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Pre- Race Mushers Banqet

From the moment you enter the line outside and realize you’re rubbing elbows with mushers themselves

by June Price

03/02/2006

From the moment you enter the line outside and realize you’re rubbing elbows with mushers themselves, the musher banquet is a rush of impressions and experiences. Enter the Sullivan Arena and look down on the sea of tables below and you realize, perhaps for the first time, how popular this event has become. Yet, the arena is so large that one person’s experience on one side or the middle, may be totally different than that of, say, someone on the opposite side or the front or back. It’s noisy, crowded and difficult to find faces in the crowd, but that, in an odd way, is part of the allure of the event. While looking for one person, you’re likely to find someone else.

Your experience begins at your assigned table. Table assignments are largely random. You order a ticket and don’t know where you’ll be seated or with whom until you arrive. Discussion is difficult because of the noise, so everything tends to come in snippets. Sitting at a table, you’ll find yourself trying to participate in three different conversations at one time, never quite grasping the entire conversation, but still enjoying the moment.

I was lucky enough to be sharing a table with Pauline Schroeder, one of the volunteer vets who worked vet check the day before. This was Pauline’s first trip to Alaska period, not just the Iditarod. For vets interested in being trail vets, being part of the vet checks and being able to experience it all in person is important. It gives them a feel for the demands of the job and what the might face out on the trail. Although she won’t be going out on the trail this year, Pauline found lots to like and noted a particular interest in some of the studies being done.

As I begin to mill around, camera strung around my neck, I frequently find myself having to stop and step aside to let someone else pass. That’s common. The tables are close and with parkas hanging off the backs of most chairs, aisle space is tight. In doing so, I note how many, many other cameras are in view. These range from simple, single use cameras to the high tech camera sitting above the arena and manned by a local news crew. Media interest in the race is intense, with some mushers, such as Jessie Royer, being followed around by home town reporters.

Above the stage, video clips appear periodically on large screens. They range from promos for the Iditarod Insider, to clips that remind of us those not with us. One of the late Colonel Norman Vaughan, for whom a memorial service will be held on Friday, brings both a smile and a tear. His wife Carolyn doesn’t take the stage but waves to the crowd from her seat. When musher Jim Lanier takes the stage to pick his bib number, Lanier, a long time friend of Vaughan, reveals that the Colonel is going up the trail with him one last time. Lanier plans to spread his ashes in selected spots along the trail.

The mushers, rookies and veterans, lined up near the stage without much prompting. Lori Townsend, who’d signed up first, is first. Then, in the order they signed up, the rest follow. Townsend picked the first available number, number 2. Bib number one is reserved for the honorary musher. Four-time champion Doug Swingley picks number five, noting he’s going for his fifth victory. Lucky number thirteen is picked by rookie Kim Kittredge. And so it continued until all the mushers had picked. And then, until Saturday, most happily disappeared from the spotlight, going back to their dogs, the real stars of the show.