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Spring is in the air and it has the opposite effect of getting me excited about mushing again. Even though our season was more recover-from-wilderness-meeting- and less race-oriented, here's a little thread with some of my favorite pictures from the season and associated stories.
Early in the season this little monkey showed up at ATAO. He's not a mushing dog but he keeps everyone in line! Hi Huck!
Todd* and I got ready for the season by picking up 21 bales of straw! Straw keeps the dogs insulated and cozy. We used it very liberally this year! Straw partaaaaaay
*The Truck
*The Truck
We got a POOP PIT! One of the most exciting additions to the kennel. Here Mungry helps me investigate
Mungry was Mungry! Link was Link! And Huck was still just Pup at the moment
On September 15th, we set out bright and early for our first run of the season. The team looked amazing.
I stuck to my schedule and the dogs continued to kick butt over the next two weeks of training
The dogs were strong and steady. We tested out some of our new leaders. I could feel the group gelling, even over just this half month. I was so excited about the season ahead of us.
We continued to make vital improvements to the kennel. Todd got a new dog box! We built new houses for the whole yard.
On September 30th, I had a busy day. I went into town to visit a photographer friend. We talked about how many porcupines had been around, and ate crepes. Later, I gave R2 a silly treat and prepped for my evening run by making a grilled cheese that I packed in insulation.
I was really in the groove, not missing a day of training, being kind to myself and being so in tune with the team. Here's the harnesses and the grilled cheese and some coffee all prepped to go.
Here’s some footage from the start of the run. The whole thing was a “little did I know” situation
I said Ophelia and Belle might be my best leaders, potential-wise... Little did I know that over the next few months with both of them quilled and benched, I'd discover Emmy was truly one of the best leaders I've ever worked with in 20 years.
Little did I know, as I deftly peeled the foil off that grilled cheese, that I was narrowing down to the last half hour of when my right thumb would work properly and painlessly
(My thumb the next day; my thumb today)
(My thumb the next day; my thumb today)
Little did I know that in about half an hour, though she was riddled so thoroughly with quills that we keep finding them months later; despite her bossiness and sass; overcoming her own pain-- Ophelia would rise up, duck her head, and lead the team back home to help and safety.
Little did I know that porcupines don't give any fucks.
Little did I know that despite the fear and confusion and pain they were all in, the team would come together and hear me and we'd make it the 5 miles back home together
Little did I know that our friends and neighbors would drop everything-- including leaving their own personal emergencies-- to come help us.
Little did I know we'd be spending the night in the ER vet with five of the worst-hit pups
Little did I know how much my heart would hurt-- or how much I'd have to remove myself from that hurt to simply *care* for them, in the moment, in the next step and the one after that.
And little did I know or understand the love and care felt for these dogs, by folks from all corners. Little did I know how much y'all would step up for them. Little could I possibly have understood, as I sat on my fourwheeler, proud of the team, enjoying a good grilled cheese.
Here's the fuller tale, if you want to read it: https://ataokennel.com/quills/
Training came to something of a standstill. I was a bit shocked and had a lot of dogs to look after. Some of them learned to live the cone life. They healed up with staples and stitches and ointments and a lot of meds. ATAO was more of a field hospital than a racing kennel then.
About a week later, @sasshole came to stay with us a while! Here he meets Rey.
While we weren't mushing, we amped up work on the dog houses. Oli was a good assistant. So was @PadeeMc
Two weeks after Porcugate, I got back in the saddle with the dogs who were cleared to run. Incredibly, that included Ophelia, who had been hit hard in lead-- but bounced back with aplomb and never missed a beat. Rebel, Belle, and Marnie were the three who sat out longest.
In missing those two weeks of training, we missed out on a big element of our training: hills. We also had to start from bottom mileage again & work our way back up. However, it was most of all a mental blow. The human, of course, had the hardest time getting his head around it.
The dogs were still a solid team. Our days were split between work, mushing, and vet visits for the dogs in ongoing recovery.
Somewhere in there, snow fell; puppies and cone-heads played
We had tried to breed Annie earlier that season, but we found out the breeding just hadn't taken. That was okay-- And honestly it was good to have her available to lead, when Belle and Rebel were down for the count.
We worked on projects, played with the dogs, and mushed, and mushed, and mushed.
I began to learn just how incredible a leader Emmy is
The dog houses got done! They looked pretty darn fancy
The dogs worked hard, made funny faces, and kept going ONWARD no matter what
@sasshole was an expert puppy entertainer!
Though it had been an unbelievably tough month, the dogs really were doing well. We finally decided we'd do our best to get to our races that season. I really wanted to give the Copper Basin another go.
Sundance entertained; the team impressed.
Link and Mungry learned to mush! Of course, they were pros.
We continued seeing the vet at least once a week-- usually much more. The dogs were all such good girls there.
I counted myself so lucky to work with this team
I like to think that in Fairbanks, the sky is the landscape you stand in awe of. And it rules your sense of time and the world, too. And in the fall, the world gets dark and your scope of things gets as narrow as your headlamp beam, and the stars.
As darkness and the temperature fell, so did my spirits.
We entered into months of deep cold
We camped; we mushed; we carried on down the trail
In early December, I was mushing about 6 miles from home when we encountered another head on. After a minor tangle, my team was able to "pop the hook" while I was fixing a line. I ended up coiled in the mainline and drug down the trail for nearly two miles. 10/10 don't recommend
Here's the in-depth story about that: https://ataokennel.com/anxiety-and-dragging/
We were able to accomplish the biggest run I have ever done with this group of dogs, and possibly the biggest run I've ever done. The team knocked out 87 miles without breaking a sweat. (Well, dogs don't sweat and it was hella cold. But still!)
At the end of December came our first race of the season-- The Solstice 100! Photo by Whitney McLaren
100 mile races are usually a lot faster-- and this was no exception. The front of the pack teams were going around 13 mph. That's just too fast for our crew-- we prefer a steadier pace. Even though we ran some of our fastest times for that distance, we earned the red lantern.
Temperatures for this race hovered around -40, and they didn't let up as the Copper Basin drew nearer.
It was getting harder and harder to get myself out on the trail. When I look back at previous year's race logs, I see how closely this correlates with the dark. I work w my psych team on this, take a LOT of vitamin D, and have a romantic relationship with a happy light (Winifred)
This year's darkness wasn't just made of a lack of sun. It was also a lot of shit having hit the fan. It felt in some ways like I was pushing my way uphill through molasses. I kept saying YES and fate pushed back gently and said NO.
This was the lay of the land the week before the Copper Basin; the night I did a long camp with the team, and headed out into the hills. I was tired of the same trails over and over, and I wanted to know if they could *do* hills. Our hill training had been foreshorted, remember?
What I found, getting lost in the hills, was that the team wasn't ready. The days I'd missed, the weeks we'd all missed-- It came back to bite us in the butt. I knew I couldn't take the dogs out into some of the toughest terrain that way. I still struggle with that result.
Here's what I wrote about that: https://ataokennel.com/evaluation/
Not gonna lie, it pretty much sucked. I fell into a pretty deep funk. I felt like I'd let the dogs down, let myself down, and let down all the folks who supported us to that point. And, I was also completely burned out. Here's a cheery picture to act as a foil to my angst.
And I'm still not gonna lie-- I'm not quite out of that funk yet. It's been a hard climb. Harder than the hills the dogs and I struggled up.
So let's fast forward a little.
So let's fast forward a little.
The sun started coming back recently. Mote by mote, minute by minute. The dogs- They don't seem to know about my funk. Or maybe they do; but they don't subscribe to it. Instead, they urge me to come to their side-- the fun side. The side of smiles & drool & chasing down the ball.
I'm not saying I feel hopeful! Let's not get carried away. If there's one thing my stubborn brain resists, it's optimism. If it starts, the best policy is to ignore that feeling completely. You gotta let it creep back up to you, like a shy dog, until it's comfy with you again.
So what I'm saying is I'm not saying anything! Shh. I mean. Yes. There IS sunshine. And there ARE projects to do. And the dogs ARE awfully cheerful and good hearted. That's all true.
Going back over this year is like living through a relationship again. The soaring hope at the beginning and the heartbreak when it hits the wall.
And yet, at the end of every ravaged thing you've built-- Once it's all torn down-- there's quite fallowness, for a minute.
And yet, at the end of every ravaged thing you've built-- Once it's all torn down-- there's quite fallowness, for a minute.
Then there's the smallest bud. The one you feel unfurling in your heart.
The smallest green potential.
I guess we'll say it's hope.
The smallest green potential.
I guess we'll say it's hope.
It's there and it asks you for something that seems unreasonable; unfathomable; impossible.
It asks you to try again.
It builds its roots; it grow.
It tells you you can do it.
It branches and blooms and then, the height of flight streaming back into your own veins, it demands
It asks you to try again.
It builds its roots; it grow.
It tells you you can do it.
It branches and blooms and then, the height of flight streaming back into your own veins, it demands
Try again
Try again
Try again
There is too much life, too much joy, too much trail ahead to miss
Fields sit fallow so they can revive; so they can bloom again
Sometimes you need the time to heal
Fields sit fallow so they can revive; so they can bloom again
Sometimes you need the time to heal
Then maybe, maybe comes that little voice within you. Maybe, after a while. That says go forward, take another step. The time has come to grow.
I feel that-- maybe-- (let's not get to enthusiastic, I can't afford to scare that voice away)
And what that voice says is, it's time to go again. Time to hook up the team, time to run together.
We've got some things to do.
And what that voice says is, it's time to go again. Time to hook up the team, time to run together.
We've got some things to do.
So this is all to say... It's been a really long year. A tough one. And we're here! We are here, as here as we can be. And maybe, maybe it's time to think of what's next. And maybe- maybe-
(And of course there are circumstances that have to be met but still, still, maybe)
Maybe we're ready. Maybe *I'M* ready. Maybe it's time to get up again. Maybe it's time to set eyes the final checkpoint.
Maybe-- maybe--
Maybe it's time to go to Nome.
Maybe-- maybe--
Maybe it's time to go to Nome.
We'll see. You never can know what's in store.
Onward.
Onward.
