I pleaded with them to understand that I was taking them home, and told them that I love them and appreciate that they make me a better person on so many levels. I was at peace and in awe of my companions.
We cruised through the checkpoint, sadly leaving Nuk and Oaky with Joseph who later reported that they were jumping all over him and showing no sign of injury once I was out of sight, much to the amusement and slight bewilderment of the checkers. The last 20 miles were the longest of the race. I later tried to describe it as more like riding a bull than gliding over the earth. The snow was hard, crusty and very uneven. It was difficult to balance, let alone kick along with the team. It was no more fluid for me that learning how to drive a standard transmission. Lots of bucking back and forth, and side to side. Right before town we entered a forest with trees looming overhead and darkness encasing us. It was daunting and magical and then onto the final section of trail along the highway we emerged and made our way to the town library where Joseph waited at the finish line. The six dogs that remained with me actually made good time, especially compared to other teams and considering I stopped and snacked them.
I gave hugs all around. Everyone gave it their all. Even the ones that didn’t cross the finish line made me proud of their contribution. I had six dogs on the line (Zoom, Goliath, Butterscotch, Crumb, Cyder and Karma) and every one of them was strong and determined. We finished 16th and I couldn’t be more proud of our kennel. The experience was amazing and the journey was filling. I can hardly wait to go back next year.