The other sled dog race

Extreme cold. Roaring winds. Overflow. Mountainous terrain. And seemingly endless miles of lonely solitude.

Mat-Su mushers Kelley Griffin and Zack Steer know what to expect when they embark soon on a 1,000-mile sled dog race. But they're not headed to Nome. They'll be going the opposite direction Feb. 14 when the Yukon Quest International Sled Dog Race starts in Fairbanks.

Mushers say the Quest, which ends in Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, throws a whole different set of problems at dog teams from those found in the Iditarod.

"The Quest to me is more of a physical challenge," said Griffin. "The Iditarod is more of a mental challenge. When I think of Iditarod, my heads gets filled with white noise."

The crush of media and fan attention surrounding Iditarod isn't something Quest mushers envy. Most aren't willing to trade the lower-key atmosphere of their race for more prize money. They say the Quest most accurately reflects the true Alaska spirit without glitz and hype.

"The Quest is more of a wilderness experience," said Aliy Zirkle of North Pole, who has run both races. "You have to have the wherewithal to deal with yourself and your dogs if something happens. In the Iditarod you don't really need that."

Zirkle has the credentials to speak knowledgeably about both events. She's a three-time finisher of each race, becoming the first woman to win the Quest in 2000. Zirkle finished 14th in last year's Iditarod -- the top finish by a woman.

Zack Steer of Sheep Mountain will join Griffin as the other Mat-Su entrant in next month's Quest. He's a two-time Iditarod finisher, including 14th place in 2000. This will be his first attempt at the Quest.

He notes the Quest has only 10 checkpoints, including Fairbanks and Whitehorse, which is less than half the number of checkpoints along the Iditarod Trail. The Quest route stretches 200 miles between checkpoints in one segment, while the Iditarod route is 18 miles from the McGrath to Takotna checkpoints, followed by 25 miles from Takotna to Ophir. Some of the other distances between Iditarod checkpoints are 18, 28, 30, 34, 42, 48 and 52 miles. The longest stretch between checkpoints is 112 miles from Cripple to Ruby on the northern route that racers will follow in March.

It means Quest mushers must take more supplies and consequently heavier sleds while their Iditarod counterparts zip along at a faster pace. That's why Griffin says the Iditarod is "almost a stage race."

"It is becoming that," Steer agreed Friday during a telephone call from North Pole, where he was getting his checkpoint supply bags ready for transport. "It's not a distance race relative to the speed the guys are going the last five years. Not when they are consistently running 10 to 12 miles an hour.

"The Quest doesn't lack competitiveness, but there's definitely a feeling of more isolation, more self-reliance. You need to take care of yourself if it comes to that because you don't have village snowmachine traffic coming through every 20 minutes."

Then there's elevation gain. From Fairbanks' 434-foot elevation, Quest mushers negotiate 3,480-foot Rosebud, drop to 2,400 feet at Mile 101, and rise to 3,650 feet at Eagle Summit before plunging to 610 feet at Circle City. From there, they still have 3,420-foot American Summit and 3,800-foot King Solomon's Dome in front of them -- separated by a drop to 1,214 feet at Dawson City in between.

Even the Yukon River has more teeth along the Quest route. While the portion of the river on the Iditarod Trail is relatively smooth with possible drifts, jumbles of ice the size of cars occasionally block the way near Whitehorse. Quest race volunteers use chain saws and axes to hack a path through the maze.

"Compared to the Iditarod section of the Yukon, this is much more formidable," said Steer. "Last year was a disaster. I've heard it's better this year but it's still not going to be a pretty sight."

Born in a bar

Like lots of schemes cooked up in Fairbanks, plans for a race known as the Yukon Quest were spawned in a tavern amid pitchers of beer. Locals had talked about a new sled dog race for six or seven years but nothing came of it until Roger Williams, Leroy Shank, Ron Rosser and Willie Libb got serious at the Bull's Eye Saloon in 1983.

The saloon was the finish line for a springtime sled dog race from Angel Creek, and Shank somehow talked his non-mushing Fairbanks Daily News-Miner co-worker into being his handler for the event. Afterward, they started musing about starting a different type of race. A much, much longer race. One that commemorated the Gold Rush and followed the Yukon River.

The idea survived hangovers and simmered during fishing trips the following summer. By fall, supporters had drawn up race rules and set the inaugural event's starting date as Feb. 25, 1985. The first publicly announced organizational meeting drew seven people. Thirty-eight attended the next meeting, though, and all of a sudden Fairbanks was getting excited.

But that was only half of the equation. Now the Alaska contingent had to talk the Yukoners into it, so they drove to Whitehorse to meet the Canadians who would put their half of the race together. The Fairbanksans' eagerness evidently grew during the drive, and when they reached Whitehorse they announced a new starting date of Feb. 25, 1984. Somehow, things came together in the intervening four months, and 26 mushers left the Chena River starting line as planned. Sonny Lindner was the first-year winner.

Since then, Quest winners have included the likes of Jeff King, Charlie Boulding (who beat Bruce Lee by just five minutes), John Schandelmeier and Lee. Wasilla's Griffin, who lives off Knik-Goose Bay Road, isn't looking to follow in their championship footsteps this year. A top-10 place would suit her just fine, after finishing 17th as a rookie in 2002 and 13th last year.

Griffin says it's not inconceivable that the title will come home to the Mat-Su, though. Steer, who finished second in this month's Copper Basin 300, has a strong team.

"He's going to be formidable," Griffin said.

Defending champion William Kleedehn of Carcross, Yukon, the only racer to beat Steer at Copper Basin, is another top contender. "He won Copper Basin without trashing his dogs doing it," Griffin explained.

Lab, husky, poodle

formed first team

While Steer, 30, is a lifelong Alaskan, the 44-year-old Griffin was born in St. Paul, Minn., but came to Alaska at age 2 when her father took a job in Valdez. The family moved to Anchorage when Griffin was 11 but she spent lots of time at Matanuska Stables due to her love of horses.

She used a horse halter and harness, plus a Flexible Flyer sled, for her first mushing attempt as a kid. The team consisted of her poodle and a neighbor's husky and Lab. Now she's been mushing for 25 years and her Silver Belle Dog Farm kennel includes bloodlines from Roxy Wright-Champaine, Susan Butcher, Joe Runyan and Rick Swenson dogs.

Griffin, who works as a distributor for Blackwood Premier Pet Foods, does all the heavy lifting herself. She doesn't have a handler, and while her boyfriend is supportive of her involvement in the sport he isn't a musher himself. Griffin laughs and says she'd rather not say who'd get the heave-ho if he gave her an ultimatum between him and the dogs.

"I can imagine myself not racing, but I can't imagine being without dogs," Griffin said.

She has sharp memories of her two Quests. In 2002, officials shut the race down for four hours because of a severe blizzard. American Summit was particularly wind-blasted and drifted when Griffin and her team went over.

"Then last year it was crystal clear and 50 below," she said. "Mushing is a series of problem solving. You have to think on your feet. The emotional ups and downs are really something. Dogs pick up on that."

Griffin also competes in dog weight-pulls, and her house is decorated with some attractive awards. One, a framed needle-point, honors victories by Frank, who died in 2001 after winning $30,000 during his career. Her living room also is strewn with ropes, headlamps, batteries and supply lists as she counts down to race day.

The Valley would have had three Quest entrants if Dave Armstrong hadn't run into trouble in the recent Klondike 300. Attacked by wolves or wild dogs, his team spooked and ran Armstrong into a tree, knocking him unconscious for five hours. Given his own wobbly condition after being rescued, plus the emotional state of his team, Armstrong decided to wait until 2005 for his rookie shot at what he considers the world's toughest sled dog race.

"To me, the Quest is for the real mushers," he said. "It's a more challenging race for the mushers and teams. We don't wear tutus, we wear Carhartts. For Iditarod I'd wear my 'look good around the girls' stuff."

Like many Quest mushers, he runs heavier dogs than those in the Iditarod because of their uphill power.

"We have bigger mountains," Armstrong said. "We're not as fast but we have to be steady. To me [the Quest] is the real 'Last Great Race.'"

Quest champion Zirkle, who will run Iditarod this year, says even race fans show the difference between the two races.

"It's like comparing Fairbanks and Anchorage," she said. "In the Quest, guys are out there in fur hats and Carhartts and it's 37 below. In Anchorage, you have your Eddie Bauer teams and people from Michigan in their ski jackets.

"Right now I'm caught up in that money deal. Plus, I haven't won Iditarod and I think I can do that."

Griffin wrote on her Quest profile that she enters the event because "I enjoy the personality of the race" and to honor former race manager Leo Olesen. Although she has opinions about the characteristics of each race, she falls in the camp that simply considers them separate types of races.

"When I tell people around here I run the Yukon Quest they say, 'Oh, what's that?' South of the Alaska Range, it's the Iditarod; north of the range it's the Quest."