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

When I blearily step back and survey my handiwork, I see 45 colorful rice bags, each emblazoned with the name of its designated checkpoint, lined up like signposts across a miniature Alaska: Skwentna, Rainy Pass, Rohn, Nikolai, McGrath, Takotna, Iditarod, Shageluk, Grayling, Kaltag, Unalakleet, Shaktoolik, Koyuk, Elim, White Mountain, Safety, and Nome. Each one is bulging with all the necessities for taking 16 dogs — and me — across 1,200 miles of the Last Frontier.

Now I just have to get them all into the collection point in Anchorage before the end of the day. Fortunately a friend with a big van has graciously offered to run most of my bags into town for me on his regular supply trip for his grocery store (coincidentally named Gee-Haw Supply). I cram the rest of the bags into my long-suffering minivan and forge my way into the city, fortified with double-strength coffee, a handful of Tylenol, and the sure and certain knowledge that things can only get better.

At the food drop collection point, located this year as usual in the receiving warehouse for one of the biggest air freight operations in Anchorage, I am once again staggered at the scope of the logistics required to put on the race. A volunteer force of almost 50 people is rapidly digesting each new load in a most workmanlike manner; many of them are friends with whom I worked while volunteering on past races.

The entire floor of the huge warehouse is taken up by pallets full of Iditarod food drop bags. Each checkpoint is represented by several pallets; as the pile of sacks on each pallet rises as high as a person’s head it is wrapped in plastic sheeting and hauled off by a forklift. Most checkpoints have five or six pallets, and some have 10 or more.

If my shipment is any indication, the total for all mushers and all locations will be about 120,000 pounds in perhaps 2,500 separate bags. Most of this will be mailed, taking advantage of Alaska’s unique bypass mail system which allows direct air freight shipments to practically any Bush location with a zip code. The balance will be airlifted to remote checkpoints by the Iditarod Air Force.

Of course, it isn’t free. Mushers must pay for their shipment, although the rate of 25 cents per pound is very reasonable, all things considered. After my bags are checked in and weighed, my total comes to 1,999 pounds. I give the nice lady at the cashier’s desk five new 100-dollar bills and get a quarter back. Still, I feel it’s a cheap price to pay to get the drudgery of the food drop behind me.

The next milestone is race day on Fourth Avenue. I just hope I can wake up in time to get to the starting line because right now I’m going to stagger back up the highway to my cabin, take as many painkillers for my aching body as I legally can, and sleep like a hibernating grizzly.

Kim Hanson is just finishing the Junior Iditarod in ninth place — not bad considering the dogs stopped on her in a ground blizzard on the Yentna River. The Junior is for mushers 14 to 17 years old, and teams are limited to 10 dogs. It’s only 160 miles out to Yentna Station and back but it can be a tough little race, like today with the winds blowing on the river.

Kim’s parents and I spent most of the day in the race operations room keeping track of her progress. For the longest time we couldn’t figure out why she wasn’t moving; she admits she fell asleep on the sled when the dogs didn’t want to go any farther. However, once she started moving again she set the fastest time for the last 40 miles, which I take as a good sign.

The dogs come in strongly, trotting at a good 10-mile-an-hour pace across the finish line, smartly lined out. I like to think I’ve trained them right for them to look so good. The only possible sour note is three of the females, including leaders Slipper and Bea, are unexpectedly in heat, which can be very disruptive under some conditions. Still, the team seems to be running smoothly enough.

We take the dogs back to Montana Creek so I can make a last couple of tuning-up runs before the big race next Saturday. My rib is in good enough shape (or rather, is hurting at a low enough level) to convince me I can get back on the sled. If nothing else, I’ve got to figure out how to handle the team without using some of my still-sundered muscles. But I’ve got faith in the team; we’ve come too far together to turn back now.

It’s the day before the race and I’m still not ready to go. I have a list of errands as long as my arm which absolutely must get done today, or else. I cannot understand how I’ve gotten this far if I’ve still got this much to do — much less how I’m going to hit the trail tomorrow.

I brought the dogs into town this morning; we’ll stay at Bert’s tonight and tomorrow night after the run to Eagle River so we don’t have to make the long drive down from Montana Creek each day. I’ve been running around Anchorage all day trying to get last-minute things taken care of — new harnesses, extra booties, a spare-parts kit for the sled, nail clippers for the dogs, more charcoal hand warmers, a new thermos, half a dozen pairs of socks, candy — all of the little things I forgot during the hectic activity of the last few days.

The booties are especially important. I came up short of the 1,200 I’ll need and had to wait until our in-house assembly line could get into gear. Of course, all of the booties and other stuff I’m picking up won’t fit in the sled, so I’ll have to put everything into bags and mail them to the various checkpoints. It’s not a big deal — almost every musher does it every year. All I have to do is put a label on the bag addressed to me, in care of the Iditarod Checker at, say, Kaltag. The bag will be waiting for me along with the other stuff I’ve already shipped out.

This week has been consumed with meetings and last-minute preparations. I had good runs with all of the dogs on Monday and Tuesday, although Kona — one of my secondary leaders — seems to have an injured shoulder, probably from the Junior Iditarod, where Kim had to drop her. However, I’ve already arranged with Steve Adkins to borrow three of his dogs as fill-ins for just such an eventuality. The 25-mile jaunt Tuesday night was the settling-in run for these newcomers — Blackie, Ben, and May — and they performed perfectly.

Tuesday was also the rookie meeting. This took most of the day at Iditarod Headquarters in Wasilla; we picked up some useful information, but most of us could have used the extra time to rest and get our gear in order. Of course, we had already watched the same stuff on a four-hour videotape a couple of months earlier and we didn’t exactly feel like standing up to cheer. At least they had lots of coffee to keep our eyelids jammed open.

On Wednesday I had to take all the dogs down to Wasilla for the vet exam. Unfortunately, Batman (a big, fast male I was counting on) didn’t pass because of potentially serious foot problems. This left me with 17 dogs from which to choose the final 16 on race day — not perfect, but still ahead of the power curve.

Mushers draw for starting positions at the Iditarod Mushers Banquet, always held the Thursday night before the race. Here the author draws the number 23 position for the 1995 race.

Yesterday (Thursday) was the main mushers’ meeting at the Regal Alaskan Hotel in Anchorage. This took almost all day but was spiced up by the inevitable wrangling over the interpretation of the rules. This is something that happens every year because of the annual modification of the regulations. For this race, Martin Buser’s trademark sled sail was ruled out, as were a couple of other innovative aids for the well-equipped musher.