RAINY PASS -- Trail breakers spent time Sunday sculpting the section of trail that until a day earlier was out of play for the 2012 Iditarod Trail Sled Dog race. The infamous Happy River Steps, one of the race's most hazardous sections, had been declared, at least publicly, history.
Race officials planned, instead, to send mushers through Ptarmigan Valley -- not the steep, windy switchbacks dipping down to and up off from Happy River, but along a modern-day mining road cutting through what has been dubbed the Happy River Flats.
But Iditarod leader Ray Redington proclaimed the steps "beautiful" Monday morning as he rolled into this high-altitude checkpoint, 100 miles from the race's official starting point in Willow. His 9:02 a.m. arrival time made one lucky visitor at the lodge $140 richer, the winner of a betting pool started Sunday to predict what time the first musher would arrive.
Yukon Quest winner Hugh Neff of Tok chased Redington into the checkpoint three minutes later. Then came four-time champion Lance Mackey of Fairbanks, followed by former Yukon Quest winner Aliy Zirkle of Two Rivers. The teams looked good -- barking, whining dogs still raring to go as they were led to parking spots for a rest.
Within minutes of Redington's and Neff's arrival, cloudy, snowy weather settled in, dropping flakes onto Puntilla Lake, the staging area for incoming teams and small planes shuttling people and gear.
The early frontrunners had no trouble negotiating the notorious Steps, something that came as no surprise to scouts who'd been through that section of trail hours earlier.
"The trail is superb. It's really as good as it gets," said Sebastian Schnuelle, a seven-time Iditarod finisher who claims to be in retirement, although his retirement includes driving the race by snowmachine this year. "The steps were as good as I've seen them," he said after quietly slipping into Rainy Pass Lodge about 3 a.m.
Menacing Happy River Steps
Over the weekend, snowmachine crews responsible for molding the course felt it was the mining road, not the Steps, that posed the bigger hazard. The observation, which may seem counter-inutuitive to casual race fans, stems from conditions created by deep snow and blowing wind. The road that officials hoped would be a flat, easy glide had become a cement-hard, 45-degree slope, according to Noah Burmeister, a two-time Iditarod finisher working this year as a trail breaker. Drifting snow had blown onto the road that follows the Skwentna River, and cold temperatures had allowed it to set up.
Cutting an Iditarod course would require shoveling away all of the snow, with a high likelihood that new snowdrifts would sweep in and undo all of their work, Burmeister said. And without improvement, it was the equivalent of sending teams down a double-black-diamond ski slope --double fall lines and plenty of bumps.
The snow causing problems for what should have been the easier route actually improved conditions on the usually menacing Steps, a section that in 2011 crunched the race's most winningest musher, Rick Swenson, who arrived at Rainy Pass after his run at the steps with a broken collarbone.
Trailbreakers were able to push extra snow to the downhill side of the switchbacks, which in past years have turned into a narrow, luge-like race course. The extra snow allowed them to pack a wider trail and cut a straighter, longer approach to at least one of the early turns. That should give mushers more time to maneuver their teams, which, according to head checker Dale Peterson, can be as unwieldy to turn as a big truck.
Staying ahead of mushers
As the first musher through, Redington could be reasonably assured of an easy drop to the river below and back out the other side. The less-traveled trail is always best.
"The time to ride it is right after we've groomed it," said J.R. Merlin, a trailbreaker riding with Burmeister. The duo had plans to move on to Rohn, wanting to stay ahead of the mushers by about six hours.
As they drive their teams up through the valley and onto to Puntilla Lake, heading straight for the angled, snow-capped mountain ridges of the Alaska Range, the mushers enter a region rich with history.
In late February, the Alaska Legislature officially recognized Rainy Pass Lodge as the oldest continuously operated lodge in the state. Now in its 75th year and operated by Steve and Linda Perrin, Rainy Pass Lodge is the site of an Alaska-based reality show based on the family's lives, "R5Sons." The title is a nod to the Perrins' five sons who help run the place.
On Sunday the family was in high gear, coordinating a busy and buzzing stream of comers and goers race staff, volunteers, pilots, trail breakers and Iditarod tourists. Linda made sure homemade rolls and prime rib were in the works for dinner, while Steve and the boys escorted overnight guests into beds, bunks and cots finding space for travelers where space could be found in rooms and cabins throughout the historic homestead dotted with log buildings.
Later, inside a building known as The Hunters Cabin, located halfway between the main lodge and the checkpoint, veterinarians and race staff debriefed the crowd on what to expect. Don't help without asking. Don't pet the dogs; they can be high strung and nervous at times. Do feel free to help scoop poop. Beware of the newly cut watering hole on the lake, which one staffer referred to ominously as a man killer.
If you step in that thing you're going to the bottom, head checker Dale Peterson warned the group, as a menagerie of taxidermied animals gazed off in the background -- squirrels climbing down a wall, raccoons climbing up a pole, a grizzly bear frozen mid-stride near a hallway, a lynx strolling on a rafter, trophy mounts of a musk oxen and moose staring from the wall above, fox and beaver pelts on display.
Nearly all of the animals were locally caught, according to Steve Perrin, who said the aptly named cabin is traditionally where the lodge's serious hunters stay.
A wood stove with a crackling fire warmed the gathering room that doesn't get more reflective of Alaska living. Boxes of shotgun shells lined the top of a bookcase stuffed with a variety of reading material: "Game Birds of North America", "Hornady Handbook of Cartridge Reloading", "Seashells", "Reader's Digest Treasury of American Humor", "Shooter's Bible." And a memoir about President John F. Kennedy, Once Upon a Secret.
On the opposite end of the room sat bottles of red and white wine, assembled for a tasting, beneath signs reading Uncork and Unwind and Friends Don't Let Friends Drink White Zinfindel. And the saucier From Zero to Naked in 1.2 bottles of wine.
Everyone kept their clothes on, bundled in layers to repel the cold, clear evening of an Alaska night.
This is the Super Bowl of dog racing, race judge Rich Bosela explained, referring to the length of the trail and the skill required to compete. Mushers must finish 750 miles of races before running the Iditarod, a race that requires mushers to be able to handle anything the competition -- or nature -- throws at them with little to no outside help.
Tales from the trail
Prompted by a question from the audience, Bosela explained the last-minute decision to return to the sometimes-precarious Happy River Steps route. In late February wind and snow obliterated the trail, but because the Steps are man-made, the snowfall gave race organizers more material to work with in putting in a trail.
In prior years, some mushers have emerged from the Steps battered. Linda Joy hit a tree, arriving at Rainy Pass with the entire side of her face darkly bruised. Others have shown up with injuries that need stitches. There have been broken hands and ribs.
Bosela ran the Iditarod as a rookie in 1991 and got nailed with wind heading up into Rainy Pass. He and another rookie were mulling whether to stop when they ran across a team resting at an unexpected location. How you boys doin'?, Joe Redington Sr. asked the men as they pulled up.
Well, I think we're going to stay here for a while, Bosela replied.
Damn good idea, said Redington, a seasoned musher and one of the Iditarod founder fathers.
Those lessons learning when to push on and when to stop are invaluable, Bosela said.
Super athletes
More people have summited Mount Everest than have completed this race, noted Dale Peterson of Washington state, the head checker in Rainy Pass.
How about a vet story, requested a guest at the rear of the room. What are you looking for?
Lameness and pneumonia, hydration, heart rate, appetite, attitude, weight and lungs, ticked off the two vets on hand for the Sunday evening fireside chat.
These dogs are super athletes, said Dr. George Stroberg, a veterinarian from Denver whos been interested in athletics for years. Iditarod dogs' ability sometimes leaves him awestruck. The dogs can run as much as 150 miles a day, yet you can barely tell, Stroberg said. The longer they run the more efficient they get. We have no idea what's going on.
In the first hour of running, a dog's heart rate can leap dramatically. But sometime into hour two the rate drops, closing in on a pre-race rate that's half as fast as it was at peak level.
Surprise encounter
By early Monday morning, lead teams were headlong into the Steps as sunlight began to fill the valley. Hugh Neff, the second team through, said his trip was going so well boredom was a bigger problem than the steep series of switchbacks. Sprinkling handfuls of snow on his face helped, as did a close encounter with two onlookers he came upon with little notice.
When Neffs lead dog Juanita let out a healthy bark, a startled photographer jumped off the trail. Later -- once in the checkpoint and enjoying a hot bowl of stew made with meat and macaroni Neff would admit the encounter provided an unexpected boost, since it lifted the spirits of the team.
He's also among the mushers who arrived at Rainy Pass to discover the lodge's horses had punched holes into the snow pack with their hooves, helping themselves to the musher's drop bags, which now were adorned with bite marks and tears.
Cloudy skies and snowfall settled in as the mushers arrived, grounding planes for most of the day, save for a brief, early-afternoon window that allowed a group of out-of-state private pilots to drop in from nearby Finger Lake like a swarm of mosquitos.
As many as 35 planes park on Puntilla Lake during the height of the Iditarod most year. But on Monday, only a handful were there. By late afternoon, just one was left.
But the weather that shuts down aviation doesn't stop mushers, and after a few hours of rest the mushers that led the way here were the first to leave. By 7 p.m., the top 29 mushers were gone, enroute to the next checkpoint at Rohn.
Contact Jill Burke at jill(at)alaskadispatch.com