As I was laying out the harnesses and boots to get ready to go for a -30C training run yesterday evening I started to feel incredible pain in my fingers, so much so that I had to retreat in doors to warm my hands and seek out different gloves and handwarmers. At Sourdough Checkpoint on the Copper Basin 300 last year I made the stupid mistake of taking my gloves off to bootie the dogs as we were getting ready to leave; the temperature was in the region of -60F and in minutes my fingertips were white and the damage done. Reflecting on this yesterday I thought how pleased I am not to be running the Quest at the moment, it is reported to be around -50C between Pelly and Dawson at the moment and this is where we would be doing three camps stops over the next 2 days. I am not sure that I actually have the desire any more to camp at temperatures below -50C (I am not sure I ever actually had the desire) but as I contemplated this my mind wandered back to the 2018 Yukon Quest when we were indeed camping on the trail with temperatures below -50C. I am often very skeptical when someone says it was -75F on this section of trail, or -60C in this checkpoint, but in 2018 I carried my own thermometer with me and distinctly remember seeing it hit -55C as we camped high up on the Taylor Highway on our slow, frigid way to Dawson.
The 2018 race had not started all that cold, in fact it was warm enough that I opted to start the race with my ‘lighter’ Skookum parka as opposed to my heavier Apocalypse Design Expedition parka that I had won as a pre-race draw prize in 2013. Normally if I think the temperature will remain above -30C I stick with the Skookum parka. By the time we had made it to our camping spot on the dreaded Birch Creek, temperatures were frigid, well below -40C; knowing that I was only about 30 miles from Circle, and noticing that even the dogs were not resting well in those temperatures, we camped for a little over 3 hours and then headed for the relative warmth of Circle.
Even in Circle, around 220 miles and just over 2 days into the race, the temperatures were dropping well below -40C and forecast to get colder. Whilst the summits can be treacherous places to be when the weather is bad, running on the Yukon River can be a very cold, lonely and equally treacherous place to be when the temperatures are cold; leaving Circle for the 160 mile run on the Yukon River to the next checkpoint in Eagle it was becoming treacherously cold. Under normal circumstances I would have been wearing the Apocalypse parka for the temperatures that were now being forecast; unfortunately whilst the parka was in the dog truck, race rules are such that swapping out gear for anything that is not in the pre-race packed drop bags involves either a heavy fine (that no musher can really afford) or sleight of hand that, hopefully, no race official can spot – not that I would ever condone or practice such a heinous thing, or at least not get caught. Going from a light blue parka to a heavy bright red parka, when travelling down the trail with a team of dogs that are regularly being photographed, does not lend itself to such chicanery. As we moved up river and away from Circle, the cold was really biting and penetrating my parka; I resolved to pull the zipper up as far as my neck warmers would allow. As I tugged on the zipper, inching it ever higher and slowly sealing the ruff around my face, I kept telling myself not to pull too hard on the zip in case it came off in my hand. The zip came off in my hand. Only about 5 miles out of Circle, and still with around 60 miles to go until the next available warm shelter at Slavens’ Cabin, the eminently sensible option would have been to turn the team round, run back to Circle, take the penalty for getting the heavy parka out of the truck and after a brief rest, hit the trail again. Being eminently unsensible, I started to work out at what point, if I felt myself dying from the cold, should I turn around and try to make it back to Circle and at what point, if I felt myself dying from the cold, should I just keep trying to get to Slavens (I do realise that one of the ‘drawbacks’ of hypothermia is that you, apparently, can start to think you are overheating and start removing your garments: not a pretty site even when it is not cold enough to .. well, when it is cold!!). I figured that once I was over 30 miles out of Circle it would be better for me to keep going forward as opposed to turning back, and also the closer I got to Slavens’ the quicker it would be to get snowmachines to me if I hit the SOS button on the tracker: there is nothing like a broken zipper, -30C and lack of sleep to make one overly dramatic. In the interim I did everything I possibly could to ensure that the broken zipper did not start becoming unfastened and making my underly dramatic situation even more overly dramatic. Fretting about the zip, the temperature, the distances, whether I was going to get hypothermia and who would or would not rescue me certainly helped the miles slip by and soon we were through the beaver ponds and the only overland section between Circle and Slavens and closing in on the dog drop – still alive and seemingly hypothermialess – I still had all my clothes on.
About 15 miles before Slavens’ there is a wide, open and often windswept section of the Yukon which is almost always a challenge, particularly heading up river as you are often running into strong headwinds (at least that has been our experience in 2 out of the 3 times we have run in that direction). The trail runs mostly on the left side of the river and often the trail is little on snow but large on ice and gravel. 2018 did not disappoint, in fact jumble ice was also added into the mix. The leaders were doing an amazing job keeping us moving forward, but the markers were sparse, and often had been taken out by the wind, teams in front or the local Yukon Charley wolf pack that were reported to hate the Quest, and so we constantly kept losing the trail. At one point, before I realised we were off trail, we were high up on the river bank and I could see the trail some 25 feet below us; slowly we edged our way down over ice blocks and again started following the scratches in the ice from the teams that had gone before who had been breaking hard to try to keep their sleds under some form of control.
As it turned out we were not the only team having significant troubles locating and staying on the trail; it was with some relief when the Yukon took the sweep to the left that marks the end of this section of trail and two markers form the gateway for the trail to wend its way through jumble ice and across the river to the relatively sheltered right bank and an easier run into Slavens’. Even though you climb up the bank, and off the river, the dog yard at Slavens’ was still bitterly cold. Having sorted out the dogs, and ordered food for myself, I asked around for assistance repairing my parka. Although there were no replacement zips to be found, not too much of a surprise given the remoteness of the dog drop, between the Parks’ Service volunteers and Jason the race vet, we were able to fashion an emergency repair that would see laces holding the zipper in place and as high as possible whilst I could get into and out of the parka by partially unzipping it from the bottom and pulling it over my head; it was not an ideal solution but would hopefully hold for the next 90 to 100 miles of river running that would see us into Eagle and hopefully a better fix. On a good day it is hard to leave the warmth, hospitality and abundant food and coffee at the dog drop; with a broken parka and morning temperatures well below -40C this was not a good day. Nonetheless leave we did and after a relatively uneventful run up the river, which included oversleeping quite considerably in Trout Creek (I feel asleep next to Luc Tweedle and awoke next to Sebastian Dos Santos and never heard either depart or arrive the small sleeping area) we eventually pulled in to Eagle and our mandatory 4 hour rest, still with the temperatures well below -40C.
Initial discussions with the Checkpoint Manager did not start out too positive as it was suggested that any help repairing my parka could constitute outside assistance. However after we (or perhaps I) had discussed how this was a service that was surely open to any competitor with a broken zip, it was eventually concluded that I could indeed seek assistance in the town for zip repairs: my parka was despatched and whilst I slept a new zipper was sewn into the parka. This was not a heavy duty zipper, and I would have to be careful especially when trying to pull it up as far as possible (not that I would ever do anything so stupid as to apply too much force to a zip), but hopefully now the parka would be slightly more functional and I would be able to survive to Dawson where a replacement parka would, I hoped, await.
Even after a four to six hour break, leaving Eagle is never fast or easy. Straight out of dog yard, you pass in front of the school house that forms the checkpoint, then you swing left and immediately begin the 17 mile climb that will take you up onto American Summit. Slowly but surely the dogs adjusted to being back on the trail and we settled into a nice rhythm that eventually saw us break the tree line. The initially ridge that takes you from the treeline onto the summit always seems to be a challenge; it is very exposed and 2018 was no different from any other year: we were buffeted by winds and struggled to keep the sled upright as we cut across drifts as the leaders fought to keep us on the trail. When we were on the Summit however we were blessed with perfect conditions; the wind dropped, the trail was hard packed (apparently there were hundreds of caribou everywhere but despite seeing plenty of signs I saw no physical creatures) and the temperature was around -20C – the best they had been throughout the race so far, the dogs were having a blast. All good things must come to an end and after a couple of miles we dropped back into the trees and the temperature started dropping as we lost elevation, and the temperatures began dropping rapidly. This would be our fourth time camping on this section of trail (the run from Eagle to Dawson is best done in three runs: Eagle to a camp on the Taylor Highway between American Summit and the Forty Mile; camping to Clinton Creek; Clinton Creek to Dawson) and I had learnt after the first three times (I am not a quick learner) that the higher up the Taylor and further away from the Forty Mile you can camp the ‘warmer’ it will be. About ten miles before the Forty Mile, so maybe forty miles from Eagle, there is a large, and easily identifiable gravel pit that allows three to four teams to easily pull off the trail. It is also surrounded by trees and so a good source of firewood – this was where we pulled up to camp. Having fed and bedded down the dogs I set about cutting down as many dead trees as the deep off-trail snow would allow, and gathering as much firewood as I could get. After about half an hour I was joined by Riley Dyche and eventually Dave Dalton and all three of us worked to keep the fire supplied with fuel; I checked my sled thermometer, it was -55C. I decided that we would stay a maximum of four hours, wanting to balance the need for the dogs to sleep against the fact that it would be better for all if we could get to Clinton Creek sooner rather than later. Some respites from wood collection saw the three of us almost sitting in the fire to try to benefit from the meagre heat that was present even just a few feet from the flames; on a couple of occasions I had to check myself as I fell asleep and felt like I was falling forward into the flames. Before the four hours were fully up I decided that enough was enough and we made our way down towards the Forty Mile and the comforts of Clinton Creek.
It is easy to become detached and isolated in your own little bubble on mid and long distance races; you can be less than one mile in front of or behind another team and have no idea that they are there. It was therefore quite a surprise to pull in to Clinton Creek and see at least 7 other teams there as well as a couple of snow machines that aren’t usually there – the cold was enough to slow everyone down on their charge to the 36 hour layover in Dawson. We ate well, and slept well (in fact so well did we sleep that I got up once, had a drink, mumbled something about delaying my alarm call by another hour and crawled back under the duvet) and when I left there were just two teams in the stop – Dave Dalton and Hugh Neff. It would be nice to say we had an uneventful final 52 miles into Dawson but the wind was whipping up on the Yukon and visibility got very poor. Although we were travelling on the river, and confined somewhat by banks so it ‘should’ be hard to get lost, I always feel safer in low visibility if I can always see two trail markers – the one we have just passed and the one we are heading towards. Drifting, snow banks, the positioning of some markers and marker getting knocked or blown over did not make this possible on large stretches and we reverted to looking for scratch marks in the snow and ice from previous teams to give us the confidence that we were not straying too far off the trail. We did keep the trail though and as Saturday dawned we twisted in and out of overflow on the edge of Dawson and eventually pulled up in front of the Klondike Visitor Center for a well-earned, for the dogs at least, 36 hour layover.
This would be the first of two years that we would use the RV Park out of town for the dog camp for the layover, as opposed to the camp ground right over the river from the Visitor Center. So after signing in, bag checks, interviews and obligatory photoshoots for the dogs, we dropped back onto the river and headed out onto the Quest trail and a couple of miles later finally arrived in the camp to hand the dogs over to the handlers. Every year we seem to refine and improve our routine for and in Dawson. Our primary aims are to get six full meals into the dogs in order to re-establish as much weight as possible, let the dogs get as much undisturbed sleep as we possibly can whilst still making sure they get some exercise so as not to stiffen up, massage and treat any soreness or niggling injuries they may have so we can leave, hopefully, with all dogs we arrived with, and finally to keep their spirits up as much as possible. The handlers were doing an amazing job and every time I went across to see the dogs at feeding time, they were eating like monsters and singing like, well, like very happy huskies; I was really pleased with the condition of the team when we left after 36 hours to resume our race to Whitehorse.
On an even year such as 2018, you leave Dawson straight into a 202 mile run to Pelly Crossing (after 7 Quests I now have this number etched into my brain). Most teams will do this in four runs: 50 miles to Indian River bridge; 50 miles to Scroggie Creek; either 50 miles to camp or 65 miles to Stepping Stone and the fourth run covering the remaining miles into Pelly and back to civilisation. Pretty much as soon as you leave Dawson you begin the climb up to King Solomon’s Dome; although the highest summit on the Quest trail, it is the easiest ascent of the four. The Summit too, whilst it twists and turns such that you can be above the treeline for quite a while, tends to be the most sheltered of the four summits and so in no time after leaving Dawson (well quite a number of hours actually but relatively speaking in Quest terms, no time) we began the long slow descent towards Indian River. As with the Taylor Highway, camping by the Indian River can be very cold, colder than the rest of the trail, and so most teams will go over the bridge and begin the climb into the Black Hills before stopping to camp; this was the plan we followed. Having run, and camped, overnight the next morning saw us crossing the Black Hill and dropping down into the gold fields. The weather was still bitterly cold and the dogs were running in jackets, something we only do if it is going to be consistently well below -30C. I have said before that I used to think that the Pelly to Dawson section was the most mentally daunting section on the race but have since, with experience, realised that for me at least the worst section is actually Dawson to Circle. That does not of course prevent this section of trail playing some pretty bad games with my mind. As we came out of the Black Hills I started to think about how cold it was, how we still had something like 140 miles to go before we got to Pelly and our next resupply point. I then started to imagine that the dogs were too thin and I wouldn’t have enough food in the sled to get them to Pelly in good condition. I started running over in my head how much food there was, how many full meals, how often we would need t snack; I convinced myself we could run out of food. Before I knew it I was mentally making plans to scratch in Scroggie Creek; very much like Eagle, Scroggie Creek is really not an ideal place to scratch as the only way out is via expensive airlift and the only airfield is a strip of frozen river that has been specifically cleared, s best as possible, by the dog drop volunteers mainly for bringing in supplies and a vet and an official, and taking out the occasional dropped dog, not an entire team. But from having a pretty nice run through the Black Hills here I was convincing myself this was going to be the reality. I checked my mind: the dogs were running really well. I stopped and placed both hooks to hold the team securely. For the next 20 minutes I went to each dog, removed their jackets, assessed their body condition score and put the jackets back on. All dogs had really good weight, and I had plenty of food for them: there would be no scratching in Scroggie Creek.
As we got closer to Pelly the temperatures were slowly picking up but these were still good conditions for the dogs. Having camped 50 miles beyond Scroggie I decided to run through Stepping Stone (always a hard thing for me to do as there is always food, warm beds and great hospitality), and set off up the Pelly River towards Pelly Crossing.
Although our fifth Quest this was our first time on the Pelly River, all previous runs had been on the Pelly Farm Road due to poor ice and overflow on the Pelly. It was hard having had no previous references for where we were and how far we had to go but after what seemed like an endless run, but was in reality probably only 35 miles, we climbed off the river and straight into the very welcoming checkpoint and a reunion with the handlers; the dogs were still holding great weight and there were still some snacks in the sled; the Yukon Quest had once again got into my head.
As we continued down the trail stopping in Pelly, McCabe Creek and Carmacks the temperature began to rise, worryingly so. If the race starts out cold I prefer it stays cold as that often means the air stays calm and the weather unchangeable; it seems that a rapid warm up, such as was expected, is often associated with high winds and/or snow and the potential for overflow to develop really quickly. When we left Carmacks we were warned that the snow that was beginning to fall was likely to get heavier and, just as we pulled the hook, someone shouted that there were reports of fresh overflow before Braeburn – really neither seemed anything to worry about.
By the time we left the shelter of the trees about 30 miles out of Carmacks and hit the Chain Lakes the snow was easing up but the damage had been done, a deep layer of fresh snow lay everywhere. Fortunately, for us at least, a couple of teams had crossed the lakes not too far in front of us. Alex Buetow had, apparently, led the way and whilst the trail he had made twisted on and off where the main trail probably lay, nonetheless we did have at least a partly broken trail to follow. The going was still not easy however and for whatever reason I had decided to make the 80+ mile to Braeburn in a single run, we were after all going into an eight hour mandatory rest. Progress was not helped by the fact that we were crossing the exposed lakes during the mid-afternoon, always the worse time of day to run, and so it was with some relief when we began the steep climb off the Coghalan Lake for the final 10 miles or so into Braeburn. I was still partly aware, although not at all bothered, by the late report in Carmacks that there was some overflow before Braeburn when suddenly, on a narrow trail lined with dense bush and trees, the trail disappeared and was replaced by what looked like glare ice. The ice and lack of trail markings (who really needs markings on what is normally such a clearly defined trail) were such that it was hard to tell exactly where we should be heading. If was suddenly clear that we were off the trail as the bush was getting thicker and I could see a clearer route to my left; then, as if on cue, the dogs started dropping through the ice. With Maddie and Psycho in lead we twisted through some trees and got back to where the trail should be but the dogs were now all stood in water and as we made our way forward, and they kept breaking through ice, it was getting deeper and deeper. There were many young dogs in the team and as the water started to reach their chests they began to panic and dive for the drier land at the sides of the trail. Even Psycho was finding things tough to deal with and wanted out of the water. Trying to keep the sled upright and the dogs out of the water as much as possible, I waded forward and released Maddie’s neck line so that she was free of Psycho and free to lead the team as she saw fit. For the next hour we inched our way forward; the overflow, at times up to Maddie’s neck, was on top of glare ice, and with no studs in my boots (I was still wearing the thick soled Cabella’s pack boots, ideal for cold, not great for grip) I was constantly falling forward and getting pretty much completely immersed in water. The team dogs continued to fight to stay out of the water, wrapping themselves around trees and bushes. For that hour Maddie would stand stock-still in the middle of the overflow whilst I untangled dogs, hauled them as far forward as I could, go back, ease some more dogs forward, go back further and haul the sled forward. Then Maddie would pull forward a couple of inches and the whole process would begin again. At one point, and with some relief, we hit a dry section of trail but them almost immediately plunged back into the water; my afternoon was complete when at this point I turned around to see my sled lying on it’s side almost completely immersed in water. Eventually we made it through, I was amazed that all the dogs were OK; I was even more amazed at how Maddie had dealt with this – even now I can clearly see her standing rigid, up to her neck in water, leaning into her harness, holding the gangline tight whilst 11 other dogs behind her pull in every other direction but forward, but her focus was 110% on getting us out of that mess.
When I was sure we were finally through the overflow, which had gone on for maybe over 100 meter I stopped and thought about changing my socks (if my gear in the sled was still dry). I looked at my boots and saw that they were already icing up pretty quickly. I also knew that my liners would be soaked and so even putting on dry socks, they would not stay dry for long. With less than 10 miles to the checkpoint, and the temperatures now really warm, I decided that the best thing to do was get to the checkpoint as quicky as possible and not waste time changing clothes. About 5 minutes later as we started across the last couple of small lakes, I saw another team coming towards me. Because snow on the Dawson Trail out of Braeburn had been deemed by the Canadian Rangers as dangerously low, it had been decided that after the final mandatory layover in Braeburn teams would run back on the same trail to Coghlan Lake that we had come in on and then turn right to head south eventually picking up Lake Laberge and then back onto the Yukon and in to Whitehorse for the finish. Tis of course, however, meant running back through that awful overflow. The musher pulled up next to me and a very angry Luc Tweedel explained his own adventures the previous night in the overflow, how his gear was still not dry and how he was not looking forward to going back through the overflow with a then 90 mile wet run to the finish. We both went on our respective ways, neither of us very happy: me unhappy that we had been put through such a dangerous situation once, Luc angry that he was going back through it again.
As we got closer to Braeburn I could see that Bennie, the most inexperienced dog on the team, was not pulling well. I stopped and checked him over and finding nothing wrong I realised that he was actually pretty shell-shocked, he had never been through anything like that before and was probably wondering what the hell had just happened to him. Seeing Bennie like this did not in anyway improve my mood; I loaded him in the sled and with dark clouds swirling all around my head, figuratively of course, made my way into the checkpoint. By the time I checked in I had worked my way from exhaustion, through fear to incomprehension, to anger, to outright fuming – if the race had known the overflow was there and was so bad, and let’s face it they had warned us about it) why had they let us put our teams through that once let alone were making teams run back through it. The checker and the checkpoint manager were the first two to receive my opinions on how the trail was not in prime, optimal condition; this was closely followed up with an information sharing session with the officials who made the mistake of joking that I would obviously have seen far worst in my previous races – I explained, not quite rationally, that I had not, I was not impressed with how events had proceeded and they would be wise to address the situation … or words to that effect. My mood was not helped when I asked if I could get dry boots from my truck (the clothes drying facilities at Braeburn are inadequate to say the least) and was told I could … if I paid a $200 fine – that wasn’t happening. I did explain that they may wish to consider repairing or rerouting the trail before any dogs got seriously injured and to the Race Marshal’s great credit, he did subsequently make that happen.
Just over 8 hours later, and with a great deal of trepidation on my part (and no doubt the dogs too – Bennie was happier now and still with us) we reapproached the offending section of trail on our way towards Whitehorse and the finish. Didier Moggia had been out and done a great job making the trail much safer and we got through with barely a wet paw. The run to Whitehorse was long and slow. It was now too warm for us and Lake Laberge was foggy, desolate, dull and mind-numbing. Even once through Shallow Bay and onto the Yukon our progress was very slow, helped only by cheering spectators and offers of beer (which of course I would never accept (or at least admit to accepting). Riley had come flying past just before Lake Laberge, despite leaving Braeburn almost two hours after us, and now I was constantly looking over my shoulder expecting Nathanial Hamlyn, currently in the red lantern position, to catch us. Eventually however we past the confluence with the Takhini River and it really lifted my moral to see friends and sponsors Heidi and Carsten Griese had come down to the river to cheer us on, and 17 miles later we were pulling up under the finish banner for our first finish in downtown Whitehorse, my home town. I was amazed and overcome by how many people had come out to see us finish, recognising so many friends amongst the crowds. A quick, cheerful, tearful (as ever) and happy interview with Judy and then coffee and home; another Quest finished – given what we had just been through, hopefully this would be our last; who wants to go camping when it is that cold???
I have said many times that I have never had one of those lead dogs of myth and/or legend that has single-pawedly (sp??) saved the mushers life, knows where every bit of weak ice is on a lake, dragged the team through a storm. I do however, like many other mushers believe I have no doubt, have the best lead dog ever. For the third time in the previous four Yukon Quests she had saved our race and we only finished because of her. I didn’t realise as we loaded Maddie and her team mates into the truck in the finishing area in Whitehorse that this would be her final race with me; injury in 2019 would mean she didn’t make the team in the Crazies’ final racing year and in 2019 her brothers and her puppies would be the ones needing to step up to the mark when the weather turned bad – as it invariably does on the Yukon Quest.
The 2018 race had not started all that cold, in fact it was warm enough that I opted to start the race with my ‘lighter’ Skookum parka as opposed to my heavier Apocalypse Design Expedition parka that I had won as a pre-race draw prize in 2013. Normally if I think the temperature will remain above -30C I stick with the Skookum parka. By the time we had made it to our camping spot on the dreaded Birch Creek, temperatures were frigid, well below -40C; knowing that I was only about 30 miles from Circle, and noticing that even the dogs were not resting well in those temperatures, we camped for a little over 3 hours and then headed for the relative warmth of Circle.
Even in Circle, around 220 miles and just over 2 days into the race, the temperatures were dropping well below -40C and forecast to get colder. Whilst the summits can be treacherous places to be when the weather is bad, running on the Yukon River can be a very cold, lonely and equally treacherous place to be when the temperatures are cold; leaving Circle for the 160 mile run on the Yukon River to the next checkpoint in Eagle it was becoming treacherously cold. Under normal circumstances I would have been wearing the Apocalypse parka for the temperatures that were now being forecast; unfortunately whilst the parka was in the dog truck, race rules are such that swapping out gear for anything that is not in the pre-race packed drop bags involves either a heavy fine (that no musher can really afford) or sleight of hand that, hopefully, no race official can spot – not that I would ever condone or practice such a heinous thing, or at least not get caught. Going from a light blue parka to a heavy bright red parka, when travelling down the trail with a team of dogs that are regularly being photographed, does not lend itself to such chicanery. As we moved up river and away from Circle, the cold was really biting and penetrating my parka; I resolved to pull the zipper up as far as my neck warmers would allow. As I tugged on the zipper, inching it ever higher and slowly sealing the ruff around my face, I kept telling myself not to pull too hard on the zip in case it came off in my hand. The zip came off in my hand. Only about 5 miles out of Circle, and still with around 60 miles to go until the next available warm shelter at Slavens’ Cabin, the eminently sensible option would have been to turn the team round, run back to Circle, take the penalty for getting the heavy parka out of the truck and after a brief rest, hit the trail again. Being eminently unsensible, I started to work out at what point, if I felt myself dying from the cold, should I turn around and try to make it back to Circle and at what point, if I felt myself dying from the cold, should I just keep trying to get to Slavens (I do realise that one of the ‘drawbacks’ of hypothermia is that you, apparently, can start to think you are overheating and start removing your garments: not a pretty site even when it is not cold enough to .. well, when it is cold!!). I figured that once I was over 30 miles out of Circle it would be better for me to keep going forward as opposed to turning back, and also the closer I got to Slavens’ the quicker it would be to get snowmachines to me if I hit the SOS button on the tracker: there is nothing like a broken zipper, -30C and lack of sleep to make one overly dramatic. In the interim I did everything I possibly could to ensure that the broken zipper did not start becoming unfastened and making my underly dramatic situation even more overly dramatic. Fretting about the zip, the temperature, the distances, whether I was going to get hypothermia and who would or would not rescue me certainly helped the miles slip by and soon we were through the beaver ponds and the only overland section between Circle and Slavens and closing in on the dog drop – still alive and seemingly hypothermialess – I still had all my clothes on.
About 15 miles before Slavens’ there is a wide, open and often windswept section of the Yukon which is almost always a challenge, particularly heading up river as you are often running into strong headwinds (at least that has been our experience in 2 out of the 3 times we have run in that direction). The trail runs mostly on the left side of the river and often the trail is little on snow but large on ice and gravel. 2018 did not disappoint, in fact jumble ice was also added into the mix. The leaders were doing an amazing job keeping us moving forward, but the markers were sparse, and often had been taken out by the wind, teams in front or the local Yukon Charley wolf pack that were reported to hate the Quest, and so we constantly kept losing the trail. At one point, before I realised we were off trail, we were high up on the river bank and I could see the trail some 25 feet below us; slowly we edged our way down over ice blocks and again started following the scratches in the ice from the teams that had gone before who had been breaking hard to try to keep their sleds under some form of control.
As it turned out we were not the only team having significant troubles locating and staying on the trail; it was with some relief when the Yukon took the sweep to the left that marks the end of this section of trail and two markers form the gateway for the trail to wend its way through jumble ice and across the river to the relatively sheltered right bank and an easier run into Slavens’. Even though you climb up the bank, and off the river, the dog yard at Slavens’ was still bitterly cold. Having sorted out the dogs, and ordered food for myself, I asked around for assistance repairing my parka. Although there were no replacement zips to be found, not too much of a surprise given the remoteness of the dog drop, between the Parks’ Service volunteers and Jason the race vet, we were able to fashion an emergency repair that would see laces holding the zipper in place and as high as possible whilst I could get into and out of the parka by partially unzipping it from the bottom and pulling it over my head; it was not an ideal solution but would hopefully hold for the next 90 to 100 miles of river running that would see us into Eagle and hopefully a better fix. On a good day it is hard to leave the warmth, hospitality and abundant food and coffee at the dog drop; with a broken parka and morning temperatures well below -40C this was not a good day. Nonetheless leave we did and after a relatively uneventful run up the river, which included oversleeping quite considerably in Trout Creek (I feel asleep next to Luc Tweedle and awoke next to Sebastian Dos Santos and never heard either depart or arrive the small sleeping area) we eventually pulled in to Eagle and our mandatory 4 hour rest, still with the temperatures well below -40C.
Initial discussions with the Checkpoint Manager did not start out too positive as it was suggested that any help repairing my parka could constitute outside assistance. However after we (or perhaps I) had discussed how this was a service that was surely open to any competitor with a broken zip, it was eventually concluded that I could indeed seek assistance in the town for zip repairs: my parka was despatched and whilst I slept a new zipper was sewn into the parka. This was not a heavy duty zipper, and I would have to be careful especially when trying to pull it up as far as possible (not that I would ever do anything so stupid as to apply too much force to a zip), but hopefully now the parka would be slightly more functional and I would be able to survive to Dawson where a replacement parka would, I hoped, await.
Even after a four to six hour break, leaving Eagle is never fast or easy. Straight out of dog yard, you pass in front of the school house that forms the checkpoint, then you swing left and immediately begin the 17 mile climb that will take you up onto American Summit. Slowly but surely the dogs adjusted to being back on the trail and we settled into a nice rhythm that eventually saw us break the tree line. The initially ridge that takes you from the treeline onto the summit always seems to be a challenge; it is very exposed and 2018 was no different from any other year: we were buffeted by winds and struggled to keep the sled upright as we cut across drifts as the leaders fought to keep us on the trail. When we were on the Summit however we were blessed with perfect conditions; the wind dropped, the trail was hard packed (apparently there were hundreds of caribou everywhere but despite seeing plenty of signs I saw no physical creatures) and the temperature was around -20C – the best they had been throughout the race so far, the dogs were having a blast. All good things must come to an end and after a couple of miles we dropped back into the trees and the temperature started dropping as we lost elevation, and the temperatures began dropping rapidly. This would be our fourth time camping on this section of trail (the run from Eagle to Dawson is best done in three runs: Eagle to a camp on the Taylor Highway between American Summit and the Forty Mile; camping to Clinton Creek; Clinton Creek to Dawson) and I had learnt after the first three times (I am not a quick learner) that the higher up the Taylor and further away from the Forty Mile you can camp the ‘warmer’ it will be. About ten miles before the Forty Mile, so maybe forty miles from Eagle, there is a large, and easily identifiable gravel pit that allows three to four teams to easily pull off the trail. It is also surrounded by trees and so a good source of firewood – this was where we pulled up to camp. Having fed and bedded down the dogs I set about cutting down as many dead trees as the deep off-trail snow would allow, and gathering as much firewood as I could get. After about half an hour I was joined by Riley Dyche and eventually Dave Dalton and all three of us worked to keep the fire supplied with fuel; I checked my sled thermometer, it was -55C. I decided that we would stay a maximum of four hours, wanting to balance the need for the dogs to sleep against the fact that it would be better for all if we could get to Clinton Creek sooner rather than later. Some respites from wood collection saw the three of us almost sitting in the fire to try to benefit from the meagre heat that was present even just a few feet from the flames; on a couple of occasions I had to check myself as I fell asleep and felt like I was falling forward into the flames. Before the four hours were fully up I decided that enough was enough and we made our way down towards the Forty Mile and the comforts of Clinton Creek.
It is easy to become detached and isolated in your own little bubble on mid and long distance races; you can be less than one mile in front of or behind another team and have no idea that they are there. It was therefore quite a surprise to pull in to Clinton Creek and see at least 7 other teams there as well as a couple of snow machines that aren’t usually there – the cold was enough to slow everyone down on their charge to the 36 hour layover in Dawson. We ate well, and slept well (in fact so well did we sleep that I got up once, had a drink, mumbled something about delaying my alarm call by another hour and crawled back under the duvet) and when I left there were just two teams in the stop – Dave Dalton and Hugh Neff. It would be nice to say we had an uneventful final 52 miles into Dawson but the wind was whipping up on the Yukon and visibility got very poor. Although we were travelling on the river, and confined somewhat by banks so it ‘should’ be hard to get lost, I always feel safer in low visibility if I can always see two trail markers – the one we have just passed and the one we are heading towards. Drifting, snow banks, the positioning of some markers and marker getting knocked or blown over did not make this possible on large stretches and we reverted to looking for scratch marks in the snow and ice from previous teams to give us the confidence that we were not straying too far off the trail. We did keep the trail though and as Saturday dawned we twisted in and out of overflow on the edge of Dawson and eventually pulled up in front of the Klondike Visitor Center for a well-earned, for the dogs at least, 36 hour layover.
This would be the first of two years that we would use the RV Park out of town for the dog camp for the layover, as opposed to the camp ground right over the river from the Visitor Center. So after signing in, bag checks, interviews and obligatory photoshoots for the dogs, we dropped back onto the river and headed out onto the Quest trail and a couple of miles later finally arrived in the camp to hand the dogs over to the handlers. Every year we seem to refine and improve our routine for and in Dawson. Our primary aims are to get six full meals into the dogs in order to re-establish as much weight as possible, let the dogs get as much undisturbed sleep as we possibly can whilst still making sure they get some exercise so as not to stiffen up, massage and treat any soreness or niggling injuries they may have so we can leave, hopefully, with all dogs we arrived with, and finally to keep their spirits up as much as possible. The handlers were doing an amazing job and every time I went across to see the dogs at feeding time, they were eating like monsters and singing like, well, like very happy huskies; I was really pleased with the condition of the team when we left after 36 hours to resume our race to Whitehorse.
On an even year such as 2018, you leave Dawson straight into a 202 mile run to Pelly Crossing (after 7 Quests I now have this number etched into my brain). Most teams will do this in four runs: 50 miles to Indian River bridge; 50 miles to Scroggie Creek; either 50 miles to camp or 65 miles to Stepping Stone and the fourth run covering the remaining miles into Pelly and back to civilisation. Pretty much as soon as you leave Dawson you begin the climb up to King Solomon’s Dome; although the highest summit on the Quest trail, it is the easiest ascent of the four. The Summit too, whilst it twists and turns such that you can be above the treeline for quite a while, tends to be the most sheltered of the four summits and so in no time after leaving Dawson (well quite a number of hours actually but relatively speaking in Quest terms, no time) we began the long slow descent towards Indian River. As with the Taylor Highway, camping by the Indian River can be very cold, colder than the rest of the trail, and so most teams will go over the bridge and begin the climb into the Black Hills before stopping to camp; this was the plan we followed. Having run, and camped, overnight the next morning saw us crossing the Black Hill and dropping down into the gold fields. The weather was still bitterly cold and the dogs were running in jackets, something we only do if it is going to be consistently well below -30C. I have said before that I used to think that the Pelly to Dawson section was the most mentally daunting section on the race but have since, with experience, realised that for me at least the worst section is actually Dawson to Circle. That does not of course prevent this section of trail playing some pretty bad games with my mind. As we came out of the Black Hills I started to think about how cold it was, how we still had something like 140 miles to go before we got to Pelly and our next resupply point. I then started to imagine that the dogs were too thin and I wouldn’t have enough food in the sled to get them to Pelly in good condition. I started running over in my head how much food there was, how many full meals, how often we would need t snack; I convinced myself we could run out of food. Before I knew it I was mentally making plans to scratch in Scroggie Creek; very much like Eagle, Scroggie Creek is really not an ideal place to scratch as the only way out is via expensive airlift and the only airfield is a strip of frozen river that has been specifically cleared, s best as possible, by the dog drop volunteers mainly for bringing in supplies and a vet and an official, and taking out the occasional dropped dog, not an entire team. But from having a pretty nice run through the Black Hills here I was convincing myself this was going to be the reality. I checked my mind: the dogs were running really well. I stopped and placed both hooks to hold the team securely. For the next 20 minutes I went to each dog, removed their jackets, assessed their body condition score and put the jackets back on. All dogs had really good weight, and I had plenty of food for them: there would be no scratching in Scroggie Creek.
As we got closer to Pelly the temperatures were slowly picking up but these were still good conditions for the dogs. Having camped 50 miles beyond Scroggie I decided to run through Stepping Stone (always a hard thing for me to do as there is always food, warm beds and great hospitality), and set off up the Pelly River towards Pelly Crossing.
Although our fifth Quest this was our first time on the Pelly River, all previous runs had been on the Pelly Farm Road due to poor ice and overflow on the Pelly. It was hard having had no previous references for where we were and how far we had to go but after what seemed like an endless run, but was in reality probably only 35 miles, we climbed off the river and straight into the very welcoming checkpoint and a reunion with the handlers; the dogs were still holding great weight and there were still some snacks in the sled; the Yukon Quest had once again got into my head.
As we continued down the trail stopping in Pelly, McCabe Creek and Carmacks the temperature began to rise, worryingly so. If the race starts out cold I prefer it stays cold as that often means the air stays calm and the weather unchangeable; it seems that a rapid warm up, such as was expected, is often associated with high winds and/or snow and the potential for overflow to develop really quickly. When we left Carmacks we were warned that the snow that was beginning to fall was likely to get heavier and, just as we pulled the hook, someone shouted that there were reports of fresh overflow before Braeburn – really neither seemed anything to worry about.
By the time we left the shelter of the trees about 30 miles out of Carmacks and hit the Chain Lakes the snow was easing up but the damage had been done, a deep layer of fresh snow lay everywhere. Fortunately, for us at least, a couple of teams had crossed the lakes not too far in front of us. Alex Buetow had, apparently, led the way and whilst the trail he had made twisted on and off where the main trail probably lay, nonetheless we did have at least a partly broken trail to follow. The going was still not easy however and for whatever reason I had decided to make the 80+ mile to Braeburn in a single run, we were after all going into an eight hour mandatory rest. Progress was not helped by the fact that we were crossing the exposed lakes during the mid-afternoon, always the worse time of day to run, and so it was with some relief when we began the steep climb off the Coghalan Lake for the final 10 miles or so into Braeburn. I was still partly aware, although not at all bothered, by the late report in Carmacks that there was some overflow before Braeburn when suddenly, on a narrow trail lined with dense bush and trees, the trail disappeared and was replaced by what looked like glare ice. The ice and lack of trail markings (who really needs markings on what is normally such a clearly defined trail) were such that it was hard to tell exactly where we should be heading. If was suddenly clear that we were off the trail as the bush was getting thicker and I could see a clearer route to my left; then, as if on cue, the dogs started dropping through the ice. With Maddie and Psycho in lead we twisted through some trees and got back to where the trail should be but the dogs were now all stood in water and as we made our way forward, and they kept breaking through ice, it was getting deeper and deeper. There were many young dogs in the team and as the water started to reach their chests they began to panic and dive for the drier land at the sides of the trail. Even Psycho was finding things tough to deal with and wanted out of the water. Trying to keep the sled upright and the dogs out of the water as much as possible, I waded forward and released Maddie’s neck line so that she was free of Psycho and free to lead the team as she saw fit. For the next hour we inched our way forward; the overflow, at times up to Maddie’s neck, was on top of glare ice, and with no studs in my boots (I was still wearing the thick soled Cabella’s pack boots, ideal for cold, not great for grip) I was constantly falling forward and getting pretty much completely immersed in water. The team dogs continued to fight to stay out of the water, wrapping themselves around trees and bushes. For that hour Maddie would stand stock-still in the middle of the overflow whilst I untangled dogs, hauled them as far forward as I could, go back, ease some more dogs forward, go back further and haul the sled forward. Then Maddie would pull forward a couple of inches and the whole process would begin again. At one point, and with some relief, we hit a dry section of trail but them almost immediately plunged back into the water; my afternoon was complete when at this point I turned around to see my sled lying on it’s side almost completely immersed in water. Eventually we made it through, I was amazed that all the dogs were OK; I was even more amazed at how Maddie had dealt with this – even now I can clearly see her standing rigid, up to her neck in water, leaning into her harness, holding the gangline tight whilst 11 other dogs behind her pull in every other direction but forward, but her focus was 110% on getting us out of that mess.
When I was sure we were finally through the overflow, which had gone on for maybe over 100 meter I stopped and thought about changing my socks (if my gear in the sled was still dry). I looked at my boots and saw that they were already icing up pretty quickly. I also knew that my liners would be soaked and so even putting on dry socks, they would not stay dry for long. With less than 10 miles to the checkpoint, and the temperatures now really warm, I decided that the best thing to do was get to the checkpoint as quicky as possible and not waste time changing clothes. About 5 minutes later as we started across the last couple of small lakes, I saw another team coming towards me. Because snow on the Dawson Trail out of Braeburn had been deemed by the Canadian Rangers as dangerously low, it had been decided that after the final mandatory layover in Braeburn teams would run back on the same trail to Coghlan Lake that we had come in on and then turn right to head south eventually picking up Lake Laberge and then back onto the Yukon and in to Whitehorse for the finish. Tis of course, however, meant running back through that awful overflow. The musher pulled up next to me and a very angry Luc Tweedel explained his own adventures the previous night in the overflow, how his gear was still not dry and how he was not looking forward to going back through the overflow with a then 90 mile wet run to the finish. We both went on our respective ways, neither of us very happy: me unhappy that we had been put through such a dangerous situation once, Luc angry that he was going back through it again.
As we got closer to Braeburn I could see that Bennie, the most inexperienced dog on the team, was not pulling well. I stopped and checked him over and finding nothing wrong I realised that he was actually pretty shell-shocked, he had never been through anything like that before and was probably wondering what the hell had just happened to him. Seeing Bennie like this did not in anyway improve my mood; I loaded him in the sled and with dark clouds swirling all around my head, figuratively of course, made my way into the checkpoint. By the time I checked in I had worked my way from exhaustion, through fear to incomprehension, to anger, to outright fuming – if the race had known the overflow was there and was so bad, and let’s face it they had warned us about it) why had they let us put our teams through that once let alone were making teams run back through it. The checker and the checkpoint manager were the first two to receive my opinions on how the trail was not in prime, optimal condition; this was closely followed up with an information sharing session with the officials who made the mistake of joking that I would obviously have seen far worst in my previous races – I explained, not quite rationally, that I had not, I was not impressed with how events had proceeded and they would be wise to address the situation … or words to that effect. My mood was not helped when I asked if I could get dry boots from my truck (the clothes drying facilities at Braeburn are inadequate to say the least) and was told I could … if I paid a $200 fine – that wasn’t happening. I did explain that they may wish to consider repairing or rerouting the trail before any dogs got seriously injured and to the Race Marshal’s great credit, he did subsequently make that happen.
Just over 8 hours later, and with a great deal of trepidation on my part (and no doubt the dogs too – Bennie was happier now and still with us) we reapproached the offending section of trail on our way towards Whitehorse and the finish. Didier Moggia had been out and done a great job making the trail much safer and we got through with barely a wet paw. The run to Whitehorse was long and slow. It was now too warm for us and Lake Laberge was foggy, desolate, dull and mind-numbing. Even once through Shallow Bay and onto the Yukon our progress was very slow, helped only by cheering spectators and offers of beer (which of course I would never accept (or at least admit to accepting). Riley had come flying past just before Lake Laberge, despite leaving Braeburn almost two hours after us, and now I was constantly looking over my shoulder expecting Nathanial Hamlyn, currently in the red lantern position, to catch us. Eventually however we past the confluence with the Takhini River and it really lifted my moral to see friends and sponsors Heidi and Carsten Griese had come down to the river to cheer us on, and 17 miles later we were pulling up under the finish banner for our first finish in downtown Whitehorse, my home town. I was amazed and overcome by how many people had come out to see us finish, recognising so many friends amongst the crowds. A quick, cheerful, tearful (as ever) and happy interview with Judy and then coffee and home; another Quest finished – given what we had just been through, hopefully this would be our last; who wants to go camping when it is that cold???
I have said many times that I have never had one of those lead dogs of myth and/or legend that has single-pawedly (sp??) saved the mushers life, knows where every bit of weak ice is on a lake, dragged the team through a storm. I do however, like many other mushers believe I have no doubt, have the best lead dog ever. For the third time in the previous four Yukon Quests she had saved our race and we only finished because of her. I didn’t realise as we loaded Maddie and her team mates into the truck in the finishing area in Whitehorse that this would be her final race with me; injury in 2019 would mean she didn’t make the team in the Crazies’ final racing year and in 2019 her brothers and her puppies would be the ones needing to step up to the mark when the weather turned bad – as it invariably does on the Yukon Quest.