
Hi all, Cole just made it home yesterday afternoon. All the dogs made it back safe and sound too and have been enjoying fattening up and sharing time on the couch after all the hard work they did. Above is a finaly pic of Cole and Penny, both looking soooo tired, after crossing the finish line. Cole had to stick around Nome for a few days waiting for the banquet, and took a trip out to see some wild musk ox. I’ll try to post pics soon.
She had fun at the banquet. She found out her and another musher, Rohn, had moved up the same number of places (16) from their last Iditarods, but since he was one place in front of her this year, he recieved the “Most Improved Musher Award,” and the $2,000 that came with it. Drats! We’re always a day late and a dollar short when it comes to that stuff, but really the race turned out so much better than we hoped overall, we can complain. I mean he had his father, a past Idit-champ, helping him most of the way, whereas Cole did everything she did on her own, so we are still very, very proud of her, even if she didn’t get the big recognition. It seems to be too often the case with her, which sucks to see her work so hard and get so little credit. I thought it odd that the race photographer Jeff Schultz, as well as many of the race reporters, covered the teams that came in immediately before and after Cole, but not Cole herself. SAdly, Cole is used to it at this point, but it still hurts to see it happen to her.
Cole is starting to share some of her trail stories now that she has caught up on some sleep and is back home. I’ll try to get her to jump on here soon and share some if I can. In the meantime, here is a column I wrote about her and Wolf for the local newspaper I work at. I know some of you have stumbled on this, but not everyone has, so I thought I’d share it. Enjoy!
“Great” race in eye of the beholder
The Iditarod is also known as the Last Great Race, and indeed there are few things that can compare to driving a team of huskies across some of the most remote northern stretches of nature on this planet, though the “great” part is sometimes debatable. The chance of being stomped by moose not wanting to yield the trail, being knocked unconscious by trees on the Happy River Steps, having something dislocated while bumping through the Farewell Burn, and the ever-present danger of frostbite or freezing to death are all very real concerns for those who sign up for this race.
And why would anyone want to? That’s a question I’ve asked myself for years, even though I am a dog musher myself and love stepping on the runners for a jaunt with my canine companions. Running 1,000 miles in below-zero temperatures has always seemed like an exercise in masochism to me. I love eating ice cream, but I wouldn’t want to eat ice cream all day long for 10 days.
My wife, Colleen Robertia, apparently feels differently on this matter, because she is currently out there running the Iditarod. As I’m writing this she is along the Bering Sea coast between Unalakleet and Shaktoolik. This has me concerned, both for her well-being and for her sanity for wanting to be out running in conditions that the vast majority of people would run indoors to get away from.
Colleen is amazing, don’t get me wrong. She has an exceptional savvy for being in tune with our dogs, coping with the cold and managing sleep deprivation — all traits a good distance musher needs to succeed. It is because of this that my wife, despite this only being her second Iditarod and third 1,000-mile race, is running neckline to neckline with four-time Iditarod champion Lance Mackey, 2012 Yukon Quest champion Hugh Neff, and several others who have 10 to 20 years more racing experience than she does.
She doesn’t rely on other people to train her team all season long and then just step on the runners for the race. Every training — and there have been thousands this season alone — Cole put on those dogs on weekends or after a long day at work at her 40-hour-a-week job.
Though most media outlets covering this race focus just on the front runners, Colleen’s story is also one of substance. Unlike many mushers who breed year after year to skim the proverbial cream of the crop from each of these litters for their team, my wife has always prided herself on doing the best with the dogs she’s always had, which have often come from other mushers as runts, rogues or rejects.
One of the dogs in her team, which has even pinch-led a few runs in this Iditarod, is a dog that some of the best veterinarians in the state said would never be a sled dog again. Wolf, a feisty, black-and-white dog with glacier blue eyes, was hit by a car as a 2-year-old, along with five other dogs. Four died, one amazingly had no injuries, and Wolf had a completely shattered hind leg.
The musher who owned him at the time paid for him to have his leg fused back into place with metal and pins. He was given rehabilitation to be able to walk around again, and slowly began to run in the team. But when this musher sold his kennel, the buyer wasn’t interested in a question mark like Wolf.
We stepped in to give Wolf a good home and decided to allow him to do as much exercise as was comfortable for him. We figured he could handle a few training runs, then could sit out when he showed signs of soreness, but to our surprise the more runs he did, and the longer they got, the stronger he got.
Cole tried him out in short races, then a 200-miler. Again, the more Wolf did, the stronger he got, so when the time came to pick her 16 dogs for Iditarod, Wolf’s name made the list. As I’m writing this, he has made more than 700 miles of the race in good fashion, and I’m hoping to see him under the Burled Arch in Nome.
That’s how Colleen is, too. Like Wolf, she defies convention, and has often found success — even if only on a personal level — from prevailing where so many others wouldn’t have dared go. Her goal is not to win, but to succeed on her own terms. In the end, maybe that is the greatest calling of the Iditarod for her.