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

“Five-four-three-two-one-GO!” and we’re off. Slipper and Bea rocket down the starting chute — for about 50 feet. Then they stop while Slipper relieves herself in a ladylike manner right in front of about 1,000 spectators. Ron and I just look at each other; there’s not a lot to be done when Nature calls, especially when the called party is one of your lead dogs.

Having tended to business, Slipper responds smartly when I yell “Okay!” and we’re off again, the amused good wishes of the crowd ringing in our ears. Just like yesterday, I’m sure somebody caught everything on video; I hope Slipper’s answer to the call of the wild doesn’t wind up on “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” or if it does, that my name isn’t mentioned.

Once we’re out of the starting area we cross the busy Parks Highway as the crossing guards frantically shovel snow onto the road for the sleds even while they hold back 20 or 30 cars. Then we roll out onto frozen Lake Lucille, where the Junior Iditarod started and finished a week ago. Clumps of people are scattered all along the trail, some on snowmachines, some with their cars, some on skis, and some even with their own dog teams. They all wish us a good trip, and I sincerely hope their wishes come true.

The run down to Knik goes remarkably smoothly. We’re only passed by a couple of teams, which I take as a good omen. Once again I overtake Wayne Curtis and his Siberians and we trade good-natured jibes about the relative merits of our teams. I’m sure I’ll be seeing more of Wayne out on the trail because our teams are quite closely matched in most respects.

As we pull onto the lake in front of the bar at Knik, I think to myself how far things have come in the two months since I blasted out of here on the Knik 200. The next 100 miles of trail will be more than familiar, an advantage I can certainly use to help me get everything sorted out for the trail beyond.

Bert and Kim grab the leaders as soon as I check in and lead the team off to the side so we can drop the second sled as well as a bulky bag of booties I’ve decided I won’t need because of the spring-like temperatures and excellent trail conditions. Within five minutes I pull the hook and Slipper and Bea are leading us across the lake and around the old Knik museum, out onto the original Iditarod.

At last we’re embarked on the real journey to Nome, leaving the road system behind. The trail is superb and we make excellent time. We’re passed by a couple more teams, but not nearly as many as I’d feared. The dogs are cruising marvelously and I can honestly say I’m enjoying the ride. If we can hold this pace, we’ll be in Skwentna by midnight, a respectable first day’s run.

About seven miles out of Knik I make a quick stop (on Seven Mile Lake, naturally) to throw some herring to the dogs for a snack. Fish is an excellent hot-weather snack because it’s got lots of moisture and protein, just what the dogs need to counteract their own dehydration.

While I’m stopped, I cinch up the pistol and cartridge belt I’ve borrowed from Bert. We’ve been warned about heavy moose concentrations on the trail and every musher is armed. In my case, I’m packing a.357 magnum around my waist like an Old West gunfighter. I hope I don’t have to use it, because it’ll mean I’ve got bigger problems than just figuring out how to get it unlimbered and pointed in the right direction.

Even wide-open trails on major rivers can conceal dangers. The crossed trail stakes here warn of open water just off the trail up the Yentna River to Skwentna.

After the fish break, we’re off again; Nine-Mile Hill is the next landmark, and the dogs take it at a lope. Coming down the other side, though, I notice that the cartridge belt feels a little light on my hips. I check quickly and find that the pistol and its holster aren’t there any more. The only thing I can figure is that the holster simply broke loose from the belt somewhere back down the trail.

I briefly consider turning around to go find it, but realize I’d probably cause more trouble running into outbound teams. Besides, it’s almost a certainty that a musher behind me will find it and bring it on to the next checkpoint at Yentna Station, and the race organization can return it to me up the trail somewhere. In any case, I sincerely doubt I’ll really need it; Ron has run seven Iditarods without a firearm, and I’ve never needed one on any of my races so far.

So, I press on into the wilderness unarmed. Actually, I figure the dogs will appreciate not having to tote the extra few pounds. They certainly seem to run a little better as we roll on across the Little Susitna River and past the “Nome 1049 Miles” sign I remember from the Knik 200—this time, of course, it’s for real.

As we approach Flathorn Lake, about 35 miles out from Knik, I’m passed by several of the top-20 fast movers, including my neighbor John Barron; the dog he gave me, little Maybelline, is running like a champ even though she’s barely 20 months old. I’m impressed at the speed and power of their teams, which have a several-mile-an-hour advantage over my second-stringers. As in the Copper Basin 300, I’m definitely drifting to the back of the pack, but at least there will be lots of room back there.

Just past Flathorn Lake, where the trail enters a belt of trees before crossing a two-mile-long swamp, I hear enough barking ahead for what must be two dozen teams. Apparently everyone has had the same idea: give the dogs a break here before heading out onto the Susitna River for the run up to Skwentna. I figure my guys can use a break from the scorching temperatures and pull into an inviting side trail when we reach the tree line. I unhook the dogs’ tuglines and let them cool off in the deep snow while I dig out some more herring for them to munch on.

While I’m there Wayne pulls into the next turnoff. We chat awhile and agree to try to run together on up the trail after everything stabilizes, and then he pulls out. I follow 15 minutes later and we head out onto the wide-open swamp, which has been packed into a boulevard maybe 300 feet wide by the myriad of dog teams and snowmachines that have stopped there over the past couple of months.

About halfway across the expanse, Slipper begins to drift over to the right side of the packed area, apparently following her nose to one of the places where other teams have stopped and snacked. When I try to call her back over to the main trail, she swings completely around to the right and heads back the way we’ve just come. I notice I’m not the only driver with this problem: one of the Japanese mushers is trying to get his team pointed westward as well.

I stop the team and run up and line everyone out in the proper direction. However, when I give the “Okay!” Slipper comes around to the right again and I have to repeat the procedure. We do this a few more times until I finally just let her keep coming around in a full circle. We cut a couple more doughnuts on the wide-open dance floor before I finally get her headed off the swamp to the west. I hope this isn’t a harbinger of things to come; just in case, I decide to put Pullman in the lead at Skwentna, now that we’re away from the crowds.

Things go more smoothly out on the river. The trail is wide and well marked and Slipper keeps up a good pace. As night falls I pull out my headlamp and use it to spot the trail markers, four-foot pieces of wooden lath with bands of reflective yellow tape. In the headlamp’s beam, the markers are visible for a mile ahead, making it almost impossible to get lost in the dark.

I know Slipper is getting on in years (she’s 10) and her night vision is failing. However, Bea has always acted as a sort of seeing-eye partner for her and we’ve never had any problems at night. Now, though, Slipper keeps wandering to the right, off the beaten path and onto the less-packed snowmachine trails paralleling the mainline. Still, there’s no real problem because all of the trails are going to the same place and rejoin each other every few hundred yards. Nevertheless, I think putting Pullman back up front for tomorrow’s run makes good sense.