2013 Can Am 30 Recap by Kevin Powers

Saturday was the ceremonial start of the Iditarod in Anchorage, Alaska. Sunday the real start occurs in Willow, a few miles outside Anchorage. The mushers will run from Willow to Nome, a distance of 1,100 miles or so. When the race starts in Willow, a lantern is lit in Nome and hung from the Burled Arch, the Iditarod finish line. The last musher to arrive at Nome extinguishes the lantern and is awarded a special prize for “perseverance”. The prize, fittingly, is known as the “Red Lantern”. Virtually every mushing race awards a red lantern to the person who “turns out the lights”, so to speak.

This morning, at the awards ceremony, the Head Musher, got the Red Lantern for yesterday’s CanAm-30. She ran the 30.2 miles in 5 hours, 37 minutes, and 32 seconds. Twenty-seven of those miles were run in a snow storm. Her sled bag and her parka have not yet dried out, nor has she stopped smiling.

Along with the top three finishers, the Red Lantern winner has to give a short acceptance speech. The winners inevitably talk about how well groomed the trails were, how great the volunteers were and how well their dogs performed. In contrast, every Red Lantern winner’s speech I’ve ever heard has focused on the “fun” the musher had running his or her dogs, and how beautiful the scenery was. This from people who spend an average of two and a half hours longer out on the trail, in miserable weather, than the winners. Kinda makes you wonder whether golfers who shoot 105 have more fun than golfers who shoot 75. No, I don’t think so.

Well, the Head Musher was no different, except she added the fact that she stopped her sled on a small lake after about ten miles, planted her snow hooks, and took time to scatter, and then cover with snow, the ashes of her first sled dog, Kaya, who passed away several months ago. Kaya was born in Maine and it’s only fitting that she should return there. So, henceforth a small lake in Maine on the CanAm 30 trail will be known, at least in the Powers family, as “Lake Kaya”. A neat memorial for a neat dog.

So what is it like to be in Fort Kent for the CanAm? Well, I’m glad you asked.

We spent Friday there for the vet check and mushers’ meeting, Saturday for the race itself, and then a half a day Sunday for the breakfast and awards ceremony.

First of all, if you drive into Fort Kent during race week with a dog sled on the roof of your car, everybody smiles at you and waves. I mean that literally. Everybody smiles at you and waves.

In Fort Kent, on race week, mushers are celebrities. But the neat thing is they are celebrities who don’t seem to realize it. They are too preoccupied with their dogs to think that they themselves are celebrities. But most of the mushers are remarkable for the very reason that they care so much about their dogs. You can’t be a self-centered, ego-centric jerk and have twelve sled dogs who depend upon you for their well-being. Your focus is always the dogs – and you spend a certain amount of time picking up poop, which is always and ego-limiting experience. It might do A-Rod some good to be a musher for a season or two.

As you enter town, there is a sign that reads “Welcome CanAm Mushers”. Every year I’ve heard a story or two about how incredibly helpful the locals have been to mushers who have run into some kind of difficulty.

And physically the appearance of Main Street changes overnight. Tons of snow is carted into town to convert about a half-mile of the right lane of Main Street into a starting chute lined with low fences to contain the spectators. The town has a snow- removal crew that doubles as a snow-depositing crew. I wonder how that line-item is worded in the town budget.

Every team has a designated parking spot the location of which depends upon its starting position. We’re in our spot by 7:00am.

The Chapman’s, who are lending us two dogs, are nearby. They have a dog truck with room for twelve dogs…

So is Peter Franke, who runs a team of Siberians, and is destined to finish third in the race.

Thousands of people turn out for the start of the race and cheer for all the teams. It makes no difference that they don’t have a clue who Linda Powers from Berlin, Maryland, is, they cheer anyway.

The eight-dog teams running the CanAm 60 start first. Six-dog teams running the CanAm 30 go out second. Twelve-dog teams running the CanAm 250 go out last. Teams are leaving the starting chute every two minutes from eight o’clock to eleven o’clock.

Rookies, whose teams have never experienced the crowd noise in the starting chute, worry that their teams will spook and freeze in place. The dogs just dig in their front paws and refuse to move. It’s embarrassing for the musher to have to lead his team out of the starting gate on a leash but it seems it happens at least once a year. The crowd cheers louder when the team gets going and, of course, this spooks the team and causes them to stop a second time.

As the team photographer, about 45 minutes before the Head Musher’s starting time, I head down Main Street to fight the crowd for a good position along the fence. No matter where you go, there is always someone who leans over the fence and gets the back of his head in your picture. Over the years, I learned to recognize “leaners” and move away from them. Watch out for tall guys, watch out for slim guys, and watch out for teenage kids in a group. Find a middle aged, overweight guy and his wife and stand right next to them. If you hear a woman say “Fred, DO NOT lean over that fence, you’ll fall!” you’re in business.

By the time the head Musher hits the starting line, it’s snowing like crazy. It’s a heavy, wet snow almost exactly like two years ago. The team looks great as it goes by. Zorro and Coal are in the lead, Kodiak and Aura are running point and Chinook and Fenway are in wheel next to the sled. Through the snow flakes I can see six dogs and a musher smiling. Kodiak will have the same dorky smile on his face at the finish line. He’s a free spirit.

It’s always a let-down after the team goes by. We’ve been gearing up for this for the last seven months and then, suddenly, they’re gone.
I decide to head down Main Street to the point where the teams leave town and start running on an old railroad bed. This is a tricky spot for mushers. They go up a little hill, make a left turn and go down a sharp incline toward the river. The twelve dog teams have been warned about this section. They have volunteers lined up on the far side of the trail so the dogs will make a left. If they don’t make a left, the team, the musher, and the volunteers are going down the hill and into the river. I wonder how you get volunteered for this duty.

Those three people near the tree are standing in the middle of the trail and will move shortly, or become part of the next 12-dog team. The tall bridge in the background is the one that is preparing to fall into the river. The one in the foreground is the new one under construction. Notice the sign on the left. You are at “America’s First Mile”, the beginning of Route One. It ends in Key West, Florida.

Here is a shot looking back toward the starting line. I’m standing right at the turn and it’s actually a great place to take a picture.

About forty minutes later, Gino heads into the turn…

And up the hill…

Two hundred and fifty miles to go, on a snowy, relatively warm (34 degree) day. The mushers don’t mind the snow but the dogs would prefer single-digit weather. The colder the better,

The more I thought about it, the more I thought I should go up on the hill, join the volunteers and get a shot of the last couple of teams heading up the hill and then down toward the river. Here’s what it looks like…

Up the hill…check out the kids sitting in the tree. Prime seating.

And a left turn down toward the river…this team is probably going twenty miles per hour…

Now it’s time to head back to the car and maneuver it, and its attached trailer, out of the staging area and up to the Lonesome Pine Ski Lodge where the race will finish. Backing up low trailers like ours is a pain in the derriere. You can’t see it until it starts to turn and by that time it’s too late. Best to just pull ahead, straighten out, and try again. I’ve got four hours to beat the Head Musher to the finish line.

Here’s the Lonesome Pine Ski Lodge. Every year the sight of this sign triggers memories of Laurel and Hardy singing “On the Trail of the Lonesome Pine” in “Way Out West”. I’ll have an ear-worm for the next twenty-four hours and be whistling the tune in the lodge. Luckily I’ll just be one of many strange people hanging around the finish.

The finish line runs east to west across this last picture. People will start to gather along the fence in an hour or so. A loud speaker will announce approaching teams when they are about five minutes away from the finish. Most people wait inside the ski lodge and then dash out to the finish line as teams approach.

And sure enough, five hours, thirty-seven minutes and thirty-five seconds after leaving the starting line, the Head Musher comes cruising across the finish line…

Did I tell you that Kodiak (middle dog on the right) would have the same dorky smile on his face at the finish? He’s saying: “What? Wait! Are we stopping already? I thought this was a long race! Guys, let’s just keep going! We’re on a roll!”

Then he’ll mug for the camera and Zorro will join in on the mugging…

The Head Musher is tired but happy. Another successful CanAm-30.

Later,
The One-Man Pit Crew