Point Lodge was the first checkpoint on the 2020 Copper Basin. We left the starting line in Glennallen all bundled up and ready for the cold. The dogs wore jackets, fox tails (to protect their bellies), and booties. I wore two pairs of long johns, a cotton sweatshirt, a wool sweater, a synthetic puff jacket, my Dogwood Design parka with a wolf and wolverine ruff, Northern Outfitter Bibs, two pairs of socks, Cabela’s Trans Alaska boots, two sets of toe warmers, two sets of handwarmers, beaver fur wristies, Heatlock chore gloves, Boundary Fur Sewing beaver mitts, Boundary Fur Sewing beaver hat, fleece neckgaitor….you can tell who’s the weakest team member. Looking at the weather forecast, Saturday night was predicted to be the coldest time, so I told myself, if I can make it to Sunday midday, then I’ll be set! It only gets warmer from there! Saturday proved to be warmer than expected. I found myself mushing without my mitts on, pulling my neckgaitor down to drink tea from my thermos, and enjoying the glorious sunshine that normally accompanies extreme cold (it’s coldest when there are no clouds to trap the heat). This isn’t too bad, I told myself.
We arrived at Point Lodge, and I bedded down the team. They were so strong on the 75 mile run from Glennallen. I was excited to get back on the trail to Sourdough but opted to take my six hour mandatory rest. In previous years, I’ve taken the rest at the second checkpoint, but since we ran our longest leg right off the bat, I took it at Point Lodge. Allen always took large portions of rest at the beginning of the race, and you could say he does alright in Copper Basin, so I took a page from his book.
While the dogs slept on the lake, I carried my thermos and red bag up the bank to Point Lodge. Inside, the Lodge was swarming with people. Families had snowmachined out to watch the race and were merrily eating and drinking. Handlers were milling about, waiting for the their teams. A long bar wrapped around two sides of the front room. Several tables filled the middle. To the back was a fireplace that not only heated this main room, but also opened up to a room in the back, which is where the mushers would sleep. After eating a delicious meal of pulled pork sandwich and soup, I walked to the back room. It was dark with only a couple mushers bundled in their sleeping bags and snoring. I’d been too lazy to haul my sleeping bag up from my sled, so I looked around the room for somewhere warm to curl up for a few hours of sleep. There, hidden under extra tables, was a plush ottoman about 3.5-4 ft long. Perfect. I grabbed the ottoman and drug it right up to the glass of the fireplace. The warmth radiated from hot coals and glowing logs. It didn’t occur to me that I was hogging all the warmth until I woke up after an hour to a full room of napping mushers and two people huddled on the ground next to the ottoman, trying to feel even the slightest warmth from the fireplace. One of those mushers was Aliy. She was leaning against the ottoman with her head rested on the back wall. As I took in my surroundings, I heard from the bar It’s 60 below in Sourdough! There was an immediate murmur and concern expressed by the people in the front room. Did I hear that right? Sixty below zero? Could we survive? Aliy…..Aliy…..hey Aliy….did you hear that? Sixty below? Aliy sat up, said yes, then went hmmmm and draped more of her body across the ottoman. Well, apparently she wasn’t fazed.
Shortly after, Aliy’s alarm went off, indicating it was time for her to get up. I napped another thirty minutes or so, then went out into the front room to see what everyone was thinking in regards to the temperatures. As I got up off the ottoman, another musher enthusiastically asked if I was leaving and swooped in to take my spot. It was until then that I truly realized how I’d completely corked the heat….oops. I’m sorry to all the mushers!
Brent and Nic had already left. I heard of mushers scratching. Aliy said, it can’t really be that cold. And she geared up to head outside. I asked Derek if he’d heard anything, and he looked on his phone at the weather stations close to the Sourdough checkpoint. Look he said. It says -47F at the river. It’s not sixty below. Immediately I was relieved. Only -47F. That’s no big deal. I’ve been in -50s and -40s before. Phew. Alright, we’ll get booted up.
Looking back, I realize the absurdity of my thought process. Normally, -47F would cause me to complain and stay indoors, but when confronted with either -47F or -60F, well, I’ll gladly take -47F! We later came to find it was in fact -60F at times. It was probably even colder on the swamps leading up to the Sourdough checkpoints. And wouldn’t you know, we were just fine. The dogs motored down the trail with the vapor from their breathes forming an instant trailing cloud. I stayed totally warm, although I later realized I nipped the tips of my fingers doing dog chores and touching objects with my gloves off. And we were all ok. Actually, better than ok. The dogs dominated. The power of perspective is immense. I’ll never go looking for -60F temperatures because anyone who tells you they like extremely cold temperatures is fibbing, but if we come across it, we’ll be just fine.
