Sunday, March 20, 2005
Who let the dogs in?
All but one rookie dog team has reached Nome, early enough to join in the Iditarod awards banquet held 14 days after the start of the race. It's pretty amazing how they cover over 1100 miles in two weeks, just dogs and man out in the snow and ice and wind. There was a time not so long ago when a finish time of over 20 days was good enough to win the race.
The last place team is still in White Mountain, 77 miles away, and given their pace, they probably won't finish for another two days. What's interesting is that the musher is a pilot for Alaska Airlines; I guess he is normally used to travel at somewhat greater speeds. His name is Phil Morgan. Yes, Captain Morgan :)
I found this dog poem on a web site. It's very "mushy", but my dogs want to see it, so here it is:
LIFE OF A SIBERIAN HUSKY
I’m two weeks old, my hair is like silk,
All I want is my mother’s warm milk.
At three weeks all pups lay in a pile,
It’s sleep a long time, then nap for awhile.
I’m four weeks old and now I can see,
So of course I’m thinking “What will I be?”
Five weeks old I can walk, more like stumble,
I see the guys run, it makes me feel humble
At last six weeks old and learning to run,
It makes me feel free and leads to more fun.
At eight weeks I know Siberian Husky’s my breed,
I want to be on a sled team, maybe the lead.
For the next four months it’s run, jump and play,
Not a care in the world, I like it this way.
I moved around the team, I tried everything,
I must have been good, they put me in Swing.
Swing is the position that’s right behind lead,
I’ll keep my eyes open, commands I will heed.
The musher calls “Gee”, “Haw” sometimes “On By”,
It's a lot to learn, and I’m determined to try.
In the next six months I got lead many times,
Over fields, up the hills, some times steep climbs.
I always did well, I wanted lead in the race,
If the musher would pick me, I’d set the team pace.
We spent a whole year running together,
We ran days, we ran nights, always cold weather.
The rivers were frozen, it was tough on us all,
But we stayed on the line, we answered the call.
Now I’m nearly two and a seasoned lead dog,
Practice has paid off, now for that once-a-year jog.
It’s early in March in Anchorage for the start,
Over one thousand dogs anxious to get their part.
This is The Iditarod, “The Last Great Race” they call it,
If we have even a chance, we’ll all have to haul it.
From Anchorage to Nome, a most challenging run,
Over one thousand miles before this race is done.
It’s five hours of running, then five hours of rest,
We keep to this schedule, it works out the best.
This race is down to nine days plus hours to win,
For twenty more days, teams will come in.
Well, I led the team and we finished the race,
No, we didn’t win, we came in twelfth place.
I worked hard and the team did their best,
I had my chance, I was put to the test.
Oh, I won other races, my record’s my story,
The Iditarod will always be the peak of my glory.
I’m eight years old now and retired from racing,
I’m teaching the young-uns the importance of pacing.
I think back of all the work I have done,
I never thought of it that way, to me it was fun.
I see the new puppies, stumbling and blinking,
Was that ever me? What was I thinking?
- Robert E. Drewery
- posted by Woofwoof @ 8:42 PM
