Sled Dog Watchdog - Yukon Quest alone

Los Angeles Times correspondent, John Balzar, served in a volunteer capacity for the 1997 and 1998
Yukon Quest races. The book focuses on Mr. Balzar's coverage of the 1998 race. The author had gained a
modicum of experience as a dog musher, and the book is technically more informative about the world of
extreme mushing than Adam Killick's book, 'Racing the White Silence.' Like Mr. Killick's book (and like
most of the media coverage given to the Quest), the majority of the book is devoted to writing about the
human portion of a sled dog team, and much less print is dedicated to the dogs. I found portrayals (often
in great detail) of mushers' travails and triumphs along the trail to be overly dramatized, especially as Mr.
Balzar was not there to witness the incidents. Most people do not realize that the only time the media
really sees the mushers' teams is at the various checkpoints, so there is a great reliance on the mushers'
telling of tales. Mr. Balzar also provides glimpses into the annual 'drunkfest' that takes place at some
checkpoints along the Quest trail, involving race fanatics and apparently as reported in 2006, Quest race
officials themselves.

[Neither rain nor sleet nor hail nor snow (nor 60° below) will stop the running of the Quest]
According to the rules, no Quest could ever be called off because of the severity of the weather.
(Page 5)

['Anthropomorphism' starts early in this book]
They shoulder forward at a lope, not driven by the ponderously clothed human riding behind them so
much as driven from within. This is what they were born to do, what they plead to do, this is all they do
and what they sometimes die doing….
(Page 7)

[About Alaska musher Aliy Zirkle's first sled dog, Skunk, escaping]
Aliy spent days setting live traps, which the dog outsmarted one by one. She paid out hundreds of dollars
in damages. Finally, Skunk found a trap he couldn't fool. "When I saw him in there I walked up and said,
'Okay, if you growl at me I'm going to have to shoot you.'" Aliy recalls, "But he wagged his tail. So I had
to keep him. He's in my dog yard now, he's my pet."
(Page 19)

[About Alaska musher Rusty Hagan's medieval sled dog exercise wheels]
They (the dogs) are affixed by neck chains to the spokes of the carousel. At first, there is a bit of
confusion on the ground as some dogs aim clockwise and others pull opposite. Then they reach
consensus on which way they want to run this time. Seven pull, and one straggler rides in his house. The
other carousels come similarly to life. Forty-seven revolutions equals one mile. Rusty looks at his clipboard
and reports that in the last six months, in preparation for the Quest, his dogs have logged 1,657 miles, or
77,789 revolutions…77,78, 79, 80…81…82. That is supposed to keep them conditioned - once they get
over dizziness, which doesn't take too long, Rusty says. For trail training, he has run the most promising
of his dogs another 570 miles pulling a sled. "I like my dog yard," he says, smiling abstractedly. "I like
just watchin' 'em."
(Page 24)

[About the recreational pursuits of Quest musher Paddy Santucci's wife]
His wife is a nurse. For fun, she goes to Hawaii and hunts wild boars with dogs and knives.
(Page 25)

['Of course we know that mushers are not motivated by money']
The ideal, always impossible, is to match dogs of equal speed and endurance, all with mellow
temperament and zeal for the trail, dogs with leathery feet and unfailing appetites, dogs with savvy to
know that rest stops are for resting not goofing around, dogs that don't fight and don't have to be
neutered, so they can command breeding fees later. As important as these qualities is the intangible called
"head," which is really a combination of guts and drive: the fortitude to run twelve or fourteen hours of
every twenty-four for two consecutive weeks…
(Page 27)

[Author overcome with emotion at race start]
At the edge of the crowd I retreat, embarrassed, into the fur ruff of my parka, where I fight wet eyes. I
attribute this emotion to my being an Outsider, but then I see other people sobbing openly. It isn't from
sadness, although there is some of that. On average, two dogs will die in each race. It is because the dogs
are innocent, and beautiful and noble, and their pursuit makes all the sense in the world, to them. And the
trail ahead is so forbidding and so awfully long. So frightful as it aims toward the sun-kissed hills on the
frozen horizon.
(Pages 29/30)

[Aliy Zirkle lavishes attention on her dogs]
Tomorrow she will begin the day at home by feeding thirty-eight dogs, giving each one just enough
attention to keep it [Ed. Note - italics mine] connected to her.
(Page 57)

[Paddy Santucci's dog Linus injured]
Somewhere in this play of light and shadow, Paddy Santucci is snapped back to reality by the violent
crunch of his rig against a tree. One of his dogs is injured. Linus, a lanky black bruiser, and one of the
strongest pullers in the team was running in wheel position, next to the sled, and apparently took the
blow directly. The dog had been torn out of his collar and flung back over the sled, landing with Paddy.
Such was the force of the collision. Jesus, God. The musher's survival instincts take over. Linus is shaken,
but how badly is hard to tell. Trail dogs can be fantastically tough, but no less than household pets, they
tremble with fear and pain.
(Page 61)

[Linus is 'a real trooper']
Veterinarians set up here to give passing teams a first once-over. Linus is not fit to continue, they
determine. The dog is passing dark red blood in his urine. But he is also up on all four feet and eating. He
will survive just fine. His Quest, however, is over. Paddy is now down to thirteen dogs. Of more concern
is the toll the accident could take on his confidence. Two years ago, when he last raced in the Quest,
Paddy watched helplessly as a dog died in harness. The dog faltered and was dead before Paddy could
stop the team and run forward. The horror of that experience was worsened when race officials, in the
exhaustion of the final days of the race, seemed to imply that Paddy had pushed his team too hard and
was to blame. A necropsy on the carcass exonerated Paddy. The death was not his fault, not the result of
detectable overexertion.
(Pages 61/62)

[At Carmacks, the first checkpoint]
The first checkpoint is often an unsettling site: a half dozen or more quivering, forlorn dogs in veterinary
triage. A few are hooked to IVs to restore hydration. The first couple of hundred miles tend to weed out
the unsound dogs. Many of the remaining animals hit a rhythm and get stronger as the miles pass, or so it
seems. Maybe that's not the case. Maybe they hold their own better than the humans they are dragging
behind them. Maybe they just look stronger because the mushers will get weaker so much faster. The fact
is, not much science has been devoted to the physiology or psychology of long-distance sled dogs.
(Page 91)

[Few 'natives' compete in the Quest]
[Louis] Nelson is one of only two natives in the race. Most people are sorry there are so few. But years
ago the snow machine displaced the working dog in most native villages, and building up and maintaining
large kennels is now beyond the financial means of most natives.
(Page 93)

[Louis Nelson's dogs exhausted]
Unfortunately, Louis Nelson's arrival in Carmacks gives doubters a reason to wag their tongues. His team
is exhausted. Seconds after he stops, the duty veterinarian unclips one collapsed dog and rushes it inside
for treatment. A camera records the scene. The dog is reported to be dehydrated and suffering from
muscle collapse. Other animals in the team seem wobbly. In this, his first thousand-miler, Nelson looks a
little disoriented himself. Matt Hall, the burly head vet from Alaska, cautiously observes, "I think most of
us disagree, they're running a little faster than they should. But who knows, maybe they're planning on
long rests here." Race officials have worried expressions on their faces. But they do not, at least in my
presence, say anything to Nelson, a thin, hard-face man who seems to keep his distance from the others.
(Page 94)

[Musher Jerry Louden has dog problems]
Smash! His lead dog, Maria, scrambling for purchase on an uneven slab of ice, pulls forward just as the
gangline snaps tight. She is flung sideways into a block of ice and damages her shoulder. Damn. Scotty,
one of the team dogs, is favouring his shoulder. Perhaps he stepped in a crevasse or banged into an
overhang of ice. Damn. Then Taiga quits. Head problems. When a dog succumbs to fear, it's as apparent
as one who has pulled a muscle. When a strong, confident dog holds back, its tail drops between its legs,
and it hunches its head back into its shoulders like a hunting dog that cannot stand the sound of a
shotgun anymore. Damn, damn.
(Page 98)

[Musher Jimmy Hendrick running with sick dogs]
Just two days before the start of the [1998 Quest] race, a shiver of panic spread through the contestants.
A canine virus called Corona had been diagnosed after the deaths of two puppies in Whitehorse dog
yards. That meant local dog teams had been exposed. These animals had shared the practice trails with
the Quest teams, so now everyone was exposed. The flu-like Corona is not typically fatal to adult dogs,
but Canadian veterinarian Marina Alpeza determined that many teams had not been vaccinated against it.
It's too late, anyhow, for preventive measures. Hendrick's team, which he has spent more than half a year
assembling and conditioning, seems to be one of the unlucky ones. Corona induces uncontrollable
diarrhea in dogs, weakening them rapidly. Jimmy has been traveling the trail on a runny carpet of dog
scat, another year's dream and every dime he has now squirting out of his team. This cannot continue, he
knows.
(Page 99)

[A musher's flaw - about Jimmy Hendrick's lack of success in several Quest races]
Perhaps his flaw is only that he cannot push his team as hard as others can. He has always been
tender-hearted with his dogs. The Humane Society Team, he calls them. "I saw too many Bambi movies, I
guess."
(Page 101)

[Driving lessons]
The musher's motto has always been 'drive the dogs you have, not the dogs someone else has.' Many
mushers have forgotten that wisdom in the excitement of the race, however, and have exhausted their
teams trying to run with Rick Mackey and John Schandelmeier.
(Page 103)

[About Alaska musher Dan Turner - Ed. Note: NOT to be confused with Yukon musher,
FRANK Turner]
Some mushers enter the Quest purely for the love of dogs or because of the lure of the trail. Turner
regards the Quest as something an Alaskan man should do. Compared to others I know, he shows no
deep connection to his dogs. He does not express wonder for the trail or the winter wilderness. He has
what is surely the largest sleeping bag of anyone in the race, and he worries about comfort. He wants to
finish because it would be an accomplishment. The doing of it is not as important as having done it.
(Page 110)

['Rookie Musher' Brenda Mackey considers dropping out of the race]
Brenda Mackey is facing the possibility of failure too. In another of her poignant moments, she tries to
rally her dispirited team. "They're year- and-year and- a-half dogs who don't know what the heck we're
doing out here," she says.
(Page 113)

[Media not happy with performance of dogs]
Later in the race, Stefan Peine [correspondent for Eurosport in Germany] tells me that editors back home
are complaining about how the dogs, at nine miles an hour, are not running fast enough. Not enough
action for the cameras. What a pity.
(Page 119)

[French Canadian musher Andre Nadeau's dog training regimen]
Nadeau answers and his wife explains: "He says the dogs can run a hundred miles a day for a year. Not
him, but the dogs." What is his secret? "He has done three thousand miles training this year, forty miles a
day, with a loaded sled, behind which he drags a truck tire and still another full sled. These are not made
to be fast dogs. They are strong, tough dogs."
(Page 137)

[Illicit drug use by some mushers is 'an integral part of the Quest']
The Quest, as now becomes obvious, is a mix of celebration and ordeal. At the finish line in Fairbanks,
dogs from winning teams will get blood tests for drugs; a microchip injected under the skin of their necks
is used for identification. There are no drug tests for the mushers, though. Whether one approves or not,
marijuana is very much a part of life in the Far North. And, for some, it's an integral part of the Quest.
Nothing like a few hours gliding along under the northern lights and having the brain charged with
cannabis, they say.
(Page 143)

['Matanuska Thunder F#@k' - the 'bud of choice' for Quest mushers]
…And by writing about this ticklish question, I do not mean to imply that all Quest mushers are dopers. I
know half a dozen who are and I'd guess there are others. They're not all also-rans either. Getting stoned
is part of their lives and, oddly, does not seem to leave them in a stupor, as it does the urban pot smokers
I know. The only explanation I can offer for this, purely suppositional, is that I understand marijuana to
be a mood enhancer. So perhaps these hyperactive mushers only intensify their gusto for living by puffing
their pipes. Either that or their drive is so strong it overpowers the tranquilizing effect of the drug. The
question these mushers ask each other is not "Do you have any pot?" but "What kind do you have?" And,
it so happens along the trail, the question is answered in the form of a competition.

I had been hearing references to some famous "best butt" contest. Then I was told I had misunderstood;
it's the annual "best bud" competition. There is a single judge, and apparently the judge is an individual
whose experience and opinion is beyond question. The winner is never disclosed. Or maybe the judge is
too stoned to remember who won anyway. But surely the best weed will come from the Matanuska Valley
north of Anchorage, one of the few places in all the North where agriculture is viable outside of
hothouses. In the summer, farmers grow fifty pound cabbages and pumpkins the size of easy chairs under
the perpetual sun. They also produce a sweet, sticky resinous marijuana that goes by the name of
Matanuska Thunder F#@k. The bud of champions.

This year's Quest poses a special challenge for potheads. The twenty-fifth starter in the race is [name
omitted], of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police - the officer in charge of undercover operations in the
Yukon. Mounties patrolled the Far North by dog team until the 1960s, and a few traditionalists like [name
omitted] honour the memory. With a neatly trimmed black beard and an easy manner, [name omitted],
forty-three, is both tough and popular. No one expects him to have time for plainclothes work this
February, but just to be on the safe side several mushers casually inspect [him] and his outfit before the
race. They want to remember the colour of his parka and his sled bag and be able to recognize his dogs,
thus reducing the chances of an awkward encounter on the trail.
(Pages 144/145)

[Aliy Zirkle - 'dog killer']
"In your heart, you never think anything bad is going to happen to your dogs," Aliy recalls later. "Half the
time, you think to yourself that the dogs get as much out of it as you do….I didn't cry until Eagle." Less
than an hour up the trail, Prince stumbles and collapses. The team, unaware, continues as the big dog
drags limply, plowing up soft snow. Horrified, Aliy jumps on the brake with all her weight and rushes
forward to the downed dog's side. Prince finished the Quest last year, a smart but never very
demonstrative dog. He is five years old. But he is not breathing now. Aliy squeezes his muzzle in her hand
and puts her lips over his snow-covered nostrils. Her cheeks swell out as she puffs: mouth-to-nose
resuscitation. The voice in her ear screams, No, No! The other dogs in the team, their fur rippling in the
wind, turn and watch. Their eyes meet hers. A charge of emotion passes between species - but exactly
what dogs feel in their hearts is a question for which humans have no answer.
(Page 161)

['Sudden deaths' of dogs mysteriously beset the Quest]
Some years, the Quest concludes without the loss of a dog. In other years, two or even three have died.
Aliy relinquishes Prince's body to the veterinarians, who will pack it in a cardboard box and fly it out on
the next plane to the University of [Alaska at] Fairbanks for necropsy. Scientists at the university and a
team of blood researchers working for the Quest are attempting to find the cause of these sudden deaths
that continue to beset mushing.
(Page 197)

[Author admits Quest is dangerous]
As for mushing on the scale it's reached today? Yes, the Quest is dangerous and demanding. Yet what do
the dogs say? Listen to them howl and watch them run. [Ed. note - I suspect if they could talk,
some of the dogs would say the author is 'full of crap.']
(Page 201)

[In addition to mushers smoking marijuana, sleep deprivation also endangers mushers and
their dogs]
In his study for the U.S. Army, the Mayo Clinic's Peter J. Hauri found that the first stage of sleep
deprivation, which prompts the body to grab a sequence of microsleeps is followed by worse. After
several days, brain waves of sleep and brain waves of wakefulness are generated simultaneously. At this
stage, it is impossible to tell whether people are awake or asleep even as they walk and talk. "The result is
a twilight state in which people feel as if they are in a fog but not really there," Hauri writes. "There have
been only a few clear-cut hallucinations and psychotic states documented when three- to five-day sleep
deprivation experiments were carried out in a laboratory. However, if one adds stress to the equation,
then psychotic states - delusions, hallucinations, illogical thinking, etc. - become quite frequent."
(Page 24)

[This just in: Aliy Zirkle NOT a dog killer...we repeat, Aliy Zirkle NOT a dog killer]
It is of no consolation, but Aliy Zirkle is informed that the necropsy on the body of her dog Prince found
absolutely no evidence of mistreatment or negligence. The animal was determined to have been in prime
condition, with plenty of fat reserves. University of Fairbanks veterinarian John Blake says such mysterious
deaths sometimes result from pre-existing liver or heart deficiencies that would be undetectable in
pre-race physical examinations.
(Page 271)

['Push comes to shove' for musher Bruce Lee's team]
Bruce finds it equally worrisome that he must ask of his dogs something they have never given and were
not trained for: a hundred-mile dash without rest. For more than nine hundred miles, they have been
travelling legs of about fifty miles and then sleeping. Now the race plan in his notebook calls for a
straight-through run. He will stop periodically and snack the team, but there will be no bedding down.
That means at least ten hours at top speed.
(Page 277)

[Yukon Quest pilot harasses wolf pack in Alaska]
...Minutes later, Gary slams the stick over to the side and presses the rudder pedal and the little plane
banks onto its side. I am squeezed into the dinky seat by the force of a corkscrew turn. Wolves below.
Two of them, both black as night. Then three, and finally six. The entire pack, coal black. They explode in
all directions, panicked. Wolves are shot from airplanes in Alaska, and they wisely scatter for their lives at
the sound of an engine. Gary, a third-generation Alaskan, still relishes the wonders of home - and he
cannot get enough of the sight of free-ranging wolves. We circle and follow two as they hurtle through the
trees as if dodging bullets. Imagine, killing animals from an airplane…

…I'm feeling uncomfortable as Gary continues the chase. But he thinks it's good for them, survival practice
against the next airplane with the government agent out on his nine-to-five rounds "managing" the wild
with a rifle bore. Besides, Gary has never seen a pack of all-black wolves.
(Page 289)