During the last months I spent too much time preparing gear and not enough training. I sewed a nice cover for my sled (it was a tattered and torn cape flying off my sled by the end of the first 24 hours of ITI); I put woodworker's UHMW tape on the bottom of my sled (harrumph, not half-bad, lasted nearly half-way through the race); I packed food (I might have tested the snacks while I was stressing out over the aforementioned sled cover and tape); I ... oh who the hell knows what I did. Mostly I remember that on a handful of occasions I would bring all of my gear out of the spare bedroom along with little blue sled and then try to organize and pack everything on the sled. I did this when Tony would be racing and I would stay home to do this very important work. This involved first eating breakfast and having coffee, musing, refilling coffee, check Facebook, coffee, making thoughtful faces while looking at the pile, read email, divide pile into new piles, research gear online, glare at the piles, eat something, try to fit piles onto sled, get frustrated, put everything back in the spare room, clean up the mess I made before Tony got home. Yep, yep, all in a day's work.
Honey I'm home!
Arriving back in Alaska three years after my first visit was like coming home. Alaska got in my blood. A part of me felt like I'd never left. The sights of downtown, grandpa Mark's home, the pit in my stomach....nothing had changed.
Tony encouraged me to go to the pre-race party at Speedway Cycles the Friday before the race. Sure, it would be good to meet a couple people before the race. So after my final shopping spree to REI, I decided to stop in. "Uh oh," I thought as soon as I walked in, "this was a mistake." Everyone was talking and laughing and, dear oh dear, they all seemed to know each other. I felt like I'd been flung back to 2005 to my first ultra races, and felt overwhelmed with feelings of inadequacy, general dorkdom, wallflowerness and social ineptitude. I glanced around at the various circles of people gathered together, like I could change them into recognizable features, and someone would wave me over and call me friend. Why did I come? I should have known better! They're all gonna laugh at you. No one noticed me...oh good, that's good...I'll just sneak back out the way I came. Then across the room a bit, a woman smiled at me a bit, and so I walked over. She introduced herself and her husband, Loreen and Tim Hewitt. A bit of relief, I relaxed a little. I couldn't have told you exactly what was said. Whatever the norm is for small talk at these sorts of things. Where are you from? What year is this for you? What mode? Great weather, eh? After they moved on, I left and went home, feeling it best to leave on a good note, with just a little feeling of belonging.
Ron Nicholl took me out to dinner the night before the race. It was nice to relax before the morning's final preparations. The race started at 2 p.m. on Sunday. With pure gratitude I "allowed" Ron to also pick me up and take me to Best Western where we would load gear onto buses and be transported to the start line outside the Knik Bar in Knik, Alaska.
Sunday, February 27. 12:30 p.m. Knik Bar
Pounder hamburger, fries, yes please. Eating out of necessity or out of nerves? Who cares. Eating seemed the only possible thing to do while we waited the 90 minutes or so until we started. I sat with Jimmy who I'd met at the pre-race briefing on Saturday, and one of the Bills (not sure, perhaps Bill Shand?). I met Donald from Scotland, who later in McGrath scoffed at my awful (as in, trying-too-hard to sound Irish) Irish name. Twenty minutes to go. Bathroom, yes, that's a good idea. Ten minutes to go, go, go...time to go outside.
Mark, a cyclist I'd also met at the pre-race meeting on Saturday came to say hello (goodbye?). He picked up my sled, "let's see whatcha got here."
"Oh, please, if it's too heavy, it's too late for that."
"Not too bad," he assessed.
I thanked him also for suggesting that I get waders. They'd been my final, final last-minute purchase at Wiggy's, a local joint far out on Old Seward Highway. The waders had been a purchase I'd looked at months earlier but had considered too expensive. Now, I was like an addicted gambler at the casino. So much money and time invested. If I stopped now, I might never know. What if...? And so each "final" purchase I'd made had been one last raise on only a moderately-optimistic poker hand, until at last I was "all in" and had nothing left.
In my final in-and-out of my sled I "lost" one of my favorite gloves, somehow stuffing it between drysacks in my sled. Oh well, I sighed, getting out a spare pair, and putting away my lone glove; it would show up later (and it did).
No turning back now.
Okay, so now we have started.
SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 27. 2 P.M. UNTIL NOT SO GOOD.
The first afternoon was very surreal. I’m here? I’m here! Most of that afternoon was spent absorbing the sights and trying to really accept that what I was seeing was not my imagination; it was no visualization I was having – I was really here and so far, so good.
I knew of course that things wouldn’t stay perfect; but I wondered if I would recognize the passing from good into bad. It seemed that I usually tried to ignore that transition and then all of sudden everything is bad. Well, this time I would have to emerge myself in whatever was to come, accept it, embrace it, whatever psychobabble applies here.
I took lots of pictures; told myself not to use up all the film right away.
Around 5 p.m. I thought of Ron Nicholl’s advice: Deal with things right away, don’t wait until later. For the immediate time being we seemed to be traveling on a very rural snow-covered road and I sat down on my sled just past what appeared to be a self-built house with dog crates dotting the yard (of course this ignited one of many fantasies that I would somehow meet Lance Mackey; gotta love a guy in a ponytail). I powdered my feet and put on fresh base layer sock and fresh wool socks. I had three base-layer sock changes and six pairs of wool socks. I was wondering when Jimmy would pass me; we’d talked of starting out together but got separated at the beginning, but I figured that he’d catch me napping on the trail at some point. Klaus passed by again; we’d spoken earlier and taken pictures of each other.
The sun started to go down and I took note that it was just after 7 p.m. I came down a trail on a small hill onto a river (the Susitna?). There was a team of sled dogs stopped there and a snowmachiner was also stopped and talking to the sled driver. I wound around them. The river was well used, but to the left was an obvious trail with the now familiar trail markings of the “Historic Iditarod Trail” and its mileage markers. I turned on my GPS to make sure, and yes, there I was near that pink path backlit by yellow tundra. I wasn’t directly on the path, but I had been told that was to be expected. The trail varied each year, and the line between waypoints could be off. No problem. I checked my GPS every now and then and was still paralleling the pink path. Also I was still seeing mileage markers. Oh boy, I remember thinking, if every single mile is ticked off on these markers, this is going to be a long 350 miles. Oh, and there were the trusty footprints before me. All was well.
There is a moment from this first night I recall. Standing in a swamp in a circle of black trees. The snow is perfect. I get the sensation of being inside a snow globe. The stars are so bright. I look from one end of the world to the other and back, and forth. Again and again. It was awesome. I might have even said so, quite loudly in fact. Orion and Taurus absolutely demanded to be looked at. Ritually I took time throughout each day to cock my head from side to side and take it all in. Sunrise , midday rainbow of all the shades of blue, sunset rainbows with yellow in the east and purple in the west, and the stars at night. (Feeling good? Don’t worry, that will end soon too. – Cookie)
Back in the woods, hidden from wind, I tried to make water. I sucked. I’d practiced in the snow at home and on Mark’s outdoor patio in Anchorage , but now I was impatient, trying to melt too much at one time. I was afraid of using all my fuel in one shot. Oh, why hadn’t I practiced with this damn thing more? I melted about 10 to 15 ounces. It would have to be enough. I shoved the bottle under as many layers of clothes as I could… my body heat will have to melt it.
From here it turned into a bit of a slog through the night. It got cold. I got sleepy. I ate more. Mixed nuts were already tasting horrible. I found all my food had adopted the slight flavor and aroma of beef jerky and protein mix. Osmosis through imperfect Ziplocks. My water was starting to run low, and I really was thirsty; would need to melt water soon. And these hills? Kathi Merchant had warned us that the section from mile Fingerlake (mile 130) to Rohn (165) would be 35 miles of hills, but she hadn’t even mentioned this! If this was bad, think how much worse that would be. And then we had to go over Rainy Pass too? The trail didn’t seem well traveled. Devil’s club-like branches tore at the sled cover I’d spent hours hand sewing. There were more than a few stuck tree branches wedged across the trail that I had to stop and get my sled over. I had seen a mile marker for mile 20, but hadn’t seen one in a long time.
I started to have a lot of self-doubt and sleepiness only enhanced that. I’d been listening to the adventures of Gard and Bobbie in Haven, Maine on my ipod, but was having trouble focusing on that. My mind was mushy, plus I kept coming to forks in the trail. I kept trying to go right (northwest I suppose) because GPS said I was just a little bit away from the trail, and that’s the way the footprints led too. But each trail I took turned back on itself, once, twice, three times I followed trails that led me nowhere. I focused on remembering how which paths I’d already tried. Finally, even though it was the opposite direction of the way I wanted to travel, I took a path going left. It came out on a vast swamp. Later, more choices, left or right? I went right even though I couldn’t see any footprints. Finally I came to a place where the trail went straight ahead or made a sharp 90 degree turn to the right.
MONDAY, FEBRUARY 28. EARLY.
THE STORY OF JIMMY’S BIVY,
OR: HAVE I TOLD YOU THE ONE ABOUT THE AMERICAN, THE CANADIAN, THE ENGLISHMEN, THE ITALIAN AND AUSTRIAN?
Ah, ha. Here, this 90 degree turn to the right must be what I need. This is the direction I need to go. And look, there is someone sleeping on the trail. I went over. “Is this the right way?”
“Who is it?”
“It’s Shawn. Who is that?”
“It’s me Jimmy.
“Is this the trail?”
“No, it’s back there and to the left.” To the left? But that’s the way I just came from. He’s just confused… probably has directional “dyslexia” just like me. He means to the right.
“You should sleep. You need to get some rest.”
“No, I need to find the trail first. I can’t sleep until I find it.”
I went back to the main trail and continued straight from the direction I’d come. About 20 feet later I looked back and saw two headlights coming out of the woods behind me. I’d wait for them and together we’d all make sure we were going the right way. When they approached, I found it was Klaus who spoke English. He was with Savino, who did not. We exchanged frustrations with the earlier wrong trails we’d all followed. We headed out together. The trail twisted and turned, but generally felt like it was going in the correct direction. I was falling asleep. I’d slow down, then run to catch up. Eventually we came to a fork. Straight or … a 90 degree turn to the left… to Jimmy’s bivy. “Oh f*ck. We’re back at Jimmy!” I looked at my watch affixed to my vest: 5 a.m. We’d gone in a circle for two hours! This was exactly why SPOT devices were not allowed: imagine family and friends simultaneously yelling at their computer screens “You’re going the wrong way!”
I was too tired and dejected to continue with Klaus and Savino who wanted to continue to backtrack. Plus, it was hard to communicate; three years of high school German and 3 semesters of college Spanish had long ago vanished. I let them know I was going to sleep until the sun came up in an hour or two. I set up about 50 feet from where Jimmy was still sleeping. Although I was exhausted and it felt good at first to lie down, sleep was shallow. I remember hearing Jimmy and Klaus talking across the swamp, but it sounded like Klaus’ voice was coming from where Jimmy was too. How strange. Klaus and Savino had only found dead ends. I just remember thinking: all the planning and money spent and it comes down to this. So this is where it ends? I tried to console myself with the fact that I still was on vacation and was still in Alaska , even if my race was over. I curled into myself as much as I could in my skinny mummy sleeping bag.
I looked at my watch. I was shivering. Not that much time had passed; it wasn’t even 6 a.m. yet. Had I slept? I had to get up, had to do something. I got up and out and rolled up my sleeping bag and got ready. Now what? Where to? Jimmy was still over there. I should let him know I was leaving.
“Jimmy. Jimmy?”
“Yeah?”
“I can’t sleep, I’m too cold.”
Jimmy said if I would wait we would go out together. I brushed my teeth and went to the bathroom while I waited.
MONDAY FEBRUARY 28 CONTINUED.
THE BUSHWHACK: NO MATTER WHAT, IT WILL NEVER GET WORSE THAN THIS.
After some discussion we realized that we had both entered the bivy site from different directions; thus the reason Jimmy had said the trail was back and to the left. In addition, he had passed Cookie bivying on the side of the trail on his way in; so Cookie was out here somewhere too. Jimmy said that when he went to bed last night he hadn’t even known he was lost. And were we lost?
We started to head out the direction that Klaus, Savino and I had gone last night hoping to find a separate trail that we’d somehow missed. But then we decided that we’d backtrack a bit first, the way that Jimmy had been heading and the direction in which Klaus and Savino had ultimately gone in the early morning and had not yet returned from. A hundred feet later we saw they had written D E A D E N D in large letters in the snow. Sh*tf*ck. We backtracked once again in the direction of the two-hour loop. With clear heads we re-visited the GPS. Although, yes we were only a couple miles from the trail drawn between waypoints, we were not finding any trails that would get us there. We both looked towards western horizon. There was about 100-200 yards of knee deep snow and then a line of trees. Beyond that would be the Susitna River, but what else was unknown. We could backtrack, but how far. We didn’t actually know when or where we got off course, backtracking wasn’t automatically the most obvious answer.
We discussed which option was better. We discussed how risk-averse we both felt toward those options. Thankfully, we both wanted to risk breaking trail to the Susitna River. I’m sure we both had reservations that we’d find the terrain too difficult to get through and would be stuck with a traveling companion yelling “I told you so! I told you we should have just backtracked! Now we have to backtrack out of this mess, and then we’ll still have to backtrack. I should have traveled alone!!” Yes, that was a very intense worry. It was probably about 8 a.m. by now.
With shoes strapped tightly on, we proceeded across the unbroken snow. It wasn’t so deep that it avalanched over your snowshoes and held you down; it really wasn’t too bad and it never came over the knees. We came to the trees and again probed: are you sure? Absolutely? Absolutely. Now the snow was deeper. Although I’d led through the open swamp, it was now difficult for me to left my foot out once I stepped into it. Jimmy would ultimately lead us through all the bushwhack territory. Despite this, I would often still fall down, a tip of my snowshoe catching empty pockets of air under the snow. It was like when you’re skiing and the back of your ski punches through the snow at a 90 degree angle to the ground, you’re flat on your back with no leverage and no way to get up. I used my walking poles so much that they wouldn’t stay in an extended position for long and later I had to duct tape them to stay. Not sure how many hills we went over; they weren’t tall, but they were steep and there were many of them – 15, 20, probably not much more than that. They were like “tank traps.” But we had sleds on. You just couldn’t get leverage in the sinking snow at the peak of these knolls. A couple times I would push on Jimmy’s sled to get it up and over, and a couple times he had to grab my arm to pull me up. Mostly I was on my hands and knees to get up these hills, the only way to avoid the sled pulling me back down.
I think Jimmy apologized for swearing so much. Are you kidding me? Are you deaf?
The mileage on the GPS decreased slowly. I remember at 10 a.m. Jimmy said that it would probably take us another 4 hours and I wanted to disagree but didn’t. We hadn’t eaten, like we were both waiting to get to the river before receiving that reward. But at noon we stopped for a handful of minutes to eat. About a mile to go we came to another clearing. I led us here because I felt like I should do more. We came to the trees and saw waypoint markings on the trails; that had to be a good sign. More hills. Then Jimmy saw a trail! A trail! We followed it. I saw a pink ribbon tied to a root on the ground with a small tree creating a V growing from the ribbon.
“Jimmy? I think I’ve been here. I’ve seen those roots with the pink ribbon tied on.”
“There’s a lot of those. Don’t worry.”
We came to a downed branch across the trail that we had to pull our sleds over. “No, Jimmy, I really think I’ve been here.” Not good, this is not good.
We came to a fork in the trail. There were many footprints. We each went one way…and met again 50 feet away. “This is where I was getting lost last night.”
The trail was not going to take us to the river we realized, but the GPS had us now within almost half a mile, so we continued on our straight line. Finally, we began to see what appeared to be a horizon in the distance. And then we could see the river! Not one to let things go too easily, the trail put some large blow-downs in our path. But we were there. We had done it. As I later relayed to Tony: we were pretty f*cking pleased with ourselves.
Before making the final descent to the river, we stopped inside the barricade of trees to change into dry socks. (Not that the snow we’d have to cross on the river to get to the now visible trail was going to let us get there with completely dry feet.) Jimmy boiled water. I didn’t want to take much. My melting-water-against-my-body plan was working out okay. But he insisted I have some tea he made, and it was nice to feel the warm liquid in my stomach. I tried not to imagine relaxing and being out to dinner with Tony eating Teriyaki… the only other time I ever drink tea. It was close to 3 p.m. if I remember correctly.
On the trail, we were amazed at the lightness of our sleds. We would alternately kick ourselves for having lost so much time, and then celebrate for having made it here. We promised that no matter what the trail conditions were like later, it wouldn’t be worse than that. We wondered what happened to Cookie, Klaus and Savino? An hour or so later we saw Mark the bicyclist who had questioned me about my gear and urged me to get waders. He had gone to Yentna, but was carrying too much gear; it was too heavy and he was worried about the reports he’d heard of weather on the pass. Self-doubt crept back in.
We were getting close. I confided that I was really learning how to use my GPS on the go; that using it around home on a known route was so much different than using it to navigate. It had been clear (after the fact) that while I had appeared to be “closely” paralleling the trail last night, I’d really been miles off the trail. Yeah shee, dere’s dish ting called “scale,” yuh shee. And now as we would around on the Yentna River , we found that waypoints draw the trail as the crow flies.
That blue line there that zigzags through that pink line on the GPS? Yeah, that’s us. At 9:30 we arrived. I unhooked my toolbelt and scratched madly at my hipbones that had been itching since sundown. Walking the slight incline and to ascend the short flight of steps into Yentna Station awoke muscles that had been sleeping on the river and I felt a rare feeling of pure muscle exhaustion that didn’t include any tightness or injury, just work. We were fed grill cheese sandwiches and broccoli and cheese chowder. Easily the best meal in my lifetime. And I cannot even begin to describe the satisfaction of taking off my shoes and putting on my down slippers – one of a few luxuries I had packed. Oh, but now…oh so good…the slippers were a necessity. And we drank carafes of water like drunks at a bar. Life was good.
We agreed on a wake up time, and after the to-be-nightly chore of hanging up wet socks and gloves to dry from an ad-hoc clothes line. The bunk room we were assigned was too hot and we cracked the window to breath the night air. I didn’t brush my teeth that night, nor any night that I remember. That was a morning chore.
It was a most enjoyable night of sleep. Even though I knew I had a week of this ahead of me, I was utterly and blissfully relaxed. I awoke during the night a few times, but only enough to relish falling back to sleep.
TUESDAY, MARCH 1: YENTNA TO SKWENTNA.
JIMMY’S BIRTHDAY PARTY.
FOUND: PEANUT BUTTER CUP
When Jimmy’s watch went off at 5:30, I was ready to get up. We commenced morning chores: collect socks and gloves from their perches and alcoves; water (preferably hot) in water bottles; hot water, Starbucks Via and cocoa in bladder; empty garbage/food wrappers from toolbelt; change GPS and headlamp batteries while fingers were in a warm climate; Hydropel and Dr. Scholl’s on feet (hmmm, that blister can wait); eat the best breakfast ever known to man; put mostly-dried shoes on; and most important, the final packing of the sled and visual sweep of any items left behind.
We started off in the daylight today; it would be one of three sunrises missed out of eight mornings in the upcoming week.
We traveled well that day, eating more frequently than we had during the previous day when our sole focus had been on getting back to the trail. Jimmy found a Reese’s Pieces Butter Cup and we shared that. It turned out he’d found a Nutri Grain bar on the trail that I had dropped on Sunday night.
Eventually Cookie and Savino passed us by. We’d seen them at breakfast this morning at Yentna. They’d arrived at Yentna a couple hours after we had late Monday night. It seems that after backtracking on the Old Historic Trail, they’d eventually returned to the site of Jimmy’s Bivy and then found our tracks through the Bushwhack and had followed our trail to the Susitna River . Funny, sort of, given that Jimmy and I had said in that we wouldn’t have wished the bushwhack on our worst enemy.
Our GPS were brought out frequently, even though it would have been nearly impossible to get off the trail on the river.
We traveled relatively at the same pace, but acknowledged that we would split up eventually. I said we should get to Fingerlake together and then discuss.
Later in the afternoon we brought out the ipods. I traded an extra ipod with Jimmy – still indebted to him for his company in the bushwhack and for melting water on Monday. Time passed, ticked off by pop tarts, handfuls of nuts, butterfingers, jerky, and the to-be-savored once a day treats: dried apricots and cookies.
The sun was going down and we knew we were getting close. At the final sign to Skwenta we took a sharp left turn off the river up a short, steep hill into the woods. We kept expecting the roadhouse to be around any corner. But then the sun went down...and still nothing. No lights in the distance, no barking dogs. We could see Cookie and Savino's prints on the trail, but still we were worried. I recollected that about 20 feet past the "Skwenta" sign when we'd turned off the river there had actually been another sign. But assuming we were only yards from the checkpoint I hadn't bothered to go and see what it said. I swore at myself and told Jimmy we should have gone to look at it. Who knew what it had said. Were we going the wrong way, or the long way? Finally, after much swearing and possibly the worst attitude either of us had had so far, even despite the previous day, we finally arrived gratefully at Skwenta Roadhouse. Cookie and Savino were at the dinner tables along with some locals.
Jimmy promptly arranged for a bunk for himself, but I had been scheming in my head about continuing on through this night. It was a race, right? Our hosts in Skwentna were Mark and Cindi, and I told Cindi I still needed to decide whether I would stay or go.
We sat down to a warm meal, complete with lemon bars for dessert. We decided to celebrate Jimmy's birthday by having a beer.
....
