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Jim, May
6:
….
Yes, I believe he (Dad) dreamed of Alaska,
and of having a healthy body so he could go and see it
for himself. But he didn’t. He never saw the northern
lights crackling overhead. He never saw the salmon in
the streams, the mountains, the wolves, Denali at dawn,
or Unalakleet with 80 MPH winds. He never saw the sled
dogs with 1100 miles in 10 days come trotting into Nome,
and he never saw daylight at midnight. But I know he
dreamed about it, and his dream infected me.
Chris, March 6:
Wow, the past two days have
been exciting. Yesterday was the ceremonial start in
Anchorage…… We finally harnessed and hooked up the dogs
around 11:30 ...Our dogs were so strong that they
required 14 people to hold them, and even with the
braking power of two sleds it was a struggle!..... As
the announcer counted the seconds down from 10, my dad
turned around, looked back at me, and flashed the
biggest smile of his life. As we rocketed out of the
start chute I couldn’t help myself; I started laughing
out of sheer elation. The sun was out, the dogs were
strong, and the air was clean. The ten mile long
ceremonial start was lined by thousands of people, all
cheering and waving and smiling. The last two years of
long nights, hard work, and frustration were worth it.
There is something magical about riding a sled behind an
Iditarod team on your way out of Anchorage.
Jim, Skwentna:
Brutus was living the dream
of every sled dog; he was leading a world class team on
the starting leg of the Iditarod. When he spied a
team ahead he would pull hard and steady to close the
gap….. When close enough to think about passing he’d hit
his harness with full power, tail and head down,….The
team behind him responded to the call and added extra
power. Brutus was at the top of his game and he knew
it.
Jim, Finger Lakes:
The dogs took me out of
Skwentna checkpoint several hours before dawn. The
trail was hard and fast, the air was clean, the stars
were spectacular and all was as it should be. This
was an enjoyable run. As dawn broke I could see
the mountains of Alaska Range looming ahead with more
mountains behind. This is spectacular country.
It just doesn’t get any better. We rested during
the heat of the day in the checkpoint of Finger Lakes.
The sun was almost too warm to sleep comfortably on the
sled.
Jim,
Rainy Pass:
“All
hell broke loose!” ……. I jumped off and started digging
under the front of the sled and found Peg
motionless….she was not breathing. I gave her two
breaths (CPR) and started chest compressions.
Suddenly she took a big gulp of air and began breathing.
Whew! …..Unknown to me at the time, this was
probably the worst place in the world to carry a 50
pound dog on top of the sled. …. With no warning the
entire team disappeared over the edge. Fifteen
dogs, a fully loaded sled with one dog lashed on top,
and me, bounced, tumbled, and slid to the bottom.
The dogs were getting used to this and waited
momentarily while I righted the sled and were off….
Beaten, battered, torn, and tired we got into Rainy Pass
checkpoint after dark. Temp was 25 below with
light snow. The rumor was a storm was brewing…..
Jim, Takotna: …My
injuries were greater than I had first thought. My
hamstring was re-injured…my left hand was numb, no
feeling, and I had blurred vision, obviously the result
of a severe concussion….I discovered it was very slow
and difficult to bootie the dogs. I couldn’t feel
the booties with my left hand; I couldn’t feel anything.
But I left Takotna, rested, with some optimism.
The dogs ran splendidly to Ophir. I hadn’t said
much, even to Chris, and tried to hide my condition
because I feared the Iditarod officials might force me
to scratch. I wasn’t going to scratch
voluntarily….We were heading for Nome!
Chris,
Unalakleet:
Today is not a good day. I talked to Dad on the phone.
He is down to one real leader, Alto, and the dogs are
nearly beat. The team has several minor dings, and he
is questioning his ability to manage the long, hard
hills along the coast. His leg is next to useless, and
his inability to manage the sled is wearing on the dogs.
He is contemplating scratching in either Galena or
Unalakleet. He is thinking of what his options are, and
seems really down. He needs all the prayers he can get.
My sense is that he is beaten mentally, not physically.
I sincerely hope that he will make it to Unalakleet,
where I am waiting.
Jim,
Unalakleet:
In Unalakleet, down on the river ice in the dark of the
checkpoint a big shadow walked over to me and excitedly
shouted, “Mr. Warren,” and then bear-hugged me, pulling
my feet off the ground. The voice sounded
strangely familiar through the mental fog of fatigue but
I couldn’t identify the person. Then it hit me; it
was Chris! ……. My stomach was full for the first time in
over a week. The dogs were feeling better. Dawn
was breaking when I left the checkpoint and
the dogs were barking and
jumping, impatient to be off.
Jim, Shaktoolik to Koyuk:
The run across the Norton Sound to Koyuk was flat; miles
upon miles of sea ice. The temperature was below
minus 30 and there was wind and some drifting and it was
at night. This was a cold run!
There is something ominous
about facing the 50 mile crossing of open sea ice as you
leave the tiny treeless spit that holds Shaktoolik.
Every nerve in your body tightens. The dogs feel
it too and are uneasy. This is for real.
There is no 911 rescue team to call if things go wrong.
You instinctively reassure your leaders and begin
peering into the darkness, searching for the first view
of the lights of Koyuk. Nothing matters but
getting there; nothing matters.
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The paperback,
Following My Father's Dreams, Journals of
a Rookie Iditarod Run by James and Christopher Warren.
