Not every decision is a bad decision, sometimes I can make the right decision but it may just take a little longer than anticipated.
Climbing up and over the portage and dropping into Unalakleet you could be forgiven for thinking that you are on the final leg of Iditarod. With only around 260 miles and about ¼ of the checkpoints left you may think that the worst of the Iditarod is behind you, you may be wrong, you are wrong, very wrong. Pretty much as soon as you leave Old Woman Cabin it feels like the landscape is changing, becoming a lot more barren, more exposed to the elements. Trees, and shelter, seem much harder to come by and coming out of rolling hills, onto the Unalakleet River and then onto the coast you get the sense that from here to the finish you are going to be on a different type of trail, a type of trail that those of us used to inland, forest based mushing are not accustomed to. There are no long runs left any more: 40 miles from Unalakleet to Shaktoolik, 50 more to Koyuk, 48 from Koyuk to Elim, 46 from Elim to the final 8 hour layover in White Mountain; even the final 77 miles from White Mountain to Nome can be broken up 22 miles short of the finish line by the possible checkpoint at Safety (why would you call anywhere Safety??); with checkpoints so nicely spaced apart running the trail should be easy right? You may also think that the terrain is going to be pretty benign, you are on the coast after all. For large parts of the trail you are either running on the sea ice or along the coast line, pretty flat right? WRONG. Checkpoints may be relatively close but they are separated by exposed trail and some pretty challenging ascents. To get from Unalakleet to Shaktoolik you first have to climb up and over the Blueberry Hills and then have an extremely open and exposed run across glare ice into the checkpoint, with only a natural sea wall on your left protecting you from the Bering Sea. Shak to Koyuk is 50 flat miles – on the Norton Sound – you are on sea ice and out to sea – with the ever present danger that a storm could blow up and/or the ice could break up and start taking you even further out to sea. Koyuk to Elim may follow the coast line but there is little or no cover, and only one shelter cabin that I can recall, and a couple of blow holes can reduce visibility in an instance. Elim to White Mountain will have you back out on the sea ice before a very exposed, and deceptively steep climb up and over Little McKinley before you are back onto the featureless sea ice of Golovin Bay. Out of White Mountain you have a series of seemingly endless and ever steeper climbs through the Topkoks before dropping back onto the Bering Sea coastline, this time with no sea wall protection, a few shelter cabins and more blow holes. Safety to Nome has the short but demoralising climb over Cape Nome before the run on the beach into Nome itself. None of these final 260 miles are easy, and that is even before you factor in the unpredictable and hostile weather that can change, and blow up, in an instant.
That is not to say that the views, when you can see them, and/or take them in, aren’t incredible; there is a rush, of sorts, to know that you are running dogs on the ocean and death may only be a few short miles away (or closer). It may take forever to reach Nome after first catching a glimpse of it, but still you know that Front Street and the Burled Arch is now within reach. And then there are the checkpoints, probably some of the most hospitable, welcoming and most welcome checkpoints on the race. Unalakleet, or UNK as it is often affectionately termed, is one of the larger communities on the Bering Sea coast. Because of its larger area it is referred to as a hub, other communities have air services into UNK to connect with larger flights back to civilisation. Dog parking is in a sheltered spot on the ice in front of the checkpoint with snow berms having been constructed to protect the resting teams from the elements. The checkpoint itself is large and airy, there is always a buzz about the place no matter what time of day or night; there are showers for those who can rustle up the means of showering; there are single bedrooms with warm, comfortable beds and bedding (so no need for trail conditioned sleeping bags and their associated odours) and doors you can close onto the hubbub of the stream of volunteers and well wishers who congregate around the tables; there is a large TV on the wall so you can see images of Dallas winning the race once again, helping you realise just how far behind you are; there is pizza delivery and a tradition that fans from all around the world call in and have pizza(s) delivered to their favourite mushers (and you can bet that if there isn’t one with your name on, another musher will be sharing theirs); and then to top it off there is a kitchen staffed by volunteers and an endless supply of bacon, eggs and coffee. It is hard to leave UNK. Shaktoolik is a small and very exposed indigenous community again sat right on the Bering Sea; I have often wondered, when coming into some of the smaller, more remote communities, why people chose to remain there and eke out a tough subsistence lifestyle; but the trappings of a commercialised, throw-away globalised society are not for everyone and there is beauty and unreserved hospitality in communities such as Shaktoolik. On both my runs up the coast it has always been a great relief to pull in to Koyuk, you are off, and away from, the dangers of Norton Sound; the rest of the run may be exposed but maybe not quite as exposed and daunting as the previous 50 miles were. The checkpoint is in the heart of the community, dog teams are parked all along the road leading away from the community center, there is a quiet, secluded sleeping area and plenty of freshly cooked food and there are families … everywhere, it seems that everyone in the community comes out to see just about every musher and there are children constantly running around and chatting to the dogs (and not always appreciated by the dogs – on both of my stops there, in ’15 and ’16, Nutter spent his entire ‘resting’ period telling the kids to play elsewhere).
The checkpoint in Elim is in the community fire hall; dog teams are scattered around the parking area, if you arrive there at night it feels like the volunteers are leading you through a maze to your parking spot only to realise the following morning that these skilled parkers have placed you with an easy and direct run out of the checkpoint when your time comes to leave. The checkpoint building itself is small and can be a bit cramped, sleeping is wherever you can find a space on the floor, with a constant stream of volunteers and arriving and departing mushers tripping over you. There is however a functional, and welcome toilet, copious quantities of coffee and with a little over 100 miles to the finish line conversations can be light, amusing and welcome. As I sat chatting to race judge Karen Ramstead in 2015 I heard sounds of a dog fight, just outside the checkpoint door. Dog fights this far into the race are unusual as the dogs are normally into the swing of sleeping whenever the opportunity arises. Initially I listened, thinking that it would be a short lived spat, then I realised that my team was parked right outside the door and so it could well be my team fighting, a rare occurrence in a checkpoint as I was normally really mindful of who slept next who and I was always careful to remove food bowls and uneaten food before leaving the dogs to sleep. Running outside I could see that Nyx had Hektor pinned to the floor and was really laying into him; with the help of a few people around me we hauled Nyx off Hektor. Fortunately there was no broken skin, nor any signs of bruising or muscle or tendon damage but Hektor looked totally dejected. 9 1/2 years old and my number one leader for the previous 8 years, this was going to be Hektor’s final race, he is totally non-aggressive, always leading by example, not force; I cannot recall him ever getting in to a fight, it was just not his thing but he was clearly upset by the fight. Every time Hektor had been in harness since a young puppy he had given me 110%, probably even more; he was so enthusiastic when hooked-up as a yearling that I didn’t think he would have the stamina and endurance to be a distance dog, but here he was, a finisher of multiple mid and long distance races and I wanted this Iditarod to be his final, special race. He was focused, driven, smart, intelligent, a great leader, and all round perfect sled dog. He had given me so much and in return I wanted to take him to Nome but now, for the first time at any race ever, he looked sad. I was so mad at Nyx that he could bring out this sadness in Hektor on his final race. I swapped a couple of dogs around so that Hektor could be more relaxed and hopefully get some more sleep, and headed back inside to finish my own rest.
A few of us rookies had teamed up to cross the Norton Sound out of Shaktoolik in the ebb of a storm and leaving Elim we were still running close together. Poor sea ice on the Bering Sea out of Elim meant we were taking the not often travelled in winter land route over to Little McKinley, down onto Golovin Bay and on into White Mountain. We left Elim late into the morning, progress was very slow as a consequence of some pretty good climbs and a too warm afternoon, but as evening came we found ourselves running well into White Mountain, what will be for most people the final checkpoint stop on Iditarod and our final 8 hour mandatory break on the race – after this it would be 77 non-stop miles to the finish. As I was feeding and bedding down the dogs I kept fussing around Hektor, he still looked really miserable; I was not used to seeing him like this. Desperate that he should be with us as we crossed the finish line, after they had completed their check of the whole team, I had the vets check over Hektor again, specifically to make sure there was no physical reason for him to look so sad and to ensure he was good to finish; he received a clean bill of health.
My goal on the 8 hour rest is that the dogs should get at least 6 hours sleep, or at least as much as they could with a constant stream of teams coming and going. Once the dogs are sorted and the sled and drop bags repacked, I will head up the hill into the checkpoint building to fill a bottle for my own drugs’ test, have one last trail meal before Nome and hopefully grab 4 to 5 hours sleep of my own – I want to be looking my best when we would hit the nightspots of Nome the next afternoon/evening. Sleeping in White Mountain is not necessarily the easiest, some are able to crash out in the main room but for most, sleeping was in what appeared to be a very small broom closet off to the side of the main seating area. A small, confined, airless room and a dozen or so mushers 11 days into a race that had recently turned warm can be a somewhat noxious and cramped experienced. As it was I couldn’t sleep; all I could think about was how sad Hektor had looked but how much I wanted him to be on the team when we crossed the finish line. I eventually gave up on trying to sleep and went back into the kitchen to chat and drink coffee. About 50 minutes before our scheduled out time I wandered back down the hill to start getting everything ready. As I started to bootie the team Hektor stood, if it was possible, with slumped shoulders, he looked exceptionally depressed. I grabbed a vet and as I continued to get the dogs ready had Hektor fully checked over again, still a clean bill of health and the vet was confident that he would be good to finish. As I bootied Hektor then the wheel dogs I knew he could finish and I knew I was desperate for him to finish, but he looked so down. Then with five minutes until my 8 hours was up it suddenly struck me that Hektor didn’t care about Nome, finish lines or Burled Arches. He is a very stoic and has always hidden injuries from me in an effort to avoid getting dropped so he could remain with his team. But stoic or not, and knowing that he would do anything I asked, he would run to Nome if that was my decision, I could tell that he had had enough, he didn’t want or care about finishing the race; it was my ego that wanted him to finish and I could not ask him to continue just for my own satisfaction. I rushed around and found a free vet, signed the paperwork to drop Hektor and still left the checkpoint bang on 8 hours. And Hektor? Well Hektor arrived in Nome well ahead of us and was the first Shaytaan Siberian Husky to stand under the Burled Arch as he happily awaited the arrival of him team mates.
As I sit here and write this now, as we follow online the closing out of the 2021 Iditarod, we have another decision to make for Hektor and this is a lot harder and there is no one to advise this time. After almost 16 years together, after so many trail miles, so many races, so many adventures, the time has come for Hektor to set off on his next adventure. Unfortunately this will be pretty much his first adventure in the last 15 years that we are not embarking on together. I eventually made the right decision for Hektor in 2015 and it is now time to make the right decision for him now; he has worked hard his whole life, been there to face every challenge head on, fixed all of my poor decisions but now it is time for him to rest and sleep.
Climbing up and over the portage and dropping into Unalakleet you could be forgiven for thinking that you are on the final leg of Iditarod. With only around 260 miles and about ¼ of the checkpoints left you may think that the worst of the Iditarod is behind you, you may be wrong, you are wrong, very wrong. Pretty much as soon as you leave Old Woman Cabin it feels like the landscape is changing, becoming a lot more barren, more exposed to the elements. Trees, and shelter, seem much harder to come by and coming out of rolling hills, onto the Unalakleet River and then onto the coast you get the sense that from here to the finish you are going to be on a different type of trail, a type of trail that those of us used to inland, forest based mushing are not accustomed to. There are no long runs left any more: 40 miles from Unalakleet to Shaktoolik, 50 more to Koyuk, 48 from Koyuk to Elim, 46 from Elim to the final 8 hour layover in White Mountain; even the final 77 miles from White Mountain to Nome can be broken up 22 miles short of the finish line by the possible checkpoint at Safety (why would you call anywhere Safety??); with checkpoints so nicely spaced apart running the trail should be easy right? You may also think that the terrain is going to be pretty benign, you are on the coast after all. For large parts of the trail you are either running on the sea ice or along the coast line, pretty flat right? WRONG. Checkpoints may be relatively close but they are separated by exposed trail and some pretty challenging ascents. To get from Unalakleet to Shaktoolik you first have to climb up and over the Blueberry Hills and then have an extremely open and exposed run across glare ice into the checkpoint, with only a natural sea wall on your left protecting you from the Bering Sea. Shak to Koyuk is 50 flat miles – on the Norton Sound – you are on sea ice and out to sea – with the ever present danger that a storm could blow up and/or the ice could break up and start taking you even further out to sea. Koyuk to Elim may follow the coast line but there is little or no cover, and only one shelter cabin that I can recall, and a couple of blow holes can reduce visibility in an instance. Elim to White Mountain will have you back out on the sea ice before a very exposed, and deceptively steep climb up and over Little McKinley before you are back onto the featureless sea ice of Golovin Bay. Out of White Mountain you have a series of seemingly endless and ever steeper climbs through the Topkoks before dropping back onto the Bering Sea coastline, this time with no sea wall protection, a few shelter cabins and more blow holes. Safety to Nome has the short but demoralising climb over Cape Nome before the run on the beach into Nome itself. None of these final 260 miles are easy, and that is even before you factor in the unpredictable and hostile weather that can change, and blow up, in an instant.
That is not to say that the views, when you can see them, and/or take them in, aren’t incredible; there is a rush, of sorts, to know that you are running dogs on the ocean and death may only be a few short miles away (or closer). It may take forever to reach Nome after first catching a glimpse of it, but still you know that Front Street and the Burled Arch is now within reach. And then there are the checkpoints, probably some of the most hospitable, welcoming and most welcome checkpoints on the race. Unalakleet, or UNK as it is often affectionately termed, is one of the larger communities on the Bering Sea coast. Because of its larger area it is referred to as a hub, other communities have air services into UNK to connect with larger flights back to civilisation. Dog parking is in a sheltered spot on the ice in front of the checkpoint with snow berms having been constructed to protect the resting teams from the elements. The checkpoint itself is large and airy, there is always a buzz about the place no matter what time of day or night; there are showers for those who can rustle up the means of showering; there are single bedrooms with warm, comfortable beds and bedding (so no need for trail conditioned sleeping bags and their associated odours) and doors you can close onto the hubbub of the stream of volunteers and well wishers who congregate around the tables; there is a large TV on the wall so you can see images of Dallas winning the race once again, helping you realise just how far behind you are; there is pizza delivery and a tradition that fans from all around the world call in and have pizza(s) delivered to their favourite mushers (and you can bet that if there isn’t one with your name on, another musher will be sharing theirs); and then to top it off there is a kitchen staffed by volunteers and an endless supply of bacon, eggs and coffee. It is hard to leave UNK. Shaktoolik is a small and very exposed indigenous community again sat right on the Bering Sea; I have often wondered, when coming into some of the smaller, more remote communities, why people chose to remain there and eke out a tough subsistence lifestyle; but the trappings of a commercialised, throw-away globalised society are not for everyone and there is beauty and unreserved hospitality in communities such as Shaktoolik. On both my runs up the coast it has always been a great relief to pull in to Koyuk, you are off, and away from, the dangers of Norton Sound; the rest of the run may be exposed but maybe not quite as exposed and daunting as the previous 50 miles were. The checkpoint is in the heart of the community, dog teams are parked all along the road leading away from the community center, there is a quiet, secluded sleeping area and plenty of freshly cooked food and there are families … everywhere, it seems that everyone in the community comes out to see just about every musher and there are children constantly running around and chatting to the dogs (and not always appreciated by the dogs – on both of my stops there, in ’15 and ’16, Nutter spent his entire ‘resting’ period telling the kids to play elsewhere).
The checkpoint in Elim is in the community fire hall; dog teams are scattered around the parking area, if you arrive there at night it feels like the volunteers are leading you through a maze to your parking spot only to realise the following morning that these skilled parkers have placed you with an easy and direct run out of the checkpoint when your time comes to leave. The checkpoint building itself is small and can be a bit cramped, sleeping is wherever you can find a space on the floor, with a constant stream of volunteers and arriving and departing mushers tripping over you. There is however a functional, and welcome toilet, copious quantities of coffee and with a little over 100 miles to the finish line conversations can be light, amusing and welcome. As I sat chatting to race judge Karen Ramstead in 2015 I heard sounds of a dog fight, just outside the checkpoint door. Dog fights this far into the race are unusual as the dogs are normally into the swing of sleeping whenever the opportunity arises. Initially I listened, thinking that it would be a short lived spat, then I realised that my team was parked right outside the door and so it could well be my team fighting, a rare occurrence in a checkpoint as I was normally really mindful of who slept next who and I was always careful to remove food bowls and uneaten food before leaving the dogs to sleep. Running outside I could see that Nyx had Hektor pinned to the floor and was really laying into him; with the help of a few people around me we hauled Nyx off Hektor. Fortunately there was no broken skin, nor any signs of bruising or muscle or tendon damage but Hektor looked totally dejected. 9 1/2 years old and my number one leader for the previous 8 years, this was going to be Hektor’s final race, he is totally non-aggressive, always leading by example, not force; I cannot recall him ever getting in to a fight, it was just not his thing but he was clearly upset by the fight. Every time Hektor had been in harness since a young puppy he had given me 110%, probably even more; he was so enthusiastic when hooked-up as a yearling that I didn’t think he would have the stamina and endurance to be a distance dog, but here he was, a finisher of multiple mid and long distance races and I wanted this Iditarod to be his final, special race. He was focused, driven, smart, intelligent, a great leader, and all round perfect sled dog. He had given me so much and in return I wanted to take him to Nome but now, for the first time at any race ever, he looked sad. I was so mad at Nyx that he could bring out this sadness in Hektor on his final race. I swapped a couple of dogs around so that Hektor could be more relaxed and hopefully get some more sleep, and headed back inside to finish my own rest.
A few of us rookies had teamed up to cross the Norton Sound out of Shaktoolik in the ebb of a storm and leaving Elim we were still running close together. Poor sea ice on the Bering Sea out of Elim meant we were taking the not often travelled in winter land route over to Little McKinley, down onto Golovin Bay and on into White Mountain. We left Elim late into the morning, progress was very slow as a consequence of some pretty good climbs and a too warm afternoon, but as evening came we found ourselves running well into White Mountain, what will be for most people the final checkpoint stop on Iditarod and our final 8 hour mandatory break on the race – after this it would be 77 non-stop miles to the finish. As I was feeding and bedding down the dogs I kept fussing around Hektor, he still looked really miserable; I was not used to seeing him like this. Desperate that he should be with us as we crossed the finish line, after they had completed their check of the whole team, I had the vets check over Hektor again, specifically to make sure there was no physical reason for him to look so sad and to ensure he was good to finish; he received a clean bill of health.
My goal on the 8 hour rest is that the dogs should get at least 6 hours sleep, or at least as much as they could with a constant stream of teams coming and going. Once the dogs are sorted and the sled and drop bags repacked, I will head up the hill into the checkpoint building to fill a bottle for my own drugs’ test, have one last trail meal before Nome and hopefully grab 4 to 5 hours sleep of my own – I want to be looking my best when we would hit the nightspots of Nome the next afternoon/evening. Sleeping in White Mountain is not necessarily the easiest, some are able to crash out in the main room but for most, sleeping was in what appeared to be a very small broom closet off to the side of the main seating area. A small, confined, airless room and a dozen or so mushers 11 days into a race that had recently turned warm can be a somewhat noxious and cramped experienced. As it was I couldn’t sleep; all I could think about was how sad Hektor had looked but how much I wanted him to be on the team when we crossed the finish line. I eventually gave up on trying to sleep and went back into the kitchen to chat and drink coffee. About 50 minutes before our scheduled out time I wandered back down the hill to start getting everything ready. As I started to bootie the team Hektor stood, if it was possible, with slumped shoulders, he looked exceptionally depressed. I grabbed a vet and as I continued to get the dogs ready had Hektor fully checked over again, still a clean bill of health and the vet was confident that he would be good to finish. As I bootied Hektor then the wheel dogs I knew he could finish and I knew I was desperate for him to finish, but he looked so down. Then with five minutes until my 8 hours was up it suddenly struck me that Hektor didn’t care about Nome, finish lines or Burled Arches. He is a very stoic and has always hidden injuries from me in an effort to avoid getting dropped so he could remain with his team. But stoic or not, and knowing that he would do anything I asked, he would run to Nome if that was my decision, I could tell that he had had enough, he didn’t want or care about finishing the race; it was my ego that wanted him to finish and I could not ask him to continue just for my own satisfaction. I rushed around and found a free vet, signed the paperwork to drop Hektor and still left the checkpoint bang on 8 hours. And Hektor? Well Hektor arrived in Nome well ahead of us and was the first Shaytaan Siberian Husky to stand under the Burled Arch as he happily awaited the arrival of him team mates.
As I sit here and write this now, as we follow online the closing out of the 2021 Iditarod, we have another decision to make for Hektor and this is a lot harder and there is no one to advise this time. After almost 16 years together, after so many trail miles, so many races, so many adventures, the time has come for Hektor to set off on his next adventure. Unfortunately this will be pretty much his first adventure in the last 15 years that we are not embarking on together. I eventually made the right decision for Hektor in 2015 and it is now time to make the right decision for him now; he has worked hard his whole life, been there to face every challenge head on, fixed all of my poor decisions but now it is time for him to rest and sleep.
