On the trail again
We’re running the Quest again.
Although Rod and 14 of our dogs will actually be running the 1,000 mile trail from Fairbanks to Whitehorse, I say “we” because I am going on the trail as his handler. In the Quest, more than any other mid- or long-distance sled dog race, the handler plays an important role, although it’s largely behind the scenes.
In the Iditarod, once the mushers leave the starting line, race volunteers take care of the various chores associated with sled dog racing such as cleaning up the straw and leftover food and gear at checkpoints and taking care of dogs dropped because they’re tired or injured. In the Yukon Quest, a musher’s handler takes care of the cleanup and the dropped dogs. We also help keep our mushers on the trail.
We’re at every road-accessible checkpoint to welcome and encourage the mushers, who may have traveled for hours in the dark and cold without seeing another person. Sometimes, the mushers are a bit grumpy and unappreciatetive of our efforts, so when the dogs are rested, we’re also happy to boot them on down the cold, dark trail once more. Hey, it’s our job to get them to the finish line and letting them sit around grumbling in a checkpoint doesn’t get them any closer.
Those of us who are married to or living with our mushers are also a very important financial component behind the race. So, don’t ask me why Rod’s spending thousands of dollars to run dogs while our roof leaks, our vehicles are on their last wheels and we’re burning wood because we can’t afford fuel oil.
And, in our case, since Rod and I have a 2-year-old daughter, I also help keep an eye on Edie on my weekends so Rod can train. For those of you who have, or have had, toddlers, you’ll recognize this is not an inconsiderable task.
Handlers often help raise and train the dogs. We feed them, play with them, run them, hug them and let them sleep in the house when they’re retired. But on the race, we cannot touch the dogs except to lead them in and out of checkpoints, except at Dawson, when we have 36 hours to do our magic on them while the mushers rest from the rigors of the toughest race in the world.
The hands-off policy on the trail is probably the toughest part of being a handler. It’s difficult not to pet the dogs and hug them, because these are my dogs too. But during the race, I have to maintain my distance. I can’t even help Rod. All I can do is be a sounding board for his troubles, encourage him to rest and reassure him that everything outside the race is fine (whether it is, or not.) Then I have to clean up after him when he leaves. It’s a lot like marriage or motherhood.
I’ve been involved with the Quest for the past 10 years, either as a volunteer or handler. In that time, I’ve gotten to know a lot of other people affiliated with the race, but the only time I see them is during the Quest. So the race is also chance to reaffirm old friendships, catch up on the news and talk about our dogs for hours on end while we wait for our always overdue mushers to appear at a checkpoint. It’s a wonderfully vibrant Quest subculture, and outside of the dogs, my favorite part of the race.