Despite being an erstwhile practitioner of the greatly underutilised dark art of plagiarisation (my latest semi-autobiographical novel of sledding wizardry, Gary Potter and the Half Cut Musher, should be coming to a legal institution near you in the very near future) I can take no credit for the prose that is the subtitle to this piece. These words were in fact uttered as part of an acceptance speech by a musher who had finished in the top 10 of the highly respected Can Am Crown series of races (now you know that can’t have been me), our final race of the 2009/10 winter. These words made me sit up and take notice not just because such poetry was gushing forth from the mouth of a musher, and he wasn’t even eulogising over his dogs, but because this phrase completely encapsulated my own feelings about the winter that was quickly melting into the soil on that warm morning in early March 2010. Over the previous 5 months I had indeed fallen in love with mushing all over again and
so, being a completely magnanimous, yet humble, fellow I thought I should spread this love far and wide by sharing with you all a Winter’s
Tale.
Before embarking on this journey of love and harmony I should provide some clarification for any poor souls who not only trudged through my last missive but actually remembered some of the dross that I penned those long 18 months ago. When I last submitted an article for the SHCGB Magazine we were gripped with the pioneer spirit that had brought so many to the Colonial shores that is Canada; we were intent on heading off to live along the last frontier in the wild north of the Yukon Territories. Unfortunately many things conspired against us, not least of which was that fact that no one was willing to purchase our property in Nova Scotia despite the fact that we were including, free of charge I might add, the big pile of fertiliser that we had carefully assembled over the previous four years. Last summer, as the house had been on the market for 18
months without so much of an offer, I laid down plans to pack 24 dogs, one ATV, three sleds and thousands of dollars of equipment into the truck and to head off to the Yukon on my own for a winter of trying to prepare and qualify for the Yukon Quest with the intent of going back the next winter to run the race if I felt I was ready. Having had long conversations with the musher who I hoped would be my mentor for the winter, Sebastian Schnuelle (CLANG – ah the beautiful chime of a well dropped name) my thoughts on actually moving permanently to the Yukon began to change; it had something to do with a conversation that went along the lines:
“You are a project manager? Yea, don’t bother moving here you won’t find a job”.
As we finalised arrangements for the winter and sorted out the not inconsiderable financial commitment, the unthinkable happened, we had two offers on the house within the space of a week. As we couldn’t pass up the chance to escape snowless Nova Scotia, the plan to spend the winter in the Yukon on a temporary basis had to be shelved as the hunt to find a house, in very quick order, began. Unable to find a suitable permanent property in the Yukon we focused our search on British Columbia. Anyone knowing their geography will realise that BC is a huge province so we elicited help by getting in touch with Hans Gatt (clang) a former resident of Atlin, BC. His partner, Susie Rogan (not sure that is worth a clang but as she has just finished third in the Percey De Wolfe maybe a clink) replied suggesting that a move to the remote north of BC was tantamount to guaranteeing cabin fever and/or mental illness. As my mental (in)stability had been seriously questioned by friends the previous winter we decided that northern BC may not have been for us. As such I set off to explore Alberta and central BC, eventually, on the recommendation of Karen Ramstead and Warren Palfrey (clang, clang, clang, clang) settling on the Quesnel/Prince George area. However time was running out, winter was getting close and the prospect of moving the entire kennel across Canada at short notice was pretty daunting (the road trip alone takes about 8 days without having dogs/kennels/possessions in tow) so when I struggled to find a suitable mushing property in BC we turned our attentions closer to home. To cut an extremely long story short, on the 21 October 2009 we pulled out of a month long nightmare (probably the worst 4 weeks of our lives) and into the former Edmundston Zoo, the new home of Shaytaan Siberian Huskies on the New Brunwick/Quebec border. Not exactly the final frontier, but bandit country nonetheless and a few of the locals even speak English.
Anyway, back to the Winter Tale of wintery tails on winter’s trails. With November just around the corner and ne’er a training run even attempted this Fall, I quickly shelved any thoughts of doing any longer distance races this winter and decided that I would only train for 30 mile races. I would be able to train in a relatively relaxed manner, the dogs could truly enjoy the winter without suffering the ignominy of taking part in races that they would be woefully unprepared for and we could still take part in four or five local (ish) races. So I slightly modified the training plan from the previous winter and set about training up to 24 dogs, 4 to 5 days a week, the aim being to have at least 6 dogs with 500+ miles under their collars, or should that be harnesses, by the second week in January for our first race ...
so, being a completely magnanimous, yet humble, fellow I thought I should spread this love far and wide by sharing with you all a Winter’s
Tale.
Before embarking on this journey of love and harmony I should provide some clarification for any poor souls who not only trudged through my last missive but actually remembered some of the dross that I penned those long 18 months ago. When I last submitted an article for the SHCGB Magazine we were gripped with the pioneer spirit that had brought so many to the Colonial shores that is Canada; we were intent on heading off to live along the last frontier in the wild north of the Yukon Territories. Unfortunately many things conspired against us, not least of which was that fact that no one was willing to purchase our property in Nova Scotia despite the fact that we were including, free of charge I might add, the big pile of fertiliser that we had carefully assembled over the previous four years. Last summer, as the house had been on the market for 18
months without so much of an offer, I laid down plans to pack 24 dogs, one ATV, three sleds and thousands of dollars of equipment into the truck and to head off to the Yukon on my own for a winter of trying to prepare and qualify for the Yukon Quest with the intent of going back the next winter to run the race if I felt I was ready. Having had long conversations with the musher who I hoped would be my mentor for the winter, Sebastian Schnuelle (CLANG – ah the beautiful chime of a well dropped name) my thoughts on actually moving permanently to the Yukon began to change; it had something to do with a conversation that went along the lines:
“You are a project manager? Yea, don’t bother moving here you won’t find a job”.
As we finalised arrangements for the winter and sorted out the not inconsiderable financial commitment, the unthinkable happened, we had two offers on the house within the space of a week. As we couldn’t pass up the chance to escape snowless Nova Scotia, the plan to spend the winter in the Yukon on a temporary basis had to be shelved as the hunt to find a house, in very quick order, began. Unable to find a suitable permanent property in the Yukon we focused our search on British Columbia. Anyone knowing their geography will realise that BC is a huge province so we elicited help by getting in touch with Hans Gatt (clang) a former resident of Atlin, BC. His partner, Susie Rogan (not sure that is worth a clang but as she has just finished third in the Percey De Wolfe maybe a clink) replied suggesting that a move to the remote north of BC was tantamount to guaranteeing cabin fever and/or mental illness. As my mental (in)stability had been seriously questioned by friends the previous winter we decided that northern BC may not have been for us. As such I set off to explore Alberta and central BC, eventually, on the recommendation of Karen Ramstead and Warren Palfrey (clang, clang, clang, clang) settling on the Quesnel/Prince George area. However time was running out, winter was getting close and the prospect of moving the entire kennel across Canada at short notice was pretty daunting (the road trip alone takes about 8 days without having dogs/kennels/possessions in tow) so when I struggled to find a suitable mushing property in BC we turned our attentions closer to home. To cut an extremely long story short, on the 21 October 2009 we pulled out of a month long nightmare (probably the worst 4 weeks of our lives) and into the former Edmundston Zoo, the new home of Shaytaan Siberian Huskies on the New Brunwick/Quebec border. Not exactly the final frontier, but bandit country nonetheless and a few of the locals even speak English.
Anyway, back to the Winter Tale of wintery tails on winter’s trails. With November just around the corner and ne’er a training run even attempted this Fall, I quickly shelved any thoughts of doing any longer distance races this winter and decided that I would only train for 30 mile races. I would be able to train in a relatively relaxed manner, the dogs could truly enjoy the winter without suffering the ignominy of taking part in races that they would be woefully unprepared for and we could still take part in four or five local (ish) races. So I slightly modified the training plan from the previous winter and set about training up to 24 dogs, 4 to 5 days a week, the aim being to have at least 6 dogs with 500+ miles under their collars, or should that be harnesses, by the second week in January for our first race ...
The Eagle Lake 30. Eagle Lake, Maine, USA. 16 January 2010
Distance: 29.3 miles Time: 3:55:45 Position: 14 Competitors: 14 Average Speed: 7.48mph
Despite the fact that training was going well the late start to training, November instead of August, meant that we were well short on miles in the run up to Eagle Lake; we only had about 250 miles on the dogs. We were putting in some pretty fast 16 to 20 mile training runs, often averaging 9.5 to 10 mph for the entire distance, but when I increased the distance to 25 to 30 miles the speed dropped off quite dramatically. Eagle Lake had been the scene of my one venture into the longer mid-distance arena when I took part in, and finished, the Eagle Lake 100 mile race two years previously; as such I knew how mountainous and difficult the race was going to be. What’s more, falling as early in the winter as it does, it is an extremely tough race for six-dog teams, the maximum number allowed in this particular 30 mile race. As race day got ever closer I bored anyone who was prepared to listen (and many who weren’t prepared) telling them that the race was coming round three weeks too soon for us and that we were going to struggle to finish with a respectable time. Louise tried to placate me by using the quality over quantity argument, we were training over some pretty mountainous terrain, but I was confident that we were at least 150 miles short of being a team capable of finishing the race in a competitive, middle of the pack manner.
Run in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, the start line is only about one hour from the house – positively local. Still bemoaning my lack of miles, and now predicting that the team would run out of steam at about 20 miles we arrived on race day to find temperatures unseasonably
and unhelpfully warm, hovering just above freezing. On the previous Wednesday we had been out running with temperatures at -27°C and the trail hard-packed and fast; an increase in almost 30°C over 3 days wasn’t going to help the Siberians in the race. To compound matters a dispute with a local compensation seeking land owner had arisen the evening before the race and when the organisers refused to be blackmailed he refused the race access to his land, part of which included ¼ mile of trail just after the race start. Too late to move the start, the organisers very quickly devised a detour which would see all teams (6 dog 30 milers and 10 dog 100 milers) running the first mile or so along the tarmaced
and snow barren high street – you can only imagine what that did for the runner plastic on the sled. Having run all the way along this first stretch out of the start chute in order to help the dogs and spare the sled, not a bad feat for a gin soaked, middle-aged, overweight, fat knacker, things didn’t get any better when I eventually made it onto snow. A combination of the high temperatures and excessive snowmobile traffic had completely churned up the snow on the trail; it was just like running in sand. So I had under prepared dogs, extremely warm temperatures, a very tough trail and now trail conditions that were going to sap the last bit of strength from the dogs – this had the potential to be one mother
of a race...and it was.
Run in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains, the start line is only about one hour from the house – positively local. Still bemoaning my lack of miles, and now predicting that the team would run out of steam at about 20 miles we arrived on race day to find temperatures unseasonably
and unhelpfully warm, hovering just above freezing. On the previous Wednesday we had been out running with temperatures at -27°C and the trail hard-packed and fast; an increase in almost 30°C over 3 days wasn’t going to help the Siberians in the race. To compound matters a dispute with a local compensation seeking land owner had arisen the evening before the race and when the organisers refused to be blackmailed he refused the race access to his land, part of which included ¼ mile of trail just after the race start. Too late to move the start, the organisers very quickly devised a detour which would see all teams (6 dog 30 milers and 10 dog 100 milers) running the first mile or so along the tarmaced
and snow barren high street – you can only imagine what that did for the runner plastic on the sled. Having run all the way along this first stretch out of the start chute in order to help the dogs and spare the sled, not a bad feat for a gin soaked, middle-aged, overweight, fat knacker, things didn’t get any better when I eventually made it onto snow. A combination of the high temperatures and excessive snowmobile traffic had completely churned up the snow on the trail; it was just like running in sand. So I had under prepared dogs, extremely warm temperatures, a very tough trail and now trail conditions that were going to sap the last bit of strength from the dogs – this had the potential to be one mother
of a race...and it was.
The race was to run out to 15 miles, complete a small loop and then run back along the same trail. Getting to the half way point we were still keeping up with the middle of the pack and moving along at just over 9 mph but as we ran through 20 miles we hit the predictable and predicted wall. The team slowed to a crawl and as the dogs tired even more I swapped out leaders just to try to freshen things up. Unfortunately the two new leaders were young and inexperienced; this coupled with their obvious tiredness meant that they were not as responsive to my
requests as normal and they started running on the left hand side of the trail, something that can be truly fatal on a trail such as this where there are too many snow machines around. I spent a lot of time dithering around trying to get the team to run on the right side of the trail but as a blizzard blew up out of nowhere I was literally stung out of the lethargy that had also gripped me and we pushed on towards the finish line and the red lantern, crossing the line in a blizzard, literal not figurative, but only one minute behind the next team. The dogs were extremely tired, probably as tired as they had been the last time we had pulled across this finish line after the 100 mile race. Oh well, we had finished, were not too slow and had another 30 mile run logged in the book – we would be better prepared for the next race...
requests as normal and they started running on the left hand side of the trail, something that can be truly fatal on a trail such as this where there are too many snow machines around. I spent a lot of time dithering around trying to get the team to run on the right side of the trail but as a blizzard blew up out of nowhere I was literally stung out of the lethargy that had also gripped me and we pushed on towards the finish line and the red lantern, crossing the line in a blizzard, literal not figurative, but only one minute behind the next team. The dogs were extremely tired, probably as tired as they had been the last time we had pulled across this finish line after the 100 mile race. Oh well, we had finished, were not too slow and had another 30 mile run logged in the book – we would be better prepared for the next race...
The Brownville to KI and Beyond 30. Brownville, Maine, USA. 30 January 2010
Distance: 28.3 miles Time: 2:34:20 Position: 4 Competitors: 9 Average Speed: 11.02mph
By the time Brownville was on the radar we had between 350 and 400 miles on most of the dogs and had added over 150 training miles since Eagle Lake. More importantly we had run a series of 25 to 30 mile training runs and were now covering the distance regularly at an average of 9.5 mph; I was starting to feel much more confident in the team’s ability.
Brownville is a new race and has been set up as much as a mushing fun day for beginners as it is a race; a fact reflected in the minimal purse. There were two classes for the racers, both covering approximately 30 miles – a 6 dog class and an 8 to 12 dog class. Still regularly training 20 dogs I resolved to give as many dogs as possible a run out so entered a 12 dog team. This was a first for me in competition although I was now running 10 and 12 dog teams in training, and losing 12 dog teams in training I might add, and have even ventured out on the sled with a 16 dog team on occasion. As usual for us the race weekend didn’t start as planned. I had intended to hit the road on Friday morning and stay with
Alex and Lucille from Maine Made Sleds on the night before the race. Unfortunately after 23 years of discipline that comes with the military, since retirement I have become a completely disorganised laggard who has even been known to have trouble making it to the toilet on time (that is an attempt at humour btw – well mostly). As such at 8 pm on the Friday evening, the night before the race, I was still at home trying to organise myself enough to get the van packed for what was due to be a week away from home for myself and 12 dogs. Undeterred I decided to spend the evening at home. I arose at 2 am to -25°C temperatures, with no heater in the van I was risking aggravating my previously frostbitten toes, I set off on the 5 hour trip to the race site. Having cleared the US border crossing without too much incident I actually arrived at the race in good time. On arriving I learnt that the trail was hard packed ice and snow and so was likely to be extremely fast and it would also be difficult to plant a snow hook in the event of a problem on the trail, a such I lost my bottle, deciding that I would drop down to a 10 dog team. When our time came we flew from the start line and passing through 10 miles we were still averaging almost 13 mph; I was really concerned about
burning the team out but they seemed to be having so much fun so I let them run their own race. As well as being hard-packed, the trail was also pretty benign: flat for the first 3 to 4 miles then a gentle climb up to the turn at 14 miles and then back along the same trail, meaning a 14 mile run home that was either downhill or flat. As we eased back onto the flat section for the final 4 miles to the finish we were still averaging 11.5 mph, the only thing slowing me down was my huge grin – this was the best race performance we had ever put in. The grin turned to laughter as the team lopped on towards the finish literally cruising by some of the recreational teams as if they were stood still. At one point I even started singing to the dogs, but even that didn’t put them off their stride and we crossed the line in a very respectable fourth place and only seconds away from being the fastest all pure-breed team. A great run and a great day out; roll on the next race, just like love our team was invincible...
Brownville is a new race and has been set up as much as a mushing fun day for beginners as it is a race; a fact reflected in the minimal purse. There were two classes for the racers, both covering approximately 30 miles – a 6 dog class and an 8 to 12 dog class. Still regularly training 20 dogs I resolved to give as many dogs as possible a run out so entered a 12 dog team. This was a first for me in competition although I was now running 10 and 12 dog teams in training, and losing 12 dog teams in training I might add, and have even ventured out on the sled with a 16 dog team on occasion. As usual for us the race weekend didn’t start as planned. I had intended to hit the road on Friday morning and stay with
Alex and Lucille from Maine Made Sleds on the night before the race. Unfortunately after 23 years of discipline that comes with the military, since retirement I have become a completely disorganised laggard who has even been known to have trouble making it to the toilet on time (that is an attempt at humour btw – well mostly). As such at 8 pm on the Friday evening, the night before the race, I was still at home trying to organise myself enough to get the van packed for what was due to be a week away from home for myself and 12 dogs. Undeterred I decided to spend the evening at home. I arose at 2 am to -25°C temperatures, with no heater in the van I was risking aggravating my previously frostbitten toes, I set off on the 5 hour trip to the race site. Having cleared the US border crossing without too much incident I actually arrived at the race in good time. On arriving I learnt that the trail was hard packed ice and snow and so was likely to be extremely fast and it would also be difficult to plant a snow hook in the event of a problem on the trail, a such I lost my bottle, deciding that I would drop down to a 10 dog team. When our time came we flew from the start line and passing through 10 miles we were still averaging almost 13 mph; I was really concerned about
burning the team out but they seemed to be having so much fun so I let them run their own race. As well as being hard-packed, the trail was also pretty benign: flat for the first 3 to 4 miles then a gentle climb up to the turn at 14 miles and then back along the same trail, meaning a 14 mile run home that was either downhill or flat. As we eased back onto the flat section for the final 4 miles to the finish we were still averaging 11.5 mph, the only thing slowing me down was my huge grin – this was the best race performance we had ever put in. The grin turned to laughter as the team lopped on towards the finish literally cruising by some of the recreational teams as if they were stood still. At one point I even started singing to the dogs, but even that didn’t put them off their stride and we crossed the line in a very respectable fourth place and only seconds away from being the fastest all pure-breed team. A great run and a great day out; roll on the next race, just like love our team was invincible...
The Wilderness 30. Greenville, Maine, USA. 06 February 2010
Distance: 26 miles Time: 2:43:01 Position: 12 Competitors: 18 Average Speed: 9.57mph
Like Brownville, Greenville was a bit of an unknown quantity for us. Only a week after Brownville, and with about 60 miles separating the two
races, my original plan had been to spend the week in Maine training over new trails. Vehicle and bitch in season issues however saw me return home straight after Brownville. The following week I was however better organised and actually drove back down to Maine on the Friday morning, spending the night before the race in a cabin about 40 miles from the start line. I am not going to go into detail, the full story is on our website for the masochistically challenged, but I turned up at the race site on the Saturday morning late, having missed the mushers meeting, without water for the dogs, without a clue what the trail was going to be like in terms of terrain and conditions and with the dogs trying to
chew their way out of Alex Murphy’s dog truck – our own van terminally ill and stuck at Alex’ camp. This was only an eight dog race but as I was not sure whether I would need fast, lithe leaders or solid, strong, reliable leaders I had brought 9 dogs with me with the intent of running either Cassie or Medea depending on conditions; I had planned on making the decision at the now missed mushers’ meeting. Misinterpreting the trail advice given by the race marshal who I had hunted down in the car park I went with the faster Cassie; a decision that proved to be our downfall on many levels. Almost straight out of the start chute Cassie started necklining, a sign that she had, as I had suspected, a minor injury picked up in training earlier in the week and that I had failed to address properly. I slowed the team to compensate but was not helped by the fact that the trail was extremely mountainous and the snow pretty soft and punchy; I really should have run Medea instead. Keeping the speed down so that Cassie could remain in the team I was in fairly disconsolate mood when we crossed the finish line after what turned out to be 26 miles of hell. My mood wasn’t improved when I got back to Alex’ truck to discover that Medea, having been left behind, had done her best to follow the team by eating her way out of the truck. All this and we still faced the prospect of at least 6 hours on the back of a tow truck in order to get that bloody van home. I guess all love affairs have to have their rocky moments.
races, my original plan had been to spend the week in Maine training over new trails. Vehicle and bitch in season issues however saw me return home straight after Brownville. The following week I was however better organised and actually drove back down to Maine on the Friday morning, spending the night before the race in a cabin about 40 miles from the start line. I am not going to go into detail, the full story is on our website for the masochistically challenged, but I turned up at the race site on the Saturday morning late, having missed the mushers meeting, without water for the dogs, without a clue what the trail was going to be like in terms of terrain and conditions and with the dogs trying to
chew their way out of Alex Murphy’s dog truck – our own van terminally ill and stuck at Alex’ camp. This was only an eight dog race but as I was not sure whether I would need fast, lithe leaders or solid, strong, reliable leaders I had brought 9 dogs with me with the intent of running either Cassie or Medea depending on conditions; I had planned on making the decision at the now missed mushers’ meeting. Misinterpreting the trail advice given by the race marshal who I had hunted down in the car park I went with the faster Cassie; a decision that proved to be our downfall on many levels. Almost straight out of the start chute Cassie started necklining, a sign that she had, as I had suspected, a minor injury picked up in training earlier in the week and that I had failed to address properly. I slowed the team to compensate but was not helped by the fact that the trail was extremely mountainous and the snow pretty soft and punchy; I really should have run Medea instead. Keeping the speed down so that Cassie could remain in the team I was in fairly disconsolate mood when we crossed the finish line after what turned out to be 26 miles of hell. My mood wasn’t improved when I got back to Alex’ truck to discover that Medea, having been left behind, had done her best to follow the team by eating her way out of the truck. All this and we still faced the prospect of at least 6 hours on the back of a tow truck in order to get that bloody van home. I guess all love affairs have to have their rocky moments.
As it turned out we didn’t do too badly, finishing in 12th position and only about 13 minutes behind Kim Berg’s top pure-breed Kelim A-team. Still we could, and should have done better so the next couple of weeks we would concentrate on recuperation (for truck, musher and team) and get a couple more dogs up to race standard ready for the next race, a two day, 22 mile a day sprint...
L’Odyssee Appalachienne 25. St Pamphile, Quebec, Canada. 12 & 13 February 2010
Total: 44.2 miles Time: 4:38:30 Position: 8 Competitors: 8 Average Speed: 9.54mph
This was to be our third year running at L’Odyssee, a race that was only in its fourth year; it is by far my favourite race of the year. Starting in downtown Saint-Pamphile (how Petula Clarke of me) the race embraces the whole region and hundreds of spectators turn out for the race weekend. Siberians are becoming more and more scarce on the Quebec race circuit and the previous two years we have been one of only two Siberian kennels to enter teams at Saint-Pamphile, as such we always seem to have a big crowd of followers who want to see ‘proper’ huskies. This and the fact that the organisers and volunteers are super helpful makes this feel like such a special race.
During training leading up to L’Odyssee, our youngest dog in training, Dawson, had been doing extremely well and I really wanted to include him in the 12 that I forecast would be racing in the two teams we would enter in our biggest race of the year, the forthcoming Can Am 30. Unfortunately Dawson can be a bit nervous around people and as you can often get 3000 spectators lining the start chute and first ¼ mile of the Can Am, I wanted Dawson to have some race exposure before such a big event. During a run in late December Dawson had suffered a bad bout of stress diarrhoea and so I had given him a three week break from training which ensured he made a full recovery but which put him about 250 miles behind the other dogs and out of contention for our first three races of the winter. Although a fast, two-day race wasn’t an ideal start to Dawson’s race career it was better than dropping him in at the deep end at the Can Am. So as it was Dawson was on the ten-dog team that careened out of the start chute on Day One of L’Odyssee.
Outside of Alaska I think Quebec must be the hottest hot-bed of mushing in North America; they seem to be producing many more consistently fast teams than anywhere else. Not since Cynthia Payne had stopped accepting luncheon vouchers had someone been expecting quite such an
arse-whooping in the name of pleasure as I was going into this race (if the Petula Clark comment didn’t date me that certainly will). I was facing teams such as Sylvain Voyer (who had beaten me by 3 ½ HOURS in the 2009 Can Am 60), Jacques Trottier who had whooped Sylvain at the prestigious Daaquam World Series event and Annie Malo who had beaten both of them. No matter how much I looked at the other competitors there was going to be no one else in the race of my lowly stature. I was predicting, and not silently, that over the two days of racing I would be at least 1 ½ hours behind the next team. Part of me started to regret my arrogance in refusing to enter the pure-breed class (my principles not only
ensured the red lantern but also cost me $660 in prize money).
Unfortunately being against such strong opposition, and not wanting to be entirely humiliated can do strange things to the mind, and mine is a strange mind indeed. I had planned to pace the dogs over the two days safe in the knowledge that the lantern was already mine. Race plan seemingly forgotten we set off hell for leather intent on getting round as fast as we could and as close to the team in front as was Siberian Huskily possible. Aided by a fast and relatively flat trail we were flying. Approaching the turn at half way (another out and back trail with head on passing) we were travelling at just under 12 mph, far too fast for us at a two-day race and well off the race plan. Although I knew that I would suffer on day two, stupidity reigned supreme and I pushed on at speed, finishing the day at just under 10.5 mph, very creditable for us but very dumb. What’s more the run hadn’t been without incident, Dawson had been showing signs of holding back on the final couple of miles, something that I failed to act on the next day – to the team’s cost.
Over the course of the following morning a couple of us gave Dawson a thorough examination but could find nothing significant barring some light abrasion on his pads. Convincing myself that a set of boots would sort him out I foolishly resolved to run him and so started Day Two with a full complement of ten dogs on the lines. We set off where we had left off on the previous day – travelling too fast. Unfortunately from the start it was obvious that Dawson was not happy and by the time I made the turn at half way to run for home I had little choice but carry him in the sled bag.
Outside of Alaska I think Quebec must be the hottest hot-bed of mushing in North America; they seem to be producing many more consistently fast teams than anywhere else. Not since Cynthia Payne had stopped accepting luncheon vouchers had someone been expecting quite such an
arse-whooping in the name of pleasure as I was going into this race (if the Petula Clark comment didn’t date me that certainly will). I was facing teams such as Sylvain Voyer (who had beaten me by 3 ½ HOURS in the 2009 Can Am 60), Jacques Trottier who had whooped Sylvain at the prestigious Daaquam World Series event and Annie Malo who had beaten both of them. No matter how much I looked at the other competitors there was going to be no one else in the race of my lowly stature. I was predicting, and not silently, that over the two days of racing I would be at least 1 ½ hours behind the next team. Part of me started to regret my arrogance in refusing to enter the pure-breed class (my principles not only
ensured the red lantern but also cost me $660 in prize money).
Unfortunately being against such strong opposition, and not wanting to be entirely humiliated can do strange things to the mind, and mine is a strange mind indeed. I had planned to pace the dogs over the two days safe in the knowledge that the lantern was already mine. Race plan seemingly forgotten we set off hell for leather intent on getting round as fast as we could and as close to the team in front as was Siberian Huskily possible. Aided by a fast and relatively flat trail we were flying. Approaching the turn at half way (another out and back trail with head on passing) we were travelling at just under 12 mph, far too fast for us at a two-day race and well off the race plan. Although I knew that I would suffer on day two, stupidity reigned supreme and I pushed on at speed, finishing the day at just under 10.5 mph, very creditable for us but very dumb. What’s more the run hadn’t been without incident, Dawson had been showing signs of holding back on the final couple of miles, something that I failed to act on the next day – to the team’s cost.
Over the course of the following morning a couple of us gave Dawson a thorough examination but could find nothing significant barring some light abrasion on his pads. Convincing myself that a set of boots would sort him out I foolishly resolved to run him and so started Day Two with a full complement of ten dogs on the lines. We set off where we had left off on the previous day – travelling too fast. Unfortunately from the start it was obvious that Dawson was not happy and by the time I made the turn at half way to run for home I had little choice but carry him in the sled bag.
For the next 6 miles I fought to keep Dawson in the bag and the sled on the trail. Eventually on a ploughed road, with little or no chance of planting the snow hook, and with the rest of the team tangled because some kind soul had thrown a load of meat onto the trail, by accident of course – as if any musher would try to impede his competitors in such a manner, Dawson decided he had had enough of the sled bag so after a bit more wrestling and another bad tangle we decided that Dawson would be happier back on the lines. With the remainder of the team
starting to suffer from the previous day’s pace our speed dropped right off. Despite trying about five different leader combinations the team had lost its spark and it was a slow, tired team that eventually crossed the finish line to be greeted by a few hundred spectators. Oh well, we still did
it in a respectable time for a mid distance Siberian team competing against sprint ‘hounds’ and the red lantern just illuminated my love for mushing. Hopefully we would have a full complement of dogs back to full fitness in time for our final, and most prestigious, race of the season...
starting to suffer from the previous day’s pace our speed dropped right off. Despite trying about five different leader combinations the team had lost its spark and it was a slow, tired team that eventually crossed the finish line to be greeted by a few hundred spectators. Oh well, we still did
it in a respectable time for a mid distance Siberian team competing against sprint ‘hounds’ and the red lantern just illuminated my love for mushing. Hopefully we would have a full complement of dogs back to full fitness in time for our final, and most prestigious, race of the season...
The Can Am Crown 30. Fort Kent, Maine, USA. 06 March 2010
Distance: 30 miles Time: 3:22:38 Position: 17 Competitors: 31 Average Speed: 8.91mph
The Can Am Crown actually consists of three races: 30, 60 and 250 mile races all run over the first weekend in March. These races are extremely popular so to fit everything in to one weekend the organisers limit the race to 30 teams per class, as such when registration opens at the start of August the race lists are normally full within 24 hours; this year was to be no exception. Due to the house move we were well into November when we finally decided to enter a couple of teams in the 30 mile race, as such we found ourselves at 15 and 16 on the waiting list. We had been in similar positions in previous years and so I was quite confident that we would get at least one team into the race. So it was that the week before L’Odyssee I received a phone call from the race organisers asking if I still wanted to enter my team. However it was not until 10 days
before the race that we actually received a message asking if Louise also still wanted to race as someone else had dropped out.
Being well and truly blessed with cacoethes louendi, as Cicero would have said if he ever stopped procrastinating long enough, even for me the story of how we managed to not only get two teams to the start of the Can Am, but that despite stating categorically two years previous that she would never get on the runners of a sled again, Louise was on the runners of one of those sled is long, boring and painful – I shall spare you that fate. What I will say is that we turned up on race day to face crowds surrounding the start line estimated to number 8000 strong with two of the fastest dogs in the kennel sat at home, and with it my hopes of having the fastest purebred team, and my two best leaders at the front of Louise’s team, used as they were as bargaining chips to lure Louise out of her self-imposed mushing exile. What’s more the sun was bright and the temperatures warm, in the 20 minutes between starting to harness up and pulling into the start chute I watched the thermometer in the
high street climb from a balmy 32°F to a positively huskily non-conducive 38°F – and it was still climbing fast. This could be a hard race.
before the race that we actually received a message asking if Louise also still wanted to race as someone else had dropped out.
Being well and truly blessed with cacoethes louendi, as Cicero would have said if he ever stopped procrastinating long enough, even for me the story of how we managed to not only get two teams to the start of the Can Am, but that despite stating categorically two years previous that she would never get on the runners of a sled again, Louise was on the runners of one of those sled is long, boring and painful – I shall spare you that fate. What I will say is that we turned up on race day to face crowds surrounding the start line estimated to number 8000 strong with two of the fastest dogs in the kennel sat at home, and with it my hopes of having the fastest purebred team, and my two best leaders at the front of Louise’s team, used as they were as bargaining chips to lure Louise out of her self-imposed mushing exile. What’s more the sun was bright and the temperatures warm, in the 20 minutes between starting to harness up and pulling into the start chute I watched the thermometer in the
high street climb from a balmy 32°F to a positively huskily non-conducive 38°F – and it was still climbing fast. This could be a hard race.
Despite striving to avoid excessive loquaciousness I would be remiss in not mentioning some of the controversies surrounding this year’s Can Am. I am never one to really listen at musher’s meetings, the meeting the previous evening had been no exception however a couple of points did stick in my mind. In order to maintain the spirit of mid/long distance mushing the Can Am organisers have some pretty stringent regulations on the mandatory equipment that has to be carried in the sled; this ranges from axes to arctic sleeping bags to snowshoes to emergency food for dogs and mushers alike. Over the last few years (some) mushers being mushers have sought advantage by stretching the rules: miniature, ornamental snowshoes have been found at mandatory equipment checks, water bowls so small that they would barely hold a drop of water, 8lbs of emergency dog food weighed out as 3 ½ lbs. The organisers had had enough and stated that anyone flagrantly abusing the rules this year would be severely punished. A lot of talk focused on the emergency food but the organisers did warn that they would have scales at the finish line and every musher was to ensure that they were carrying one lb of food for every dog on the team as they crossed the finish line. Having carefully weighed out our food the night before I just sighed that so much could be made of something so simple. The second point, that
I barely registered as all the talk of food had really turned me off, was that there was a stretch of trail, claimed to be about 450 yards long, that went through a logging area that had been clear cut and so the snow conditions weren’t the best, safe, but not the best. I let it pass over my head resolving to take what was thrown at me on the trail.
I barely registered as all the talk of food had really turned me off, was that there was a stretch of trail, claimed to be about 450 yards long, that went through a logging area that had been clear cut and so the snow conditions weren’t the best, safe, but not the best. I let it pass over my head resolving to take what was thrown at me on the trail.
Back to the race. Although worried how Louise was going to cope with this her biggest ever race, she was staring out two minutes after me, nonetheless once I received confirmation from a passing musher that she was on the trail and out of town my thoughts turned to getting round the 30 mile course as fast as we could given the terrain and temperature. Having covered the first 26 miles at good speed, and in the process managed to overtake about 4 teams, including some teams of Alaskans, I was wondering where this previously mentioned patch of poor trail
was when on a steep downhill the snow literally disappeared and the trail turned to mud, rocks and branches with tree stumps sticking up out of the bare earth just to make thing interesting. I really cannot repeat the words I used but this was dangerous, very dangerous. I don’t know how I did it because a) we were travelling at speed, b) the brake didn’t work at all and there was no way you could use a snow hook and c) the bare patch didn’t last 450 yards at all, more like a mile but I managed to keep the sled upright and moving (many others weren’t so fortunate - it was quite a sight at the finish line watching mushers cross the line covered head to foot in mud, it certainly took me back about 5 years). These were the worst conditions I had encountered in North America however such was the speed of our run I wasn’t going to let this detract from
what was still a very good run. Crossing the line with a hot but happy team I was told that we had finished with the second fastest all pure breed team having been beaten by Scott Alexander who had completed the 30 miles just 18 seconds faster than us. Whilst I thought about all the possibilities where I could have shaved off 18 seconds, having to physically lead Ammo past every team we overtook, having a pee on the runners whilst going up hill and so slowing the team to a virtual and watery halt, having to sort out a minor tangle when the two leaders tried to pass either side of a tree in the middle of the trail. However I really didn’t care, we had run the race over an hour faster than the last time I had run the 30 mile race, the dogs were happy and could have kept going and 18 seconds really was nothing, only two years before Scott was on
average 20 minutes faster than me at most races. Really pleased with our performance I sat back in the sun, sipping ice cold beers and BS’ing with good friends and waited for Louise to finish; how could I not love mushing.
And that would have been a good place to finish the story of the race however the race organisers made good on their assertion that they would heavily penalise anyone who wasn’t carrying the correct equipment. Over the course of the weekend 5 mushers were given time penalties for not carrying enough emergency food at the end of the race. In one case Jacques Trottier, the winner of the 30 mile race, was penalised 15 minutes for being ½ lb under weight on his food, 15 minutes that cost him two places and $750 in prize money. The same penalty for the same infringement was also handed out to Scott Alexander which meant we unceremoniously moved into the position of being the highest placed pure breed team. Not the way I would have wished to earn such an award and forever more I will cede that we were not the fastest pure breed team on the trail that day. At the awards breakfast the following morning musher discontent reigned supreme; many grumbles were audible when the announcer joked about Jacques’ absence/boycott of the ceremony and a round of applause greeted Genevieve Telmosse, the winner of the 30 by default, when she acknowledged that she had neither the best nor the fastest team in the race and that Jacques was the real winner. However mushers being mushers, all things being equal and nothing ever stays the same not all were downcast and some had fallen in love with mushing all over again, me being one of them.
Over the course of the winter we had been out on the trails four or five days a week every week since the end of October putting in over 120 individual runs, we have been on sleds consistently since the start of December, we have put between 800 and 900 miles on each of 20+ dogs which must equate to almost 2000 miles for myself, have actually competed at five different races as opposed to just turning up to collect the red lantern and the team are going faster than they have ever gone before. What is more dogs and musher alike have been and still are enjoying themselves. The winter didn’t finish with the Can Am, we spent a week giving sled rides at a ski mountain giving 95 individual rides over the
course of the week and now, despite the fact that April is drawing to a close and most of the snow has gone, we are well into training the puppies ready for next winter and I cannot wait to run these puppies in competition. I do love mushing you know'
was when on a steep downhill the snow literally disappeared and the trail turned to mud, rocks and branches with tree stumps sticking up out of the bare earth just to make thing interesting. I really cannot repeat the words I used but this was dangerous, very dangerous. I don’t know how I did it because a) we were travelling at speed, b) the brake didn’t work at all and there was no way you could use a snow hook and c) the bare patch didn’t last 450 yards at all, more like a mile but I managed to keep the sled upright and moving (many others weren’t so fortunate - it was quite a sight at the finish line watching mushers cross the line covered head to foot in mud, it certainly took me back about 5 years). These were the worst conditions I had encountered in North America however such was the speed of our run I wasn’t going to let this detract from
what was still a very good run. Crossing the line with a hot but happy team I was told that we had finished with the second fastest all pure breed team having been beaten by Scott Alexander who had completed the 30 miles just 18 seconds faster than us. Whilst I thought about all the possibilities where I could have shaved off 18 seconds, having to physically lead Ammo past every team we overtook, having a pee on the runners whilst going up hill and so slowing the team to a virtual and watery halt, having to sort out a minor tangle when the two leaders tried to pass either side of a tree in the middle of the trail. However I really didn’t care, we had run the race over an hour faster than the last time I had run the 30 mile race, the dogs were happy and could have kept going and 18 seconds really was nothing, only two years before Scott was on
average 20 minutes faster than me at most races. Really pleased with our performance I sat back in the sun, sipping ice cold beers and BS’ing with good friends and waited for Louise to finish; how could I not love mushing.
And that would have been a good place to finish the story of the race however the race organisers made good on their assertion that they would heavily penalise anyone who wasn’t carrying the correct equipment. Over the course of the weekend 5 mushers were given time penalties for not carrying enough emergency food at the end of the race. In one case Jacques Trottier, the winner of the 30 mile race, was penalised 15 minutes for being ½ lb under weight on his food, 15 minutes that cost him two places and $750 in prize money. The same penalty for the same infringement was also handed out to Scott Alexander which meant we unceremoniously moved into the position of being the highest placed pure breed team. Not the way I would have wished to earn such an award and forever more I will cede that we were not the fastest pure breed team on the trail that day. At the awards breakfast the following morning musher discontent reigned supreme; many grumbles were audible when the announcer joked about Jacques’ absence/boycott of the ceremony and a round of applause greeted Genevieve Telmosse, the winner of the 30 by default, when she acknowledged that she had neither the best nor the fastest team in the race and that Jacques was the real winner. However mushers being mushers, all things being equal and nothing ever stays the same not all were downcast and some had fallen in love with mushing all over again, me being one of them.
Over the course of the winter we had been out on the trails four or five days a week every week since the end of October putting in over 120 individual runs, we have been on sleds consistently since the start of December, we have put between 800 and 900 miles on each of 20+ dogs which must equate to almost 2000 miles for myself, have actually competed at five different races as opposed to just turning up to collect the red lantern and the team are going faster than they have ever gone before. What is more dogs and musher alike have been and still are enjoying themselves. The winter didn’t finish with the Can Am, we spent a week giving sled rides at a ski mountain giving 95 individual rides over the
course of the week and now, despite the fact that April is drawing to a close and most of the snow has gone, we are well into training the puppies ready for next winter and I cannot wait to run these puppies in competition. I do love mushing you know'
Anyway I can see a nice naked big beaver lying on the kitchen table and demanding my attention. I had better get my chopper in my hand and get ‘er done – the dogs do have to eat after all.
