There were a few key factors that led me to scratch from this year’s Iditarod –
First and foremost, was the physical health of my team. I had quite a few main team members who suffered athletic injuries early in the race and needed to be sent home from the trail.
The next factor was the route. As much as I tried to “get my head in the game” of running 750 river miles, I just couldn’t get excited for the monotony of the Yukon.
Another key factor was the condition of the trail. Temps were in the mid 30’s leading up to the race, and with a last-minute decision to change the route, the trail was a punchy slog for most of the 300 miles off the start line. My team was not properly trained for this type of running, and I let them travel at a speed slightly out of their comfort zone off the start line, which probably contributed to some of those early injuries. I had no interest in continuing on with a small team in those conditions.
I finally came to peace with the decision to scratch enroute from Tanana to Ruby — eventually.
The first time I left the checkpoint of Tanana it was with the front race pack, intending to stick to my schedule and take my mandatory 24-hour rest in Kaltag. However, a mile out of the checkpoint it was clear that I had multiple dogs with physical issues who weren’t going to be fit to run the 120 miles to Ruby. I had two decisions- turn around and go back to Tanana to reassess; or push to Ruby, and likely carry three dogs for more than 60 miles. The choice was obvious, and I turned around.
My friend and fellow competitor, Matt Failor, urged me to take my mandatory 24 hour rest in Tanana (as he was), instead of scratching then and there. As a checkpoint, Tanana had all the amenities for the musher, good resting area for the dogs, and wonderful hospitality from a few village elders (who brought trays of food and desserts by the truck load!). I got an ample amount of comfortable rest, and plenty of food. My team ate four large meals with vigor, and had multiple snacks of chicken skins, beef and salmon. I was able to complete three focused massage and stretch sessions with my dogs that were suffering from sore muscles, and also talk with the vet team about a couple dogs that had more serious tendon swellings. It was a good break for all of us, and we got back on the trail looking strong for our run to Ruby.
Trail conditions improved noticeably about ten miles out of Tanana, and I made the decision to run the 120 miles to Ruby in two runs (instead of three), hoping to start eating away at the major deficit that was now between me and the front runners of the race. I knew it was probably not the wisest decision for “conserving” my team, but I was only interested in continuing with the race if I could do it on my terms- being competitive.
I was down to 12 dogs (after leaving four team members in Tanana with athletic injuries), and as we took our afternoon camp on the Yukon, I found another surprise injury in my most dependable leader, Kobuk. This tipped the scales of my confidence in our race, and I made the decision on this rest that we were done. I saw no sense in continuing Iditarod from mile 400 with only eight healthy dogs. I have run some small teams in this race before, and proved that my dogs and I had the toughness and fortitude to push to the finish. Those days are behind us.
As we made our way to Ruby, Kobuk riding comfortably in the sled, I now had to decide which checkpoint was the appropriate place to “call it.” Certain villages on the Iditarod trail have larger runways than others, and are consequently able to get in larger and more frequent aircraft. For instance, Unalakleet has a full-fledged FAA approved airport and can land small jets, whereas Eagle Island has a groomed section of river ice that can accommodate one super cub (but only on a clear day). If you scratch in Unalakleet, your sled will remain intact and your dogs will all fly out as one group, probably within a day or two. Should you scratch in Eagle Island, your sled is getting disassembled into five parts, and your dogs are flying off the trail three at a time, and you will likely be stuck there for a week (living in a tent). I thought of the upcoming checkpoints, and knew that Galena was the obvious choice- population 500, and home to the regional high school and an active air force training academy for the local youth. It has a legit airport!
After 20 hours on the Yukon, I pulled into the small village of Ruby and told the race judge of my plans to scratch in Galena. I gave the team a nice rest, got a couple hours of quality sleep for myself, left Kobuk with the vet team, and headed upriver to end the race at the next checkpoint.
Scratching always seems appealing from the musher’s perspective when things are not going well. (“I’ll just hop on a plane and be done with this damn race!”) In fact, it is not so straightforward. Regularly-scheduled flights that are coming in and out of these remote communities are typically full in both directions, booked in advance by travelling villagers. And even though the Iditarod has its own “air force” of volunteer pilots who fly portions of the trail, when it comes to moving large quantities of dogs, people or supplies, that is beyond the capabilities of their small planes. Therefore, chartered aircraft is how scratched teams get off the trail. So, as we waited for an available charter, my team and I got to watch the remainder of the race head through Galena, and be involved with tear down of the checkpoint.
Watching the race come to a close was an odd experience, but one that I found pretty enlightening- It is truly amazing the amount of energy and the logistics that go into setting up a simple checkpoint! It is also incredible how important one individual can be to making sure that a checkpoint runs smoothly and efficiently. I spent some quality time with a couple long time volunteers to Galena (both from the community), and got to visit the one and only bar in the village (The Yukon Inn) with the vet team and a few other volunteers. My dogs, meanwhile, got the 5-star treatment from the local high school kids, and posed for photo sets with locals that dropped in to say hello. The dogs made it clear they didn’t feel bad about the race coming to an early end.
At last, our plane was set to arrive and the dogs needed to be staged for the flight back to Anchorage. Step one was for me to mush across town to the grounds of the regional high school (closest accommodations to the airport). Next was for the dogs to get loaded into a mid-90’s village pick-up truck for a quick, but nerve-racking drive to the plane itself. The final step was to actually load the dogs inside of custom boxes fit for the World War II era, DC-3. It was a tight squeeze, and I eventually had to turn the team over to a crew of volunteers while I hopped on a separate, non-cargo flight. At the same time, KattiJo was making the drive seven hours south from Fairbanks to Anchorage, towing our trailer to receive us once we were off the trail. And then, within a matter of hours, the team and I were reunited back “on the road system,” and headed home.
Our end to Iditarod 2025 was not what I had envisioned, but was a unique experience nonetheless. I spent some time grappling with the decision to scratch, and the feeling that I had let down our fans, followers, sponsors and family. I also felt that I had let down my team, and hadn’t set them up to achieve their maximum potential. In the end though, I know that I made the right decision on the Yukon River, and my dogs will go on to race another day. And the outreach that I have received from our friends and supporters has assured me that you all have our backs no matter the outcome of a single race. Thank you!
It’s now time to look to the future and move on to our next adventure. Until next time, Iditarod!
