Broken Trails

“I will.” Lainey took Scotch’s hand and pulled her close until they bumped up against one another as they walked. “I’ve missed you.”

Scotch squeezed her hand. “I’ve missed you, too.” She craned her neck around, searching for witnesses before giving Lainey a quick kiss.

They continued on and Scotch drew water, waiting for Lainey as she did the same. As they made the return journey, Lainey asked, “How did your trip go?”

“Not bad. Ran into a mama moose about ten miles from here, but she was more concerned for her safety than into challenging the dogs.”

Lainey grimaced. “I’m glad you didn’t have trouble with her.”

“Me, too. I don’t want to suffer an incident like Susan Butcher,” Scotch said, referring to the 1985 Iditarod where a musher had to scratch early in the race because an enraged moose had attacked her team. At the time, she had been considered a potential winner for that year’s race and, as it was, another woman won instead - Libby Riddles, the first woman to win the Iditarod.

“No one does.”

Back at the musher area, Scotch stopped at her team. “This is where I get off.”

Grinning, Lainey said, “Oh, I think you’ll be getting off somewhere else. In Nome if things go as planned.” She chuckled at Scotch’s blush. “I’ll see you on the other side of Finger Lake?”

“Yup. Three miles past. I’ll be there.”

Unable to help herself, Lainey gave Scotch a long hug, not caring if anyone else saw them. Scotch returned the embrace and then they broke apart. Reluctant, Lainey took her pots of water down the line to her dogs.

Once more she set water to boiling. Another meal for her and another for her team soon bubbled away. Her dogs slept on, trained to take rest when they could get it, and she watched them fondly.

When the dog stew was ready, she distributed their plates, gently waking each animal with words and caresses. She used the chow in the cooler and transferred the freshly cooked meal into it afterwards. Again she made two trips, using the lukewarm water from her cooler to water the dogs. She ate her midnight snack, chicken and rice with broccoli and carrots mixed in, and used some of the freshly boiled water to brew instant coffee in her thermos. The rest she put into her cooler with the juice packs.

Her team was fed and frisky, ears up and eyes bright, a good sign. Lainey donned a pair of surgical gloves with hand warmers nestled in her palms to brave the frigid weather. She applied ointment to dog paws, all sixty-four of them, massaging the pads and wrists, checking for cuts and abrasions, looking for soreness in shoulders and hips. No indication of injury was forthcoming by the time she finished with her leaders, and she nodded to herself, satisfied.

Sleeping in the cold had stiffened her, and she winced when she stood upright again. Lainey removed her surgical gloves and collected the dog dishes, packing everything into her sled, or into a trash bag. Fortunately Strauss had given her the parka at the mushers’ banquet - Irish had had time to adapt it for a hand warmer before the race began, and Lainey stuffed one into the pocket next to her sore ribs.

She scooped the ever present doggie doo into her trash bag, packed up the remainder of her belongings, and found someplace to dump the garbage. Then she sorted through her snacks and refilled her personal bag on the handlebars. Once everything was completed, she dug a watch out of her pocket and noted the time. Her six hours were nearly up. It was time to get back on the trail.

Lainey made another pass down her team, putting booties on all the dogs, even Heldig the Notoriously Barefooted.

The traditional husky licked her face, grinning at her as if to say ‘Why bother?’

“Try, Heldig. Keep them on for a half hour, that’s all I ask.” Lainey gave the dog a hug.

She climbed aboard the runners and gave the team their commands in a quiet voice so as not to disturb the other mushers drowsing nearby. As they passed Scotch’s position, she waved and Scotch blew a kiss in her direction. Wearing a silly grin, Lainey arrived at the checkpoint.

“You’re out of here then?”

“Yep. Lainey Hughes. I came in eleventh.”

The checker, a bleary eyed older woman located her name and time in. “Okay. You’re out at… exactly eleven PM.”

“When was the last departure?” Lainey asked.

She scanned the times listed. “Looks like Dave Creavey blew through the checkpoint three hours ago.”

“Thanks.” To her dogs, Lainey called softly, “Ready? Let’s go.”

As they headed away from the checkpoint, darkness descended. Lainey switched on her head lamp. Her team ran easily, the rest having done them good. It was eerily silent as they traveled, the only sounds were the swish of snow and her dogs panting as they ran. Overhead the sky was dark, scattered clouds blotting out the vivid starlight she had grown accustomed to out here in the bush.

A trail marker came into view ahead, and she ordered the dogs to the left to follow it. They climbed into a spruce forest, the path wide and smooth. Despite the apparent ease, Lainey kept her attention on the trees they passed, not wanting a branch to sweep her off the sled. The dogs were refreshed and lively. If she fell off, they could very well make it to the next checkpoint without her. She did not relish a thirty mile hike to Skwentna.

The hills were low, but Lainey took the time to run up them. She needed the exercise to remain awake, and it eased the load for her team if they did not have to drag her weight as well as the gear packed sled. Then they slid back down to the river, an easy run.

It seemed no time before she saw lights ahead. The Skwentna checkpoint loomed in the dark, and she directed her team to the welcoming lights. She pulled in, ran through the inevitable sled and vet checks, and guided her team to where the food drops were stored. There were no drops at Finger Lake. They would have to carry everything they needed for the next seventy-five miles until Rainy Pass. Between Finger Lake and Rainy Pass was the treacherous Happy River valley to traverse and they would need to be prepared for damage to the sled and extra food and gear for the team.

Lainey found her three bags, color coded with her name on them. She lugged them out of the storage area and onto the sled before urging her team a little further away. As soon as she stopped them, she went down the line with a bag of white fish, snacking them.

Once they were occupied with their treats, she returned to the bags and cut them open with her Leatherman. She opened her sled bag, and began a quick inventory, carefully looking over her notes. Everything had been shipped and seemed in good shape. Comparing what Scotch suggested and what she already had, Lainey transferred gear and food into her sled.

She was pleased to note that she had some extra dog food. Flagging down a passing volunteer, Lainey asked for the location of the donation area. She would drop the extra there for other mushers who might have need due to accidents, ill planning or undelivered drops. If no one claimed the leftovers, they would be donated to locals.

When she was satisfied, she returned to the checkpoint and signed out. Twenty-two minutes. Not as good as Scotch’s times, but Lainey felt pleased at the time in and out. Not bad for a rookie. Her notes warned for vigilance as she left Skwentna. It did not take Lainey long to see why. The area had a heavy population of dog mushers, and dozens of trails crossed hers. Fortunately, once she got onto the river the maze of befuddling paths lessened and the team traveled easily, eating up the miles.

Lainey yawned. “Not good,” she said aloud. The river run was long and boring, and it seemed to go on forever. About forty miles from the checkpoint the trail was supposed to head into the hills through spruce and alder trees. She would need to keep awake or risk passing the trail. Retrieving her thermos, she drank straight from the ingenious pop top rather than attempt to pour a cup. The instant coffee was strong and relatively hot, its bitter taste causing her eyes to widen.