A look at the leaderboard of the recent Copper Basin 300 sled dog race sees many names familiar to those who follow our state sport. Perusing further down the list will find mushers few have heard of. There will also be a few recognizable names in the mix, scattered between 10th and 30th.
This is the Middle of the Pack. What separates Jeff King, who wins consistently, and Allen Moore, who has six Copper Basin wins to his credit, from other racers? One thing stands out: commitment.
All the factors that contribute to fielding a team that consistently does well are based on each musher's commitment to the sport. Pete Kaiser, who just won the Kuskokwim 300, lives near Bethel. However, Bethel has little snow this season, so Pete left his home to train near Nenana, where the conditions are better. His wife and baby flew in to visit him for Thanksgiving and Christmas. Pete's focus is training sled dogs. That's commitment.
Sport or addiction?
It isn't only the willingness to train hard that separates the leaders from the middle of the pack.. The inclination (and ability) to obligate financially is also a major factor. There are drivers are who are up-and-coming. They may not have the means to pour $60-per-bag dog food into their animals. Nor do they have 30 or 40 adult racing-age sled dogs in their kennels.
They could have those dogs and, in the future, some may. There are also a few drivers who have a small group of very good dogs and the ability, but not the drive to push their team to the front of the field. So if they can't realistically win, why do they still run?
There isn't a single answer to that question. The answer varies depending on which musher you ask. Driving sled dogs is closer to an addiction than a sport. There is something unexplainable about being on the back of a dogsled at minus-30, alone, 50 miles from anywhere. (Usually when I say that, people assume I've frozen my head a little too often.)
I recently completed the Copper Basin 300 in the upper middle of the pack -- behind the driven, lead group and just in front of the second group of teams. In spite of a 50-team field, I saw only two other dog teams on the trail in the last 190 miles. Both teams were stopped, resting, and no one spoke as I passed in the night. If I had blinked twice and missed them, I could have been traveling with pioneer Arctic explorer Hudson Stuck.
Less pressure
"Come on Fender, get it up Mario; pick it up a little bit!" We are alone in the ice fog. I can turn my headlamp off and see only two black lines of animals trotting smoothly in front of me, albeit not quite as fast as Moore's two lines of dogs, but just as satisfying. I ran almost 500 miles of the Yukon Quest in 2014 without seeing another team on the trail. And, I only saw a few resting at the various checkpoints. There is no pressure in the middle of the pack. I can run great dogs, good dogs and average dogs. I can see young dogs make the step up to greatness. I can baby the old guys when they lose a step.
There are kennels with race dogs who've never had that extra step -- and their owners know that. There are kennels of Siberians who will never have the speed to win the Iditarod or the Copper Basin, but which still come to race and test their animals. Their pride in finishing is no less than that of the winning team. And that is right. It is OK to have done their best. The middle of the pack isn't a bad place to be. It can be easier on the musher and is usually easier on the dogs, too.
I suspect my addiction and Moore's are similar. We just have the desire to express it in different ways. My expectations are less and my costs are less.
The middle of the field in a dog race is filled with teams with a multitude of reasons to run. There is only going to be one person in the winners' circle and one with the red lantern. The rest of us are here to make them what they are.
John Schandelmeier is a lifelong Alaskan who lives with his family near Paxson. He is a Bristol Bay commercial fisherman and two-time winner of the Yukon Quest International Sled Dog Race.