Hug Your Local Dog Musher: Thoughts on the Iditarod

Today I witnessed my first Iditarod race. Jeff King led the over 60 mushers into Unalakleet, AK (a checkpoint on the way from Anchorage to Nome) at which the winner receives $2,500 in gold pieces. Lance Mackey (last year's winner) was close behind. At this point, the mushers have been going for 674 miles - unbelievable! It's 20 degrees out here, which is fair running weather for the dogs, and little to no wind. After standing on the runners, steering (harder than it looks, trust me), gauging speed and distance, watching the dogs closely, guiding them, talking to them, trusting that lead dog, and attempting to keep warm all at the very same time for many many hours and miles, usually with very little sleep, the mushers still rush off the sleds to get their dogs hay, food, water, treats, and love. Booties come off their tired feet, kibble is mixed (bare hands go into the water for this...), equipment is adjusted, and since mushers are not allowed to receive any help, it may be an hour or two before they can make food for themselves. The entire endeavor of running the trail, which was first created to assist a diptherea crisis in Nome in the 1920s, is about a $10,000 to $15,000 deal. It is, however, the goal of many dog runners around the world. In fact, today my friend and I met people from Norway who are traveling around Alaska to different checkpoints, following the race. Pretty incredible.

I have to admit, watching the teams come around the bend on the river is a pretty amazing sight. Although our pictures (some of which were hilarious attempts to get me and Jeff King in the background in the same shot) will show the dogs and mushers, there is something historical and even surreal about being here and seeing it for myself at this pivotal checkpoint in history, where serum was run to Nome by Leonhard Seppala, one of the greatest mushers of all time. Mushing was once the main form of transportation in Alaska, and was the only (or best) way to get mail from one place to another in the winter. Mail carriers were the most respected people in the territory.

Since the onset of technology (planes, snow machines, etc.), mushing has often been forgotten, and the Iditarod a forgotten race. For those who know it, it is considered the last great race, requiring real skill, athleticism, stamina, and courage. The conditions which a musher and his/her team must face just to get from one checkpoint to another is unreal in many cases, ranging from overflow on the rivers, high winds, intense cold, to steep inclines, steep declines, and high temperatures (it is difficult to keep dogs running for too long when it gets above freezing). It is a sport with a phenomenal creation story, one that I hope will continue to be respected and not forgotten.

I should say, before moving here I knew very little about the race, and it is something I am more interested in now, obviously, because I live here. But it's pretty fantastic, and something that I am feeling will soon become an obsession of mine. If you are into non-fiction reading, I can recommend a good book: "The Cruelest Miles" by Gay Salisbury. It tells the story of the first run from Anchorage to Nome very well, giving a full (though not droning) history of Alaska and the culture around the epidemic and delivery of the serum. Many books have been written about the race since then, but understanding where it comes from makes any experience with the race even more intense and satisfying.

So these have been my thoughts on the Iditarod after seeing it live with my own two eyes - or at least, the coming in to a checkpoint. It's pretty amazing. :)