Iditarod 99, The Longest Ten Dog Race Ever

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This racing season has rewarded Happy Trails Kennel with some exciting results. We were finally able to put the Copper Basin brides maid gown down, and after finishing second in every Copper 300 race ever held, the dogs ran to victory in Glennallen. That trail had been challenging with soft, punchy conditions, yet still the whole team made it to the finish line, also a first for a winning team in that races history. There, I was glad to have picked the strong big pullers to drag me over the majestic Wrangell Mountains. The lighter, somewhat faster dogs, participated in the Kusko 300. This is a race on flat terrain for speedy dogs and we finished in a respectable fifth place.

As the preparations for Iditarod 99 came to a close, we had assembled a very strong team of seasoned veterans and young stars combined. I felt more power in the group than in any previous race but was a little apprehensive about their speed. Here are the team statistics :

The ceremonial start in Anchorage has become an exciting celebration for many Iditarod fans. The “Idita-Rider-Program” is a fund raising effort that results in each musher giving a high bidder a ride in his or her sled for about 12 miles. We are to start with 12 dogs out of the pool of 20 that went through the through veterinary exams and the ECG tests.

Aaron and I are on the runners and our rider, Dr. Pat Kloser from NY. is tucked away in the sled on comfortable pillows. The snow that is being trucked in for the start contains a lot of fine gravel and some salt, making wearing booties a necessity. So the dogs are wearing double booties. At the point of the Iditarider drop off, we pull off the first set of booties and the dogs run on with the second protective layer already in place.

As Aaron and I are enjoying the relaxed and warm ride to Eagle River, we notice a bunch of snowmobile drivers ahead of us. Usually the trail breakers stay about a half mile in front of the lead team to assure safe passage along all the road crossings and the many spectators. I'm thinking that there must be a separate group of machines ahead of us stinking up the fine fresh air. Only as we pull into the first checkpoint is the mystery lifted. With bib number nine on my chest, I expect to get to the checkpoint in fifth or sixth position, after all we passed some teams. “Where is everyone else”, is the question at the VFW-hall in Eagle River as we check in. Vern Halter, Jeff King and others should have been in well before us, but they were nowhere to be seen. Apparently, the early starters took a wrong turn in Anchorage. After a spectator steered them in the wrong direction. Fortunately, the first leg of the race is not timed and those teams’ Iditariders got some extra mileage from their mushers. Everyone finally found their way to the checkpoint and boxed up their teams for the next day's restart in Wasilla.

Wasilla, official home of the Iditarod, is where the race really starts on the first Sunday in March. The start had been relocated for the last few races for lack of snow. This year, however marginal the conditions, the race committee decided to start the race at the new Wasilla airport. Closed for the day, the airport can accommodate thousands of spectators that are being bused in from nearby collection points.

My ultimate good luck charm is riding with me for the first section of trail. We have to have a “handler” accompany us to Knik, so Kathy and I are riding the runners together. I almost fall off the sled at the countdown and nearly send my wife down the trail without me. I clamber on to the runners and after a few difficult, and totally unnecessary turns in the trail, we enjoy the ride to Knik, talking about the individual dogs in the team and recalling prior dogs and events. We both feel the power in the team and are glad not to have to drop any dogs in Knik where we had to leave Eleanor back with a pinched nerve many years ago. A quick kiss and goodbye to the family will have to carry me all the way to Nome.

I try to establish a good pace and a traveling and resting pattern right away. The dogs sleep almost as much as they travel throughout the race. My job is simply to provide nourishment, comfort with massages, a sheltered straw bed wherever possible, and moral support and encouragement for the dogs. In return I get to savor the ride, the swooshing of the runners and the unbelievable pleasure of the landscape gliding by me at about 12 to 14 miles per hour.

The dogs quickly got into a good rhythm and we climbed in to the Alaska Range via Skwentna, Finger Lake and into Rainy Pass. Here in the Rainy Pass checkpoint, I notice Stream and Edwin moving somewhat unnatural. Both dogs are running hurt. According to my own race plan, I’m only scheduled to stay a few minutes, just long enough to hydrate the dogs with the delicious lake water. I have to add a few unscheduled minutes to leave Stream and Edwin behind. Totally unforeseen drops but I know from years of experience, the dogs that are not 100% sound are better flown home than kept in the team. So, off we race with 14 dogs pulling me over the height of the pass and into the Rohn checkpoint in first place.

The beauty of this years’ race is, that we have worked out a detailed race schedule that I will adhere to if at all possible, not paying any attention to my competitors. The schedule helps me to race relaxed and gives me strength, knowing that I spent a lot of time working out a sustainable traveling and resting pattern. While readying the dogs to leave Rohn the team is screaming and jumping to go, a welcome sight to any musher on any race trail. There is only one problem. One of my finishers from last year, Rapids, is screaming to go, but is only putting weight on three legs. A helpful veterinarian and I quickly assess the situation, palpate the left front wrist and quickly fill out another dropped dog form. No use to take a tri- pedal dog on a 90 mile run, no matter how excited he is. As I am leaving the realization is setting in, that I am already down three dogs. I am known to drop dogs early and to be on the conservative side, but this is a bit too soon to be down 20% in power.

Well, the trail is way too challenging to dwell over that issue right now. The usual way out of Rohn had to be rerouted because of heavy overflow. We are encouraged to not bootie the dogs since they have to go through open water right outside the checkpoint. The dogs cross the shallow river crossing reluctantly in the dark. The rising steam from the open water hides the trail and makes it hard for the dogs to see. Blondie is doing a great job picking her way through the gravel banks, open water and glare ice patches on the Kuskokwim River. Once we leave the Kuskokwim the trail follows the overland route to Nikolai. We cross the Farewell Lakes, usually blown clear of snow, on a perfect trail. The Burn, also often found without snow, also presents itself with a smooth white blanket, perfect for traveling fast.

As we speed towards Nikolai, I notice Blondie is not running very smoothly in lead. I switch her with Loa and let her work in the team. Riptide is running strange as well. Both dogs are running upright, carrying their heads high and are trying not to land hard on their front feet. Their ears are out to the side and the tails are up, a clear sign of discomfort. The farther we race, the more awkward the two dogs seem to be moving. The sky is perfectly clear but I am feeling the presence of a dark cloud appearing in a hurry. I end up giving both dogs a ride to my scheduled rest stop at Salmon River. We have been carrying straw for the team to rest on. Just as we near the old fish camp, another dog, Arson, starts to be off his natural gate; it might as well be pouring down on us right now. I stop, bed the dogs down on straw and have myself a good cry. What is happening to the team? I am looking at a diminished group, only thirteen dogs, too few already, but three of them are not feeling well. My schedule has me resting here at least five hours. I take care of the dogs and worry myself sick of what might happen next. There is no way I can finish the race with only ten dogs from here. Will there be more dogs falling out? Will I have enough power to get the three injured dogs to Nikolai, could I be picked up by airplane from this spot? A thousand questions are racing through my head. Finally I pull out my sleeping bag, assume the fetal position and try to sleep for a while. Experience has taught me the world is a different place after a nap. I rest in the sun for a couple of hours, not really sleeping but at least resting somewhat. I get up to work on feeding the dogs some more when Rick Swenson pulls up with his team. I share some, not all, my dilemma with him. I tell him that I feel like scratching and we ponder some options. It is nice to have a friend to commiserate and bounce some ideas off. Rick would never subscribe to quitting of course, so we talk about taking things one step at a time. I stay one extra hour and push towards Nikolai around 4 in the afternoon. My next scheduled stop will be McGrath.

I take off with all thirteen dogs in harness but soon have to load Blondie and Riptide into the sled. Arson is moving a little better but as we cover the last ten miles towards Nikolai, it is very apparent that all three dogs will have to be pulled from the race.

I check into Nikolai totally depressed, drop three dogs and shorten the gang line to a compact ten dog string. I fill out the paperwork on the three sore dogs and reluctantly press on. I have no idea what might be happening farther down the trail but it doesn't feel good. How could this happen to me? Ten dogs from Nikolai on, impossible!

(During the race and after the finish with the help of some x-rays, we deduce that some of the dogs where overtrained. Some of the bigger males, especially and the real hard working ones developed something very similar to shin splints. The muscles pull so hard on the leg bones that the lining of the bones gets inflamed and very very sore. The only remedy is rest, lots of rest, more than we could afford during the Iditarod, somewhere from 3 to 5 weeks rest will cure the problem.)

Somehow the team gets their gloomy driver to McGrath in first place. I am so glad to be traveling to my schedule or I would second guess myself even more for being here first. I know I rested the team enough and the remaining dogs look great. I have not stopped in this checkpoint in years. There is ample hot water available and caring for the team is easy on the well packed ground. Besides, ten dogs is so few, it takes no time at all to do the chores. The Dallins, a local family, feed me some Shepherd pie and after a few minutes of visiting, I curl up again in my sleeping bag, head spinning and still wondering if I could ever finish this race. The alarm clock, securely clipped to my collar, gives me some relief from the trail worries as I drift off to some well deserved sleep.

During my rest several drivers passed this checkpoint. They will go on to Takotna for their 24 hour rest. My schedule has me going to Ophir or beyond for the long break. Somewhere during my recent rest I must have found new strength. I decided to stick to my schedule, race on and continue with the team as best as I can. Quitting would stick with me way too long. As the temperature is dropping into the 30 and 40 below range, my ten dogs, led by the two youngsters Kira and Reb are making really good times. Their driver realizes how important it is to help with the sled and I find myself working harder than ever. I either run behind the sled on the up hills or pedal with my feet and propel the sled forward with my ski poles alternately. Together we all are working really hard. As we pull into Ophir the thermometer reads 45 below zero....and we press on.

All the teams have decided to take their 24 hour rest in Takotna or before. The only racers still going are Doug Swingley and the ten dog team from Happy Trails. Only a ten dog team! As usual, the Beaver Hills, mostly open rolling terrain on the way towards Dons Cabin and on to Iditarod, have not seen a lot of snow machine traffic. The Iditarod trail breakers have put in a trail that has not set up. The cold, granular snow makes traveling slow but the conditions of the course are deteriorating under the dogs feet. The teams behind us won’t have it any easier.

While I was taking a good long rest in Ophir, Doug Swingley went through the checkpoint and pressed on towards the half way point, Iditarod. He must have thought I was going to take my mandatory 24 in Ophir. He looked very surprised when I passed him on the way to Iditarod as he was massaging one of his lead dogs. Apparently the dog had stepped into a hole and had gotten sore. I went by silently but had to chuckle about his surprised look as I went by. It seems that we both are sticking to our race schedules that must be very similar.

Doug gets to Iditarod first, since we leap froged one more time and we both take our 24 hour rest there. The trail conditions continued to deteriorate and snow started to fall, gently at first, but now there is some substantial accumulation happening. This certainly will be to our advantage, since the teams behind us, if they really are staying for their 24, must break out the course anew and will find no base to the trail underneath. The decision to stick to the original plan is proving to be the right and lucky one.

This has been a pretty weird race so far. I have spoken to Rick Swenson, John Baker and Doug Swingley and no other racer. We have mushed the first half of the race in complete solitude, never traveled with another team, sticking to a preplanned schedule that should get us to Nome in nine days and three hours. When I check in to Iditarod I am ahead of the schedule by exactly one minute! This gives Kathy at home following the race via the Internet some comfort, even though she must know that driving ten dogs from Nikolai is a very unlikely recipe for success. I know that the traveling pattern will change and the schedule will not be maintained, since heavy snow and no trail in front of us will make the going slow. Now the disadvantage of having only ten dogs will be felt even more, especially on the many hills towards Shageluk.

I am so proud of the ten hard working dogs. Kira and Reb have been leading for a long time now. Reb is a very tall narrowly built brown dog and just started to lead for me three weeks before the race, but he is really stringing the team out and is implementing the commands perfectly. Kira, the other leader is the youngest dog on the team. She and her brothers Worf and Odo, are only two years and seven months old. Kira feels right at home in lead, after all, she led the yearling team for Matt a long way last year. Odo and Worf are steady workers. The main reason for Worf not to be anywhere but in the wheel position, is his nasty habit of holding back when he has to go to the bathroom. He is such a strong dog, he brings the whole team to a walk if not a stand still. With no warning Worf will jerk his head back pulling strongly on the neck line, putting on his four brakes while doing his thing. Just as rapidly as he is trying to stop, he is trying to go forward afterwards, I have to hold on to the handlebar in order not to loose the team when he leaps forward to get going again. He is really trying my patience. I know I have to train him better not to do that, but I also know that this is not the right time. So, I look at my patience as if in a big glass jar, and every time I get jerked around on my sled by Worf the “rocket scientist”, my patience level increases by a little; by the time I get to Nome I will be the most patient and tolerant guy in the world, with a jug full of patience! Calvin and Melkior are the oldest dogs in the team. At five years and eight months, they are going on their fifth Iditarod excursion. Quiet, hard working and very dedicated the two brothers contribute to the team tremendously. Then comes the “Bachelors” Fisher and Decatur. These two gray males have been in the team for three years now. I nicknamed them for their relaxed and somewhat sloppy mannerisms. They will sleep anywhere and will eat anything given to them. Their work habits however could not be any better! Loa, a young, three year and eight months old male, is on his second Iditarod with me. Not the most gifted athlete but he pulls his little heart out anywhere we go. He is such a nice guy, with good trail habits and a work ethic that won’t quit; he overcomes some of his physical limitations and contributes more than his fair share to the team. Last and certainly not least in the team is Ingot. He has been in the main team four years in a row now and is one of my many all time favorites. His metabolism is different,so has a hard time maintaining weight. Ingot requires some special attention such as extra bedding, more massages than the other dogs and often hand feeding with special treats. Fatty lamb snacks keep Ingot happy. The tightest tug line is his reward to me and the team.

These are the ten dogs that are pulling me ever closer to the finish line.

The trail conditions have deteriorated. We have fresh snow, high winds and in some places no trail at all. The big monkey on my back tells me the other teams will charge up the trail and overtake this small team anytime now. I continue to travel in a vacuum, maintaining good positions but not really believing that I can go all the way with such few dogs.

In Eagle Island I hear that DeeDee has scratched from the race. Her dogs apparently took a vote whether to go on or not and outvoted her. The word is, that she ran out of leaders, willing to buck the strong head winds on the Yukon river. Dees’ predicament has me really worried. If this can happen to her, it probably can happen to anybody. My worries are compounded by the fact that Reb needs to fly home rather than to go on with me. He stepped into a crack on the river and his left front is very sore. I think he might warm out of it but I can not take the chance to have him in the sled. The team simply could not carry an additional 63 pounds and make decent time on the trail. So we race on with an incredible nine dogs, Calvin is stepping in and leading the team with Kira.

I race on, worried, tired, somewhat depressed and certainly feeling sorry for myself for having all this bad luck. I want to talk to my wife and kids. I want them to tell me it is ok to fly home. So I stay away from the phones in the checkpoints and continue. In my lowest lows and times of greatest worries I think of a friend who has a much bigger race on his hands. Gary is battling cancer that is taking over his body like fatigue is overtaking mine. I have the ability to curl up, go to sleep and rest anytime I want. Gary has no such option. My situation is totally self imposed and voluntary. My situation is really not that bad! I think of Gary and gain strength from his great attitude and press on do the absolute best I can with what I have to work with.

I must have planned something right this year. Throughout the training season we joked about taking 16 dogs to the coast, well that didn't happen. I also shipped out lots of pairs of tennis shoes, so I could run and help the dogs if it got really warm. Well, it never really got warm but I learned why dogs never get cold feet. I put my tennis shoes on and never stopped moving. I would run, pedal and push every step of the way from one checkpoint to the next. I would do the cooking, the massaging, the feeding and all the other chores in such a hurry that my feet never had a chance to get cold. Then I would enter the checkpoint buildings and take care of my own needs, a little food and a nap while the tennis shoes where drying for their next mission. The village elders thought that I was crazy wearing such light foot gear but the toes stayed on and stayed busy to the end!

I am absolutely amazed to maintain my second place position. I have not seen a moving team for hundreds of miles. Like rush hour traffic, we all are traveling and stopping about the same amount of time. The funny thing on this Iditarod is that the traffic is so spread out. We are out of sight of each other. On a normal year we usually know where our competition is; we study the times of the people ahead of us and inquire about the racers behind us and compute their traveling times and compare them to ours. This year I felt so underpowered all the time, I was sure the competitors would pass me anytime now. I never looked back and never wondered who was where. I also blocked out the purse totally. I didn't even know if I could make the finish line for the longest time. I did not want to picture myself in a money position just to get passed by numerous racers.

The three times that I have won the Iditarod always came with a good rest in Elim, about 130 miles from the finish. Some years I might have lost the race by taking a long rest there, so this is one of the last ghosts to chase on the Iditarod trail for me. Long break in Koyuk, race fifty miles to Elim, feed and go another 46 miles to White Mountain. That is exactly what my race schedule dictated me to do. With growing confidence in my ability to actually finish the race and some glimmering hope to maintain at least a top ten position, for the first time in sixteen Iditarods, I pulled into Elim, fed the dogs and sped, better trotted, on towards White Mountain via Golovin.

Golovin Bay is a long stretch of fritter flat trail with markers every 100 feet or so. Two trails follow the stakes on either side, one fresh the other a few days old and untraveled as of late. Naturally Kira and Calvin take the more visible and freshly traveled trail; but the going is very slow since the snow machines have churned up the top three inches of snow. I direct the leaders over to the lesser visible trail that is much firmer and faster. At first Kira doesn't understand the mission. She wants to get back on the new trail. I call her back to the fast track and praise her for being on it. Less resistance is another reward for her. A few more tries and my new main leader understands, she follows the markers on the hard trail. Only occasionally tempted by the much more visible track, Kira and Calvin are pulling me closer to Golovin, and since the trail is so smooth, I climb on top of the load to stretch my aching back and promptly fall sound asleep. Cheering voices wake me up, the team is leaving Golovin Bay and the villagers have come out to greet the second team through their picturesque little town. I rub my eyes, jump off the sled and back on the runners and pull up to the checkpoint where I snack and water the dogs, shake hands, sign a few autographs and then press on.

In White Mountain I actually got to see Doug Swingley again. He was getting ready for the final 77 miles after a eight hour mandatory rest. We congratulated each other for our accomplishments, knowing full well that we both would not see each other until the end of the race. My nine dogs had given Doug ample worries and everyone knows, had the team stayed together longer, the race might have been different.

No matter what, I am so proud of the whole team, my family, our sponsors, Aaron and Matt and of course the nine dogs that are pulling me to the finish line. As we coast toward Nome, the sun is shining brightly and for the first time in days, I look past the leaders into the distance, past the finish line and even as far as the start of the next race. There is a lot of work to be done, but with willpower, determination, tenacity and a little luck we can make it to Nome again, maybe in an even better position.

We park the team at the greatest host family in the world, our friends Pat and Sue in Nome. Here the dogs have their own little dogloo houses and straw beds to sleep on as well as sky kennels in the basement to spend the night indoors. There maybe even a little King Crab for me inside. Looking up at their lovely home I notice a huge, carefully painted pink and black sign that reads : Martin Buser, Winner, 10 Dog Class.

Thank you dogs,thank you friends,

Happy Trails

Martin