The Trapper Creek musher is back in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race for the first time since 1996, pretty much proving that time heals just about anything.

In his prerace bio, Hall, a six-time racer, listed 10 reasons why he returned to the 1,100-mile mush to Nome. No. 1 on the list was: "Forgot how miserable it is."

Feeding and watering his dogs under a soupy sky at the checkpoint here, Hall proclaimed, "I remember now."

More than 400 miles of rutted trail will jangle your nerves, sled, dogs, and even jog your memory. Hall, who Friday was running 40th in the race, said portions of the trail, notably between Finger Lake and Puntilla Lake, were a mess.

"It's amazing the dogs survived it," said Hall, whose wife, Pat Danly, races the team most years when he stays home. "I just marvel at their athletic ability when they go through that stuff."

Among Hall's other reasons for entering the 1999 race: "no other plans for the first Saturday of March;" "left side of brain not aware right side has signed up;" and "has new sleds that need busting up."

Well, they do say too much time on the trail turns the brain to mush.

Actually, not all of Hall's memory is restored. Asked how old he is, he said, "I think I'm 55 this year, but I can't remember. When you get older, they say memory is the second thing to go?"

The first?

"I forget," said Hall.

Hall and Danly give tourists sled-dog rides and he regales them with stories. Another good reason for Hall to enter again was to gather more tales of the trail.

Now if he can only remember them.

Trail munchies

Harry Caldwell, the mushing respiratory therapist, has his own special brand of trail mix - if you can call it that. He munches Butterfingers, Twix and Reese's Cups by the bushel.

"Along the trail, they don't freeze," said Caldwell.

The seven-time Iditarod musher ships a huge plastic bag of the goodies to each checkpoint. Must have been a great trick-or-treating season at the Caldwells.

WAY BACK: Don Bowers, the Montana Creek musher who wrote a book about his Iditarod experiences entitled "Back of the Pack," finds himself near the back of the pack again.

"All I'm trying to do is make it," said Bowers. "I've got the world's greatest 81/2 mph dog team."

He paused. Make that 9 mph, he said.

"They'll go faster at night," said Bowers.

Weighty matters

Sonny Lindner said the first time he did the Iditarod in 1978, packing to ship goods to the checkpoint was pretty informal.

"I sent a fish box with like three things in it," said the long-time Delta Junction musher.

Each box weighed 50 pounds and the total weight for the race was about 700 pounds. This year Lindner, in his ninth Iditarod, shipped 2,200 pounds of supplies.

Heavy load

Veteran Iditarod racer Raymie Redington was weary and frustrated when he arrived in McGrath to take his 24-hour layover.

He was carrying two dogs in his sled, and they were the biggest dogs in his team. He hauled 75-pound Choctaw 30 miles when the dog didn't feel like running. And he carried Dakota, who weighs nearly as much, the last 10 miles into the checkpoint. Redington wasn't sure if he would drop them.

Redington, in his 10th Iditarod, dating back to the first one in 1973, perked up, though, because he's convinced he will start catching other mushers soon. "We're going to be moving up pretty quick," he said at the start of his layover.

Redington said he always liked stopping in McGrath because mushing friends Eep Anderson, Rudy Demoski and others lived here. "You got a day to hang out," he said.

Anchorage Daily News
Anchorage, Alaska

Monday
March 15, 1999