There is a phrase in mushing that I love. Honest dogs.
Honest dogs are dogs who give 110% all the time, every time they run.
I was looking through the International Rocky Mountain Stage Stop page tonight - the place where I learned about mushing initially. Wyoming. And many of the same mushers who were in the race I was in last weekend are running the Stage Stop. Fast teams. Fast dogs. Dogs who win trophies and money.
Trophies lined up at the Tahquamenon Country Sled Dog Race Awards Ceremony
I really don't have "fast dogs." We've won two trophies and $50 in our entire six years of mushing.
But I have honest dogs who work hard, and I am proud of them.
Our time at Tahquamenon with all of the stops, attempts to hook down, capture loose dogs and general mayhem was still 9.17 miles per hour. Had those things not happened, my dogs likely would have run a steady and respectable 10 or 11 miles per hour.
We can't hold a candle to teams that run 15 miles or more an hour.
But, I don't really want to.
We are what we are. Ralph Waldo Emerson said, "Be yourself; ...Listen to that inward voice and bravely obey that. Do the things at which you are great, not what you were never made for."
We are great at venturing out into the woods with only a wanderlust and our lonely spirits to guide us.
Eight fur kids on a portion of trail used for the Seney 300 Iditarod qualifier and training run
We try to be gracious to those who have helped us along the way...
Accepting the Red Lantern at the Tahquamenon Race and publicly thanking fellow musher, Liza Dietzen for capturing my loose dog
We try to be forward thinking, not harping on the past, but learning from our mistakes and looking to the future...
One of Tak's puppies from last July, Tosh, and Elise. Tosh is Elise's sled dog :)
I am not competitive when it comes to mushing. I'm happy wherever we place, as long as my dogs are happy and healthy. Because they're good dogs.
Sometimes, something happens that throws even my own story telling abilities for a loop. Lots of people have asked for updates about our first race, and when I sat down to tell the tale, I didn't know where to begin. So, I did what I suggest you do: grab a cuppa joe, sit back, and read on for the harrowing tale of Aspen's get away.
The dogs and I arrived in the Upper Peninsula on Thursday - just enough time for a short 15 mile run to stretch the legs before race day on Saturday. I had been fretting before we left because one of my main dogs - Tak - had come into full standing heat. I decided to bring Aspen, who I had dropped from training for obnoxious behavioral issues like neckline chewing, and turning around on the gangline. Aspen was also coming into heat, but was not as far along as Tak.
Our pre-race run went off without a hitch. The team looked great, and I was only going to take them 10 miles, but they looked so strong, I let them go a little further.
My team stopped on the trails outside of Nature's Kennel
Things seemed beautiful on our short run, with more than adequate snow cover - enough to hook down with snow hooks. When we arrived at the drivers' meeting Friday night, however, we received a different message. Trail boss, Bob Shaw, went over the trail conditions for the race course, warning that there were bare spots and lots of ice in the beginning right out of the starting chute. Conditions up at Rainbow Lodge where the race start is held can be very windy, which was the case the morning of the race start. Wind had apparently blown much of the snow cover off the open parts of the course, and with the mild temperatures and thaw a day or so before the race, and then the freeze again, the start was an ice rink.
I spotted my friends Larry and Joann Fortier parked in the 8 dog pro parking area and walked up to Joann.
"Have you walked the chute yet?" she asked.
"No," I replied.
"Go walk it. It's scary," she said.
Sure enough, it was every bit what Bob Shaw described. Barren with mostly ice, some rocks, and a big mound of dirt/sand about 30 feet from the starting line.
"Okay, it is what it is," I thought. "We will make the best with what we've got."
Mushers always have the option of not running a race course if they think it is unfit or are worried about it for whatever reason. But, I had driven nine hours for this race, and it is always one of my favorites. Tahquamenon country is some of the most beautiful winter country I've ever experienced on a dogsled. Not running it was not an option.
The Start
I was super delighted to be joined by my friend and supporter, Dennis Waite, at the race site. Dennis has single handedly contributed more to our success this season than any other sponsor.For whatever reason, Dennis believes in me. He says I have "grit." :)
Dennis and me with overstuffed pockets at the race site before the Tahquamenon race
The race site was barren. I wondered briefly if we'd even be able to make it to the starting line, there was so much grass exposed.
Hooking up eight mutts
I was most nervous about the very beginning. But, really, it was clean sailing through the starting chute. It was afterward that things began to get hairy, and it had nothing really to do with the trail initially.
Leaving the starting line
Yeti, my big male leader (on the left in the photo above) has this habit of stopping the team on a dime to poop. When this happens, I have to quickly react with the brake - otherwise, I have a tangled up bunch of dogs on my hands. Ruffian, my other leader (white dog on the right in the photo above) has an equally annoying habit of turning around to look at the team and me when we stop for Yeti to poop. Within the first mile, this scenario happened, except, we were on solid ice - nothing for my brake to grab onto in order to stop abruptly. Before I knew it, I had a tangled mess up front, and no way to stop the team in order to fix things.
I frantically began looking for a tree or anything to hook to, but there was nothing. The eight dog pro class was full with 20-some teams signed up, including Ryan and Erin Redington, and blazing fast competition. While I struggled to find anyplace to hook to, the competition was flying past me and my dogs became increasingly tangled. And furious with each other.
Tangled dogs tend to blame their neighbor for their entrapment. It's like they can't wrap their doggie brains around what's happening and have to lash out at someone in their frustration. This situation was quickly happening between Ruffian, and Gwennie, my point dog just behind Ruffian who were beginning to fight. I desperately needed to right this situation, and fast.
I finally took a chance. I managed to vaguely hook down on the berm along the icy roadside and jumped off the sled, running up to my leaders and whoaing the dogs repeatedly praying to God they didn't take off without me. They were so tangled, however, that they likely couldn't have gotten very far if they had taken off without me. I got my leaders and point dogs untangled, but missed Aspen, in wheel, who had other things in mind.
Aspen's Getaway
Remember I said I had dropped Aspen from training? She had probably chewed through thirty necklines this fall alone. I tried everything - running chains so she couldn't chew for a month, doing mock hook ups to correct the behavior - but as soon as I put a poly neckline back on her, she was back at it, chewing her way through the thin 6 millimeter rope in one snap.
Unbeknownst to me, while I busily untangled the mess I had in the front of my team, Aspen was chewing away like a beaver in the back of my team. In a flash, suddenly, she chomped through her neckline, backed out of her harness, and was gone loping beautifully and freely up the trail without us like some wild and gorgeous gazelle, all legs and flash.
I have to admit, it was a sight to see, watching her loping up the trail next to other teams. She was having a blast! And luckily, I free run my dogs daily, so she comes faithfully when I call her.
Only, this time, she had apparently lost her hearing...or she was just having too much fun to pay attention to me, because she didn't seem to notice me screaming her name.
I hopped back on the sled and off we went, chasing Aspen up the trail.
We chased her for a good mile before we came to a turn off where the trail goes into the trees. Former musher-turned-trail-help Lyle Ross stood at this turn off.
"Did you see a loose dog?" I yelled at Lyle
"Yea," he said nonchalantly. "There are people at the first road crossing. They'll catch her."
We turned the sharp left into the trees. I saw Aspen two teams up still loping along joyfully. Then, she stopped abruptly, looked at me, and then suddenly darted into the woods. I feared the worst. If she didn't come back to me, I would be disqualified. Worse yet, I didn't want her loose in those woods, which are populated with wolves.
I began to get a bit angry. I thought, "if I catch Aspen, I am dropping her at the first dog drop! That's it!"
But then I remembered my own mantra: they're just dogs.
It wasn't Aspen's fault she was causing such chaos. She was having fun cavorting about with her fellow doggie friends. She was just being her silly, flirtatious, fun-loving doggie self.
We turned the curvy, winding trail and I continually stopped to attempt to hook down. In vain. I thought if I could just stop the team and call her, she would come to me and I could hook her back in the team. Meanwhile, teams kept passing me. Once, while I attempted to hook down, Bruce Magnusson, winner of the 8 dog pro race, suddenly came up behind me and his leaders necklined the back of my knees. He apologized profusely, but I felt bad too as if my dog wasn't loose, I wouldn't have been trying to hook down in the first place!
Finally, after at least 45 minutes of attempting to hook down in vain, my friend Liza Dietzen came up behind me. She passed me and asked if I was alright. I explained briefly that my dog was loose, and just then, Aspen appeared on the trail. Liza and I somehow managed to hook down - me to a tree and I'm not sure how Liza stopped. Liza reached down and gently grabbed Aspen's collar, and I ran up and grabbed her. I thanked Liza, telling her I owed her one, and she was off.
In seconds, I had Aspen back in harness, a new neckline attached to the mainline, and had her back in the team. I hupped the dogs, and around this time, we headed into the trees where the trail was more normal for this time of year in the U.P. Aside from a little bumpy ride at the first road crossing, and a little icy section through a logging yard, the trail was gorgeous, and everything I remembered. We had a fairly uneventful rest of the 42 mile course. Before I knew it, we had reached the road crossing back that marked five miles left of the race. And for all of the craziness, I had a blast.
A beautiful photo by my friend and fellow photographer, Aladino Mandoli, of my colorful team running down the race trail
A little bumpy ride at the first road crossing leaves me looking a bit nervous :) Another beautiful capture by Dino - thanks Dino!
Red lantern
No matter how long I'm out on the trail, I don't ever want our runs to end. I started running dogs thinking 10 miles was long. We gradually moved into 20 and 30 miles because I just couldn't get enough. I can honestly say, at the end of this 42 mile race, I didn't want it to end.
I said when I started this journey six years ago that I wanted to eventually run the U.P. 200 - a 240 mile checkpoint race and Iditarod qualifier. I have also said I had no interest in ever running the Iditarod.
But, for the first time, not only can I see that goal of running the U.P. 200 becoming a reality, I am not opposed to doing a super marathon like the Iditarod. Someday...
I don't care where we place in our standings. I knew going into this race that the competition was fierce, and that we would likely be at the back of the pack. I don't race to hurry through and get to the end, never seeing the beauty all around between the start to the finish line.
We ended up finishing the 42 mile race course in 4 hours, 58 minutes and some seconds, and winning the red lantern. But I am super proud of my fur kids. They held a steady pace, and finished tired but happy and healthy, which is all I could ask for. And five hours out on that beautiful trail wasn't possibly enough, so after a day off, we headed out for another 20 mile run :)
And, maybe I shouldn't even race, because really, I just love being out there in solitude with my dogs in the woods. It's the ride I adore, not the end point.
Young dogs. Tangles. Lack of brake. Snowhook in hand. Chair lift. Everything that could have possibly been a factor in this red lantern was.
Ruffian, my yearling leader, with a worried look on her face. Photo by Dino Mandoli
My first clue was before I even left the starting chute when my drag mat broke in the parking lot before the race even started! It was half attached on one side, so I figured I'd go for it. My name was called to the chute, and we zoomed out of it, drag brake or no. The team looked awesome coming out of the chute, and I was very happy with the way Ruffian and Yeti, both young, fearlessly led the team over terrain they'd never seen before.
My team flying out of the starting chute at the Jack Pine 30
I stepped on the drag mat to slow them down a bit. Despite having several hundred miles of training on the dogs this season since September, they don't know how to pace themselves very well having run sprint races all this season. Soon after I stepped on the drag, it fell off completely! With almost the full 30 mile race to go, I braced myself. This would be an interesting ride.
Suddenly, the team decided to try to turn left on a short crossroad to a little shed! I yelled "straight ahead" over and over to tell Yeti to keep on the same trail, and I could see the wheels turning in his head, but he was determined to go down that short turn off! Eventually, after about four minutes, Yeti got it, but by the time we were back on the trail, my leaders were hopelessly tangled. They were still hot (wound up) so I was hesitant to stop them and hook down for fear they'd pop my snow hook and I'd be left in the dust. So I ran them a bit. In that time, my friend Jon who started behind me, caught up to me. I let him pass and he yelled back, "Your leaders are tangled!"
"No shit!" I yelled back.
He stopped his team so mine would (hopefully) stay behind him and I quickly hooked down and ran up to untangle my leaders. In a swoosh, we were off.
Only to encounter another tangle. I hooked down again. This time a musher from Lloyd Gilbertson's super fast kennel was coming up behind my team. I knew if she passed, my dogs would want to give chase. Translation: I better hurry up! Just as this musher started to pass me on the left, the dogs started to pound in their harnesses and popped the snowhook, which came flying toward me. I caught it, but it stuck into my right hand between my thumb and index finger. I caught the sled and jumped on the runners just as it came by. There was no time to think about the snowhook or my hand, which was bleeding. The dogs were off again.
During this stretch, where the trail turns away from a major highway and runs along a railroad track, I had an opportunity to enjoy the beautiful day! It was a little warm at right around 30 degrees, but sunny clear blue skies stretched on for miles. The run along the train tracks was beautiful. A train went by, but the dogs handled it fine. Things were uneventful for about 8 miles or so until we hit the "gravel pit" - a winding trail that goes through a gravel yard. There's a sharp 90 degree turn that drops abruptly down a sharp hill along this part of the trail, and apparently some mushers had several wipe outs here, because in addition to the huge drop off, there was a three foot ditch within the hill. My right runner fell into the ditch and I wiped out briefly, but quickly bounced back. The dogs were still going strong and I was happy so far despite a couple set backs. I thought we still had a good chance at placing with good time.
But as we climbed the steep hills behind "Marquette Mountain," the dogs started to tire.
Coming down one of the steep hills behind Marquette Mountain. Photo by Dino Mandoli
It was difficult to navigate the downhill slopes without a drag mat; I used my heel a lot and the bar brake so I wouldn't run over the wheel dogs. I stopped to give them a break a couple times and to encourage them a bit. But they were growing tired climbing those big hills, despite my running behind the sled.
And then, finally, we made it to the top of Marquette ski hill. This is my favorite part of the race trail on the Jack Pine. It's so cool to run along the ski hill with skiers whizzing past. The skiers and snowboarders always get a kick out of the dogs, and it's a lot of fun to come flying down that hill.
If it weren't for the chair lift overhead.
You ain't goin' no where! My team stopped dead at the bottom of Marquette ski hill because of the chair lift. Photo by Lina Blair
Several dogs in my team are young. Two, Big Brown and Ruffian, are yearlings who are only 20 months old; Yeti, my main leader, is only 28 months old. My main concern was giving my young dogs a good experience and helping encourage them to keep moving. They were quite nervous about the chair lift, however, and just stopped dead near the bottom of the hill. I decided to give them a break. What else could I do?
Several people came up to talk to me and encourage the dogs while we were stopped. One person, photographer and academic advisor from Northern Michigan University, Lina Blair, shot several funny photos of my team stopped at this point. Lina was instrumental in helping my team have the confidence to go under that chair lift. I owe her tons of thanks!
Once we got past the chair lift, I called the team up, and away we went. The break gave the team a chance to collect their energy for the final five miles.
Finally, we went under the bridge and turned the corner headed back for town. It was a rough 30 miles.
Grabbing for the hard-earned red lantern
The red lantern is a symbol of perseverance and teamwork. In the first serum run in 1925, the red lantern was kept lit until the last musher returned home safely. It was a beacon guiding wayward mushers home.
But it is so much more. The red lantern says you've met struggles and adversity on the trail and had the wherewithal to deal with it and still meet your goal. It's a symbol of teamwork.
I am so proud of my dogs. And I am thankful for the people who have stood behind me along the rocky road the last six months have been. There was a point in time, last September, I didn't think I'd even be back on the runners, much less racing. This little red lantern symbolizes triumph over so many struggles.
