When the snow started falling in January, after an almost four-week hiatus, the storms kept coming, taking our trails from icy luge tracks to something softer and more cushioned. Early January I was running a six-dog team with the sled, but after a few snowfalls, we were back up to eight- then 10- then 12-dog teams. And good thing, because we really needed to get some good training miles before the races. Now all the races would be squished into February after everything was rescheduled due to the lack of snow in early winter.
Along with winter weather not going our way in January, neither did tours. Many years we have run tours out of Bearskin Lodge on the Gunflint Trail and though in theory this should be a win-win, we sure didn’t come out on top this year. After a day of tours just after Christmas, rain turned the lake to glare ice, and we cancelled the subsequent three days of tours. Then, on January 20, we decided to go ahead with another day of scheduled tours despite the forecast—temperatures of -20 degrees F, and even colder wind chills. We told folks they could cancel without losing a deposit, but hardy Minnesotans were not to be deterred. So, we packed up our truck with 16 dogs, sleds, and gear. Matt had the truck plugged in, but the morning of the tours it wouldn’t start. He ran to town, bought new fuel filters and diesel 911, and got the truck going. We were running late, but we were on our way.
Then, in a lonely spot on the Gunflint Trail, at -22 degrees, the diesel gelled and the truck died. Nothing would get it going again. Our phones wouldn’t work either. A conservation officer came along and tried to jump us to no avail. More conservation officers came along, making it look like we were in the middle of a big drug sting, so surely no one was going to pull over and help us out, but the COs also wouldn’t give us a ride to town—it was against their policy. They called the tow company, but the tow was hours away. I tried hitchhiking into town, but no one offered me a ride. Finally, one of the officers towed us off the Gunflint Trail, and later a deputy gave me and Sylvia a ride to town, where a friend gave us a ride home and we spent three hours shuttling dogs and humans back to our place. Needless to say, we didn’t make any money on tours. The day was a waste and at least one angry customer waited a long time at Bearskin for us to arrive, becoming irate because she wasn’t hearing anything from us (again, our phones had no service) and subsequently left Bearskin a bad review, even though the situation was completely out of their control.
My next day of fun came running a 12-dog team on a rather long training run to a campground off one of the snowmobile trails. We turned into the campground. I had only been there once, so I didn’t remember where to turn around. I took a left, which wasn’t correct. First the dogs tried to turn around on their own, ending up in a massive tangle which took a while to fix. After unhooking and rehooking almost everyone’s tug lines and neck lines in the front half of the team, they were straightened out but still pointing the wrong direction. Then we headed into a campsite, and they did a tear drop turn around a picnic table, which drove the wheel dogs directly into the picnic table, dragging the sled into the picnic table with them. The sled was soon wedged between the bench and tabletop, and the harder the team pulled the more the sled rammed into the small space, threatening to break the sled into pieces. I needed to act rather quickly, so I unhooked a bunch of tugs so the dogs couldn’t pull so hard, and then wound two tugs around the picnic table, which seemed like it wasn’t going anywhere, and unhooked the gangline from the sled to release the pressure. I was then able to extricate the sled and reattach it now free of the picnic table.
Just as I was reattaching the dog tugs, a snowmobiler came along, stopping to watch me. He finally gave me the thumbs up, as if to ask, “Are you okay?” Wishing he had been there 15 minutes ago, I gave him a thumbs up in return, even though I was sweating buckets. I took off and then ran into this guy’s buddies, who were blocking the trail with their machines. Eventually they moved and we were on our way home.
Now we are in the thick of race season. One race a weekend for four weekends in a row. Last weekend it was the Gunflint Mail Run, two 32-mile legs separated by a three-hour rest. The weather was perfect. We had enough snow, and 11 mushers and their 10-dog teams participated, along with many, many community volunteers in the annual event. Matt and I placed 2nd and 3rd respectively in the race behind Cook County musher Rita Weheseler, making for a Cook County sweep.
This weekend (as I write this), I am gearing up for the UP 200—an out and back race from Marquette, Mich. I will run a 12-dog team that is a mix of 2-year-olds with less experience, and 7-year-olds who ran the Iditarod last year. And some 3 and 4-year-olds as well. The forecast calls for cold and snow, and I couldn’t be more excited. By the time this story goes to print, the results will be history. We will have also run two teams in the Ely Wolf Track race, and we’ll be getting ready to run the Beargrease as well. It’s an exciting month. I’m sure some rest will be in order in March, but for now it’s race season, so let’s run.