One month ago today, on August 12th, our local mushing community lost a legendary husky. On that day I also bid farewll to the finest and most devoted sled dog in my small kennel. His name was Zyphr. Today I wanted to help preserve his memory by sharing a few words about him.

Zyphr was born May 28, 1995 in the kennel of Yukon Quest musher, Rusty Hagen in Fairbanks, Alaska. Zyphr was decended from a long line of famous champion huskies. Of all the dogs I have known throughout my lifetime, he was the most courgeous, hard driving, and devoted of sled dogs.

His father, Kid, was a Yukon Quest and Iditarod lead dog. Alpha, his grandfather, was likewise both a Yukon Quest and Iditarod lead dog for musher Bill Cotter. Most remarkable was his great-grandfather, Andy, Rick Swenson's legendary lead dog who led his his team to 4 Iditarod victories. Zyphr's heritage can even be traced directly to another amazing Alaskan Husky, Roamer, the founding sire of Joe Reddington Sr's kennel and the best dog he ever owned.

At age 3, Zyphr was purchased by Washington musher, Laura Daugereau who ran him with her Junior Yukon Quest team. Over the next several year, Zyphr ran with Laura's team in some of the Northwest region's toughest races including Montana's Race to the Sky and Washington's Triple Challenge. Afterwards, Zyphr trained Iditarod puppy teams for Jason Barron under the care of Laura.

While kenneled with Laura in Montana, Zyphr onced saved her life from a late night invasion by a full grown grizzily bear who strayed into the dog yard. While all the huskies hid in their dog houses, Zyphr attacked the huge bear, and in doing so, probably saved Laura's life.

When Zyphr was about 7 years old, Laura rehomed him to my growing kennel of huskies in Washington state. It was the beginning of an unforgettable partnership and friendship that would last nearly 10 years. He was an outstanding lead dog for me. So strong was his desire to run for me that when I left at home to recover from a serious leg injury, he broke out of a window in an effort to catch my truck as we departed for a local sled dog race. That weekend my 12 dog team finished in First Place. It was to be my only career win in that class, and looking back, I will always regret that Zyphr was not present to lead us across the finish line.

When he was nearly 10 years old, I honored Zyphr by allowing him kennel to lead our dog team in the 2005 World Cup Sled Dog Race. I will never forget how Zyphr led our team across the finish line during a raging snow storm at Mt Bachelor with a wide smile across his face and his tail wagging.

In the Fall of 2008, when he was 12 years old, Zyphr took great pride in helping to train our 2009 Serum Run Expedition team. Sadly, he was too old to withstand the rigors of the 800 mile run across Alaska, and with a heavy heart, I retired him from the team.

Zyphr always took great pride in managing the dogs in our kennel. Following his retirement, he continued to usher each dog into it's kennel after training runs and our return from local races. He took great joy in patroling the grounds of our ranch property and he never strayed.

In his final years, nearly blind and suffering from progressive arthritis, Zyphr remained my devoted and constand companion. He took great joy in escorting me on morning walks each day and afterwards, slept near my feet in my home office. Each evening he spent with me in the cabin. During my travels he always rode along. These trips he enjoyed greatly.

On his 16th birthday, we celebrated with a big party. Afterwards, he managed a one mile walk in the city park, pausing to enjoy the scents of each tree and object along the way. On the 4th of July I led him on a cheerful walk along our country road while he paraded an American flag from his collar. Along the way I sang him patriotic songs and we pretended we were in a big parade. It was a grand time.

In the weeks that followed, Zyphr's health continued to decline but his noble spirit never wavered. In his last days, would wait patiently for me to help him to his feet when rising and afterwards, made every effort to follow me on my morning walks. This he managed with great courage, in spite of his pain, until a couple of days before his passing.

On the last night I had him he suddenly began to suffer greatly. As his best friend I knew he was depending on me to help him. While it was a sad day, it also one of great honor. Zyphr was a dignified dog and he deserved death with dignity. Shortly after dawn, I summoned all my courage and drove him to the vet where, together, we offered him my Greatest Gift of Love. Even in his final minutes, his attachment to me remained so strong that I had to tell him it was okay for him to leave me. Then as I held his face against mine while gazing into one another's eyes, he quietly slipped away. It was a good passing.

Like all my huskies who preceeded Zyphr over the Rainbow Bridge, I had him privately cremated. Today Zyphr rests next to the desk in my office - his favorite resting place. Rest In Peace my friend. You were a good dog.

Greetings Serum Run ’25 Fans!

What began in a freezing, wind driven snowstorm, came to an end under clear blue skies along the frozen shores of Nome. On March 14th, NWSDA mushers Margaret Black, Don Duncan, and myself, drove our trusted dog teams into Nome, successfully completing our 800 mile, 23 day journey across Alaska with the 2011 Col Norman Vaughan Serum Run ’25 Expedition.

In the time-honored gesture that followed, our Ceremonial Serum package, still wrapped in furs, was delivered to the city’s mayor who joined throngs of onlookers to welcome our dog teams’ arrival. In addition, we were thrilled to be greeted by fellow NWSDA mushers, Kim Bertrand and Pam Vaughan as our dog teams came trotting into Nome at the edge of the frozen Bering Sea. When Kim Bertrand anxiously inquired about my run, I thought for a moment and answered -That’s a long, long, really long trip!

My answer was probably an understatement. Watching every yard of 800 miles pass under your sled runners while spending 23 days with your best canine friends was just the beginning. Most days on the trail were long – beginning as early as 5:00 am and sometimes lasting until well after midnight. There were mountain ranges to cross under a cruel sun that, at times, made you think your heart might explode. Days of monotonous travel on the Yukon River, a wide, gaping, frozen behemoth, tested your patience (and sanity) as well as the fortitude of our huskies.

Occasionally, our teams experienced frightening drops off shear bluffs, sometimes in complete darkness. At one point, a potential coastal tsunami threatened our run over sea ice and steep, sometimes icy, downhill mountain runs tested our driving skills – and our sled’s brakes!

There were also hours of travel along the Alaskan coast where nothing but a pencil-thin line defined a horizon between the bleak flatness of the frozen Bering Sea and an endless blue sky stretching from horizon to horizon. Finally, for those of us who were lucky, there was the singularly breathtaking experience of the Northern Lights witnessed together with your dogs as they trotted hour after hour over an otherwise pitch dark trail illuminated only by the stars. At that moment, it didn’t seem to matter that you had been on the runners for 10 hours and it was nearly 40 below. This was, after all, what you and your dogs had traveled so far and endured so much to experience. It was these perfect moments that punctuated otherwise countless hours of hardship that fed our passion for running dogs and made it possible to run another mile, or as was often the case, another 100 yards to the next trail marker.

Likewise, there were many unforgettable warm and fuzzy moments. Smiling village children sometimes surrounded you upon your arrival and offered to pass food bowls around to your dogs. There was that unexpected McDonald’s cheeseburger handed to you after your arrival in Shaktoolik on the frozen Bering Sea – a gift that had secretly been carried in someone’s cargo sled for hundreds of miles. There were countless acts of kindness offered by fellow team members. I remember a snowmachiner offering to shuttle me to a breathtaking lookout high above Koyuk because she thought it might raise my sprits after a particularly difficult day on the trail. It did. But mostly, it was several weeks of just you and your dogs traveling alone together on the trail to Nome. And it was countless hours of dog care that began and ended each day’s run.

The 2011 Serum Run ’25 Expedition departed Nenana, Alaska on Feb 20th in frightful weather. It wasn’t so much the 12 degree below zero temps, but rather winds that gusted upwards to 40 miles per hour. I remember the dogs were pretty miserable as we dressed them, trying as they could to turn their backs to the wind and seek shelter where little was offered. Shortly after leaving Nenana, several teams, including myself, lost the trail in near white-out conditions down on the river. Once on the wooded overland trail, things improved slightly as we were sheltered from most of the wind. However, heavy snowfall and a deep, slow trail challenged our progress and before my arrival at Old Minto, just 28 miles distant, three of my twelve dogs had fallen lame. I remember one of the veterinarians jokingly referring to the expedition’s first camp at Old Minto as a major Rimydal Night. Fortunately, all but one of my dogs were sufficiently recovered for the next day’s run.

On the next day’s run to Tolovana, we encountered horrific winds in open areas that obliterated the trail in drifting snow and, at times, made navigation hazardous. I remember a particularly bad stretch of trail across a large open swamp. While making our way, my dogs lost the trail in a complete white-out and balled up into a terrible tangle. About this time, Don Duncan came rolling up from behind with his team of Sammy’s. I remember the wind was howling and sidewise snow blowing as Don and I designed a plan to get us out of the mess. Taking a length of rope, Don ran a line from his swing dogs to the back of my sled. With Don acting as brakeman from his sled at the rear, I took hold of my leaders and led the whole ensemble of twenty-two dogs on foot for a great distance until we were safely out of the wind. It was great teamwork.

By the time we reached Tanana on the Yukon several days later, we had fallen behind schedule due to coastal storms that delayed the Iron Dog snowmobile race and consequently, our synchronized trail schedules. In Tanana, night-time temperatures dropped to 40 below zero but winds were calm and skies remained clear over the next several days. Unfortunately, it now became necessary to increase each day’s mileage. For the next four days our dog teams were required to cover approximately 60 miles a day on the Yukon River until our arrival in Galena. Mid-day travel on the river under clear skies and a blistering sun made travel for the dogs difficult. Worse, by the fourth day on the Yukon, the monotonous spectacle of river ice stretching to the horizon began to play on the nerves of many lead dogs including my own. On the run from Ruby to Galena, my team shut down at 4:30 in the afternoon and refused to move until well after sunset. Later, under cover of darkness and cooler temperatures, my dogs resumed their run down the trail and, after further hardship, arrived in Galena shortly after 3:00 am.

After two days layover in Galena, the expedition resumed our run to Nome. For the next ten days, our dogs ran without a full day’s rest. The first two days included more travel on the Yukon, first to Nulato and then to Kaltag. Here the children were particularly enthusiastic over the dogs and made quite a fuss over them! From Kaltag, the trail led us off the Yukon River (thankfully) and over the 90 mile Kaltag portage, a narrow, mountainous trail that challenged our dogs with sled pounding moguls for the first twenty miles. Most of us arrived midway at Old Woman Cabin pretty beat. My own dogs came in well after dark at a trot but nearly spent. I remember Don arriving a short time later with his eyes glazed over and looking pretty dehydrated – a hazard many of us suffered on the trail.

At Old Woman Cabin, situated on the Iditarod Trail, we held a 13th birthday celebration for my dog, Chewbacca who was already the oldest dog on the expedition. I dressed him in a birthday party hat that I reserve for all my dogs on their birthdays as several expedition team members, including both our veterinarians, sang him Happy Birthday. It was a good time. Perhaps too good. Afterwards, my team was reluctant to leave camp and it took me nearly two hours to get them moving on the trail to Unalakleet on the Alaskan coast, just forty-five miles away.

Unalakleet is characteristically windy. I remember the dogs spending a pretty miserable night camped in a little blow hole while their human counterparts layed over in the village school. The next morning I found the dogs camped on their picket line, their straw blown to the four winds while hunkered down in their dog blankets. They were happy to leave Unalakleet and once on the overland trail through the lofty Blueberry Hills looked the best they had looked in days.

Don and I ran many miles on the trail to Shaktoolik together. Along the way, we were offered breathtaking views of the Alaskan coastline as our teams climbed to ever higher elevations. The run downhill to Shaktoolik was several miles of steep, twisting drops. Here a sign posted trailside by one of our trailbreakers read in simple bold letters, HOLD ON. They weren’t kidding.

Shaktoolik sits perched on a long spit extending far into frozen Norton Sound on the Bering Sea. Here the dogs were picketed at the edge of the frozen ocean amidst bits of driftwood sticking up through the ice. The next days’ run across Norton Sound is notoriously difficult for dog teams, particularly mentally. The crossing would be 42 miles from shore to shore over a flat, featureless frozen ocean and a faint trail. Before leaving, we were advised that this dreary stretch of trail has tested the will of many good dog teams. And this I was about to find out.

Just one mile out of Shaktoolik, my leaders slowed and came to a halt. They looked to their left. Nothing but sea ice extended to the horizon. They look to their right and saw the much the same. Straight ahead, faintly visible scratch marks showed the way over barren ice that stretched to a vanishing point on the horizon. We seemed to be headed nowhere. My dogs layed down. Perhaps it was due to our sixth consecutive day on the trail without a day’s rest. Perhaps it was due to the growing warmth of the late morning sun. Perhaps they were mentally exhausted. Perhaps it was all of it. In spite of my dogs effort to retreat to Shaktoolik, I held them fast, hooked down on bare ice, until I could arrange for portaged in crates to Koyuk with our snowmachine team.

Fortunately, the next day found my team in good spirits and with the addition of Riot, a new leader on loan from Molly, one of our mushers, our journey from Koyuk to Elim and then to White Mountain went smoothly. Our run up the coast on sea ice at the edge of Norton Sound to Elim passed without incident, in spite of the hazard posed by a potential coastal tsunami in the wake of Japan’s devastating earthquake. The next day’s steep mountainous run over Little McKinley offered spectacular views of the frozen Bering Sea and challenged our driving skills while side-hilling on steep icy trails. Dropping back down to the coast, we resumed travel over sea ice along Norton Sound, crossing though Golovin and back onto sea ice before making our way upriver to White Mountain.

On the 22nd day of the Serum Run Expedition, our dog teams and snowmachine support departed White Mountain for the long, fifty-five mile run over the Topkok Hills to Safety. Before long, below zero morning temperatures rose to over 10 degrees as the sun continued to microwave our dog teams during steep climbs from one summit to the next. Travel often required running (OK walking) behind the team on steepest sections of the trail while the sun assaulted us from above. The drop back down to the coast was beautiful with the dogs cheerfully loping all the way to the frozen shoreline before settling into a trot for the last twenty-five miles into Safety.

Our last morning on the trail broke cold, clear, and windy. As we readied our dogs in the shadow of the Safety Roadhouse, I think there was, for many of us, a moment of nostalgia. We were keenly aware this was the last time we would remove our dog’s blankets and dress them for the Serum Run. Perhaps this is why some have called the worst day of the Serum Run the last day of the run because it spelled the end of our great adventure with our dogs.
The last twenty-two miles into Nome was bittersweet. Clearly, it was a tremendous relief that we – that our dogs, had endured and conquered the trail from Nenana to Nome. Yet another force tugged at our hearts, sad that in a handful of hours our adventure would be over. Afterwards, we would have only memories to keep the legacy of our dog’s noble accomplishment alive.

The last day’s run from Safety leads you over Cape Nome, a high, steep hill and one last chance for a heart attack (if you are so inclined). Upon cresting the summit of the cape, the sight of the frozen Alaskan coastline extending northward, and your first view of Nome, just sixteen miles distant, takes your breath away. As we cleared the summit of the cape, I remember cheering the dogs onward and shouting to them - There’s Nome kids! Let’s go get it! Ok - so I might have included an expletive in my exclamation, but given what we had been through together and all they had accomplished, perhaps it was warranted.

Just outside of Nome, our entire expedition team comprised of 11 dog teams and their snowmachine partners, rendezvoused for our parade into Nome. While the dog teams were parked on the snow covered beach at Nome, many of us witnessed polar bear tracks intermixed with the fresh paw prints of our huskies. In a few minutes we would drive our dog teams to the airport where they would be quickly loaded into crates for their return flight to Anchorage. Many of us used those fleeting, glorious minutes on the beach to hug our dogs and to quietly honor them with words of love and praise.

In what has been called The Epic Serum Run by veteran trail boss, Kent Kantowski, we had enjoyed, since our departure from Tolovana, clear, sunny skies and almost miraculously had dodged the bullit of further snowstorms, white-outs, coastal tsunamis, and yes, even polar bears.
When asked for my reason for participating in the Serum Run ’25 on the application, I answered - Running in the footsteps of those hearty dogs of 1925, together with their drivers, will bring an appreciation of their accomplishment that can be known in no other way . . .

On the final miles through Solomon my thoughts occasionally turned to Balto as we retraced his footsteps and the final relay of life-saving serum to Nome. Likewise, during our run through Golovin and across the sea ice, I recalled the legacy of Togo and Fritz and their stormy march across those miles. We had come to honor all those 1925 dogs and their heroic drivers. I was filled with a sense of wonder and awe with their legacy.

On the last day’s run I truly believed the dogs knew they were coming into Nome and that, somehow, they knew these would be our final miles traveled. In spite of their weariness after 23 days on the trail, I witnessed a cheerful spring return to their step as they trotted along in good cheer. At the same time I reflected with sadness that, given their ages, I would be bidding many of them Godspeed over the Rainbow Bridge in a few short years. In that final hour, before our arrival into Nome, I recorded my most personal thoughts transcribed as follows:

If someone asked me what I thought about this trip – if someone asked me if it was fun, I’d say I don’t know if fun is the word. It’s been exhilarating, terrifying, it’s been lonely at times, you feel despair like you’ve never known at moments that’s almost immeasurable, and exhilaration that almost makes you pop out of your body. It reaches spiritual levels that are unbelievable. Eight hundred miles behind these magnificent dogs, all of them geriatrics . . . these guys are eleven to thirteen years old and have covered some of the roughest country in the world. It’s amazing what they are still able to do. In just about an hour we will be there and this adventure will be over. This is my last run like this. It’s certainly their last run. We’ll never see this again and I just want it in my mind to never forget what God provided to me and these dogs in this opportunity to test our will, our strength, our fortitude, and our spirit (most of all) to keep us going day after day. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done in my life. And it’s the greatest thing I’ve ever done. I’m so thankful. God Bless you kids (speaking to my dogs). Let’s roll on in now. Let’s roll on in.

NOTE: Shortly after our arrival in Nome, the Serum Run expedition team members gathered at the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race finish line. As we assembled for our last group photo, I reverently spread some of Wolfie's ashes directly under the Iditarod's famed burled arch. At that moment, my promise to Wolfie to take her to Nome with our dog team was fulfilled. There she would welcome each Iditarod team as they crossed the finish line. Her legacy was now complete. Rest in Peace girl. You were a good dog.

See you on the trail my friends.

Von Martin

Today is the 25th day since leaving home. Since that time the dogs and I have experienced minus 30 degree to plus 30 degree weather. We have suffered terrible snowstorms and marvelled at beautiful clear days. And while the start of the 2011 Serum Run '25 Expedition is still 13 days away, we have already experience plenty of adventure since our arrival in Alaska!

Most importantly, the teams "Drop Bags" or cache supplies for the expedition were successfully delivered to AirLand (air cargo) in Anchorage on Feb 3rd. It totaled several thousand lbs and cost the team nearly $10,000 to ship. The sight of supplies and straw neatly stacked on pallets in the warehouse is impressive - and staggering! It is good to know that everything we will need to sustain us (aside from our first 4 days supplies carried with us) are safely on their way across Alaska.

With the sorting and packing of supplies behind us, we are (cheerfully) able to return to the business of running our dogs to maintain their conditioning and finish preparing them for the long, cold run across Alaska.

Yesterday morning broke clear and cold. The temperature stood at 0 degrees but skies were beautifully clear. I am able to run the dogs on frozen Big Lake right out of the driveway. However, due to dangerously icy conditions on the lake, I elected to run the dogs in squads of 4 - 5 dogs each. The trail down to the lake is a twisty downhill run with some pretty quick turns - a little scary but we always seem to manage OK. Once down on the lake the running is smooth - perhaps too smooth as it is not possible to really stop and park the team. All you can do is hang on for dear life as they run the length of the lake, about 5 miles. At the end of the lake is a boat ramp all covered in snow, where I am able to turn the team around for the return run.

We are not alone on the lake. There was a snowmobile race with some passing us on the road at 80 mph - just a blurr - and pretty scary. There was also a sports car race (yes you read that right) on the ice and of course cars and trucks passing us on the trail while crossing the lake from time to time. We also passed ice fishermen. Chewy took the team to one of the ice finshing tents on the lake. Maybe he thought they had a cold beer (they probably did) or he smelled the bait box. I had trouble getting him back on the trail but with some coaxing we managed OK.

Shortly after I returned from running the 3rd team, the dogs got all excited in the dog lot. They were all looking down on the lake just below them. There were three moose walking past the house. Luckily, they ignored the antics of the dogs, particularly Pike and Teek, who are not used to Moose but know an Elk when they see one!

A couple of mornings back I had a bit of a scare. About two hours before daybreak, I heard a rattling at the door to my apartment quarters. I turned to see a big furry head all covered in snow peering in the window at me. It was Teek. Somehow he had come loose from his chain and had been wandering the property loose. He could have gone anywhere but had chosen to wander around the outside of the house until he could get my attention. I brought him inside and rewarded him with a hotdog for being a good boy and not wandering off!

For the last several days I have also been busy looking after my host family's house while they are away. Besides my own 14 huskies, I have Jo's 5 huskies to look after. Then there are 2 cats and also 3 birds that need care and cleaning up after everyday. As I am still "at work" while in Alaska, I have to put in an 8 hour day at my computer doing my job as a construction news reporter. The days are long and the nights are longer.But with each passing day, we get more daylight. Currently, we have early morning light at about 8:50 am and dark by about 5:30 pm. The sun rises only a few degrees above the horizon during the day and even at noon is still casting long, evening-like shadows across the landscape.

Today is Super Bowl Sunday. For my long time readers you know what that means. It's time to run dogs! It has been a tradition of mine for many years to run the dogs on Super Bowl Sunday rather than plop down in front of the tube (I don't own one) and find our own adventure. This year will be no different and I must confess - I don't even know who is playing in the Super Bowl this year! It's kind of a sickness but I would rather be with my 14 best canine friends on the trail for the day. And this year will be unlike all the others. Mush you Huskies!

Shortly after daybreak on January 13th, I bid farewell to Judy at the ranch and departed for the 2,500 mile drive to Alaska with 14 huskies and nearly 2,000 lbs of supplies. It was to be a long and very cold drive.
For the first three days, we were battered by heavy snow, often leading to white-outs and frightful driving conditions. Our schedule required up to 14 hours a day on the road, so there were many hours spent driving in the dark on long stretches of icy highways and blowing snow.
Temperatures averaged between 18 degrees below zero and 30 degrees below zero throughout the six day drive north. Shortly before our arrival in Watson Lake in the Yukon Territory, the temperature plunged to a frightful 54 degrees below zero.
The dogs and I camped each night in little turn-outs along the highway. To heat food, we used the same dog cooker utilized on the Serum Run Expedition. It is easy to setup and will burn very hot at any temperature.
Most of our huskies endured the trip pretty well even as the interiors of their little dog boxes became encased in ice. But there was always plenty of straw for them to bed down on and they prevailed.
Shortly after sunset on the 5th day of the drive, we crossed the border from the Yukon Territory into Alaska. The temperature was 33 degrees below zero but we were warmed with the thought that we had made it safely across the border. There were times on the drive north that I thought we may not make it through. The trailer tongue, straining under the weight of Expedition supplies, began to bend and I thought for a time it might collaspe on the highway. At one point, the truck quit running along a dark stretch of the Alaskan Highway in northern British Columbia as temperatures hovered at minus 22 degrees. It turned out to be a clogged air intake and filter system chocked with snow and ice. After cleaning the breather, we were safely on our way. Unfortunately, the hood latch froze up and I could not latch the hood closed. I grapped a cinch strap and strapped the hood to a tow hook under the truck. It held well for the next 1,000 miles.
Finally, at the end of 6 long, cold days on the road, we arrived in Big Lake, Alaska. It was good to be welcomed by my Alaskan host family, the Walch's, and was treated to a warm meal. I slept well that night in the cozy apartment that would be my home for much of the next 8 weeks.
On Friday, January 21st, ,the Serum Run Expedition team met for the first time in Willow to prepare for the departure of our official 3 day Shakedown Run.
On the first day's run we traveled by dog team with snowmobile support from the Willow Community center, also the location of the official start of the Iditarod race, to Yetna Station, 42 miles distant. It was my first hookup of all 12 dogs, having trained my dogs in 6 - 8 dog squads. After the first 20 miles, the team settled into a nice pace. After a winding 10 mile run throug the woods, most of the travel was on the Susitna and Yetna Rivers. They are wide and frozen solid. The run took us over 5 hours and shortly before sunset, we were treated to a view of Mt McKinley rising in the distance above the Yetna River. As it became dark, a thick fog formed over the lake and made visibility difficult. At nightful we safely arrived at Yetna as the temperature bottomed out at 13 degrees below zero.
Most of the mushers and machiners, myself included, camped in our Arctic Oven tents which are equipped with small wood burning stoves. A few team members slept in crute bunk houses.
During the morning hours of Day #2, we broke camp and ran the dogs 38 miles back in the direction of Willow to a place called The Swamp, a frozen wetland area about 2 miles off the Susitna River. We had the wind at our back for much of the run and I was amazed at the steady, good speed my team made on the run. As darkeness fell the team picked up speed and we finished off the run by headdlamp at a fast trot.
This time all mushers and machiners layed over in our Arctic Oven tents. After feeding and bedding down the dogs, a bonfire was built from driftwood as a steady snowfall blew in. Around 1:30 AM, one of the last dog teams, driven by Terrance, arrived into camp. Unfortunately, Jim Ryder and his team of Inuits, failed to arrive by dawn and a search and rescue party was sent out after sunrise to find him. After many hours he was found and rescued, together with his dogs, all in good condition having weathered the night alone in a snowstorm on the Yetna River.
Shortly before sunset on Day #3, we were given the go ahead to hook up our dog teams for the final 18 mile run back to Willow. Somewhere along the way, I lost the trail in the dark, which added numerous miles to my run and an encounter with a moose who, fortunately, moved off in the other direction. We ended up running down a dark road, meeting cars along the way. I stopped one and asked for directions to the Community Center and eventually found my way back. So quick was my team that inspite of our long detour, were not the last team to arrive back at Willow. It was a long cold 3 days but the dogs all looked terrific.
In the days that followed, we have been busy preparing our expedition supplies, or Drop Bags, for shipment via air. These are due in Anchorage, on February 3rd. With just 3 days left to complete bagging of hundred of pounds of supplies, I will be busy packing and double checking inventories. There can be no mistakes and shortages cannot be made up once we are on the trail across Alaska.
The dogs are all well. Most are eating very well in spite of the fact the are restrained to their picket line most of the time and sleep on the truck each night. Although we have squeezed in a few training runs since our arrival, there will be more time to run them once Drop Bags are completed and delivered to Anchorage. Currently, temperatures are moderate, with lows in the mid teens and highs in the low 20's. Snow is forecasted over the next several days.