by Slim Randles
They are getting ready now, wondering if the race will bring prize money, glory to their dogs, or just some quiet laughter from the other mushers.
The Iditarod Trail.
It has come to mean “The Trail” to dog mushers and kennel owners all over the state of Alaska and in a lot of other places.
There are other long distance dogsled races now. We know that. But the Iditarod started all that “long, cold camping trip” stuff. And I was lucky to be a part of that very first Iditarod in March of 1973.
Strangely enough, each musher has a list of life-saving equipment and food on that sled. Unfortunately, when they check a musher’s lungs and heart, they forget to test the brain. The race would probably be run quicker and more efficiently, but it undoubtedly wouldn’t be as much fun.
In my closet, hanging on a hook where it’s been for more than half a century, is a handmade down parka covered with gold-colored heavy cloth. I wear it every year on the first Saturday in March to remind me of the race and of a woman named Pam who made it for me. We lost Pam this last year, but she was the eyes and ears and ambulance dispatcher of the first few races. And she was my wife, then, too.
I was injured about 300 miles into this thousand-mile race and was rescued by military helicopter. I started the race with seven dogs, as that was the minimum and then the minimum was changed to nine dogs.
So if you find yourself somewhere between Anchorage and Nome and you see tired people and cold dogs with icicles hanging on them. Smile and say you send greetings from Seven-Dog Slim. Will you? Thanks.
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Brought to you by Slim’s book “Dogsled: A True Tale of the North” available on the internet and in bookstores everywhere.
