The 2008 Iditarod is under way
WILLOW — Was it a bunch of dog mushers parked on a frozen lake enjoying the later winter sun, or was it a gathering of some of the top competitors about to begin one of the world’s most difficult sports? The answer is: It was both.
That is one of the amazing things about the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. The restart in Willow is the launch of what will be nine to 15 days of some of the most physically and mentally grueling racing on earth, but it’s also a chance to eat a hot dog and chat with folks like Martin Buser, Lance Mackey and Aliy Zirkle. The marvel of such sweetness between racers and the public wasn’t lost on Dan Seavey, one of the Iditarod’s first competitors in 1973, father of 2004 champion Mitch Seavey and a current Iditarod board member.
“This is just mind boggling,” he said, spreading his arms wide and taking in the scene of 95 dog teams parked in a U-shape on Willow Lake, and the thousands of spectators strolling by. “What other world-class sporting event has its fans participating and mingling like this. It’s a reminder that there’s many people interested in something you do.”
Mushers arrived about 11 a.m., a good three hours before anyone would depart from the packed starting chute at 2 p.m., surging across the lake behind 16 well matched and meticulously trained sled dogs for a 40-mile leg to the first checkpoint of Yentna, or beyond. The early arrival allowed them to pack their sleds without rushing.
Not long before the big smiles were replaced by thoughtfulness and a healthy anxiety about the task ahead, Lance Mackey, the defending champion, strode over to one of his main rivals, Jeff King, the four-time champion, and said, “Remember, there’s a speed limit out there,” as the two shook hands. “See ya’ up the road.”
Mackey and his dogs looked characteristically relaxed, fit and ready to go. One worry wasn’t on his mind. Last year, he withstood more than 100 miles of rough trail on just one runner after one of his runners snapped in half. He still powered through and went on to win. But the ordeal prompted a sled maker from New Hampshire to send him a new model. The CB sled has carbon fiber runners that look and feel like downhill skis. They bend a flex, and should not break.
A little farther down the parking area, Ramey Smyth exhibited the other extreme. He was starting with a well-used traditional wooden sled with side rails that had broken earlier this season. He’d simply patched it together with whittled, bent tree branches. It looked like something a musher would have later on in the race, after smashing his sled, not something you would see at the starting line. But Smyth is on a budget, as Mackey once was, and the always resourceful musher said, “The darn things always break anyway.”
The restart is usually a place where Iditarod mushers unveil their new sled designs, but there wasn’t a lot of fancy new sleds to be seen this year. King’s now familiar tail dragger was on display, and he has refined it. For those interested in the technical details, King moved his dog food cooler from the front to the rear, where it is now his seat. He typically takes off with 15 dogs in harness and one in the sled, resting, and said he still planned to do that, only the resting dog will be in the sled bag in front of him. It’s easier to see the dog, and it’s a less bouncy ride for the canine.
King also has refined his hand warmer. He now sports a small, removable stove that hangs beneath his hands when it gets cold.
If King was expecting to be first into Nome in nine days, or less, other mushers, such as Trent Herbst of Sun Valley, Idaho, plan on a 14 day race. Herbst is a fourth-grade teacher in the scenic ski resort town, training 17 sled dogs after work. He’s taking five weeks away from the classroom to participate in his second Iditarod. His students sewed booties, belly guards, dog jackets and blankets for him, as well as helping pack his drop bags. They also spent six weeks studying the Klondike Gold Rush “and, of course, we read Gary Paulson,” right before the race, he said. Herbst’s game plan? Unlike front runners, it is no secret: “Eight hours in every checkpoint,” he said. “No snags, and we make it in 14 days.”
From here out, the race is on. It will take teams roughly four hours to reach Yentna, and another two to three hours over to Skwentna, where most of them will shut down for five or six hours. Some will camp before Skwentna, then blow through. And others will pick up supplies there, and go another half hour to camp. The motive for avoiding Skwentna is nothing personal. It’s a fantastic checkpoint, but with 95 teams on the same stretch of trail, the place will be the proverbial “zoo” with barking dogs.
Trail reports are good, so stay tuned. We’ll know by noon Monday how the first challenge, the Happy River steps, are this year.