Racers slog to mid-distance wins, look to Iditarod

KASILOF, Alaska, Jan. 29, 2007 – If this year’s midseason distance races shed any light on Iditarod performance - as they sometimes do - the Last Great Race may see strong performances from Martin Buser, Cim Smyth, Aliy Zirkle, Jeff King, Doug Swingley, Lance Mackey, Ken Anderson and Jason Barron.

None of those teams would come as a major surprise as a potential front-runner in any case, but since each has won at least one major 200- to 300-mile race in January, it’s a clear sign they have their dogs humming at a high level. The trick now, as Barron put it at the tail end of January, is keeping the tuned-up sled dogs at just the right pitch through February. The way his team looked in late January, he said he wished the Iditarod would start immediately, but he would have to wait until March 3.

Barron had just rolled to victory in Montana’s Seeley Lake 300 ahead of Melanie Shirilla, an event that also saw Swingley win the 200-mile version of the same race.

But hang on. Don’t worry just because a favorite musher didn’t finish first in one of January’s 200- to 300-milers. Many, such as Sterling’s Mitch Seavey, the 2004 Iditarod champion, have been painstakingly “racing” their dogs at an Iditarod pace - much slower than the speeds required to win most mid-distance events. A 9- to 10-mph pace will win Iditarod, while mid-distance winners may speed up to 12 mph or faster. It depends on the field, and most certainly on the conditions. Take Allen Moore, for example. He didn’t exactly burn up the Copper Basin race trail. He couldn’t. The route was so saturated with fresh snow, it was a matter of who could best break trail, and Moore’s Copper Basin victory proved that his kennel’s village lines have a head for business.

If there was one factor dominating Alaska’s races in January, it was snow. There was plenty of it, mixed with rain at times, at the just-completed Tustumena 200 here in Kasilof, where Ken Anderson of Fox shot to the front and coasted to a fairly easy victory among a talented field of competitors. Anderson took his second-string dogs, including at least two 1-year-old pups, and raced them much like he would run a stage race - that is, a lot closer to full throttle than the typical Iditarod pace. That formula often succeeds in these “short” 200-mile races, but it just as often causes dogs to slow down and get passed. Anderson avoided that pitfall, maintaining a half-hour cushion with all but about 20 miles to go. Dean Osmar, the 1984 Iditarod champion, made a late push, finishing 10 minutes behind Anderson in second place. A smiling Mitch Seavey rolled into third place, clearly pleased with a 12-dog team that he steadfastly kept reined in, preserving them for his ultimate goal: Iditarod.

Anderson was plainly happy to have a large pool of dogs for his Iditarod team. He just came off a strong second place in the grueling Klondike 300 with his “A” team. Seavey, too, was beaming like the Cheshire Cat. He described his mood as “confident” going into Iditarod, saying his mission this year was to avoid racing too hard in early-season events. The way his dogs looked at the finish line, lunging into harnesses and wagging tails, it was mission accomplished.

Heavy, wet flakes swamped mushers slogging through the hills and mountains around Glennallen for the Copper Basin 300 on Jan. 12. But Two Rivers’ Moore, husband to Aliy Zirkle, had a team that powered through the 6- to 8-inch goo and handily won the race. Sebastian Schnuelle, one of the mushers who competes in both Yukon Quest and Iditarod, finished second, and proved he has a team on the rise.

Zirkle took younger dogs from their kennel and set out to test them in the Kuskokwim 300 on Jan. 19. Zirkle easily hung in with some powerful contenders for two-thirds of the race, before opting to give her younger charges a well-earned nap at Aniak rather than make a chase for higher standings. I saw her as I poked my head into the checkpoint on my way through, and the look on her face said it all: She’d rather be racing than resting. Zirkle is a competitor and later said it was painful sitting on her hands and watching other teams go through.

Her consolation may come at Iditarod, when she has a large pool of talented and trail-toughened dogs to pick from.

The same storm that pummeled racers in the Copper Basin 300 also slowed progress for dog teams entered in the inaugural Cantwell Classic, an honest 200-miler between Cantwell near Denali Park and the McLaren River lodge. Lance Mackey’s remarkable dogs motored through the soft snow to win that race by a couple of hours over Hugh Neff, another musher building a strong team, judging by his run there and later at the Kuskokwim 300.

Again, heavy snow was an issue in the 2007 Klondike 300 around Knik, Big Lake and Willow trails. Cim Smyth, who had an awesome team in 2006, showed that his dogs still are up to the task a year later. He finished about four minutes ahead of Ken Anderson. Fourteen of 23 teams wound up scratching from the race punctuated by warm temperatures and soft trail.

Anderson said he thought he was in position to win the Klondike, racing with Smyth within sight for miles. Those hopes faded when Smyth boldly raised up a mittened hand to wave a cheeky “so long” to Anderson, and called up his team in that patented Smyth late-race surge.

Across the state of Alaska from the Klondike, from the shadow of the Alaska Range over to the broad Kuskokwim River delta, snow was falling as night fell Jan. 19 in Bethel for the start of the 2007 Kuskokwim 300. But that snow turned out to be merely showers, brushing the Kuskokwim River with a light dusting of powder throughout the weekend. Jeff King was back to defend his 2006 title and aimed to notch a 10th victory in this fast-paced and deceptively challenging 300-mile trek upriver through several small villages. Martin Buser was out to test his team, a year after faltering in both this race and, later, the Iditarod.

Buser made a statement.

Actually, he made 28 of them. His two 14-dog teams dominated the race, the second piloted by none other than Buser’s 17-year-old son, Rohn. This was Rohn’s first major race, and the teenager, who had been granted special permission from race officials to participate, easily handled the task.

Buser won the race, beating King by eight minutes, and Rohn finished a highly respectable fourth, an hour behind my team.

Buser’s dogs looked great after that race, and he should have plenty to choose from by the time Iditarod rolls around.

King, too, had a fantastic run, even though he came up a few minutes short of a win. He noted at the finish that this was one of the best teams he’d entered in the Kusko to date.

The Kusko is a true test of a team’s conditioning. With just two mandatory rest stops of six and four hours, teams spend long hours cruising over the frozen river, swamps, sloughs and up and over one hill. For King, Buser and most of the other teams, the journey began with a 100-mile race up to Kalskag, a six-hour break, then a 160-mile trek all the way back around to the village Tuluksak, where there is a mandatory four-hour break before the 50-mile push to the finish. The two front-runners, neck and neck all the way, added only one hour of additional rest, at Aniak, proving their dogs could operate on cruise control for something like 20 hours.

The Kusko is a race that can be won at Iditarod speeds, at least this year, when the trail was a little warm and soft. It is won by teams that can maintain a steady clip for hours, with only two, maybe three, pit stops for larger meals and a nap. Most of the time, racers snack their teams around the course.

I ceded two hours to the race field, opting as usual to rest early by camping for two hours after the first 75 miles, before going another 60 miles to take my six-hour rest at Aniak. I was convinced my strategy could win the race, but Buser and King shot that theory down in flames. Still, I had a fantastic ride and feel lucky to have run behind a bunch of dogs capable of keeping pace with a talented field.

Launching off my mandatory six at Aniak, buried low in the standings, my dogs easily handled the 50-mile loop up to Pike Lake and back through Aniak shortly after sunset for the second long night on the runners, where I passed teams that had pulled over to rest. I saw the headlamp of Hugh Neff ahead of me on the river back toward Kalskag and slowly pulled up behind him, passing as he stopped to snack his dogs. He stayed with me for miles, both of us pulling up the bank into the lower Kalskag checkpoint and trotting right back out again. I marveled at my team’s smooth pace as the hours passed. I caught up to Ed Iten, the 2004 Kusko winner, who had stopped briefly on the trail. After I passed him, I caught the faint glimmer of a blue LED headlamp far ahead. As the trail snaked along the eroded banks of the Kuskokwim River, my team caught up with the third-place team. It was Rohn Buser.

I weighed the advantages of just sticking behind him for a while, but when he stopped to fix a tangle, I called my team on by. He managed to draft off me for a few miles before my team started building a lead. By the time we reached Tuluksak, I was a half hour ahead of him.

I’d had hopes of reeling in the two front-runners, but when I checked in to Tuluksak at 7:16 a.m., I looked at the sign-in sheet to see King’s arrival time. It was 5:19 a.m. Not a chance of gaining two hours, I realized. After feeding my dogs and walking into the village’s public school, where they open up the cafeteria on Sunday morning as a race checkpoint, King was sitting at a table sipping a cup of coffee. “So, what do you think of your race plan now?” he asked with some amusement. I had to laugh.

There’s only one way to win the Kusko, and that’s to go all out and risk slowing down with minimal rest. Many try to win it, but few succeed the way Buser and King did this year.

A six-week break between most of these races and the Iditarod may seem painful for mushers like Barron, but it gives the dogs some time to build up their bodies and minds for the next big hurdle.

When the Iditarod hits a higher gear somewhere beyond Takotna and onto the Yukon River, watch these teams and others start rolling into long runs of 10, 12 and 14 hours to break away from the competition, relying on the invaluable experience their dogs had in January.