‘I DID THE IDITAROD’
ONE MAN’S ACCOUNT OF SURVIVING THE LAST GREAT RACE WITH NOTHING BUT MAN’S BEST FRIEND AT THE HELM.
He knew something wasn’t right. True, he knew he was a few miles off the lead. And he knew that if he kept his pace, he still had a chance. But this wasn’t Martin Buser’s first Iditarod. Being a four-time champion in the annual dogsled race that pits man, and animal alike, against conditions more harrowing than anything Titanic passengers could have fallen into means you learn different weather trends and terrain changes.
HUSKY HEALTH
BUSER WEIGHS IN ON CARING FOR HIS DOGS ON THE COLD, HARSH IDITAROD TRAIL.
On proper dog care: The main thing is meeting their nutritional needs. They have a totally different metabolism than humans. Scientifically, when dogs are extremely cold, they’ll burn 10,000 calories – and that’s a lot for a 55-pound animal. They need to be fed six to nine times in a 24-hour period. During a break, mushers are cooking and making sure meals are prepared. Then, we massage and rub their feet to keep them completely healthy.
On the best way to teach a dog to sleep: Practice. It’s absolutely vital. They need to learn to relax. We call them good resters. We carry a bale of straw on the trail and encourage them to lay down.
On his greatest leader: During one storm, the wind was fierce, and the conditions were impossible for the dogs. I had a headlamp, and the only visibility was between my feet. Eleanor, one of my dogs, was a great leader. She and I walked side by side. |
And you know when you’ve strayed off the path.
Buser had suffered that fate a few years ago, as he and his canine companions had sledded down the wrong gully, descending a mountain that expunged them on the wrong side of an Alaska bay.
“I had to wait till the night. I knew I was off the trail,” says Buser, who raced his first Iditarod in 1979, but has claimed championships in 1992, 1994, 1997 and 2002. “I hunkered down in my sled bed, climbed in my sleeping bag, and went to sleep; just trying to survive in those situations, wait out the darkness, trying to see where I was; of course everyone is worried, but I was fine. I was in my sled bag. While you’re trying to relax, you anticipate the competitors are going by, but the race was frozen. I still maintained the same position.”
Here, Buser tells Men’s Edge about the preparation involved in Iditarod racing, survival over the course of the 15-day race and how he bonds with his four-legged companions.
RACE PREP: ‘IT’S A LIFESTYLE’
People don’t realize that race preparation is a year round thing. They see it as a nine- to 15-day sporting event. But it’s a lifestyle. Right now, we’re in an exercise program of about 5-7 miles a day. We practice pulling a four-wheeler. I have a 7-mile trail from my house and back. This time of year, we seek dry ground. Most of my fall training is done along the road, and we have trails. The snow comes in late-October, and that’s when we switch to sleds. I gradually increase mileage from 5 or 6 miles now to 10 or 15 miles later, and by the end of December, we do 40-50 miles a day. Running 16-dog teams is a good number for the four-wheelers. It leaves us, the mushers, in perceived control.
During the race, most people expect to see Siberian Huskies. Alaskan huskies are determined and they’re faster. For these dogs, the desire to run is based on instinct. Our dogs are bred for running. We teach them to run correctly and work together as a team. Some are so skilled and talented, and many of them are barely a year old.
WHEN THE MUSH BEGINS
Sled races are timed, and the time keeps running whether or not you’re moving. We divide the race into rest and run periods, as we’re progressing, life gets pretty straightforward. We’re only dealing with 16 dogs when we’re racing. As soon as we stop, the dogs are taught to sleep; the mushers get busy cooking for the dogs, making sure equipment is OK and taking care of ourselves. With every hour of running, there’s an hour of rest. This is most conducive to success on the trail: 51 percent rest and 49 percent running. It’s a10-day mathematical equation of what is possible for the canines.
Race rules require only mandatory gear: snowshoes, sleeping bag, ax, dogfood cooker and dog booties (little shoes for dogs). Also, to commemorate the original purpose of the Iditarod trail, which was to carry mail, we carry envelopes. They have to be in the sled at all times. All these things are inspected at checkpoints. We also carry dog food, bowls, blankets and extra clothing. There are about 18 food drops on the trail. Prior to the race, we prepare personal food and supplies for distribution to checkpoints. When we get there, it’s in piles.
| THE TRAIL UNCOVERED
For us, the Iditarod is just a long-ass snow-covered path from Anchorage to Nome, Alaska. But for mushers, Alaskans and wilderness freaks, it’s a way of life. A Zen trip. A spiritual experience.
The Iditarod is – loosely speaking – an actual trail that is 1,049 miles long. The actual mileage varies each year, based on whether the race runs on the northern course (even years) or southern course (odd years). The trail history dates back to the days of the gold rush. It began in Seward, Alaska, and stretched to Knik, then on to the gold camp of Iditarod and eventually to Nome. It started as a trade and mail route.
The race trail crosses the Alaska Mountain Range at Rainy Pass, the highest point on the trail (3,500 feet), and then crosses the Alaskan interior to meet the Yukon River. To keep things fresh – and to keep the mushers stressed out – it takes one of two routes as it crosses the interior and runs on the Yukon River. The trail turns down river for 150 miles to Kaltag. In odd-numbered years, the trail heads south from Ophir and meets the Yukon River just south of the village of Anvik. Sound complicated? Well, it is. That’s why it’s the Iditarod.
From Anvik, the trail follows the Yukon for 150 miles to Kaltag. Once at Kaltag, the two trails meet and are the same to Nome. From Kaltag, the trail follows the Old Woman Portage to Unalakleet on the Bering Sea Coast. From Unalakleet, the trail follows the Bering Sea Coast north to its finish line in Nome. |
TOUGH TIMES
The weather is the big equalizer in the Iditarod – the big halt sign. The first 12 years I raced the Iditarod it was stormy, cold and blustery. The last 10 have been warmer.
The biggest, most memorable storm happened in 1991. Five of us frontrunners got into a severe storm, and they advised everyone not to travel. The temperature was probably 40 below zero – which is unusual because when it’s windy, it’s not very cold. If it’s 40 below zero, the wind chill could be 120 degrees below.
A few champions turned around, and only two of them made it through the storm. Hand-in-hand, we walked 27 hours. I had to discern to see the trail; that was intense. I finished second in that race. That’s where I learned to give in to my dogs – and myself.
TRAPPED?
I was on thin ice once. I followed an old runner trail, and all of a sudden the whole ocean started moving up and down. I was on Norton Sound in the Bering Sea Coast, and I couldn’t believe it. As I pushed off, water came bubbling up on my left foot – totally weak and soft – and there’s 200 feet of nothing across. That was a cardiac test. We’ve lost mushers and their entire teams in situations just like that. You only have a couple of minutes to get back out. Imagine having your body soaking wet. You’d be a wet sponge, and hypothermia would set in immediately.
The dogs are so much better suited for situations like that. They have the spin-and-dry cycle. They roll around in the snow and they keep going. They have oily coats; they shake dry and continue running. Dogs are made for the cold; horses are made for warmth.
What excites us is when we’re out on the race trail, and you’re just that one unit. You don’t have to deal with life as we know it, but just the sled, dogs and the routine at hand. That’s beauty to us; you try to do the absolute best.
The dogs take care of you. There’s a symbiosis; we have to work closely together. Because of the months of training, I know them intimately, I know them by sight, I know them by sound. I can tell you which one is barking … even if I weren’t listening.
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