Mike Dillingham - Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers - The Adventures of Balto, Back of the Pack, Honor Bound, Rivers

The dogs just behind the leaders are called the swing dogs; they are often leaders in their own right. Just in front of the sled are the wheel dogs; they are very important to help guide the sled through turns. The other dogs are team dogs, although most of them can handle swing or wheel or even lead when needed. Indeed, most Iditarod mushers try to load their team with as many leaders as they can.

There is no special type of dog used on the Iditarod. Some mushers run specific AKC-recognized breeds such as Malamutes and Siberians, but most sled dogs are called by the generic term “Alaska husky,” which usually means any critter with four legs and a tail capable of pulling a sled.

Over the years, mushers have mixed all sorts of breeds trying to find the perfect sled dog; some have been quite successful. When referring to sled dogs, most mushers don’t talk about what breed they are, but from whose kennel and what lineage they descend, such as “That’s a Buser dog,” or “This one’s a Victor grandson.” The average Iditarod sled dog is basically a mutt — albeit a carefully bred and highly prized one.

The harness is an all-important item of gear. It must fit properly and allow the dog to run comfortably while still pulling smoothly. On most races, including the Iditarod, dogs usually wear their harnesses from start to finish.

The chief distinguishing characteristics of a good long-distance sled dog are extreme endurance and almost unbelievable aerobic efficiency. Studies have shown the so-called Alaskan husky to be among Nature’s most extraordinary athletes. Long-haul sled dogs can directly metabolize fat and sometimes use 10,000 calories a day on extended races. They are quite literally born and bred for the trail, and can travel for more than 100 miles nonstop at better than 10 miles an hour if conditions are right — and do it again and again as long as they get sufficient rest and food.

The dogs can easily outlast their human drivers and routinely do so on long races. Fortunately, a good team can run virtually on autopilot once underway, almost always choosing the correct trail. Indeed, the musher’s job on long runs often involves long hours of merely monitoring the team’s progress and making commands only when needed — and perhaps grabbing a short nap here and there on open stretches. Regardless, there is usually plenty of time for the driver to enjoy the scenery and appreciate the smooth workings of the finely tuned living machine that is an Iditarod dog team.

Although the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race is now incorporated, it’s a nonprofit organization (in more ways than one) and still relies on volunteers and donations to make it work. It has only a tiny permanent staff. In an average year, it takes a multi-million-dollar budget and a couple of thousand volunteers to stage the race.

When considering the scope of the Iditarod and what’s required to put it on, it’s important to remember there are no roads or railroads west of the Anchorage-Fairbanks “railbelt,” and the only way to get to Nome in winter is by airplane or snowmachine — or dog sled. Because of this, the race logistics effort, including grooming the trail and handling the myriad of details in Anchorage and all of the enroute towns and villages, is similar to a major military operation.

It’s also crucial to keep in mind a central premise of the race: mushers must generally be on their own for the trip to Nome. They must feed and care for their own dogs, and all dogs must be kept and fed in a common area at each checkpoint. They cannot add or replace dogs and must generally rely on what they have carried with them or sent ahead — just as in the old days when they had to rely on whatever was available at the roadhouses and villages. Mushers can help each other, of course, and often do on the trail, but they cannot otherwise receive outside assistance.

Meals are usually available for the drivers at the checkpoints, including some notably sumptuous spreads provided by certain towns. Mushers are free to visit friends and even grab a beverage or a shower if they can find one and time permits. If necessary, they can even buy supplies in local stores or repair their sleds with locally available materials and tools. The goal is to make the race as much an individual effort as possible — within reason.

While the enroute towns and villages provide some support, the vast bulk of food and other items used by the teams and the volunteers must be shipped from Anchorage before the race. Every musher must provide a specified amount of food for his or her dogs at 20-odd checkpoints along the route (usually a total of about a ton or so). Each must also carry a required amount of equipment in the sled at all times, much of which is survival gear because the mushers are completely on their own between checkpoints, some of which are more than 90 miles apart.

Each driver’s food and supplies for the checkpoints are shipped out of Anchorage by the race organization so as to be in place when the teams arrive. This provides the equivalent of an old-time network of roadhouses along the trail. A typical musher’s “food drop” shipment includes several 50-pound sacks for each checkpoint; the color-coded bags contain frozen dog food, “people food,” booties, spare lines and snaps, batteries, and other miscellaneous items necessary for what is, in effect, a major wilderness expedition.

After climbing the seawall from the beach, teams must thread their way along Nome’s Front Street. Sometimes the snow has melted from the roadway and the dogs must run on the sidewalk.

Additionally, the race sends several dozen bales of straw to every stop along the route, plus food and equipment for the volunteers ranging from food to tents to fuel. For a field of 75 mushers, 100 or so on-the-trail volunteers, and maybe 1,200 dogs, the total can be more than 200,000 pounds.

Getting this mountain of goodies out to the checkpoints is a story all by itself. A few of the checkpoints are good-sized towns (good-sized for Alaska, anyway) with major airports; some are Native villages with small airports; a couple are ghost towns; several are conveniently located frozen lakes with a lodge or cabin; and some are just wide stretches of snow-covered river in the middle of nowhere with nobody around for miles. The resulting delivery system is truly Alaskan and definitely unique.

First, all but about a half-dozen checkpoints have regular mail airfreight service, thanks to the U.S. Postal Service. The race organization ships truckloads of mailable supplies to every checkpoint with a zip code west of the Alaska Range. All told, it’s cheap to use the U.S. Mail to ship goods to the Bush, thanks to the subsidies given to Alaskan air carriers. The system isn’t very cost-effective for the taxpayer, but without it many Alaska Bush communities would have no air service at all.

The main intake point for this continuous flood of packages is the mammoth Anchorage International Airport Post Office, which is open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. It’s worth a visit all by itself to watch people carting in things like refrigerators and engine blocks to ship to some remote Bush village. One can only wonder what Carl Ben Eielson and other early airmail pilots have thought if they knew where their pioneering efforts would lead.

For checkpoints without mail service, a slightly different method is used. Some checkpoints (McGrath, Unalakleet, Nome, and also Galena in even-numbered years) have major airports with regular passenger and air cargo service. The bundles for the boonies are mailed to the nearest of these “hubs” for onward shipment. Also, items which can’t be shipped through the mails (such as big disassembled tents, perishable vet supplies, and 30-odd cases of Heet to every checkpoint for use in mushers’ alcohol cook stoves) are airfreighted to the hubs.