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

Almost before I realize it, we’re at Yentna Station, the first checkpoint on the river. This is one of the checkpoints to which we couldn’t ship anything this year, but there’s still a full staff of checkers and vets, as well as straw to bed down the dogs if we want to rest. There are a dozen teams still there when we arrive. When I pull in I tell the checkers to keep the team out of the straw because I intend to go out fairly quickly, and I don’t want the dogs to get settled in.

I also ask about the pistol I lost back down the trail; they say it was picked up and returned to race headquarters, and the race judges will probably decide to get it back to me at Rainy Pass or Rohn. I’m relieved, not so much at having the pistol to defend against moose, but because it belongs to Bert and I’d have felt bad about losing it. I quickly set up the alcohol cooker and heat some water to mix with the dry dog food; the dogs will certainly need the water after their hot trip this afternoon.

While the dogs are eating and resting I wander into the lodge where the checkpoint is located. The race judge here is Bernie Willis, who built the sled I’m running and whom I know. He says the race is moving very quickly and there haven’t been any problems so far. I go back out to check on the dogs just as Barrie pulls in; she says she’s going to move straight on to Skwentna, and I wish her luck and tell her I’ll see her there.

Back in the checkpoint I talk with Bernie while I wolf down a plate of spaghetti and a quart of Tang. Then I stretch out for a quick nap to rest my cracked rib, which is bothering me again. I also ache all over and feel as if I’m coming down with a bad cold. But I’ve made it to the first remote checkpoint in good order, and I figure I’ve earned a little respite. Before I realize it, I fall fast asleep curled up against the wall behind the stove.

March 6, 1995—The Iditarod: Yentna Station to Skwentna (35 miles) Skwentna to Finger Lake (45 miles)

When I finally wake up I discover I’ve overslept and finally pull out of Yentna Station just after midnight, about four hours after I arrived. I know this was probably too long a stay, but rationalize the dogs can always use the rest. The run to Skwentna should only take another four hours, which I figure we easily can do nonstop. We still won’t be very far behind my schedule, and should be able to move on to Finger Lake and Rainy Pass by noon.

One of the assistant checkers leads the team out of the checkpoint and we accelerate onto the outbound trail. The crescent moon has set and my headlight provides almost the only illumination on the half-mile-wide river ahead. We have the broad trail entirely to ourselves and we make excellent time.

Five miles later Slipper starts veering to the right again, and this time she gets us almost to the river bank on an obscure track leading up to somebody’s cabin before I realize where she’s going. When I turn the team around, the males in the back of the team suddenly pull the snow hook and surge up into the females. A massive tangle ensues in the waist-deep snow, and it’s so complex I can’t readily get into it to start sorting it out.

While I’m working to get a handle on things a spat breaks out among half a dozen of the females. To my surprise, they’ve all ganged up on Pullman; by the time I can get her out of it she is terrified, although not really hurt. This bothers me because she may be too spooked now to lead effectively for awhile. But I don’t have time to worry about Pull-man because while I’ve been breaking up the fight Yankee has gotten rather intimately involved with Blues, who is apparently a lot more in heat than I realized.

This is not good, but I’m able to get the team straightened out while the two lovebirds are consummating their shotgun marriage. On the bright side, I was going to breed Blues anyway, and Yankee was a leading suitor. I just wish he could have waited until Skwentna.

Once we’re back on the trail things are reasonably orderly for another four or five miles, when Slipper again veers onto a side trail. This time I decide enough is enough and put Pullman up front with Blackie, one of the males I borrowed from Steve Adkins. Pullman seems reluctant, but Blackie is eager and starts the team. Once we’re underway, Pullman seems to be doing okay and we cruise for perhaps another 15 miles.

Then for no apparent reason Pullman simply slows down, pulls off to the left side of the trail, and lies down. I try to coax her into going on but she doesn’t want to move. She’s not tired, and all I can think of is she’s just scared of the females behind her in the team who apparently have it in for her.

I start to swap leaders around, but discover nothing works. Even Slipper and Bea won’t go; they are both in heat and just turn around to try to get to the males. The males have become completely crazy trying to get to the females, and every time I pull the snow hook to try to get the team to go, they surge up into the females and I have to jump to keep a major tangle — and more Iditapups — from happening. I even try to put old Socks up front with Blackie, but the two amorous males immediately turn around and head for the females behind them.

A dozen teams are already resting at the Yentna Station checkpoint, 20 miles up the Yentna River and the first checkpoint off the road system. Most will spend less than an hour here before moving on to Skwentna, 35 miles upriver.

I continue to swap leaders and use every trick I know to get the team started. I try to pull the leaders by hand to get them going, but the hormone-driven males in the rear of the team always pull the sled up into the females before I can run even a few steps. I sort out a dozen tangles — with a couple of attendant snapping matches — resulting from my efforts to get going. However, nobody is hurt and I’ve still got plenty of time; I reason a cooling-off period won’t hurt so I just sit down on the sled and wait.

While I’m biding my time, a couple of other teams come by. Fellow rookie Kjell Risung says he’s also having leader problems, but at least he’s moving. I hope my dogs will follow one of the passing teams and get us on into Skwentna, but they don’t. Pretty soon I’m all alone on the river; I know I’m fairly close to Skwentna, but if I can’t get the team to move I might as well be on Mars.

After awhile I stretch out on the sled and nap. In a few hours I wake up as the first hint of dawn tints the sky behind me. I rouse the dogs and start switching leaders again. On about the tenth try I pair up Weasel and Maybelline; neither is really a start-up leader but Weasel is spayed and Maybelline isn’t in heat, and I’ve tried everyone else.

Sure enough, little Maybelline, who never ceases to amaze me, jumps off on her own as soon as we’re ready and Weasel joins in. We’re on our way — several hours behind schedule and with leaders who aren’t leaders — but at least we’re moving. With Maybelline bouncing and playing up front, we roar the last five miles into Skwentna, arriving in grand style about 7:30. The checkers ask where I’ve been, and I just tell them I’ve had a little problem with some dogs in heat. They shake their heads knowingly and lead the team to a vacant line of straw.

I get the dogs settled down and locate my food drop bags. I heat some water and start the dogs off with a quart of so of soup to combat dehydration. They all drink and eat ravenously and I feed them as much as they can stand, to the approval of the hovering vets, who are watching carefully for tired dogs after yesterday’s hot afternoon run.