On Digging Deep: Can Am 100 2023
Coming home, between the 250/ 100 split and where we hit the 30 mile trail, we had come out of the valley that drains into the Allagash, and were up on a height of land before crossing into yet another valley. After being in deep woods for 30 miles, the trees thinned out and the dogs moved through open landscape. Wocket glanced over the the right, I followed his glance and saw the moon lighting up the clouds, I said to him ‘yes, it is pretty out isn’t it,’ and turned off my headlamp and ran in the dark for awhile, enjoying everything there is to enjoy about running a dog team through the mountains and wilderness of Northern Maine.
As I evaluated, earlier this week, about whether the dogs and I were mentally and physically prepared to enter the race, analyzing the training schedule, looking at the dogs, it was the matter of heart that got me back on the roster—I couldn’t stop thinking about that night run home. I couldn’t stop thinking about the long, tough Can Am trail.
But, were the dogs ready? Was I ready? Every month this entire training season brought a new fresh kind of weather hell: insane record breaking heat in November, 4” of rain in December, two straight weeks of 24 hr above freezing temps in January, and (of all things) a lightning storm in February. I’ve grown accustomed to thin snow, but the warm fall really limited ability to put solid base miles on the dogs. I was training a group of experienced veterans, who can jump in miles faster, but I still needed to do the work. Early on in November, I said to myself many times ‘I don’t think we are winning or on the podium much this year.’ I withdrew from one race, another was canceled due to poor trail, and it seemed like things were spiraling.
The week before Can Am, the trail report was mixed and the mileage was unknown: 95 miles? 115 miles? 130 miles? It was a new trail route, and no matter where it landed it was longer than the previous 7 years of 88 miles. With thin training on the dogs, and an eternal promise to myself and to the dogs that I would only do what is within their ability to compete at, I wasn’t sure what to do. Only 7 dogs of the 10 had seen runs above 35 miles, and even then only twice. I moved to the 30, convinced that we weren’t ready. But when I tried to run them shorter, faster, all I could think about was that night run back to Fort Kent. Many musher friends, and volunteers, reached out to me and encouraged me to switch back. One comment that stuck in my mind came from my friend Brenda, who said ‘they are whatever you want them to be.’ I moved to the 100, and would run the race the way I’ve always run it, the way I’ve trained the dogs to run it, and see what happens.
The competition in the race was fierce. 23 teams, many of them well-trained Canadian teams who have run more races this year, run more miles. Many of them would be close to what I knew the dogs could travel at for speed. There was going to be no room for mistakes. The day before the race, Florence Shaw moved from the 250 to the 100, adding fuel to the fire of competition, and, also, adding a fast female musher to the mix of men vying for the podium along with me.
We were the first team out, bib 1, something I was looking forward to. No teams to pass, and only teams to pass me from behind as I’d expect Florence would. The new trail would keep the dogs jazzed, and I’d have to pay attention to not miss turns or trail markers. As the first bib, we’d have the most rest at the checkpoint (an extra 46 minutes). So, my plan was I’d run the dogs to try to pace them well to have giddy up on the way home.
The first run was a firm fast trail, subzero temps overnight firming up some of the melt from the day before. I started with Flora in lead with Jax, mostly so I wouldn’t have to watch Skee and Jax argue about which side of the 7 miles of railbed the race starts on to run on; Flora is also steady, and would keep us from moving too quickly down the trail. The front six dogs were calm once hooked up, the back four going nuts as strong powerhouses should. As the first team out, we got to the start line with plenty of time. The dogs were ready.
Leaving Fort Kent, Florence caught me by Wheelock lake, when Flo and Jax took a detour rather than the race trail, and I traveled with her for awhile. Florence offered to let me pass and I suspected the team couldn’t stay ahead of her, and I was right. I glimpsed Florence here and there on the mile-long straightaways as we got towards Allagash, but most of that entire first run (and the race itself) we were entirely alone. I swapped Flora out of lead about 10-14 miles in, moving her back and moving Skee up.
The trail was new trail, a reroute due to logging closing off the normal race trail. The last 25 miles was snowmobile trail, weaving up and down and in and out of all these tributary streams that drain into the Allagash. We were constantly going up and down, but the narrow trail and the curves kept the dogs jazzed about what was coming next. And, as I said to the dogs coming home, we are a mountain team and hills are our thing.
At Allagash, I was excited that things had worked out so my friend Matt Schmidt would be parked next to me. I didn’t know what I’d be racing for until I left Allagash, the dogs had felt strong but a little fruity at times, so I wasn’t sure how our first run had gone. I was surprised we’d be leaving in second, and decided to do my best to hold my ground. At the end of our rest, I dropped Marian who physically was fine, but mentally hit a wall coming into the checkpoint. I walked the other 9 dogs, everyone was sound, and off we went with Skee and Jax in lead to drive us home.
All season I’ve been watching Florence’s team smoke every race the entered. I knew the dogs could surprise me, but I also knew the limits of their conditioning, having never seen long runs this year and relying on their experience and natural stamina. I knew we’d have a strong run home, but unless Florence made a mistake I doubted we’d catch her. A week ago, I looked at the race roster like any competitor, and wished I had a fast female musher to race with—I’m glad I got my wish.
Since we were following the same trail home, I had tried to commit to memory as much of the trail as I could on the way out: the turns, the elevation gradient, the sense of place so I had the confidence to bring the dogs home. Put me in a built environment like a city and I can’t find my way through, but put me in the wilderness and I can find my way home.
The race trail conditions were almost the inverse of what usually happens, firm trail in the morning, soft trail at night. Subzero temps in the morning warmed to melting point, when we hit the trail just after 4 p.m. the air was still warm, the snow still soft, and after putting some distance between us and the team behind, the dogs backed down and slowed down. As the night went on, the trail never really firmed up, and instead of maintaining pace, we got a little slower with each section. Most of the trail is tight and blind, and whenever we hit a section where I could see at least a mile behind (5-7 minutes in trail time), I shot a glance back and still saw no one.
While we weren’t fast, the team was motivated and powerful. Every hill they leaned in, and when we hit the potato fields about 8 miles from the finish, Skee and Jax knew where they were and started flying. Our speed was variable at that point, but when we hit good firm trail they’d pick up the pace and lope along at 12-13 MPH. We had a finish line to get to. As always, I still never assume any position is secured, until we burst into the ski slope and fly into the finish line. Skee and Jax had no problem charging right in, and came into the finish at a full lope.
The dogs on the team were dogs that had run the 100 with me previously, the invincible three year olds and one of the oldest dogs in the team. Without that previous experience, we woudn’t have been in second place. In the middle of the team were fierce Squanny and Marian, two three year olds that agreed to get along, and Squan ran by herself solo on the way home which is a tough thing for a dog to do. The powerhouses in the back of the team are some of the happiest and strongest dogs I’ve ever run. Patch who spent the entire checkpoint standing and barking, declaring himself not tired at all (and nor was he as he pulled the whole way home), Vorace who got dropped at the checkpoint last year but thanks to a new care routine can finish a race, Wocket the Wonder Dog who sometimes drops for a snow roll before the team even comes to a full stop.
In the back of the team also was blonde fuzzy Oriana, who has been holding down the back of the team for 6 years, powering the sled forward on the 250 trail, on the Beargrease trail, and on the winning team in 2020. Bringing Ori to the team at the start, seeing her exploding with joy to run her favorite race with her favorite person, I teared up, and seeing her bouncing and screaming in harness at the finish is a reminder of the power of love. Oriana is a Can Am dog, she shines when things get tough, and her attitude and invincibility keeps her on the team year after year. Oriana will turn 8 years old in a few months, and as a mama’s girl she gets special privileges and follows me around the truck when we drop dogs. I hadn’t been planning on racing Oriana in the 100 unless it was a tough slow trail, and halfway through the first leg, I said to her ‘I’m so glad you’re on the team.’
The front end of the team are Skee and Jax, and Flora and Cobalt. Flora and Cobalt are a perfectly matched pair of point dogs, correcting turns and driving the pace. I started with Flora in lead, but once off the rail bed and into a rhythm in the woods, I moved Skee to lead where she led the rest of the race with Jax. Jax and Skee have an awkward relationship, but after hundreds of miles of leading training runs they have figured out how to work together, Jax’s exuberance a balance to Skee’s intense seriousness. I did see him give her a little nose kiss on the run home. Skee is one of the mighty three year olds, who showed leadership at a young age. I’ve patiently waited and it’s been amazing seeing her step up, at every point along the way Skee holds the line so tight, an insistent little jerk forward meaning she’s ready to roll.
The Can Am is a test of teamwork, especially so when the team is slightly underprepared. I’m so proud of these dogs.
As always, Can Am is special because of the enormous amount of dedication and time put in by the volunteers. For every hour we put into our teams, the volunteers put in that time too, a year round effort culminating in the push to race day. Can Am is the only race of its kind with remote checkpoints, and traveling into deep wilderness. It’s a special race. One of the volunteers went out on Friday night to groom the snowmobile trail, and I was like ‘why the snowmobile trail?’ And she said that they knew that the teams couldn’t make the corners—so more specifically they were grooming the snowmobile corners. The amount of care and thought that goes into this race is amazing. Thank you all, you put in a great trail and a good race. Thank you to the sponsors who support the race, investing in this wild thing called dog mushing. A special thank you to the Audiberts, our long time and incredible host family in Fort Kent, becoming good friends and a home away from home over the last 12 years.
Thanks to the community of folks who make it possible for the dogs and I to train and compete, our neighbors in Upton where we train in fall and winter, the volunteer trail clubs who maintain our training trails, the community of folks who sponsor the team, Patrice and Jack who watch over my siblings, Brianna as a co-musher—so much more than a handler, and my patient partner Chuck who can pick out puppies way better than I can—Skee was one of his picks from a little tiny thing.
Thank you also to all the folks who reached out to me to encourage the return back to the 100, fellow mushers and volunteers. I’m so glad we ran this race.
