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"It's about the dogs"

The Restart of Iditarod 2005: Making Memories

by June Price

03/08/2005

People. People everywhere. People walking, people on snow machines, people on skis, people in gliders overhead, people standing in groups discussing the Last Great Race, people standing in one line or the other in the community center or patiently inching forward toward viewing areas. People. People lining the chute in a line that stretched down the lake and around the corner and then strung out for miles. People out even further, awaiting the arrival of the first teams. Later, people in the vehicles in front of and behind you as you inch your way home after a fatal accident slowed traffic for hours. People. Ironically, that is your first impression of the restart of Iditarod 2005.

Unlike the start, where all the action is compressed into a few city blocks, Willow provided lots of space, space that was quickly filled with fans trying to find a close parking space, dog trucks weaving through the pedestrian traffic and race officials and volunteers scurrying to get everything set up in time for the race to begin.

Slowly however, you become aware of the ever present sound of run crazy dogs, reminding you this is a dog race, not a social event. It’s about the dogs. The mushers, so open and even chatty the day before, are all business today. True, most will stop if asked for a photo or autograph but it is somehow obvious that their minds are elsewhere, already somewhere along the Iditarod Trail. As I walked among the dog trucks, without being aware of it, I realized I had picked up on that sense of urgency. Mushers I’ve known for years and consider friends, I did no more than stop for a few words with before moving on. It somehow even seemed obtrusive to take photos, at least up close. Bottom line, it was obvious the mushers had better things to do than smile pretty for the camera.

This year, unlike last year’s restart in Willow, the musher trucks were far more scattered. They were contained in three different areas and without a map, fans may have found it difficult to locate all their favorites easily. Of course, it’s also important to remember, as I noted above, today was the mushers’ day, not the fans’. They just allowed us to share it, albeit it often from a distance. Mitch Seavey seemed particularly focused, as did Jeff King. Both were in different areas but attending to details personally, their air of "busy" shielding them from even those of us with access. Martin Buser remained largely out of sight, perhaps nursing his injured hand for the task ahead. His wife Kathy, however, was at the truck, greeting and chatting with all, as were sons Rohn and Nikolai.

The Seavey Family seemed to be everywhere. I noted that as busy as they were, however, they took time to celebrate being a family and, if you were lucky and quick, you could have snapped the entire clan together several times. "Grandpa Dan" was having a blast and seemed to be everywhere, his broad smile of pride being most evident in the starting chute as he watched his son and two grandsons head off to Nome.

Mitch’s wife, Janine, provided a quiet presence and air of calm that all the racing Seavey’s seemed to appreciate. One of the youngest of the Seavey’s wasn’t happy, however, and stood beside Mitch with tears in his eyes as "Daddy" stood on the runners under the starting chute waiting to leave. A quiet touch and whispered reassurance from "Daddy" that he’d see him soon, however, seemed to do the trick. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that there are real people under all those layers of winter garb and bib numbers, so this was a reminder of the human touch that is so important to all these mushers who are leaving loved ones and friends behind as they leave the line.

Cameras of all kinds are everywhere, I might note. Jeff Shultz, the official Iditarod race photographer, had not just his usual bag of cameras but apparently his own ladder. From my own vantage point at the starting line, I looked up at one point to see a ladder being set up in the narrow chute provided for handlers to escape the area after their musher has left. I turned back to the chute to snap an approaching musher and by the time I turned back around again, Jeff was atop the ladder snapping away.

Former race champion Joe Runyan popped in and out with the Outdoor Life crew, ironically drawing growls from one fan behind us who had no clue they were missing a genuine photo opt and instead wanted to get a photo of the dogs in the chute. That’s always been one of the things I find fascinating, how easy it is to become so fixated on a tiny goal that you can easily miss the big picture. When I turned to the fan after Joe left and told her who she’d just missed getting a photo of, she gasped. So, big hint race fans, keep those eyes open!

Despite this, there is no way you’ll ever be able to see or take in the entire event. For every story playing out in front of you, there are dozens of other stories elsewhere. This may be a dog race but it’s also about the people that love and share their lives. Ramey Smyth arrives at the restart line with a dog strapped in his sled, Jeff King with one in a crate on the runners, raising a buzz of questions - best quick guess, just trying to spare a dog more sensitive to the heat -- but elsewhere mushers are getting dressed, discussing strategy and, always, caring for the dogs.

For those not directly involved in the race, it’s a day of fun. Lines of snow machines lined the lake and darted here and there. A skier was seen poling his way across the lake, probably keeping a close eye on snow machine traffic. Near one of the staging areas, two small, engine powered, glider type planes sat. I’m drawing a blank on their real name but decided that, at some point, this looked like fun. I can best describe them as a sort of small snow machine with wings attached. I’d expected them to have to cross the entire lake to get up speed to take off but they were in the air very quickly. When I turned to another spectator and commented on that, he laughed. He said it’s normally a quicker trip into the air. Okay, another future adventure to add to me "wanna do" list.

In the meantime, out in front of the crowded community center, Teams Norway are rubbing shoulders with Canada’s Karen Ramstead while Melanie Shirilla and husband Doug Swingley share a dog truck alongside of them. As I chat with Melanie, I spy some dogs inside the truck exhibiting very unusual behavior for sled dogs about to start a race. They’re snoozing! I even see Doug walk into the truck at one point and the only reaction these wonderfully trained and sensitized dogs have is for one to open an eye, roll it upwards at the audacity Doug has disturbing its nap and then it went back to snoozing. Later, when it’s time for the dogs to be harnessed, however, at a softly spoken command, they suddenly become alert. Well rested and thoroughly relaxed, they’re ready to go and don’t hesitate to let us know.

For the mushers, as always, getting from the staging area near their dog trucks to the starting line was perhaps an adventure. Depending upon where you were parked, it might involve some tricky dog handling. Some rather sharp turns were necessary for a few. At one point, as I stood by the starting line, an obviously new mushing fan appeared behind me. When I spoke to him, he asked in amazement, "Where are the reins?" No reins. They use voice commands.

"So, do they go when the announcer says go or the musher?" he asked quizzically. Okay, true, that’d debatable but I can assure you, most of the top teams left on the mushers command, not the announced "Go!" This new fan was absolutely fascinated and I found myself giving a quick course in mushing 101. What fun to be able to share a bit of knowledge and your own enthusiasm with those new to the Last Great Race. Seeing it through the eyes of wide eyed rookie fans is a reminder once again of what drew us all in originally, the sheer joy of watching the dogs and how it all comes together.

Elsewhere, while the mushers and dogs remain the focus, it is often reunion time for returning fans and volunteers. I walked into the cabin alongside the community center early that morning and perused the identification tags waiting to be claimed. They came from all over and, as a former Floridian, I laughed to see one for a Florida volunteer. I’d driven to the race with several friends and returning volunteers myself and the chatter often drifted to past adventures, ranging from driving together to Fairbanks in ’03 to late nights in the Fancy Moose at the Millennium Hotel. The race, fascinating as it is, serves another purpose, therefore. It brings together people from all over. Despite all the action going on outside, most find time to meet and catch up on what has been going on with friends over the past year. While doing this, you’re often introduced to other soon to be friends who’ve accompanied friends to the race after listening to them rave about how much fun it is for a year. You’ll come for a dog race but leave with a treasure trove of memories and new friends.