All of the racers are in, the finish Banquet is over, and a lot of those who visited Alaska to witness the Last Great Race are back home again, with memories to bring a smile to our faces as we go about our meager daily tasks. I know I do not go more than a few hours without a flicker of a thought or picture from my countless enchanted encounters with Alaska, and the mushing community. A lot of my heart is still with them. I have been thinking for weeks how I am going to describe those people who have become very dear to me. They have fed my spirit in a way that is life changing. The community is as large and diverse as the great state that calls it home. It includes the mushers, their families, the dog/athletes, the handlers, the sponsors, the volunteers, the Veterinarians, the forums, and the supporters (I was going to say fans, but that doesn’t do us justice) of sled dog racing. The first time I risked posting on an Iditarod forum, I felt immediately welcomed. I had lurked there for more than a year, and having never ‘chatted’ on line at all, I felt kind of dumb about how to enter that room of enthusiastic experts who unabashedly gushed about their passion for the Iditarod, and who held such a wealth of knowledge that I felt like a fledgling amongst a group of soaring Eagles! But flying is flying, and flap my wings, I did!
I didn't meet my roommates, Karen F., Pam V., and Mary C. until I got to Anchorage. But after our meeting in 'Idita-support forum' and decision to room together and share our dream vacation, our communication has been almost daily. I have come to love these women, and even though I was with them only a few days, their excitement and enthusiasm for Alaska, the dogs, the mushers, and the race was inspiring and exhilerating. And, it matched mine! I loved how unique each of our dreams and plans were, and paradoxically how they were similar. When we met, it was as if we had known each other for years. We immediately accepted and made light fun of each other's quirks. What a lovely introduction, and base camp for me to explore the world of the Iditarod from!
That entry into the world of arm-chair mushers was the beginning of an intriguing camaraderie that grew as I absorbed more knowledge of the sport from those on the forums and began reading books they recommended, and checked out sites on Alaska and sled dog racing. I explored musher’s web pages, and learned that many of them quickly answered e-mailed inquiries, and that some Iditarod participants, and many of their family members regularly posted on the forums! Every inquiry I made was met with a warm invitation to explore more, and even many “I look forward to meeting you when you come to Alaska”. After his amazing ‘seemed like a miracle’ win last year, an e-mail to congratulate Lance Mackey was quickly and personally answered by Lance, drawing me more closely into his world. I hadn’t thought, yet, that I would get THAT into it! However, I underestimated the friendliness and approachability of this great community. It may be that in that cold climate, hearts kindle a special kind of warmth and radiance, a need to keep the spirits up through those long dark nights. A number of Iditarod participants posted regularly, choosing their top-ten picks along with many of those that live in places that hardly ever see snow, and will always be arm-chair mushers and wannabes. In this sport, the variables are so great, that even years of race experience leaves one only speculating as to who might be the break-through star, or slowed by a storm. We all have an equal chance of winning that TTP hat! A passion for the sport is the only entry fee, and passion grows exponentially with participation and interaction with the sled dog racing community.
Eventually many of those who started out ‘just watching’ feel the need to be more ‘a part of’, and the world of volunteers beckons us to make booties, contribute time and money to sponsor mushers or dogs, sign up to help with dropped dogs, write ‘blog’ for the blind dog, Rivers, spend a week in a remote, frozen checkpoint to cook for mushers and Veterinarians, and a hundred other ideas to help with no expectation of compensation other than the joy of being part of the Iditarod spirit. I won’t pretend that all goes smoothly in the world where a small tireless group of paid ITC organizers try to herd thousands of volunteers into cooperative service to 95 mushers and nearly 2000 dogs over 1000 miles of land, air, and ice. Patience is tried, and nerves are frayed to the limit, tempers do flair, and there is always some hierarchical shuffling of egos. But, mostly what draws ALL those in the front lines and behind the scenes is an infectious contentedness of being there wedded with a spirit of adventure. To be drawn into the element of the sled dogs and those marvelous mentors who read their minds and their spirits, and blend with them to form a team, that is the lure of the Iditarod.
A bit more now, a tribute to those who give every moment of every day to the care, nurturing, training of those dogs, who learn from legends of the sport, but have to create their own legend, a bond as unique as spirit of each musher, each dog. It intrigued me most, how forthcoming and get-to-able the Iditarod mushers were. I was able to have fairly long conversations with Lance Mackey, Martin Buser, Vern Halter, Sam Detrour, Jessica Royer. It wasn’t just ‘lets be polite to the fans’ talk. There was eye contact, questions back to me, quick exchange of guesses of strategy, and always humorous stories that they never tire of telling. They were totally present, totally in the moment, forthcoming about their humanness, frailties, and with a unique blend of confidence and humility. I have heard that said of Lance a lot, but I found all of the mushers I spoke with to be friendly and approachable. The second day I was in Alaska I attended the vet check. Mushers were very busy talking with vets, getting dogs in and out of their trucks, and wanting to move on. However, most of them, and the Vets, seemed comfortable and at ease including all of the observers in conversations. In similar situations, I might stand back, not wanting to bother or get in the way, but I immediately felt at ease and invited into their world. That feeling was doubled at the banquet, where thousands gathered, and almost no one stayed in their seats longer than to gobble down the food. I had amazing conversations with so many people, that it was like a gathering of all the people I had ever knew in one place! Now this is odd for me. In my own town, I often feel shy in crowds, and struggle to keep conversation going. But here I was, second full day in Alaska, “Oh, there’s Rachel Sclodoris. Hi, Rachel, I’m Jeanie B, I talk to Boo on the forum all the time. Yeah, I wish she could be here, too. How are the dogs doing? Bet it will be awesome running with Joe Runyan. Lucky you. Ok, I’ll give her the message when I get back to my room.” Gee, I just had a conversation with the famous blind musher, never met her before, but it was perfectly comfortable. When I was snowed in at Finger Lakes, I had four days to observe interactions between checkpoint volunteers, mushers, vets, dogs, and observers, in less than pleasant circumstances. Once more, most observers were honored to be there, and gave mushers plenty of room to attend to their dogs and do their chores. Mushers, tired and busy, usually had a smile, and hug, and a complement for each dog, then if time allowed, a few minutes to graciously answer questions they must tire of being asked. You would never know it. They seemed to delight that we were interested in their team. Within the checkpoint camp, which included three tents and two small snow caves, there was an amiable spirit of getting chores done and enjoying being with people who love to talk dogs and strategy and prognostication. It did not seem like work. I so enjoyed talking with and learning from the volunteer Vets. All of them I spoke to were returnees except one, and she said she surely would come back. All credited taking this time from busy and lucrative practices to camp in harsh conditions to their amazement of and respect for the Alaskan Husky! They just love those dogs (take that, PETA!).
I can not ignore the dogs; without them there would be no mushing community. I thought I was prepared for how amazing they are, but I wasn’t. They are so lean and so muscular, and each one so very unique. I loved the lover/hugger ones, the quirky ones, the loud ones, the ‘I’ve done this a million times’ yawning ones, the shy ones, and the antsy ones. But especially, I loved the ones who loved to howl! One evening I sat in the dusk at Finger Lakes with a howling one who did not care to be loved or petted, and howled with him. He loved it, and we took turns and I loved it and we bonded in the moment in a million snowflakes in that great white open. I know he wanted his Daddy, and to be on the trail with his team, but for that moment, we had a howling good time. Several hours later, in the middle of the night when I went outside and looked at the slightly clearing sky, a few stars, and flicker of aurora, I heard him howl, and smiled, and in the far distance, I heard a wolf’s answering howl. Some may complain of being snowed in at Finger Lake. It won’t be me.
The respect between mushers, families, handlers, and volunteers appears to be quite genuine as well. Again, in the harsh environment and strenuous conditions under which keeping a kennel and training a team exist, the role of each of those (and others) is a necessary cog in the wheel, and is not taken for granted. There has to be those who stay home and tend the kennel while ‘boss’ is off enjoying the race. Maybe it is that acceptance that draws us all in, as a constant invitation to that world, that desire to be behind the sled with peacefully adventuresome shush of runners on snow with the breath of the dogs fogging the crystal cold morning air through the wilds of Alaska.
To you who are a part of that community, thank you for inviting me in. I will honor my acceptance.
