My 1st Iditarod viewing, until it wasn’t.

I have lived in Alaska for almost 9 years. I admit that when my husband first proposed the idea of packing up and moving here, my knowledge of the state was, in a word, limited.

I was aware of a few things-Sarah Palin, who had become a household name after her run for Vice-President, too many Alaska-based “reality” shows, polar bears, and the Iditarod. (Hey, I had just served 2 decades in the Navy, and there weren’t any Navy bases here at the time).

After we moved up here and settled outside of Willow, one thing I had put on my ‘to-do’ list was to watch the re-start of the Iditarod, especially since it was close to our house. It shouldn’t have been hard-it is right down the road from where we live.

One year, when we had cleared our schedules to watch the restart, the course had changed, and the restart was instead moved to Fairbanks. Other times, family, work, and life had gotten in the way. The pandemics, and on and on. Yet I would come back to that ‘to-do’ list, and still, this one task eluded me and my family.

My job now has afforded me the chance to meet a few dog mushers. I met Martin Buser at his Happy Trails Kennels, DeeDee Jonrowe as part of her work with AK Solstice Search Dogs, and Josh Robbins and Brenda Howard as they work to curb veteran suicide and improve mental health with Outreach 22.

But I had yet to see dog mushers in action. Especially for one of the biggest dog mushing races on the planet. So Sunday was the day.

I had planned what mushers I wanted to see-maybe the Australian musher, Christian Turner, or Gerhardt Thiart, a dog musher from South Africa. Perhaps local Willow musher Ramey Smyth. Another one I wanted to see was KattiJo Deeter, running her second Iditarod, who although she’d finished in Nome, isn’t considered an official finisher because she had to call out and receive snow machine assistance.

That was the plan. That’s not quite what happened though.

After a late start at home that maybe one day I will view as a comedy of errors, we made our way down Parks Highway. I knew it was going to be crowded, but I was blown away by the sheer volume of cars, trucks, and snow machines that had made their way to the area near Willow Library and the Community Center. After trying (and failing) to find free parking, we forked over some money and made the trek to Willow Lake, following the sizeable crowd.

The sky was clear and blue, the sun shining and reflecting off the snow, and there was a chill in the air. There were food trucks, and their aromas filled the air, though we were only interested in coffee and hot chocolate. It was looking to be a beautiful backdrop for the start of the Iditarod, and I was excited thinking about some of the photos I might be able to grab. Until I realized I left my phone/camera/recording device in the car.

But more than the sights and the smells, there was this buzz, this energy from the people. Whether they were dog mushing enthusiasts, people out visiting for the day, or first-time spectators like me, there was a level of excitement in the crowd. It was a more focused attention to what was about to happen, unlike the fun I’ve seen at the ceremonial starts in the Anchorage in the past. It was infectious and the closer we tried to get to the re-start, the more you could feel it in the air.

Trying to compete with the thousands of spectators, even when you state you’re with the newspaper, we didn’t get the best view, and trying to make our way down the chute, forget about it. I knew when different teams were leaving the chute simply by the roar of the crowd.

When I was younger, I used to run a lot of 5 and 10Ks, and the start can have just as much of an impact as the rest of it, from the pace, to not staying on the right course (and it did happen once, and I ended up running a 5Kinstead of the 10K, but I digress). The point is that the start of the Iditarod can set the scene for the rest of the race for some of the competitors. A bad start can muck up their plans, throw off focus, and just mess with someone. I can only imagine adding in teams of dogs, who themselves are probably excited, or maybe not feeling it, that has to have some sort of impact. From what I did see, the mushers I saw going (which was only a few), seemed to be off to a great start.

And there really was an excitement, watching and hearing these men and women with incredible amounts of fortitude and stamina, who have prepared in ways I cannot fathom for this 1,000 mile race to Nome. I was in awe of what they were embarking upon, even if I couldn’t see all of it.

So, while I can technically check this off my ‘to-do’ list, I’m not going to just yet. Like some of the mushers who compete over and over again, I’m going to re-plan and make better preparations to watch the re-start next year. Maybe even having to take our trailer out the day before and set up so I can get better photos-I can only reach my arm and camera so far above my head to try and get photos.