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Iditarod 2000 followed what can easily be described as the worst training season ever for Happy Trails. It started with a real promising team in the fall, good four-wheeler training, no injuries, and decent weather. That was soon followed by late snow, glare ice and very bumpy trails. Nonetheless, Happy Trails Kennel fielded a team of Alaskan huskies capable of pursuing another Iditarod crown.

The 16 athletes and their coach started the race to Nome on March fourth in Anchorage. The team was comprised of dogs with various experience levels and ages from 2 years, 9 months old to almost seven year old Calvin, a leader on his fifth Iditarod. Half of the dogs were leaders. The youngest canines were Assault, Gallant Fox and Whirlaway. These dogs, named after famous racehorses that had won the Triple Crown, were in the yearling team with Matt Hayashida the year before. Then we had Hudson and Snake, two of the big rivers litter, running in the team. Morel, a young dark brown three year old, was named after the big fire that raged around our house in the summer of 96 and caused millions of morel mushrooms to sprout the following year. Next in chronological order came wiry Scorpio, one of the constellations, and Kira from the Star Trek litter. Both of these dogs were 3 years, 7 months old when the Iditarod started. Kira of course was my shining star last year and one of my main leaders. Reb the giant, also a star from Iditarod 99 and a leader, was slated to do a lot of leading again this year. Then we had three littermates from the bodies of water, Rapids, Spring and Stream. Young but very experienced at 4 years and 9 months, these three dogs probably are getting to the prime of their working career. Spring, a very small dog, emerged throughout the training season as a fine leader. She missed many days and weeks of training because of a foot surgery; she needed to have a mysterious growth removed from one of her feet. We were amazed that she actually caught up in training and made the team. Decatur, one of the New Orleans street names, has been running the Iditarod since 1996 and has become a very reliable performer. Fisher, named after one of my former helpers, has been in the team for four years now, and at 5 years 7 months, finds himself in the prime of his working life. Another one of the veteran athletes, Edwin was no newcomer to the race trail; at 6 years and 1 month he was the second oldest dog in the team. Calvin, the trusty old leader, brought up the rear only chronologically.

These sixteen dogs and their aging driver raced against a record field of 80 other mushers and over 1200 dogs on the way to Nome.

Prior to departure I made a schedule for the team, planning to stick to the mathematical formula of almost as much rest time as travel time. All the data was based on prior years’ times and weather conditions; this schedule served as a backbone for the driver to gauge his progress. After all the festivities in Anchorage, Eagle River and Wasilla, the routine on the race trail is repeated over and over; the scenery changes and the places are different, but the predictable routine gives the dogs enough confidence so that they can keep on performing with due reward and rest. While traveling, the musher has to steer the sled and follow the trail, while the dogs propel the sled forward. The dogs all work together, none working harder than the other, pulling lightly and steadily, moving at speeds between ten to fourteen miles per hour. The dogs have learned to run from four to six hours, and then they get an almost equal rest break. It is in these rest periods that most believe that the race is lost and won.

Here is a typical step by step rest: Most of the time, we plan to have the rests coincide with checkpoints; that way we don’t have to haul our supplies out on the trail. As soon as we stop, the dogs get bedded down on fresh straw provided by the race committee. This year the straw was exceptional! What a simple pleasure it is to get a bale of straw that fluffs up like a feather pillow with stalks of straw as clean as a starched shirt, no dust and no burrs; the dogs are in heaven, as they scratch and arrange the straw to their liking and go to rest. The driver quickly takes off the booties from all the dogs. The dogs like to lick their feet, pick out snow from their coats and roll in the straw, while their musher prepares their meal. The goal is to feed the team before the dogs go to sleep. A pot of water is placed on the alcohol burning stoves, or snow is melted to make water. Often I find water in creeks, rivers or under the snow, which I use to give the dogs cold drinking water while the meal is getting prepared. They drink fresh clean water right at the beginning of any break. As we are waiting for the water to heat up, I check the feet and apply ointment where needed. The dogs have had their feet examined so many times it becomes second nature to them. We look for abrasions on the pads; if there are any, we can fix them with moleskin and super glue. We also check for fissures in the connective tissue, also called the web tissue, between the toes. If there are any problems there, various ointments prevent infections and discomfort. The thorough exam lasts 45 minutes or more, and the water certainly is hot enough by that point to make a good warm meal. The hot water is poured over a special mix of super premium dog food, creating a stew-like meal. Water and food are so important for the dogs’ performance that we repeat this routine up to six times per day. The dogs eagerly ingest the meal and then are left alone to get some well-deserved sleep. If the temperature is warm, 10 to 30 degrees, we leave the dogs be; if it is colder or it is windy, I cover the dogs with lightweight wind blankets to keep in their body heat. Now it is time for the driver to feed himself. Most of my food is prepared in small portions in sealed pouches that only need to be thrown into hot water and will provide a good hot meal. I usually have a great variety available. Some of my favorites are shrimp, pork loin, peas and corn, and poppy seed cake or muffins with tons of butter. After a big meal the musher deserves a little rest. I often unfurl my sleeping bag to get the feeling of a real good night sleep, even if it is only for one hour of fitful rest. Before departure I usually offer the dogs more food and water, cover the dogs’ feet with brand new booties and head down the trail for a few hours, just to repeat the same routine over again at the next checkpoint.

All is well as the whole team rolls into the Rohn checkpoint, a single cabin in the quiet woods on the north side of the Alaska Range. But I am racing a bit paranoid since I had to drop so many dogs early in the race last year. Furthermore, a lot of the dropped dogs are in the team again this year but seem to race really well now. As I am tending to the dogs, various teams arrive; some mushers stay, some press on, but one creates a major commotion.

Voices are shouting excitedly as a team arrives. I hear one of the dedicated vets shout for a trachea tube, a very bad sign. Judges, checkers and veterinarians are running around, catching dogs arriving without a driver, and finally the driver gets to the checkpoint with only two dogs; apparently, the gangline was severed as some of the dogs tried to avoid a big tree at the entrance of the checkpoint. During that maneuver, one of the dogs hit the tree really hard and was knocked unconscious. The vets carry the poor dog into the checkpoint and start to work on him. I had completed my chores and was resting and eating in the cabin and witnessed four veterinarians work on the dog for several hours. The doctors had to breathe for the dog and monitor other vital signs for the rest of the night until the animal could be flown out at first light to Anchorage. Apparently their hard work paid off, and the dog recovered and was wagging his tail before we ever got to Nikolai.

I am very happy to be departing Rohn with a full team of 16 dogs, much better than last year. In the Burn we encounter a big gray owl perched on a spruce tree alongside the trail. As soon as the dogs get to the owl’s tree, the big bird flies off, and glides a few yards along the trail and lands on the next spruce tree. We play this dog and bird game for a while; the dogs are excited to be chasing something, and I love to study the magnificent owl gliding silently along the trail, until the bird calls off the game and swoops to a place off the trail beyond our reach. At Salmon River we make camp in much higher spirits than last year. I haul straw for the dogs and bed them down by the old fish camp. I park on the river, in front of a log lookout tower erected to spot game. I suspect that there is liquid water under the snow along the riverbank somewhere and start digging in the snow. Finding liquid water saves a lot of time and energy fueling and feeding the dogs. However, I am striking out and start melting snow. After chores, a whole group of mushers gather at this campsite. Rick Swenson, DeeDee, Charlie Boulding and Juan Alcina all park around us for a long rest. As I am napping in my sleeping bag, an unusual scratching sound alerts me. I look around to see Rick Mackey frantically digging in the snow on the far side of the frozen river. Apparently he arrived here parched and now is desperately digging for overflow, the water often found on top of the ice, to quench his thirst and water the dogs as well. The trail savvy and experienced Charlie Boulding told him where to dig. Mackey is about four feet into the snowdrift and sure enough is getting to clear, cold, and thirst quenching water. We all benefit from his efforts, and throughout our rest, various drivers water themselves and their teams with the precious fluid.

In Nikolai I leave Edwin behind. He helped the team a lot getting here, but he lacks the all out speed of the rest of the racers. I am able to stick to my schedule and feel pretty good about the team’s progress; however, the teams in front of us are doing even better. Paul Gebhardt and Doug Swingley keep out of our sight. I am thinking that they will have to slow down sooner or later, and I keep sticking to my primary race plan that will get me to Nome in near record time.

In McGrath I send two more team members home. Decatur has been in my main race team for many years but is not feeling 100% right now and is better off flying to the kennel than running all the way to Nome. The other racer is Assault; there is nothing wrong with him at all according to the veterinarians, but his toes are super sensitive. Anytime I touch his feet he starts to scream. I give Assault the benefit of the doubt and leave him in McGrath to be flown to Anchorage; I have plans for his future and don’t want to sour him on racing.

I pass Paul as I am racing through Takotna; he is taking his mandatory 24-hour rest there. And in Cripple I finally catch up with Doug. Swenson and Mackey join us here in this desolate place, where a tiny wall tent serves as the checkpoint, and we all decide to rest for a day here. During our rest day, we feed and water the dogs, massage and walk the teams numerous times, and feed ourselves as much as we can hold. Before we can leave from our mandatory day off, we get passed by Paul Gebhardt, Charlie Boulding and Jeff King; the race is very tight and only half way through.

The competition is very tight and intense; the best strategy I can implement is to stick to a schedule that I can uphold and hope that the front runners have to slow down a little. Doug Swingley is going very fast and seems to be holding his speed better than anybody else. It is somewhat ironic that I feel so much better about my team this year compared to last but am three to eight positions farther back. Ruby is where I leave some more dogs behind. In order to chase the leaders, I leave trusty old Calvin with sore muscles behind. Morel has stopped contributing to the team effort and opts to stay back here as well. He is happy, eating well and fussing at all the other dogs, but he is not pulling, a sure way to get a ticket back to the kennel.

As we are chasing down the mighty Yukon River, Rick Swenson and I find ourselves traveling in the same rest-run cycle. We both must have planned to stop at a place called Bishop Rock. I get there just a few minutes before Rick and find a snow machine trail to park the team on, out of the way of other racers. Rick passes and pulls off the trail about 100 yards from us. We both perform our checkpoint routine, too far apart from each other to talk but close enough to compare what we both are doing. All the front runners have a precise and well rehearsed rest routine, and I have to chuckle to myself when I observe Rick performing the same exact tasks that I am, within minutes. One of my last tasks is usually getting rid of the burnable garbage. I save a little straw, pile it up and burn it, along with all the paper and plastic that accumulates in the sled during any given run. Looking over at Rick, I see he has a garbage fire going as well. From this rest stop on, Rick and I travel at identical speeds and never really part company until the finish line. Traveling with this friend reminds me of some of my early races, when I knew nothing and had everything to learn from the likes of Susan Butcher and Rick Swenson. Now I am counted as one of the old timers and chase a new group of leaders that has learned to put ultra competitive teams on the race trail.

Hudson stays in Nulato. He has worked well and contributed very much to the team. His efforts have cost him a lot of energy, and he has lost quite a bit of weight. I have been monitoring his progress all along and now choose to send him home for a complete recovery; he needs to rest more and put on some weight, and he can not do that while racing to Nome.

At Tripod Flats Cabin we finally catch Paul; he is resting in the warm little log cabin, his dogs comfortably bedded on straw, sleeping soundly. Paul is tired and sore but has not given up the chase quite yet. It would be nice to just race on and leave him behind, but our dogs need to rest too. The trail has been extremely bumpy to this point. When I say bumpy, I mean short little moguls, six to ten feet apart and four to six feet high. Snowmobiles create these horrid trail conditions where the dogs can’t establish a rhythm, and the drivers get slammed every time the sled hits the bottom of one of these dips. I am holding on so tightly to my handlebars that my wedding band is starting to swell up my ring finger. As I am bouncing on the horrible trail, the pain is getting too intense, and with great difficulty, the wedding band is slipped off and tied to a string to be stored in my pants.

This was the year of broken sleds. More people than ever broke sleds along the way; often mushers were able to limp their sleds to the nearest checkpoints, where they then borrowed a sled from a fellow racer or used a less broken sled, all with the permission of the race judges. I’m glad my rig is holding up so far; the sleds built with a lot of flex and aluminum alloy runners seem to be holding up the best. My second sled is waiting for me in Unalakleet, a bit smaller and fifteen pounds lighter. I will probably switch to it for the rest of the race.

Good old Doug has the same luck we both had last year. He has not had a puff of wind or a skiff of new snow on the race trail in years. His run across the frozen Norton Sound was made under calm and relatively warm skies. My trip across the bay is a different story; we encounter a 30-knot headwind. The dogs have to buckle down and trudge straight into the blow. I try to hide behind the sled as well as I can to lessen the wind resistance; I crouch low or stick my head in the sled bag, ostrich style - if you can not feel, see and hear the storm, it must not be all that bad. Runs like that take a lot of energy out of the team and can only be balanced out by extra rest. The next storm is on little McKinley, a place appropriately named, between Elim and Golovin. Again, Doug sailed through that part of the course without having to pull up his hood. We, in turn, got hammered coming off Little McKinley and almost got lost in the exact same spot as in 1988, when I spent a unpleasant night in a whiteout waiting for visibility to improve.

In White Mountain we have to rest for a minimum of eight hours. The dogs curl up on a big bed of straw and rest well before their last long run to the finish line. In the White Mountain community center a bunch of us dejected mushers watch on TV as Doug Swingley finishes the Iditarod some 70 miles ahead. I don’t want to watch, but some drivers say that that is a tradition; I counter that I won’t be part of that tradition, suggesting that I would rather be the one getting there first, rather than watching on television. That, however, will have to wait another year. On the way to Nome I pass Rick Swenson for a seventh place finish.

In lead, my little girls Kira and Spring pull the team into Nome. Snake and Fisher, Gallant Fox and Rapids, Reb and Whirlaway are in the team, and Scorpio and Stream are the wheel dogs at the finish line. I am so grateful for the dogs who pull me to Nome and also very grateful for all the friends that showed up at the finish line to welcome us at the end of the race. It is easy to have a lot of friends when you win, but really important to have friends when you don’t. Kathy and the boys are at the finish, under the brand new burled arch, happy to have me back. I am whisked off to a delicious dinner of Norton Sound Crab at Pat and Sue’s warm and hospitable house. Off to many lengthy and serious thinking sessions on how to improve...six places by next year. Happy Trails,

Happy Trails

Martin