My Team of Superdogs

5 CommentsThursday • February 10, 2011 • by Frank

Source: Jim Fierek

Their look is burned in my memory, a combination of fear and trust. The dogs were all sick. Their magnificent sleek bodies were shutting down. Almost two in the morning and the temperature had dropped to 25 below. What was normally a comfortable temperature to be out on the trail was making a serious situation even worse.

Twenty miles ago we left Trail Center, the halfway point of the Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon, with twelve dogs, none of which were anywhere near one hundred percent. After a five-hour rest we limped out of Trail Center, and I had planned to take it easy on this 70-mile leg. That easy pace of nine miles an hour was now stop and go, barely. Two other teams had easily passed us as I ran alongside my sled giving the dogs all the help I could.

I’d been getting more worried with each additional dog showing trouble, now with Esther being seriously sick, and the look she was giving me had me scared, real scared. But no matter what, I couldn’t let them know. These incredible animals, my best friends, all trusted me completely, and we were still twenty miles from anywhere.

On my knees, next to Esther, I was rubbing her shoulders and holding her face next to mine. What had happened to my team of Superdogs? These same dogs had sprinted to a second place finish at the White Oak only three weeks ago, and now I felt helpless, cold and wet. I looked up at the clear eastern starry sky just in time to watch it being lit up by a shooting star — bright and a beacon of hope. To that moment I had been racing, but now my task was clear. I had to get these beautiful dogs, my companions, teammates, back to Trail Center.

Looking up, “Please give me the courage and strength to get us all safely there.” I paused and took a couple of deep breaths.

Walking up and down the team, petting and encouraging each of them, I looked into their eyes. Their looks showed fear but also love and trust. In spite of how sick they all felt, they were still with me. We were on a knife edge — push them even a hair too far and that trust would be broken. The team would stop there on the trail, lay down and we’d have to hope for a rescue. Hours would pass while the sick dogs would get worse and my soaked-with-sweat body would descend into hypothermia. Thinking back, I remembered changing clothes at Trail Center. Thinking it the smart thing to do, I shed my Terra Mar long underwear and replaced it with fresh generic stuff. That “fresh” long underwear was now trapping my sweat next to my body. We had to move and soon.

Digging into my sled, I pulled out a couple of bags of high-energy snacks for the dogs and encouraged them all to eat a couple. Most did. Nita and Wolf both hungrily grabbed the treat out of my hand. Ajax ate a few too so I moved him and Wolf into lead, putting Nita and Esther in point behind them. They would all need to help me pull the rest of the team in.

Again I dug into my sled bag and pulled out my own emergency ration, a bag of peanut butter cups already taken out of their wrappers. The sugar would hopefully keep me from getting any colder. There was also a small thermos of coffee, which I quickly drank. One more jog up and down the gangline. I touched all their heads and tried as best I could to look excited. They were all standing, and Nita let out a bark. Wolf leaned into his harness, and slowly and steadily we started to move. It was now two thirty in the morning.

Slowly, steadily we made our way forward. Two hours, two more snack stops and a dozen peanut butter cups later, I saw the headlights of the truck stationed at the Gunflint Trail crossing only five miles from Trail Center. We were going to make it, and the dogs knew it too. They picked it up a bit, and soon in the beam of my Princeton Tec headlamp, I could see the road crossing ahead. We were about to formally scratch for the first time in our racing career, but that was the last thing on my mind. Putting in the snow hook, I jogged over to the two people who got out of their truck.

“Frank, is everything ok?”

“No, we need some help. Can you radio Trail Center and have the vets and Race Marshall there waiting for us? I’ve got a sick team.”

I also gave them Sherri and Lisa’s cell numbers. “Ask them to have Sherri meet us at Trail Center.”

The last five miles of Beargrease 2011 came a day and a half sooner than we expected. Watching our team, as sick, sore and tired as they were, I could see their hearts at work. They weren’t quitting. Limping, coughing and bleeding, they found the strength to bring us home. My tears flowed freely and I stopped one last time on Poplar Lake within sight of Trail Center. Walking to the front of the team I began with Wolf and Ajax holding each dog close and thanked them. I was wondering what decisions or mistakes I had made to cause their pain when Nita starting licking my face. She didn’t know of any mistakes. Nita and all of my beautiful dogs just had a job to do, and they were almost there. Esther let out bark, then Nita, Storm, Wolf and Ben.

“Ok puppies, let’s go home.”

UPDATE: Frank and Sherri are now confident that there was a problem with the meat they were feeding their dogs and was the cause of the illness.  The meat was replaced with meat from a different source. The dogs all appear to have recovered and are ready for the UP 200 next weekend.

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