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Sarah Stokey and the 2016 Copper Basin 300: Meier’s Lake

Sarah · January 28, 2016 ·

This is the 3rd installment in a multi part blog series on the 2016 Copper Basin 300.

Sarah’s 2016 Copper basin 300 team overview

part 1: The Starting Line
Part 2: Chistochina

I pulled hook in Chistochina and found myself dragging the straw my dogs had slept in down the trail. Whoops. That was going to be a hassle for Travis and Dwayne. In the Copper Basin 300, your handling crew is responsible for picking up after you. This means all your straw, trash, even dog poop because all the checkpoints are lodges – it wouldn’t exactly be fair to the lodge owners after their gracious hospitality to leave a huge mess for them.

I glanced back once, before rounding a corner out of the checkpoint and got a quick wave from Travis. As soon as I rounded the bend, I found myself behind Justin and Wyatt, their headlamps two little white beacons in front of me.

The boys love running together and spent much of the race together. My dogs settled in nicely behind them but I knew that they had stronger teams. We’d given them the race dogs, I had the puppies so I was prepared for them to have faster run times as well as a stronger finish then me. That was fine. They had things they needed to learn as mushers, I had things I needed to learn about my puppies.

One of the things I love about mushing is the open trail, not knowing where the next twist or turn will take me. I know that is the same for my dogs. So, as much as I love and appreciate the help we have from Justin and Wyatt, when I found myself stuck behind them I wasn’t exactly thrilled. Instead of seeing the trail, all I could see was Wyatt, and just a bit in front of him, Justin. The darkness that usually envelopes us at night was instead replaced by the glow of their not-so-distant headlamps.

No. I thought to myself. No no no. I could not endure 75 miles of being behind someone else. Where was the open country I craved? I knew if I passed them, they would eventually pass me back. I’d probably sacrifice a little something it of my team but the dogs are like me. They want the open trail. That’s why following another team and can be detrimental: if the two teams aren’t trained exactly the same the second team will try to keep up because, in my opinion, they want to get around and have the freedom of an empty trail in front of them.

So I passed them knowing full well it wouldn’t last but at the very least I would have a little space.

We were in a fun, woodsy section with a few little hills and dips. Our pace was ok but not great and we played leap frog with several teams throughout the run. After an hour, Justin and Wyatt passed me back. I never saw them on the trail again.

At this point, I started getting tired and, truthfully, my memory is rather fuzzy. It’s a good alert to me though that I should get some sort of voice recorder for Iditarod if I hope to do such an extensive blog post series!

Truthfully, this was the run where I learned how to be a fish. Fish can never stop moving as their movement is what keeps water passing through their gills, allowing them to breathe. So fish sleep with half of their brain still awake.

As a musher, when you are in he checkpoint most of your time is spent taking care of the dogs. In the true depths of night, watching my team move down the trail, part of my brain shuts down. I don’t know how to explain it except that I am both aware and unaware all at once. Thoughts do not travel through my brain. There is no real registration of what is or isn’t happening, just a general awareness, a general ability to see the trail, understand what it means in terms of what I must do, and react. Should something significant occur, my brain pops itself back on, Resets itself, but if things are going well and we are moving steady there is just sort of this feeling of being awake but not, being alert but not really with it.

This was the first part of my run. This vagueness of being both awake and asleep, of registering things around me and reacting to them. Cruising on auto-pilot if you will.

At some point, we ended up in what I would call high country. I can’t remember the trail getting to there only that I was became vaguely aware that the trees had faded and we were encapsulated by mountains. Stars tried to shimmer through the hazy clouds and in some open patches of sky they maintained their full radiance.

These were our first hills. Ups and downs. Quiet and beautiful we hummed along. I got off the sled a lot, my feet moving and pushing as I joined in and became a working member of the team. We climbed steadily up and up and then went down and down.

I knew that there was supposed to be one really big climb this run with a false summit. I wondered how far off we were from it and what it would look like.

I knew at this point that I would certainly camp my team and decided that I wanted to rest them after we did the big climb. I knew a lot of mushers were planning to camp before it, in fact I think everyone who did camp camped before it, but I thought it was more beneficial to do after to Teach my dogs to have a little grit and not to worry. If they worked hard, we would rest and recover when they needed.

I hadn’t planned on camping but had plenty of food and bottles of fuel for my cooker. I worried my handlers might get nervous but reminded myself that we all carried trackers so they could see I’d camped.

I saw top dome long before we got to it. There was one lone musher struggling up. At first I thought I had to be mistaken. Were we really going up that? It was a huge mountain. In the dark it loomed before me.

At the base several teams were camped. I debated joining them but hated being stuck by other teams on the trail, especially in difficult sections. If I camped and someone in front of me had problems, it would be difficult to pass on the steep terrain. Getting stuck behind a team going up hill didn’t seem like a good thing to teach my young dogs so it reaffirmed my decision. We would camp after.

As we approached Top Dome I knew it was going to be a battle. It was steep, tall and I had been warned about the false summit. But we started up it and never looked back. Bud, the work horse of the team, earned his spot on the team simply for his performance on this section of trail. I’d drop him in the next checkpoint but he worked hard.

We would go for a bit, climbing and climbing. It seemed like we I found myself getting drenched in sweat and at a lull in the climb we stopped and I took off almost every layer I had on.

We did not move with great speed as we ascended the mountain. But each small step brought us closer and closer to what looked like the top.

When we reached the false summit, we stopped shortly. A quick 5 minute recovery, a brief snack, and a few minutes to take in the valley below. You could see for miles, everything etched in darkness but glimmering with the lightness that winter snow brings. The climb was worth it. It’s always worth it.

We continued up, up, up and finally we were at the top. In front of us was the edge where our descent would begin, I started on my brake early and we began a slow descent. What took us so long to climb took mere minutes, it seemed, to descend. The dogs enjoyed the slow rush that going down hills can bring. We twisted and weaved and eventually came to a long flat section of trail a few miles from the base of Top Dome.

We pulled off to the side to camp. I started my cooker, removed booties, and gave the dogs a meal. I sat on my sled and pulled my parka over my head, waking once when a team went by. Many others passed in the stillness of our camp but the dogs did not stir and neither did I. We woke in the early morning light, Having slept for about 3 hours. We were all groggy, with thatWhat out of sleep haze settled over us. I stretched the dogs, got their booties on, attached their tugs and then we were off.

We had a good run the rest of the trip into Meier’s lake, though it seemed long and we never had much speed. Still, we moved steadily and that was enough. I’d eaten and drank all my snacks by the time we got to the checkpoint due to the unexpected camp but it was worth it.

The dogs came into Meier’s lake happy, with wagging tails. Our checker was Meret, a summertime employee of ours and it was great to see her.

Travis said the team looked great and was impressed with my decision to camp. That praise alone was worth it.

Once we were parked, I got a meal into my team and the vets came by. I was concerned about Crazy as she had lots of diaharrea and they confirmed my fear that she was dehydrated. They suggested dropping her but I intended to stay for 6 hours so asked that they revaluate before I left.

My goal became to get as much water in the team as possible. I fed the dogs, then went into the lodge where Travis had a cheeseburger waiting. I dove in and ate in it big gloshing bites, eager to have the fatty food fill my empty stomach. Then, I went to a room that Travis had rented, curled up on the floor because Justin was in the bed, and fell asleep.

I woke an hour later and watched Justin and Wyatt leave and fed my dogs again. Everyone lapped up the meal. Then more sleep. I slept another half hour, went out and bootied my team and then went inside where I inhaled another cheeseburger.

As I got ready to pull my hook, Bud looked less than thrilled to go and as I took off had a slight hobble.

“Drop him!” Travis shouted at me.I knew Travis was right. I’d gone about 10 feet, set my hooks again, found the necessary paperwork and dropped Bud.

He was too big to carry if he had problems and I could see already the way he held himself that his shoulder was going to be an issue.

Better safe then sorry.

With Bud now removed from the team and heading to the dog truck, we headed off on our run to Sourdough excited about what the new section of trail would bring.

If you enjoyed this post, please consider giving a donation to my Iditarod fundraiser.

Dog Of The Week: Bensen

Sarah · January 27, 2016 ·

Bensen for a long time was the punk in the dog yard. He thought he was tough stuff — and why wouldn’t he? With parents like bossy know-it-all Tamere and rough-and-tough lead dog Boston, we expected him and his brother, Coda, to have a bit of attitude.

A bit of attitude however turned out to be a little too much. In June of this year we made the decision to neuter Bensen. Neutering sled dogs is often done when a musher feels that the dog would perform better. In Bensen’s case, a little less testoterone went a long way. Once neutered, Bensen went from being a feisty dog who had a hard time fitting in the team to being one of the superstars up on Godwin glacier.

His hard working attitude, beautiful trot, and loving personality make him a favorite amongst our guests. He has inherited Tamere’s terrific smile.

We love you Bensen! Keep up the good work and you’ll be on the race team in no time.

Sarah Stokey and the 2016 Copper Basin: Chistochina

Sarah · January 27, 2016 ·

This is part 2 in a multi-part blog post on my 2016 Copper Basin 300 experience. Although you don’t need to start with my dog team overview to enjoy this series, it does help by adding another layer of depth.
Sarah’s Dog Team Overview

Part 1: The Starting Line

The volunteers released me, I pulled my snow hook, the anchor for the team, and we were off, a quiet freight train of inhalations and exhalations mixed with the pitter patter of tiny dog feet in the hard trail, and the glide of the runners on snow.

Within the first 20 yards I went to wave to a fan and nearly fell off my sled. I was mortified and pretty sure that I got more than few laughs directed my way. I hope this doesn’t bode for things to come. I thought to myself. I took a few moments to settle into this new sled and try to get a feel for how it drove.

Each sled drives a little different, depending on how it’s built: the Materials used, the weight of the sled, the size, the tightness of the joints, and even how the gang line attaches to the sled all affect how the sled itself will pull and flex down the trail. Some sleds steer with tremendous ease – others are like big wood blocks with skis attached to them.

This was a heavy sled, but had some good flexibility and also had a nice pull down seat that tucked neatly out of the way. I absolutely loved the dragmat, a type of brake on each sled. The “drag,” as it is often shortens to in musher slang, is used to control the speed of the team or to stop the team. This drag had many sharp spikes in it and was a very effective brake regardless of conditions. It proved to be a good friend on this race.

The first few miles I watched my dogs, waiting for them I settle into a smooth rhythm. I looked over my shoulder nervously for racers coming up on me. I knew I had a far greater chance of being passed then of doing any passing.

My goal was to run steady, take my time so the dogs would have fun, and enjoy the trail myself. This was a young team and a positive experience was essential to their future.

I had a few very important goals for both myself and my dogs that outlined my race and remained my top concern on the trail.

For me:

Eat on every run as much as possible
Stay hydrated by drinking 1-2 times per hour
Figure out a good system for keeping liquids thawed, thawing them in checkpoints, and thawing them on the runs.
Learn about layering when doing lots of physical exertion
No distractions in checkpoints; go through my routine and sleep. Don’t socialize.
Stay positive: find the good in every situation.
Keep my sled well organized.
Be methodical in everything

For the dogs:

Keep hydrated and wet snack on every run
Maintain upbeat attitudes
Drop dogs out of caution, not necessity; keep the main event, Iditarod, in mind.
Work with different leaders
Keep it fun
Rest more than you think you need to.

I opened my first Caprisun about 4 miles into the race. In previous races, even training runs, my hydration hadn’t been a top priority. It always showed.

On the trail, dehydration manifests itself in many ways: headaches, slower brain function, an inability to stay awake, and, my personal favorite, hallucinations.if you’re well hydrated, sleep deprivation isn’t nearly as bad and doesn’t overtKeyou as quickly.

I knew that if I was going to run a successful Iditarod in a few months time that I needed plenty of practice over the coming weeks at taking top notch care of myself. If you are not operating at 100% you can’t expect to make good decisions or anticipate problems. Not taking good care of yourself also makes it much more difficult to take excellent care of your dogs. I felt comfortable in my knowledge of rubbing down wrists and shoulders but was much less comfortable when I came to feeding and watering schedules for my team on the trail. I looked at the 2016 copper basin as an excellent opportunity to work on my feeding strategies.

I sucked down my Caprisun, flattened the empty container so it was paper thin and stowed it carefully in my sled. I was going to be organized on this race too. All my trash went in one spot, worn booties another. A stitch in time saves nine. I told myself again and again. Organization does not come naturally to me but is essential for a tired, sleep deprived mind.

The trail to Chistochina was as advertised. In parts hard but mostly somewhat soft. We were slow going just because in the short lives of my teammates, with all the bad snow years we’ve had, many of my dogs have never even had the opportunity to run in sugary snow.

The best analogy I can give is that it would be like a human training on a runner’s track only to get to the competition to learn you were racing on the beach. Because of the trail differences, I knew I had to be very proactive in my dog care and give lots of extra massages. In all likelihood, my dogs would be using some slightly different muscles then those they trained on and their would be slightly more resistance. A little soreness was to be expected.

I periodically glimped a team ahead of us but could never quite catch it, though to be fair to my team we never really made an effort. I looked back to see another musher flying towards me. I didn’t wait. I set my hooks and pulled my sled to the side of the trail. The team and their driver pushed past and we resumed our journey down the trail.

On the side of the trail there were paper plates that had been decorated by students in French and German classes. The plates were decorated with really cute pictures of dogs or dog teams and said things like “go dogs go!” In French or German. I wish I had been able to get a picture but I didn’t bring a camera with me on the trail. They were fun gesture from the students of the school to the racers and I smiled at each one passing. Penny, my leader, barked at a few with big dog faces and passed by then with a cautious eye – what a fruitcake!
Later on I watched my team, finally settle in. I knew we were going to have a bit of a slower race. The trail conditions started to deteriorate as we had been told and although the trail started hard and fast inspots we also began to encounter that wonderful sugary snow. It’s seem to be that many sections of the Copper basin 300 trail were put in strictly for the race and so did not have much base.

We had been told that there would be brush on many of the trails but i was still surprised at the number of sticks that my team had to pass through especially on the first run.

I was rather hesitant passing through brush like this, slowing down my team just a little. At the 2013 rCopper basin 300 Travis had seen similar conditions And saw at the start of the race, one of our dogs ended up with a severe leg injury from running into a stick. I wanted to avoid that so we were cautious in these areas.

Somewhere along the way, Nick Petite came steamrolling up from behind. I pulled my sled over to the side. I knew Nick was going to be racing relatively competitively and I didn’t want him to have to wait for me whatsoever when I knew I was just kind of having a low-key event myself. He went by without problem and called back to me about a mangled pass that had occurred a few miles back. Nick had the unusual experience of catching two teams at once. The front team pulled over but the team in the middle did not and tried to pass before Nick could. The middle team got in a tangled mess with the team in front of it and Nick had to wait. I felt bad for him. Somebody had just made a rookie mistake.

I found I was relatively surprised by the time I got to Chistochina. We knew the run was going to be short only about 30 miles, but I was still surprised when I hit the road crossing.

Chistochina is always brimming with activity. As the first checkpoint, most of the teams get somewhat stacked up here. As a hammer, I have enjoyed being able to watch so many teams come in and so many different measures to their checkpoint routine. Now in the race, I wondered how my dogs would do about bedding down. I made the decision before the race to stay fours hours, knowing that the next run was going to be difficult. It was a hilly, long 73 miles to the next checkpoint. I wanted to attack that run with a fresh team.

I have Shy leaders. They don’t like people much. As we neared the light of the checkpoint, and we saw the group of checkers emerge, I could tangibly feel the excitement drain out of the front end of my team. Their body language seem to say we ran all the way here, for this? They hesitated upfront until they heard Travis’ reassuring voice calling them in towards him.

I stop my team and signed into the checkpoint. Dwayne was there congratulating me. The vets came around and asked if I needed anything and did a quick look over my team. I let them know that everyone was doing well and that I was pretty happy with my teams progress thus far. I loaded my drop bags onto my sled and put one of my snow hooks into a bail of straw.

I had never carried drop bags like this before it was actually a very good experience for me to do. In the future, I’m going to tie my bags differently so that I can somehow secure them to my sled. I had a hell of a time managing them on top. But we made it. My leaders Penny and Midori followed Travis and we got to a camping spot. I tuned out the rest of the world, my handlers included, and said about working on my team.

I undid one of my snow hooks. And as I walked up the team, I undid the taglines on my dogs. I attach the snow hook to the front end of the team so my leaders wouldn’t have to work and so the team would be secured in place from both ends. Then I went about and gave the dog a straw. They played in it at first – digging in it and flicking it about with their feet and their nose, trying to make the perfect bed. Then, they settle down.

By this time, I had taken my my cooker and my bucket and had gone to find water for the team. He was in a nearby outbuilding a bit of a walk away. Still, much easier than melting snow. I got the water and then began heating it up and my dog food cooker so that I could melt some meat for the dogs and give them a big soupy broth with lots of kibble.

As I waited for the water to get hot, I went through my team and removed booties. For the dogs on my team that I was more predisposed to worry about, I did a lot of stretching and a lot of massage. By the time the water was hot and had had time to thaw Miami, I had been able to work through the whole dog team. I fed them, watch them eat, and then packed my backpack and went inside.

We had large shed in Chistochina as the mushing accommodations. Inside, was a barrel stove and complementary cinnamon buns. I scarfed one down almost instantaneously. They were also serving chili and hot dogs so I bought some and ate that too. I had an hour and a half before I needed to check on my team. As I looked about, It seemed most everybody was socializing. I had told myself I wouldn’t be doing that this race. I needed to practice being antisocial, focusing on myself, and sleeping when I wasn’t mushing or taking care of my team.

I curled up on some hay bales, covered myself and my parka, and blocked out the light. It wasn’t great sleep. I had to crawl myself up small and the walls in the old cabin were rather drafty. Worse, I was near the door which apparently hadn’t closed properly in over 20 years. Anytime somebody came in or out, a cold breath of air swept over me. Still, I slept.

I woke to Vern Halter and Matt Failor, neither of whom were running, talking about dog training and all sorts of things. Their conversation came in and out of my sleep till I didn’t know whether I was awake and listening or half asleep and just simply conscious of their talking. I got up at one point and said hello to both of them, dank a big glass of water, and then passed out again with another parka draped over me to help block the cool draft that kept finding the cracks in my clothing, leaving me chilled.

Eventually, I needed to leave. Travis woke me and I got up groggily. I squeezed in by the woodstove for a few moments to warm my cold bones as I put my boots on.

Then, I got water for my dogs and gave them a cool broth with kibble and packed another for the long run to Myers Lake. I booted my dog team.

Justin and Wyatt had waited for me but I told him not to, I knew my team was slow and I preferred traveling alone. But we all left within a few minutes of one another as we made our way down the trail.

I watched them take off, one after the other, the light from their headlamp bobbing in the dark. I said my goodbyes to Travis and Dwayne, told them to order me a cheeseburger in Meier’s lake, and the dogs and I took off into the night.

If you are able, please consider donating to my Iditarod fundraiser. I am woefully short on necessary gear!

Dog of the Week: Coda

Sarah · January 27, 2016 ·

Coda. What a long way this little boy has come over his short life! Coda recently finished his first (2) 300 mile races, The Copper Basin and The Northern Lights, with impressive performances and many miles run in lead.

This little man is a hard working dog who is fun, happy-go lucky, and loves to parade down the trail in from of the team.

As a pup, Coda was an obnoxious puppy. He picked fights whenever play time came about and caused a problem whenever he could. To be honest, his future in our kennel did not look bright. His scrappy attitude was not welcome in our friendly and loving dog lot. But there was something about this little fighter and his puffed out chest that made us stick with him. So, we neutered Coda in May of 2015.

He went from being a punk to a sweet cuddle bug. His scrappy attitude turned into pure determination on the trail and he has worked hard to become a valued member of the team and kennel. His transformation has been incredible and truly inspiring. I am so excited I get to take this little spitfire to Nome!

Sarah Stokey and the 2016 Copper Basin: The Starting Line

Sarah · January 26, 2016 ·

If you haven’t already read the overview of my dog team’s performance during the 2016 Cooper Basin 300 you may want to start with that. Although it is not necessary to enjoy this post, it will add another layer of depth and understanding for the reader.

The 2016 Copper Basin: Part One – The Starting line

The 2016 Copper basin 300 marked a departure for me from all my previous racing experiences. Butterflies never filled my stomach. Anxiety about what lay ahead never danced around in my brain. For once, it seemed that hooking up my team was not about to cause a panic attack that, at times, can only be stopped by the early intervention of my mediciation.

No, today was race day. Today was when I could finally escape from life – if only for a few days – and simply run dogs. There was a lot of things that weighed heavily on my mind both from weeks and even years before. But I wasn’t going to think about any of it. Just racing. Just dogs. Just having fun.

Travis, who was handling for Wyatt and Justin, and myself, was far more nervous than I was. As I unpacked my things and slowly got ready, he’d buzz about with the nervous energy he thought I should be exhibiting. He paced arround the truck from team to team trying to assess how Justin, Wyatt, and I were doing. Dwayne, Travis’s uncle and our other handler, was taking photos and fully absorbed in the moment. Every few moments Dwayne would lift his camera away from his face just long enough to say things like “oh my god this is so cool!” and “I can’t believe I’m at a real dogsled race!” and “wow!” to simply “This is so awesome!” Dwayne was clearly having a great time, completely absorbed in the controlled chaos that every dog race starts with. His enthusiasm spread to this around him and we all filled with giddy excitement.

That morning, I felt completely in control of everything around me – Not just myself, but my dogs, and my expectations for my amazingly young team. I was slow and methodical as I readied myself. This was my third 300 mile race and by now I had the routine down. I knew what gear I wanted to take for myself and for my dogs and I slowly began packing it into my sled.

There was of course, the mandatory gear: ax, snowshoes, sleeping bag, dog booties, dog food, human food, and of course the all important dog food cooker. Those, of course, were loaded first. I had borrowed a sled from my good friend Lev Schvarts, who had given me my first real mushing experiences and my first race back in the winter of 2010. The sled I had been training on suffered a devastating blow a few days before the race, and I knew I could count on Lev to help me out. He gave me a custom-built sled that he had designed with a blue sled bag that had reflective silver flames dancing on its front. It was pretty awesome.

Although the sled was heavy, it was also reassuring in its weight – it meant that a tumble here or crash there wasn’t going to destroy it. The sled bag was also huge which meant I would have no problem fitting all the gear I wanted to take and I packed heavy. I was driving what I thought was going to be the youngest team on the Copper basin 300.

I had handled two times on this race, once with a freshly broken arm, and I knew that conditions could change quickly. In one race, we saw temperatures as high as 40 above and raining and then a few checkpoints later back to 20 below zero. Mushers struggled because they had no way to get gear dry at the remote checkpoint of Sourdough. I wanted to be ready for anything because this was the first race for 10 of my dogs, and I was going to completely cater to their needs.

In the end, I packed what I usually pack when I go camping with the team. I had a new water bottle from my sister that prove to be more than useful, at times it was the only thing that kept my liquids from freezing. I also had a backpack that I filled with my extra cold weather gear. Travis couldn’t understand why I wanted to take the backpack. I’ll admit it did take up a lot of room in my sled compared to the compression sacks and other things that I typically used. But, at a checkpoint, I love having my backpack. I can quickly put layers in that need to dry or food or drinks that need to thaw. I can put my sleeping bag or any other odds and ends that need to go inside either in the backpack or strapped to it outside. In the end it allows me to make fewer trips from my sled to the nearest bed where I can go inside why down and let them thaw. I may have taken up a little extra space, but it always saves me a little time and a lot of my own energy – so for me, it is completely worth taking. Not disturbing the team by going back and forth between my sled and the checkpoint building also allows my dogs to sleep more restfully.

Trying to get three dog teams set up and ready to go off of one dog truck and trailer proved to be easier than expected. Justin and Wyatt each took a side of the truck and trailer and I tied off to a nearby tree. I unraveled my gang line, went through it for the umpteenth time to make sure that all my snaps were good and all my necklines were solid and then began laying out harnesses for my dogs. Each dog wears a different size harness. The size varies based on their weight, their body type, and their overall size. I had a rather small, younger team. Most of my dogs wore small or a small/medium sized harness. Bud, the freight horse of my team, was the only dog who wore a large and wriggled into it with zealous delight when I came around to him.

Although I was offered help numerous times, I preferred to harness and booty my dogs on my own. Because I drew number 37, I knew I needed to take my time – if I got ready too early, got the dogs harnessed, got them bootied, and then had them stand around for 30 or worse 45 minutes, they would bark and scream and they would end up taking away from themselves and their performance because of their excitement. All that barking and jumping and screaming would most likely lead to them losing a little water and getting dehydrated more easily. You never want a dehydrated dog team.

Justin was the first to take off out of our three teams, as he drew the 24th position. We got a bit of a scare because before it was his turn to go, the rope he tied from his team to the truck to hold them in place, snapped. For a brief moment we watched, stupefied, as his team took off without him. Miraculously, his snow hook got caught in the cable of my gangline and snapped the team to an immediate stop.

It was a bit of a mess getting Justin’s snow hook out of my gang line but once we did, Travis helped secure the team to a tree in front of us. Justin finished hooking up his remaining dogs, and with spots now open on the truck, I began dropping my team.

An air of excitement settled over the dogs: they could hear and smell hundreds of their brethren filling the parking My team spinned about on their drop chains, tongues hanging happily out of their wide grins, and peed on anything they could reach. With so many dogs around the need to mark territory seemed like a high priority amongst the males on the team.

Dwayne Beals captured this early morning. photo of the 2016 Copper Basin before the fans arrived

I slowly started to put booties on my dogs. They squirmed anxiously unsure of the commotion around them. Out of 12 dogs, I had 2 five-year-olds and the rest were two years old or younger. The 10 pups that I had brought as the soul of my team had no racing experience whatsoever. Most mushers, would have considered this rather foolhardy. But I wasn’t about to race the Copper basin, I was using it as a training run for the Iditarod. I was also using it as a way to gauge the ability of some of the youngest athletes in my training pool. Doubt never crossed my mind. Why would it? I was a capable driver and these dogs were plenty prepared.

I got the harnesses on one at a time, taking a moment to pet each dog and the love on them. They danced joyously unsure of what exactly was going on but certain of one thing: we were going mushing. Once everybody had been harness I threw a snack of frozen chicken to the team. The dogs crunched on it delightedly.

When it came time to hook up, we got the dogs on the line in less than five minutes. A Side-by-side ATV pulled up to my sled and we attached one of the snow hooks to it so that we could have a smooth ride up to the starting line. Travis rode on the ATV, Dwayne having already walked up to get pictures of Justin and Wyatt taking off, and we started off.

I really wasn’t thinking much about anything as we approached the starting chute. I focused on the dogs, tries to keep my sled from tipping on the hard corner before I got into the start chute. The atv was putting pressure on the wrong side of my sled and it wanted to rip badly. Thankfully, it stayed up right.

I reminded myself how a few years ago I told myself that the Copper Basin 300 was my favorite to handle on – you learned so much – so I was somewhat surprised when I signed up. I love everything about the copper basin and was excited for the 2016 race to begin. What could be better than running dogs from lodge to lodge and eating good food? Handling was worthwhile – I certainly credit a majority of what I know in terms of vet care due to this particular race and the fine handling experiences I’ve had on in the past. But here I was, now I the driver’s seat. This was it. The toughest 300 mile race out there: The Copper Basin.

I approached the starting chute and I watched Robert Redington, the musher before me, another 2016 Copper basin rookie and also a 2016 Iditarod rookie, take off ahead of me. Word on the street was he had one of the teams to beat. A lot of his dogs were on Nick Petite’s sixth place Iditarod team back in 2014. So he certainly wasn’t lacking athleticism, maturity, or experience. All of which, I feltmy own team was sorely lacking – we were young and inexperienced.

Robert took off, and then I pulled my hook and was in the chute. I had two minutes under the starting line before I could take off. Volunteers stood on my sled and. I went up and said hi most of my dogs, although not all because some were too freaked out by all the bystanders to want to do much of anything except bark and scream and get the hell out of there. To be honest, I was more than willing to oblige.

Pulling the hook is always the best part of a race. All the work you’ve done to get to the point is now behind you. Ahead of you, lays an unknown trail and unknown adventures. You’ve done the work to get here and now, all you have left to do, is run, take care of your dogs, rest, Eat, drink, and do it all over again day after day until you reach the finish line.

On the race trail, there is no worrying about bills, or phone calls, or what you did or didn’t do, or the stack of unopened mail you left on your desk, or the fact that you don’t have a race sled for Iditarod yet, there is none of that. All there is is your team, the trail in front of you, and the desire to travel.

I was more than ready when the volunteers told me I had 15 seconds, then 10 seconds, then five seconds, and then it was time to go.

Part 2: Chistochina will be released soon.

If you are able, please consider donating to my Iditarod fundraiser. I am woefully short on necessary gear!