A Rookie’s Journey – Finger Lake to Rainy Pass Lodge
May 4, 2006

Before I left Anchorage I was concerned about the Happy River steps. I saw John Barron at the Millennium after the drivers meeting and he said not to worry. In the old days the steps were very narrow and slopped to the outside (drop-off). John said that you had to lay your sled down on its side to negotiate the steps, but he and several others worked on them and now they were much wider and level from side to side. He said that there was a short steep nasty drop about a mile before the steps that afterwards we would think were much worse than the steps themselves. I had this firmly in mind when I decided to rest almost 12 hours and leave Finger Lake in the daylight. The disadvantage is I would have a well rested team to take down the difficult trail.

When I pulled the hook at 6:30 am it was about 10 degrees, overcast and snowing lightly. The trail quickly became a continuation of the trail into Finger Lake. There were lots of sharp little drops as we crossed the folds in the mountains and we gradually climbed to Puntilla Lake. Every drop had a trench dug into the snow by the brakes of the preceding mushers. Most of these were two to three feet deep, just like coming into Finger Lake, but I swear a couple of them were at least 5 feet deep. Couple that with sharp turns either going into or out of the trench (obviously the trail was challenging here because everyone in front of me was riding their brake which created the trench) and it was a recipe for disaster. I lost track of how many times I rolled the sled, but it was over one per mile. If the person that started the trench hit a tree coming out, then those of us that followed were going to hit that tree also.

The trail twisted through and around large trees and frequently you couldn’t see you lead dogs let alone the trail ahead. I quickly became paranoid about those situations and was on the brake anytime visibility was reduced. About half the time I was wrong and the trail was fine, but the other half… I saw several nasty little drops with sharp turns at the bottom (and crashed on almost all of them) and I kept thinking that must be the one that John had told me about. Then the next one would be worse. What a trail.

At the rookie meeting Martin had shown us a picture of the entrance to the Happy River Steps, so I recognized it when we got there. I thought about stopping to undo some tuglines, but we hadn’t crashed that bad yet and John said I’d done worse by now. I remember turning left onto the first step and the next thing I knew I was on my side dragging down the hill. Now I’ve been drug a lot and the extra resistance slows the sled and we stop fairly soon – not this time. I swear the dogs just ran faster. I’m trying hard to get into the soft snow at the uphill side of the trail when the sled flips back onto the runners and accelerates. I’m still on my face, but now I’m starting to worry. We are going fast enough that if I hit something I’m going to be hurt. I can’t get on the brake or the drag, so I roll the sled back onto its side. This helps a little. We quit accelerating but are not slowing down. I’m using a lot of the English language trying mightily to convince the dogs to stop when the sled pops back onto the runners again. This time I don’t wait and roll it back on its side as quickly as I can. I can see the 180 degree right turn to the next step coming up and just when I don’t think I can handle any more the dogs enter the turn and slow to a stop. Whew!
I catch my breath, and think. Typically as you roll the sled upright the dogs feel the reduced resistance in the gangline and take off. In the past I’ve sometimes been drug a second and third time before I manage to get everything back under control so I have to be fast and smooth. I roll the sled upright and jump on the brake. The dogs wait. I gather the snowhooks and look at the second step. It doesn’t look to bad, except for the 180 degree left turn at the end. I step off the brake and tell the dogs “easy”. The next thing I know I’m back on my side being drug down the hill, but this time I can’t hang on. I’ve lost my team. I watch, hollering “Whoa! Whoa!” The sled slides off the trail to the downhill side. Half way down the step there is a large cottonwood tree, about 15 inches in diameter (it’s the star of all the videos with disaster cams on the steps). The sled is doing barrel rolls and sweeps to the left (downhill) side of the tree while the dogs are charging down the trail to the right side of the tree. The nearly irresistible force meets the immoveable object and the team stops. I run down to survey the damage.

The sled is lying on its left side in about 3 feet of soft snow. The plastic front of the sled is caught in the bark of the tree and bent back about 45 degrees. The ties that hold the sled bag to the sled on the right side have ripped completely out of the bag and the bag is lying on its top beside the sled. The dogs are pumped and holding the line tight and I can’t get the sled off the tree or upright. I walk down to the dogs, they look fine, and start undoing tuglines, but I still can’t get the sled loose. I go back and start to unload the sled starting with my drink cooler which the straw which is slowly emptying into the snow. Luckily there is a relatively flat spot just past where we crashed and I pack everything from the sled down there. By now the dogs are relaxed and lying down and I can work the sled off the tree, onto the trail, and down to the gear that I’ve carried down. I set the snowhooks, line the team out and put the small leader hook out to hold the front of the team and start to assess the damage.

I think I bent the brake bar because the brake is hanging up on the footpad now, but I’ll work on that in Rainy Pass. I use the ties on the top of the right side of the sled bag, rather than the missing ones on the bottom to tie the bag to the sled and start to reload the bag. Just about then I hear shouting from the trail above. I holler back to be careful because I’ve wrecked and the trail is almost blocked, but don’t hear any response. I’m starting to worry when I see a ball of dogs coming around the second turn and down the trail without a sled. Luckily the dogs stop just behind my sled and I tie them off to the brush around us the best I can. As I keep packing my sled, here comes Trent Herbst with two dogs and his sled. He crashed hard enough at the top of the first step that his gangline broke in front of his wheel dogs. He sure was glad to see me and his dogs.

I finished packing my sled and asked Trent if he had things under control. He thought he did, so I left most of the tugs loose and continued down the second step. I rolled the sled one more time at the third turn but got it upright and me back on the runners and then we are at the bottom. As I breathed a sigh of relief I notice that two dogs backed out of their collars (their tugs were undone) and are loose. The first one is Keiko and she comes up to me easily, but the second is Jewels and he hasn’t really bonded with me yet. I guess being loose in the middle of nowhere Alaska is scarier than I am because he lets me catch him. All is well again when I hear another shout from up the trail. I look up and here comes Trent’s entire team, strung out and moving nicely down the trail without either him or the sled. All I can do is let Jewels go, hoping he will let me catch him again, and dive into the middle of the team. I hook an elbow between a tugline and the gangline and become a human anchor. After a few feet the team stops and I start hollering for help. I can’t move without releasing the team. It seems like an hour, but was probably only a few minutes when Trent said he had the back of the team secure. Evidently his emergency patch on the step didn’t hold. As he came past my team he spooked Rom who also backed out of his collar and was loose with Jewels. Poor Jewels is thoroughly spooked by the strange goings on. Acting much calmer than I felt I managed to calm both dogs and return them to the team. Double Whew!

My mantra for this adventure is “God is with me. God is guiding me. God is helping me.” At this point I was very grateful for God’s help and took a couple of moments to tell Him so.

Trent said he had things under control again so he left first. I gave him a couple of minutes and followed. The old saying that what goes down must go up (or do I have that reversed ;-) is never more true than climbing a pass. Sure enough we had to make up all the elevation we lost at the steps in a steep climb on the other side. Luckily I had heard about the climb and was prepared for it.

The rest of the trail into Rainy Pass Lodge (Puntilla Lake) was pretty much like the trail we had been on. By now I was rolling the sled enough that I felt almost as comfortable with the sled on its side as on the runners. We did have some exciting times when I reached for the brake on a sharp downhill and it hung up on the footpad. Either that or I’d kick it up with my big boots and not be able to get my foot on it to get it back down. Imagine a sharp twisting downhill with no usable brake. We hit a couple of trees hard enough to badly bend the back stanchion on my “old musher” seat. I carry a small handlebar bag with my camera, spare gloves, thermometer, voice recorder, etc. and ripped the ties out of the right side of the bag so it won’t hang any more. I’ve got that stuffed in the sled bag until I can repair it.

Coming down onto Puntilla Lake the trail made and easy drop of about 10 feet with a right turn at the bottom. I rolled the sled one more time in front of everyone just for old time’s sake and pulled into the checkpoint at 11:28 AM.

Keep ‘em Northbound
Eric
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