I think it was Fya getting checked out at the Vet Inspection
The Mushers Meeting
The Calm Before the Storm
Rob trying to look relaxed as Ray scouts out the opposition
Moving up to the start
Just how nervous can you be? Only one way out now
All nerves evaporate
At least 8 of the team are looking the right way
Heritage Trail
Our Race (I warn you it is long)
Termed by many as the Iditarod of the East or the most grueling race on the Eastern side of North America, the Can Am is in fact three races in one, the 30 mile 6 dog, 60 mile 8 dog and the elite 250 mile 12 dog race. All three races begin in Downtown, Fort Kent in northern Maine on the first Saturday morning in March and finish at the ski lodge in Fort Kent at varying times over the next 4 to 5 days.
When we came across to North America we based our plans for the three years that we knew we would be in Canada for around the Can Am. First year we intended to combine the two three dog teams we ran in the UK and enter the 30, following year we would add in the two pups we brought over with us from the UK, Penkhala’s Keelut and Medea, and run the 60 and then all being well, and provided our plans for a Poppy x Fya (Penkhala’s Poppaea x Huskidoo Lesmok Mhofyr) mating worked, we would enter the 250 in the third year – a sound plan albeit conceived by a naïve mind. As with every good plan our’s failed to survive first contact with the enemy – in this case weather and the van. Snow conditions for our first winter in Nova Scotia were unusually atrocious (or so we thought at the time) and this coupled with the fact that our van spent the
entire winter in the garage meant that 2 weeks before we were due to run in the Can Am 30 we pulled out citing lack of sled experience and most importantly extreme lack of training and preparation for the dogs – that turned out to be the best decision we made the whole winter; as we found out the Can Am truly is a grueling race and not the place for an under prepared team.
And so coming into winter 2006/07 and deciding to stick to the plan, the Can Am 60 was our main focus for the season. This was the race we were training for, all other races were entered with the intent of getting the dogs ready for the Can Am. Having withdrawn from the race in 2006 we were doubly determined to run the 60 this year. However with the winter proving to be even worse in terms of lack of snow than 05/06 (who say’s Al Gore has got it all wrong) and with things having not gone at all well at Tahquamenon and Stratford races we started to have serious reservations again about our preparations and the validity of the decision to do what was for us such a long race. Our concerns over the validity
of the decision to do the 60 mile race was compounded by the fact that we were running 5 yearlings in the team (in addition to the two puppies we brought over with us we had also bought 3 pups from the Kelim and Sibersong kennels), everyone had warned us not to expect too much from yearlings and here we were asking 5 dogs under 20 months old to make up the core of our team. However, and despite the fact that by the end of February the longest single training session we had as a team was 50 miles, we had cumulatively acquired over 800 miles on the dogs this winter and so with some reservations (especially about racing in the 60 – I spent almost the entire week before the race trying to drop to the
30) we set off on the 8 hour drive to Fort Kent on the Thursday before the race.
The journey up and the Thursday night in Fort Kent were pretty uneventful, unfortunately the vehicle problems that had blighted us again this
winter came back with a vengeance on the Friday morning, 24 hours before our biggest race ever. The van was consistently proving incapable of surviving in the extreme cold and on the Friday morning, after night time temperatures down around the –20°C mark, repeated failures to start was followed by a rather large oil leak and then almost immediately by a stream of fuel pouring out of the back of the engine. Although 24 hours from the official start of the race we still needed to get all the dogs up to the ski lodge to register and have the dogs examined by the vets. At 1400 hours when we were supposed to be at the ski lodge registering the team we were sat in a garage in Fort Kent watching a mechanic who admitted to having never seen a VW van before, strip down the engine and fuel pump.
At 1500, an hour after our allotted time to have the dogs checked over, the mechanic started the van. He peered under the bonnet and came
out very grim faced - "Its still leaking" he said, my heart sank completely - I was going to scratch, enough was enough. "No, I'm only joking, its good" he smiled; I guess I may have smiled back at him too. To cut a long and tedious story short the mechanic had performed miracles, we raced up to the ski lodge, registered for the race, all the dogs passed their checks (although I thought Poppy's shoulder injury incurred earlier in the year was going to come back and haunt us), we listened intently at the mushers meeting (only slightly daunted by all the mushing experience in the room) and all that was left was to get a good night's sleep - fat chance. I had been surviving on 4 hours sleep a night for the previous week, waking up every time the dogs refused to leave the starting chute, or when they left but with me lying in the snow behind them. We had resolved that Poppy and Fya would lead the team out of Fort Kent and although I had real concerns about either of them running at lead they were the dogs that were least likely to baulk at the 3000+ people forecast to line the streets. Nonetheless the decision to go with experienced dogs at lead didn't ease my concerns or allow me to sleep any better and so at 0530 on Saturday morning, after another restless night, we arose to race day.
The first worry of the day came to naught, the van started first time and so we were able to take the short drive down the high street from the hotel to the starting area. Once there we busied ourselves getting the sled ready, ensuring all the mandatory equipment was there and everything was ready to go. Developing into a nervous wreck as our starting time got ever closer and the crowds continued to build, I
wandered off to wish Tara and Becki luck (both also Can Am novices and both running in the 30 - how I wished I was running in the 30) and to steal Tara's friend and handler, Ray, to help get us to the starting chute. As we watched the first teams get underway I made the decision, I turned to Louise and announced that I was running Paris at lead, when my reply to her query as to whether this was Paris and Fya or Paris and Poppy (remember the decision based on restless nights) and my reply was "Don't be daft, Paris and Medea", I was going to lead out with two yearlings, one the youngest dog on the team and the other not at all comfortable around people and especially noisy crowds. Louise looked at me as if I had finally gone mad - I think by this stage I probably had.
Slowly as the seconds ticked on past the 0800 race start time more teams began to pull out of our parking area and as teams numbers 10 and 11 moved into line I decided it was time to hook the team up. I had earlier booted and harnessed the majority of the team but still had Hektor to harness and boot as he has always been a harness eater when getting ready to run and at Stratford I found out that he had also learnt to remove his own boots - not a problem if he left them on the side of the cage in a neat pile, but Hektor being Hektor has to go one stage
further and try to eat the boots. Having got all the other dogs hooked up I climbed back in to the van to sort out Hektor, as I opened the cage door he came flying out, head butted me just below the chin and knocked me back across the van and into the other cages. I picked myself up as best I could and then for what seemed like an eternity we played the game where I tried to get the harness on Hektor and Hektor tried to get out of the van. I won the battle (just) but Hektor won the war - I was not going to try booting him at least until we were on the trail, out of town and he had used up a bit of his energy.
So 8 dogs hooked up, Louise, Ray and the other helpers (volunteers one and all) holding the team back we edged into line listening intently to the noise of the announcer, the shrieks from the crowd and the excitement of all the dogs. I composed myself, looked around and suddenly realized that there was no way out; I was in what felt like a narrow tunnel of people and with more teams joining the line up behind me I could only go forward. All of a sudden, and a bit like Moses but without the bushy beard (yet) it seemed like the crowds parted and there was clear trail ahead of me (shadowed on either side by hundreds if not thousands of people I would add) and the announcer was calling me into the start
chute. Two minutes until complete embarrassment, I'm going to fall off, the dogs won't run, they'll be petrified of the crowds - why oh why did I go with Paris and Medea at lead, there is no way they will get through these crowds. Last minute hugs for the dogs, good luck wishes from everyone, onto the runners and away.
As soon as we cleared the starting chute a small girl yelled in excitement, in that split second it was as if my vision tunneled completely and all I could see was Medea at lead - she flinched and noticeably veered to the right, my heart sank - the nightmares were coming true, we were going to stop or worse still throw me off. And then a change, a wave of confidence seemed to surge backwards from Medea and Paris at lead and as it washed over me we picked up speed and nothing was going to stop us getting out of town now. I relaxed on the runners, started waving back to all the well wishers and even found my voice to reply to the cries of "Go Canada" with "Go Britain". We swept down towards the river, under the bridge up next to the semi-frozen river and back up and across the road. Before I knew it we were making a gee onto the Heritage Trail on the outskirts of town and, for us, setting quite a reasonable pace despite the fact that I was using the drag mat mercilessly to keep the speed down - wow this was easy!!
As we progressed along the relatively flat and very well groomed snow mobile trail things started to improve even more - we passed a team, we actually passed a team in a race for the first time since 2005 - my penultimate nightmare wasn't going to be realised, I wasn't going to come
last. Not to say of course I wasn't also passed, even before we had got off the snow mobile trail and onto the more challenging Can Am trails proper I had already been overtaken by at least 4 other teams but I was used to that, especially as they were all hounds or alaskans - still I wasn't going to be last!! A bit of misplaced exuberance perhaps especially when there was still about 56 miles of trail ahead of us.
Almost as soon as we turned off the relative flat of the snow mobile trail we hit the first hill, and boy what a hill. As we crawled up the hill I kept checking back over my shoulder watching the ever growing dot of a musher catching up with me. This was going to be typical, why couldn't he have caught me at the bottom of the hill and given me a tow all the way up. However the hill seemed endless and we were still on a vertical incline as he passed me. "Man this hill kills me every year" he shouted, ah, a veteran I thought, "It gets easier from here then?" I enquired,
"Oh no, worse, much worse and it keeps going like this for about the next 26 miles", his voiced tailed off as he pushed into the climb. Not wishing to speak anymore, probably because I couldn't, I didn't ask him to confirm that I had indeed heard him incorrectly and he had actually said 2.6 miles. We pushed on.
Eventually we seemed to round a summit and almost immediately burst forth out of the trees and onto the scene that had played out in some of my other nightmares – we dropped onto the lake. Coming from the UK you don't get many opportunities to run your dogs across frozen lakes; actually you don't get any opportunities to run your dogs across frozen lakes. I of course had seen Iron Will, Eight Below and the Last Trapper (naturally) and I wasn't at all comfortable running the team across the lake. The dogs however didn't seem to mind even when we got out into the centre and the crisp white snow seemed to be taking on a very wet, slushy appearance. As the musher behind me asked me to stop and hold my team on the brake so she could pass I partly stepped off the runners. I could have sworn I sunk up to my knee in very, very wet slush – it
was a warm day and I was convinced the surface ice was melting. As soon as the musher and her team had gone by I was off, she hadn't called trail or asked me to wait and was undoubtedly a lot faster than me –and so we were getting off this lake now. Talking to some of the teams the next day they had faced similar problems on the lake crossing, the snow was very wet in the middle but completely safe but for me out on the trail as we climbed the opposite bank and rose back into the forest another fear that had plagued my mind for the previous week was vanquished, we weren’t going to drown in open water.
As it turned out I hadn't misheard the guy who had told me that the hills kept on climbing for the next 26 miles - it seemed that they did. The remorseless climbing coupled with the 6 to 12" of fresh snow that had fallen the previous night meant that the trails weren't really groomed and the fact that the temperature was climbing steadily towards 0ºC really started to take its toll on the snow, the dogs and on me. I watched the moving average on the gps drop below 10 mph, then 9, then 8. As it touched 7 mph and we hadn't even reached the mid-way checkpoint my heart started sinking again. I had really hoped to do the 60 miles in a little over 8 hours, now with the rate that the average speed was
dropping at I was gong to be lucky to finish in 12 hours.
To make matters worse, on occasions the climbs got so hard and the snow was so deep that my legs locked up, the muscles in my thighs refused to cooperate even to the point that all I could do was stand on the runners and hope the dogs would get us to the top of the next climb. I buoyed myself with the knowledge that I wasn't last, there was still the team I had overtaken and the other team that was due to start immediately after me still hadn't passed me. All was not lost - unless of course they had both scratched!! Of course they have both scratched, that can be the only explanation.
I pulled into the check point at 27 miles absolutely exhausted, I wasn't even half way round yet but I was a physical wreck. "Well done Rob you're going well" one of the checkers shouted "Do you want some water, Rob" another enquired "Oh do I ever, yes please". "Hey, you're English!" a checker with a clip board exclaimed. I stood on the runners looked at him, absolutely drained; a thousand snide and sarcastic witticisms flew across my mind. 'Don't you dare' I thought, these are volunteers who have given up their weekends just so you can run this
race, how dare you even consider being sarcastic. After what seemed like an eternity I croaked that I was. "Fantastic, my brother-in-law is from London, but I guess you don't want to know that, keep going you're doing well". I asked about the two teams behind me, "Oh number 21 never started", my heart sank, "And number 19, has he scratched?". He looked down at his clipboard "I don’t know, sorry Rob, we have had no reports of him out on the trail”. That was it I had to be last. I asked if I could water the dogs and was instructed to pull off the trail further up, despite the heat and the earlier promises it seemed there was no water available for the dogs at the checkpoint. Not too daunted I pulled out of sight of the checkpoint, called the team across to gee over and hooked down. Rules were that you weren’t supposed to snack your team within 6 feet of the
trail – hell there was no one behind me now in the 60 mile race, I could snack anywhere on this section. I opened the toe bag on the front of the sled and reached in to grab the tuna laced ice cubes that would give the dogs some water, what emerged from the sled was a bag of tepid water with tuna pieces floating in it; all three bags of ice cubes had melted. I felt that I needed to get some fluid into the dogs so poured out a small amount of the mixture into the snow in front of each dog, they all ate gleefully taking in snow with the tuna – well something had worked at least. I climbed back on then calling up the dogs and as soon as I popped the hook we were off again.
This checkpoint was exclusively for the 60 and to get to it you pulled off the main trail that was shared with the 250 teams, the first of whom had started out an hour after me; I knew the faster, more competitive teams must be very close to catching me and so as I pulled back onto the main trail I was very aware that at any time a team intent on cashing in on the $4500 first prize could be bearing down on me. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined some serious contender's race. I remembered from the map that there was only about 3 miles before the 60 and the 250 courses split for good so pushed the team on. As the miles wore on I kept checking over my shoulder and then about ½ mile from the divide when I
finally thought I was going to be safe I looked back to see 12 alaskans bearing down on us at some speed. As he caught me on a slight incline I slowed the team even more and he flew past, as ever our guys went for the tow and picked up speed striding out up the incline. As we came over the top though a real problem hit me, we were right on the divide, the 12 dog teams took a sharp 90 degree turn to the right, the 60s had to go straight on, onto a lesser defined trail. Forced to run the Paris/Medea lead combination at Mannsville because my regular leader Poppy had lost the desire to lead after 6 miles, I had realized then that these two yearlings could have real issues with the gee/haw commands; like most
other yearlings they had really good days and really bad days; on the bad days such as Mannsville they wouldn’t take a single turn. If my heart could have sunk any lower it would have done, I had made a huge mistake and was too close to the team in front, there was absolutely no way they would not follow him around the bend. As he called gee and swung immediately to the right I called on by, Paris’ head turned to the right as he watched the team in front, I swear without breaking stride he then looked back at me, “On by Paris” I said in slightly hushed tones. Not a flinch, not a single deviation from the trail dead ahead, as the 12 dog team disappeared round the corner we executed a perfect on by straight onto the 60 trail, I felt such a sense of relief. I looked up to see two marshals on snowmobiles both smiling at me. “Half way point, man” said the
one “I am absolutely knackered” I responded, “Oh don’t worry the last 30 miles are so much easier than the first 30” he said, smiling knowingly. I detected a hint of amusement in his voice, “Do you really expect me to believe that” I quipped and then they too were gone and once again it was just me, eight best friends and the trail ahead.
As it turned out the on by hadn’t been a fluke, Paris and Medea were performing admirably. Slowly I watched the average mph climb up from 5.6 to 5.9 miles per hour and settled there, mile after grueling mile the speed never dropped, we weren’t gong to set any records but I began to feel that we might just finish the race. As we passed the 40 mile mark I decided that the dogs needed to know how far they had to go so as we passed
through each subsequent mile I would give them the count down – “19 miles to go guys, keep it up”, “That’s only 17 miles left”, “3/4 of the race gone now, you’re doing so well”. We would talk about the state of the trail, the snow, how bad the inclines still seemed to be. At 15 miles I ran out of fluids for myself and so if it was good enough for the dogs it was good enough for me, I started dipping for snow, reaching out and grabbing handfuls of clean, white snow and sucking on that to sate my thirst. Medea and Paris continued to perform wonders, every turn called, regardless of whether we were turning off the main trail, or going onto some narrow, undefined trail, they took the turns first time and without question – my admiration just kept growing and growing for the dogs, we were developing into a team and Medea and Paris were developing
into real leaders right before my eyes. However none of these positives could cease the growing sense of trepidation as we approached the 50 mile mark and started into distances over which we had never run before. In the sleepless nights before the race I had images of getting to 50 miles and the dogs just quitting on me, lying down in the snow and saying enough is enough and so as I announced the 10 miles to go mark to the team there must have been a hint of reservation in my voice. The response? Nothing…significant, the guys kept going along at 6 mph, never faster, never slower. They didn’t care that they had never run over such distances before. Earlier in the winter I had been frustrated that
we had trained for stamina and endurance at the expense of speed but now I was glad. And as darkness fell and the flashing red collars were put on the lead dogs we just kept going, every step one step closer to Fort Kent and the finish line. Then eventually there was Fort Kent sprawled out below; we were high in the mountains above the town but we could see the lights, picked up some of the scents and sounds of Saturday night in civilisation on the breeze. And then we started our descent, then our speed picked up just as the trail took on the worst shape it had been in for the whole race. All three races finished on this stretch so 57 other teams had already made this descent today in the soft snow; the centre of the trail barely wide enough for the sled was gouged out in places up to 2 ft deep. The only thing to do was let the dogs find the best places for
themselves to run whilst the sled sat in the ruts at an angle of about 45° with me contorting my body to try to maintain some sense of stability. As the slope got steeper and speed increased even more, thoughts of maintaining balance were replaced with thoughts of maintaining life – there was no point in shutting my eyes, all I could see anyway were the flashing collars of the leaders so I just hung on for dear life. At points the depth of the ruts coupled with the angle of the sled meant that even when pushing the brake fully down I was not contacting snow. Then just as I was sure I was going to die, the descent leveled out and we came to a road – the first sign of tangible civilisation in over 9 hours.
There was still one hurdle left to get over – the Wall. A number of race veterans had warned us about the Wall, ¼ mile from the finish line is the
worse hill on the course, not much longer than the length of the team but vertical. We had traversed a number of small hills since crossing that first road and so as we came upon what could only be the final marshal point crossing one last road I convinced myself that Americans must be prone to exaggeration and the Wall had been so insignificant that I hadn’t even noticed. We swept passed the marshal and round a sharp right hand bend and there it was, a solid mound towering in front of me. The words I uttered at the top of my voice were profound (or should that be profane) indeed even for ears that had been around the Navy for 21 years so they are not for repetition here. The dogs however took it in their stride (why wouldn’t they, they had done so with the rest of the course) and with the sled virtually up above my head I saw the leaders make the
top and take the immediate turn to the left. I swore again, pumped my legs one last time, tried to swear again, wheezed one last breath and then sled and musher joined the team at the summit. By the time I had regained position on the runners and managed to lift my burning chest off the handlebar we were picking up speed once again. As my eyes focused I could see netting, and people and lights and most importantly a banner across the trail with the marvelous words FINISH written across it.
As we drew across the line we were instantly surrounded by people; feigning interest in the internals of my sled bag I once again slumped over the handlebar, exhausted. Although I was aware that there were voices of congratulations all around me I was pretty much oblivious to all
details except that Louise was stood at the front of the team. I needed to get back to the van and so called the dogs on; the dogs tried responding but were being held back. Just as I was about to get annoyed I realized that all these voices were aimed directly at me, trying to engage me in conversation. “We need to check over your dogs”, said one of the vets “And I need to verify that you are still carrying all the mandatory equipment” came another voice. I slumped again and with the sled supporting all my weight proceeded to open the sled bag
and pull out items on demand. Finally the last item checked off, the vet said that the dogs were looking really good and ready to keep going, Louise led the team down the hill, away from the trail and in to the car park.
I have always wondered how I would react if I was ever in the fortunate position to be pulling up to the finish of the Iditarod or Yukon Quest, what sort of bond would I have established with the dogs. As I stood next to the van looking at the guys I knew, tears filled my eyes, I loved these dogs and had utmost admiration for them. Because they had done so much at such a young age I went to Paris and Medea first, all my reservations about their age and lack of experience had come to nothing, they had led from the start and had done a fantastic job. I knelt between then and wrapping my arms around them both wept again. I then went down the line and repeated the act with every dog. We had
spent 800 miles and god knows how many hours together over this winter but today the nine of us had finally become a team.
Back at the hotel some friends we had made on Boot Camp came up to congratulate us for finishing and to invite us out for a Chinese. We thanked them on both counts and said we would probably meet them at the restaurant after we had fed the dogs and let them out for a stretch. After feeding the dogs however I lay down on the bed in the hotel and my body told me we were not going anywhere that night; I slept the sleep of an exhausted but contented musher.
The next morning I would like to say that I awoke refreshed, I didn’t. I had the thick headache that comes after dehydration and too heavy a sleep; the dogs, it is fair to say, were in much better shape. They came out for breakfast as if it was just another normal day, no stiffness, no limping, no swollen wrists. These dogs had just run for over 10 hours constant over 60 miles and through the punchiest trail conditions they had
ever had to endure and here they were showing no signs of fatigue at all. Dogs sorted we checked out of the hotel and drove back up to the ski lodge for the awards breakfast. We were greeted at the door by Tara who had saved us seats at their table. Both Tara and Becky had successfully completed the 30 and exorcised their demons as well. As they discussed their plans in jubilant tones for possibly running the 60 next year I lent over to Louise and whispered that she was to hit me hard if I even once considered signing up for the 250 come registration day on August 1 2007. I had put massive and undue pressure on myself to make the 60 this year and had asked the team to perform miracles and
despite the fact that we had achieved the goals I learnt a lot of valuable lessons in the process; our three year plan could be extended and revised. Nonetheless looking around the packed hall, filled with smiling faces, I felt a huge sense of achievement, we had completed our first 60 mile race, the dogs had finished strongly and not only were we not last there were in fact three other teams behind us. I smiled then and I think I kept smiling for the whole of the 8 hour drive home. Even now whenever I look at Paris and Medea I feel a huge welling up of pride inside, I had read about these bonds between musher and lead dog but never really understood what it meant, the Can Am 60 has started me on the road to understanding and truly developing that bond.
The most grueling race in the east of North America? For me certainly this has been by far the most difficult race to date. The Iditarod of the East? Who am I to comment; I will say however that the winner of the 2007 Can Am 250 and an Iditarod veteran was heard to say that the hills on the 250 course were worse than anything on the Iditarod. Looking forward to the 60 next year? I wish I could say yes but I know what to expect now – I am looking forward to seeing how much the team have improved by. A massive sense of achievement? You had better believe it!
Rob
Termed by many as the Iditarod of the East or the most grueling race on the Eastern side of North America, the Can Am is in fact three races in one, the 30 mile 6 dog, 60 mile 8 dog and the elite 250 mile 12 dog race. All three races begin in Downtown, Fort Kent in northern Maine on the first Saturday morning in March and finish at the ski lodge in Fort Kent at varying times over the next 4 to 5 days.
When we came across to North America we based our plans for the three years that we knew we would be in Canada for around the Can Am. First year we intended to combine the two three dog teams we ran in the UK and enter the 30, following year we would add in the two pups we brought over with us from the UK, Penkhala’s Keelut and Medea, and run the 60 and then all being well, and provided our plans for a Poppy x Fya (Penkhala’s Poppaea x Huskidoo Lesmok Mhofyr) mating worked, we would enter the 250 in the third year – a sound plan albeit conceived by a naïve mind. As with every good plan our’s failed to survive first contact with the enemy – in this case weather and the van. Snow conditions for our first winter in Nova Scotia were unusually atrocious (or so we thought at the time) and this coupled with the fact that our van spent the
entire winter in the garage meant that 2 weeks before we were due to run in the Can Am 30 we pulled out citing lack of sled experience and most importantly extreme lack of training and preparation for the dogs – that turned out to be the best decision we made the whole winter; as we found out the Can Am truly is a grueling race and not the place for an under prepared team.
And so coming into winter 2006/07 and deciding to stick to the plan, the Can Am 60 was our main focus for the season. This was the race we were training for, all other races were entered with the intent of getting the dogs ready for the Can Am. Having withdrawn from the race in 2006 we were doubly determined to run the 60 this year. However with the winter proving to be even worse in terms of lack of snow than 05/06 (who say’s Al Gore has got it all wrong) and with things having not gone at all well at Tahquamenon and Stratford races we started to have serious reservations again about our preparations and the validity of the decision to do what was for us such a long race. Our concerns over the validity
of the decision to do the 60 mile race was compounded by the fact that we were running 5 yearlings in the team (in addition to the two puppies we brought over with us we had also bought 3 pups from the Kelim and Sibersong kennels), everyone had warned us not to expect too much from yearlings and here we were asking 5 dogs under 20 months old to make up the core of our team. However, and despite the fact that by the end of February the longest single training session we had as a team was 50 miles, we had cumulatively acquired over 800 miles on the dogs this winter and so with some reservations (especially about racing in the 60 – I spent almost the entire week before the race trying to drop to the
30) we set off on the 8 hour drive to Fort Kent on the Thursday before the race.
The journey up and the Thursday night in Fort Kent were pretty uneventful, unfortunately the vehicle problems that had blighted us again this
winter came back with a vengeance on the Friday morning, 24 hours before our biggest race ever. The van was consistently proving incapable of surviving in the extreme cold and on the Friday morning, after night time temperatures down around the –20°C mark, repeated failures to start was followed by a rather large oil leak and then almost immediately by a stream of fuel pouring out of the back of the engine. Although 24 hours from the official start of the race we still needed to get all the dogs up to the ski lodge to register and have the dogs examined by the vets. At 1400 hours when we were supposed to be at the ski lodge registering the team we were sat in a garage in Fort Kent watching a mechanic who admitted to having never seen a VW van before, strip down the engine and fuel pump.
At 1500, an hour after our allotted time to have the dogs checked over, the mechanic started the van. He peered under the bonnet and came
out very grim faced - "Its still leaking" he said, my heart sank completely - I was going to scratch, enough was enough. "No, I'm only joking, its good" he smiled; I guess I may have smiled back at him too. To cut a long and tedious story short the mechanic had performed miracles, we raced up to the ski lodge, registered for the race, all the dogs passed their checks (although I thought Poppy's shoulder injury incurred earlier in the year was going to come back and haunt us), we listened intently at the mushers meeting (only slightly daunted by all the mushing experience in the room) and all that was left was to get a good night's sleep - fat chance. I had been surviving on 4 hours sleep a night for the previous week, waking up every time the dogs refused to leave the starting chute, or when they left but with me lying in the snow behind them. We had resolved that Poppy and Fya would lead the team out of Fort Kent and although I had real concerns about either of them running at lead they were the dogs that were least likely to baulk at the 3000+ people forecast to line the streets. Nonetheless the decision to go with experienced dogs at lead didn't ease my concerns or allow me to sleep any better and so at 0530 on Saturday morning, after another restless night, we arose to race day.
The first worry of the day came to naught, the van started first time and so we were able to take the short drive down the high street from the hotel to the starting area. Once there we busied ourselves getting the sled ready, ensuring all the mandatory equipment was there and everything was ready to go. Developing into a nervous wreck as our starting time got ever closer and the crowds continued to build, I
wandered off to wish Tara and Becki luck (both also Can Am novices and both running in the 30 - how I wished I was running in the 30) and to steal Tara's friend and handler, Ray, to help get us to the starting chute. As we watched the first teams get underway I made the decision, I turned to Louise and announced that I was running Paris at lead, when my reply to her query as to whether this was Paris and Fya or Paris and Poppy (remember the decision based on restless nights) and my reply was "Don't be daft, Paris and Medea", I was going to lead out with two yearlings, one the youngest dog on the team and the other not at all comfortable around people and especially noisy crowds. Louise looked at me as if I had finally gone mad - I think by this stage I probably had.
Slowly as the seconds ticked on past the 0800 race start time more teams began to pull out of our parking area and as teams numbers 10 and 11 moved into line I decided it was time to hook the team up. I had earlier booted and harnessed the majority of the team but still had Hektor to harness and boot as he has always been a harness eater when getting ready to run and at Stratford I found out that he had also learnt to remove his own boots - not a problem if he left them on the side of the cage in a neat pile, but Hektor being Hektor has to go one stage
further and try to eat the boots. Having got all the other dogs hooked up I climbed back in to the van to sort out Hektor, as I opened the cage door he came flying out, head butted me just below the chin and knocked me back across the van and into the other cages. I picked myself up as best I could and then for what seemed like an eternity we played the game where I tried to get the harness on Hektor and Hektor tried to get out of the van. I won the battle (just) but Hektor won the war - I was not going to try booting him at least until we were on the trail, out of town and he had used up a bit of his energy.
So 8 dogs hooked up, Louise, Ray and the other helpers (volunteers one and all) holding the team back we edged into line listening intently to the noise of the announcer, the shrieks from the crowd and the excitement of all the dogs. I composed myself, looked around and suddenly realized that there was no way out; I was in what felt like a narrow tunnel of people and with more teams joining the line up behind me I could only go forward. All of a sudden, and a bit like Moses but without the bushy beard (yet) it seemed like the crowds parted and there was clear trail ahead of me (shadowed on either side by hundreds if not thousands of people I would add) and the announcer was calling me into the start
chute. Two minutes until complete embarrassment, I'm going to fall off, the dogs won't run, they'll be petrified of the crowds - why oh why did I go with Paris and Medea at lead, there is no way they will get through these crowds. Last minute hugs for the dogs, good luck wishes from everyone, onto the runners and away.
As soon as we cleared the starting chute a small girl yelled in excitement, in that split second it was as if my vision tunneled completely and all I could see was Medea at lead - she flinched and noticeably veered to the right, my heart sank - the nightmares were coming true, we were going to stop or worse still throw me off. And then a change, a wave of confidence seemed to surge backwards from Medea and Paris at lead and as it washed over me we picked up speed and nothing was going to stop us getting out of town now. I relaxed on the runners, started waving back to all the well wishers and even found my voice to reply to the cries of "Go Canada" with "Go Britain". We swept down towards the river, under the bridge up next to the semi-frozen river and back up and across the road. Before I knew it we were making a gee onto the Heritage Trail on the outskirts of town and, for us, setting quite a reasonable pace despite the fact that I was using the drag mat mercilessly to keep the speed down - wow this was easy!!
As we progressed along the relatively flat and very well groomed snow mobile trail things started to improve even more - we passed a team, we actually passed a team in a race for the first time since 2005 - my penultimate nightmare wasn't going to be realised, I wasn't going to come
last. Not to say of course I wasn't also passed, even before we had got off the snow mobile trail and onto the more challenging Can Am trails proper I had already been overtaken by at least 4 other teams but I was used to that, especially as they were all hounds or alaskans - still I wasn't going to be last!! A bit of misplaced exuberance perhaps especially when there was still about 56 miles of trail ahead of us.
Almost as soon as we turned off the relative flat of the snow mobile trail we hit the first hill, and boy what a hill. As we crawled up the hill I kept checking back over my shoulder watching the ever growing dot of a musher catching up with me. This was going to be typical, why couldn't he have caught me at the bottom of the hill and given me a tow all the way up. However the hill seemed endless and we were still on a vertical incline as he passed me. "Man this hill kills me every year" he shouted, ah, a veteran I thought, "It gets easier from here then?" I enquired,
"Oh no, worse, much worse and it keeps going like this for about the next 26 miles", his voiced tailed off as he pushed into the climb. Not wishing to speak anymore, probably because I couldn't, I didn't ask him to confirm that I had indeed heard him incorrectly and he had actually said 2.6 miles. We pushed on.
Eventually we seemed to round a summit and almost immediately burst forth out of the trees and onto the scene that had played out in some of my other nightmares – we dropped onto the lake. Coming from the UK you don't get many opportunities to run your dogs across frozen lakes; actually you don't get any opportunities to run your dogs across frozen lakes. I of course had seen Iron Will, Eight Below and the Last Trapper (naturally) and I wasn't at all comfortable running the team across the lake. The dogs however didn't seem to mind even when we got out into the centre and the crisp white snow seemed to be taking on a very wet, slushy appearance. As the musher behind me asked me to stop and hold my team on the brake so she could pass I partly stepped off the runners. I could have sworn I sunk up to my knee in very, very wet slush – it
was a warm day and I was convinced the surface ice was melting. As soon as the musher and her team had gone by I was off, she hadn't called trail or asked me to wait and was undoubtedly a lot faster than me –and so we were getting off this lake now. Talking to some of the teams the next day they had faced similar problems on the lake crossing, the snow was very wet in the middle but completely safe but for me out on the trail as we climbed the opposite bank and rose back into the forest another fear that had plagued my mind for the previous week was vanquished, we weren’t going to drown in open water.
As it turned out I hadn't misheard the guy who had told me that the hills kept on climbing for the next 26 miles - it seemed that they did. The remorseless climbing coupled with the 6 to 12" of fresh snow that had fallen the previous night meant that the trails weren't really groomed and the fact that the temperature was climbing steadily towards 0ºC really started to take its toll on the snow, the dogs and on me. I watched the moving average on the gps drop below 10 mph, then 9, then 8. As it touched 7 mph and we hadn't even reached the mid-way checkpoint my heart started sinking again. I had really hoped to do the 60 miles in a little over 8 hours, now with the rate that the average speed was
dropping at I was gong to be lucky to finish in 12 hours.
To make matters worse, on occasions the climbs got so hard and the snow was so deep that my legs locked up, the muscles in my thighs refused to cooperate even to the point that all I could do was stand on the runners and hope the dogs would get us to the top of the next climb. I buoyed myself with the knowledge that I wasn't last, there was still the team I had overtaken and the other team that was due to start immediately after me still hadn't passed me. All was not lost - unless of course they had both scratched!! Of course they have both scratched, that can be the only explanation.
I pulled into the check point at 27 miles absolutely exhausted, I wasn't even half way round yet but I was a physical wreck. "Well done Rob you're going well" one of the checkers shouted "Do you want some water, Rob" another enquired "Oh do I ever, yes please". "Hey, you're English!" a checker with a clip board exclaimed. I stood on the runners looked at him, absolutely drained; a thousand snide and sarcastic witticisms flew across my mind. 'Don't you dare' I thought, these are volunteers who have given up their weekends just so you can run this
race, how dare you even consider being sarcastic. After what seemed like an eternity I croaked that I was. "Fantastic, my brother-in-law is from London, but I guess you don't want to know that, keep going you're doing well". I asked about the two teams behind me, "Oh number 21 never started", my heart sank, "And number 19, has he scratched?". He looked down at his clipboard "I don’t know, sorry Rob, we have had no reports of him out on the trail”. That was it I had to be last. I asked if I could water the dogs and was instructed to pull off the trail further up, despite the heat and the earlier promises it seemed there was no water available for the dogs at the checkpoint. Not too daunted I pulled out of sight of the checkpoint, called the team across to gee over and hooked down. Rules were that you weren’t supposed to snack your team within 6 feet of the
trail – hell there was no one behind me now in the 60 mile race, I could snack anywhere on this section. I opened the toe bag on the front of the sled and reached in to grab the tuna laced ice cubes that would give the dogs some water, what emerged from the sled was a bag of tepid water with tuna pieces floating in it; all three bags of ice cubes had melted. I felt that I needed to get some fluid into the dogs so poured out a small amount of the mixture into the snow in front of each dog, they all ate gleefully taking in snow with the tuna – well something had worked at least. I climbed back on then calling up the dogs and as soon as I popped the hook we were off again.
This checkpoint was exclusively for the 60 and to get to it you pulled off the main trail that was shared with the 250 teams, the first of whom had started out an hour after me; I knew the faster, more competitive teams must be very close to catching me and so as I pulled back onto the main trail I was very aware that at any time a team intent on cashing in on the $4500 first prize could be bearing down on me. I didn’t want to be the one who ruined some serious contender's race. I remembered from the map that there was only about 3 miles before the 60 and the 250 courses split for good so pushed the team on. As the miles wore on I kept checking over my shoulder and then about ½ mile from the divide when I
finally thought I was going to be safe I looked back to see 12 alaskans bearing down on us at some speed. As he caught me on a slight incline I slowed the team even more and he flew past, as ever our guys went for the tow and picked up speed striding out up the incline. As we came over the top though a real problem hit me, we were right on the divide, the 12 dog teams took a sharp 90 degree turn to the right, the 60s had to go straight on, onto a lesser defined trail. Forced to run the Paris/Medea lead combination at Mannsville because my regular leader Poppy had lost the desire to lead after 6 miles, I had realized then that these two yearlings could have real issues with the gee/haw commands; like most
other yearlings they had really good days and really bad days; on the bad days such as Mannsville they wouldn’t take a single turn. If my heart could have sunk any lower it would have done, I had made a huge mistake and was too close to the team in front, there was absolutely no way they would not follow him around the bend. As he called gee and swung immediately to the right I called on by, Paris’ head turned to the right as he watched the team in front, I swear without breaking stride he then looked back at me, “On by Paris” I said in slightly hushed tones. Not a flinch, not a single deviation from the trail dead ahead, as the 12 dog team disappeared round the corner we executed a perfect on by straight onto the 60 trail, I felt such a sense of relief. I looked up to see two marshals on snowmobiles both smiling at me. “Half way point, man” said the
one “I am absolutely knackered” I responded, “Oh don’t worry the last 30 miles are so much easier than the first 30” he said, smiling knowingly. I detected a hint of amusement in his voice, “Do you really expect me to believe that” I quipped and then they too were gone and once again it was just me, eight best friends and the trail ahead.
As it turned out the on by hadn’t been a fluke, Paris and Medea were performing admirably. Slowly I watched the average mph climb up from 5.6 to 5.9 miles per hour and settled there, mile after grueling mile the speed never dropped, we weren’t gong to set any records but I began to feel that we might just finish the race. As we passed the 40 mile mark I decided that the dogs needed to know how far they had to go so as we passed
through each subsequent mile I would give them the count down – “19 miles to go guys, keep it up”, “That’s only 17 miles left”, “3/4 of the race gone now, you’re doing so well”. We would talk about the state of the trail, the snow, how bad the inclines still seemed to be. At 15 miles I ran out of fluids for myself and so if it was good enough for the dogs it was good enough for me, I started dipping for snow, reaching out and grabbing handfuls of clean, white snow and sucking on that to sate my thirst. Medea and Paris continued to perform wonders, every turn called, regardless of whether we were turning off the main trail, or going onto some narrow, undefined trail, they took the turns first time and without question – my admiration just kept growing and growing for the dogs, we were developing into a team and Medea and Paris were developing
into real leaders right before my eyes. However none of these positives could cease the growing sense of trepidation as we approached the 50 mile mark and started into distances over which we had never run before. In the sleepless nights before the race I had images of getting to 50 miles and the dogs just quitting on me, lying down in the snow and saying enough is enough and so as I announced the 10 miles to go mark to the team there must have been a hint of reservation in my voice. The response? Nothing…significant, the guys kept going along at 6 mph, never faster, never slower. They didn’t care that they had never run over such distances before. Earlier in the winter I had been frustrated that
we had trained for stamina and endurance at the expense of speed but now I was glad. And as darkness fell and the flashing red collars were put on the lead dogs we just kept going, every step one step closer to Fort Kent and the finish line. Then eventually there was Fort Kent sprawled out below; we were high in the mountains above the town but we could see the lights, picked up some of the scents and sounds of Saturday night in civilisation on the breeze. And then we started our descent, then our speed picked up just as the trail took on the worst shape it had been in for the whole race. All three races finished on this stretch so 57 other teams had already made this descent today in the soft snow; the centre of the trail barely wide enough for the sled was gouged out in places up to 2 ft deep. The only thing to do was let the dogs find the best places for
themselves to run whilst the sled sat in the ruts at an angle of about 45° with me contorting my body to try to maintain some sense of stability. As the slope got steeper and speed increased even more, thoughts of maintaining balance were replaced with thoughts of maintaining life – there was no point in shutting my eyes, all I could see anyway were the flashing collars of the leaders so I just hung on for dear life. At points the depth of the ruts coupled with the angle of the sled meant that even when pushing the brake fully down I was not contacting snow. Then just as I was sure I was going to die, the descent leveled out and we came to a road – the first sign of tangible civilisation in over 9 hours.
There was still one hurdle left to get over – the Wall. A number of race veterans had warned us about the Wall, ¼ mile from the finish line is the
worse hill on the course, not much longer than the length of the team but vertical. We had traversed a number of small hills since crossing that first road and so as we came upon what could only be the final marshal point crossing one last road I convinced myself that Americans must be prone to exaggeration and the Wall had been so insignificant that I hadn’t even noticed. We swept passed the marshal and round a sharp right hand bend and there it was, a solid mound towering in front of me. The words I uttered at the top of my voice were profound (or should that be profane) indeed even for ears that had been around the Navy for 21 years so they are not for repetition here. The dogs however took it in their stride (why wouldn’t they, they had done so with the rest of the course) and with the sled virtually up above my head I saw the leaders make the
top and take the immediate turn to the left. I swore again, pumped my legs one last time, tried to swear again, wheezed one last breath and then sled and musher joined the team at the summit. By the time I had regained position on the runners and managed to lift my burning chest off the handlebar we were picking up speed once again. As my eyes focused I could see netting, and people and lights and most importantly a banner across the trail with the marvelous words FINISH written across it.
As we drew across the line we were instantly surrounded by people; feigning interest in the internals of my sled bag I once again slumped over the handlebar, exhausted. Although I was aware that there were voices of congratulations all around me I was pretty much oblivious to all
details except that Louise was stood at the front of the team. I needed to get back to the van and so called the dogs on; the dogs tried responding but were being held back. Just as I was about to get annoyed I realized that all these voices were aimed directly at me, trying to engage me in conversation. “We need to check over your dogs”, said one of the vets “And I need to verify that you are still carrying all the mandatory equipment” came another voice. I slumped again and with the sled supporting all my weight proceeded to open the sled bag
and pull out items on demand. Finally the last item checked off, the vet said that the dogs were looking really good and ready to keep going, Louise led the team down the hill, away from the trail and in to the car park.
I have always wondered how I would react if I was ever in the fortunate position to be pulling up to the finish of the Iditarod or Yukon Quest, what sort of bond would I have established with the dogs. As I stood next to the van looking at the guys I knew, tears filled my eyes, I loved these dogs and had utmost admiration for them. Because they had done so much at such a young age I went to Paris and Medea first, all my reservations about their age and lack of experience had come to nothing, they had led from the start and had done a fantastic job. I knelt between then and wrapping my arms around them both wept again. I then went down the line and repeated the act with every dog. We had
spent 800 miles and god knows how many hours together over this winter but today the nine of us had finally become a team.
Back at the hotel some friends we had made on Boot Camp came up to congratulate us for finishing and to invite us out for a Chinese. We thanked them on both counts and said we would probably meet them at the restaurant after we had fed the dogs and let them out for a stretch. After feeding the dogs however I lay down on the bed in the hotel and my body told me we were not going anywhere that night; I slept the sleep of an exhausted but contented musher.
The next morning I would like to say that I awoke refreshed, I didn’t. I had the thick headache that comes after dehydration and too heavy a sleep; the dogs, it is fair to say, were in much better shape. They came out for breakfast as if it was just another normal day, no stiffness, no limping, no swollen wrists. These dogs had just run for over 10 hours constant over 60 miles and through the punchiest trail conditions they had
ever had to endure and here they were showing no signs of fatigue at all. Dogs sorted we checked out of the hotel and drove back up to the ski lodge for the awards breakfast. We were greeted at the door by Tara who had saved us seats at their table. Both Tara and Becky had successfully completed the 30 and exorcised their demons as well. As they discussed their plans in jubilant tones for possibly running the 60 next year I lent over to Louise and whispered that she was to hit me hard if I even once considered signing up for the 250 come registration day on August 1 2007. I had put massive and undue pressure on myself to make the 60 this year and had asked the team to perform miracles and
despite the fact that we had achieved the goals I learnt a lot of valuable lessons in the process; our three year plan could be extended and revised. Nonetheless looking around the packed hall, filled with smiling faces, I felt a huge sense of achievement, we had completed our first 60 mile race, the dogs had finished strongly and not only were we not last there were in fact three other teams behind us. I smiled then and I think I kept smiling for the whole of the 8 hour drive home. Even now whenever I look at Paris and Medea I feel a huge welling up of pride inside, I had read about these bonds between musher and lead dog but never really understood what it meant, the Can Am 60 has started me on the road to understanding and truly developing that bond.
The most grueling race in the east of North America? For me certainly this has been by far the most difficult race to date. The Iditarod of the East? Who am I to comment; I will say however that the winner of the 2007 Can Am 250 and an Iditarod veteran was heard to say that the hills on the 250 course were worse than anything on the Iditarod. Looking forward to the 60 next year? I wish I could say yes but I know what to expect now – I am looking forward to seeing how much the team have improved by. A massive sense of achievement? You had better believe it!
Rob
