Ok, so they really don't say "mush"... "Hike", or "Let's go" usually does the trick. Actually, they probably don't need to say anything at all - these dogs just want to RUN!
Drove up to Lincoln, Montana yesterday for the official start of "Race to the Sky", a 350 mile dog sled race that has been held annually since 1986. It began as a sort of "fun run", commemorating Camp Rimini, a military post that was toying with the idea of using dog sleds to invade communist Russia during the cold war. The mission was eventually scrapped, but the men and women who worked there (and probably told many a story about working with these amazing dogs), and the memory of it all, lived on and on. Eventually a bunch of folks probably got together and wondered what it would be like, or bet each other that they could do it better... and Race to the Sky was born.
"Cool Dog", Race to the Sky's official mascotWhen the Race to the Sky began, it was a 500 mile race that skirted the Bob Marshall Wilderness, some of western Montana's most rugged and beautiful scenery. Not too long after it was cut to 350 miles and eventually became a qualifying run for the mother of all dog sled runs, the Iditarod in Alaska.
Up until 1998, the race began in Lincoln and ended in a remote place called Gold Creek, west of the Divide. From 1994 - 1998 I was the Finish Line Coordinator. This job entailed checking in mushers as they crossed the finish line, and making sure they finished the race with all of the required equipment (axe, dog food, dog booties, sleeping bag, cooking utensils, etc.), counting the number of dogs they finished with (they are allowed to drop dogs along the way for various reasons), and entering their finishing time onto a stat sheet. Since most of the mushers prefer to run at night (it's easier on the dogs), you can imagine that I did not get much sleep for the three days and two nights I was there. I camped out in the back of my SUV, which you might think would be far too cold, but with a small air mattress, down sleeping bag, and my own two dogs in there distributing lots of body heat, it was actually pretty comfy. And the finish line location was in a small grove of pine and fir trees that handily blocked most of whatever wind might kick up. At night we would all sit around the fire, and the more experienced mushers would tell stories about running the Iditarod, the Beargrease 500, and other less known races around the US and Canada. We'd all turn in around 2:00 am, but... just as I would begin to sleep soundly, there would be a tap on the window, and a very cold and tired musher needing to be checked in. That was my life for three day each February for five years.
In 1999 the finish line was moved back to Lincoln, and the folks who own the High Country Beef Jerky factory offered their large parking lot as a starting and ending spot for the race - and also provided a very nice log archway to act as the official starting and finish line. This is where the race has been held ever since. Living 50 miles away made it difficult for me to recruit volunteers - most didn't want to drive that far and I didn't know anyone in the Lincoln area so I relinquished my job to someone local and became a spectator. I relish my experience and the commraderie I found with these people.
As the mushers arrive in preparation for the race, dog trucks are surrounded by a thick layer of straw and dogs are removed one by one, chained to the trucks and bedded down in the straw. To see a pickup truck surrounded by 12 to 16 dogs is an interesting sight on its own. Most are pretty friendly and spectators are welcome to visit and pet them. Some prefer to be left alone, and are not shy about telling you so. Sleds are pulled off of roof racks and out of trailers, bolts are tightened, runners waxed, brakes checked, and all required equipment is loaded into the sled bags. The mushers then meet with officials to review the rules and trail conditions, and final preparations are completed.
Spectators begin to converge at the starting line, picking out what they consider to be the "best" vantage point for observation and photo opps. As the dogs are harnessed, the excitement grows - they know they are going to run and a raucus chorus of whines, barks and howls begins. These dogs are bred to run, and they do it well. The teams are sent out at three minute intervals, and as the countdown for each team begins, the canine chorus grows into a deafening roar, and the dogs begin to jump about and lunge into their harnesses, held back by the mushers' assistants and a sturdy anchor at the rear of the sled. On the starter's signal the dogs are released and explode down the trail in a surprising burst of speed and strength. Within a mile or so they settle into their own rhythym and pace themselves for the long haul. These dogs are well trained athletes, doing what they do best and loving every minute of it.
This year I decided I wanted to get some photos without all of the cars and spectators, so I hiked about 3/4 of a mile throught the snow (which at times was almost knee deep), until I found just the right spot - a turn in the trail placed the beautiful mountains of the Bob Marshall Wilderness directly behind the dog sleds - it was worth the walk to have the perfect background!
A few of the teams carry passengers for the first five miles, interested persons who pay what I consider a handsome price for the privilege of experiencing first hand the thrill of traveling under dog power. One "passenger" stood on the runners in front of the musher, a mile wide grin on her face at the excitement of it. I've ridden on a dog sled, and had the opportunity to drive as well - whatever the price it's well worth it! There is nothing like the feeling of traveling along behind a team of these wonderful dogs, the only sounds being the "shoosh" of the sled runners and the dogs booted paws on the snow. You can have your loud, smelly snowmobiles, give me a dog sled!
