Editor's note: Doing what I can while doing what I can. Happy stuff from Eagle tomorrow --and a massive failure in Dawson City.
The small plane weaved over the Yukon River, slowing and swirling whenever a dog team was in view, allowing the two photographers in back to get a shot.
I was in the copilot seat, trying to stay awake as I roasted in my parka. It was way too hot to wear that thing, but the only way I could fit it on the plane was to put it on. The aircraft was obviously designed to accommodate medium and oompa-loompa sized pilots. The steering apparatus kept hitting my knees, and I had to move a leg or arm out of the way every 10 minutes so the pilot could reach some sort of knob or lever.
The view was breathtaking, though I struggled to see through the early morning sun. The Yukon River is more or less encased in mountains, and the flat, wide whiteness of the river cutting through evergreen-covered hills is a stunning sight. We were low enough to see the trail. I followed it with my eyes, noting where it cut through craggy patches called jumble ice.
Photo by Annalee Grant/Whitehorse Star
We landed around 1 p.m. and hitched a ride into town. One of the first things I found out about Eagle is that anyone is happy to give you a ride to wherever you need to go. Usually, this means you're holding on to the back of a snowmachine, since that's the best way to get around Eagle in the winter. The town can't be driven to in the winter, so why drive a 15 mpg truck?
After dropping our bags off at the hotel, we walked seven blocks to the checkpoint at the old schoolhouse. About halfway there, we passed the library, where the Yukon Quest media folks had set up a wireless router. We arrived at the checkpoint about 10 minutes after the top four had arrived, all within about 15 minutes of each other. Great, I thought, no need to get creative; the story's apparent.
So I interviewed all four and hopped back to the library to get a story done early. Only I was not functioning well enough to get the dang thing done. My mind was drifting every five minutes, and there was always someone requesting my attention. Peter Kamper, the Quest video guy and Mile 101 checkpoint manager, was talking mushing strategy to me and making some pretty salient points, but I was absolutely fried. I'm pretty sure I know what doing heroin feels like after that afternoon.
So Annalee I went back to the checkpoint to write somewhere else and catch the next pack of mushers, who would be arriving in about an hour. I opened my laptop and finally got a few paragraphs flowing, when the Eagle checkpoint manager, a tall German fellow, informed me that I was sitting at the mushers table and would have to move. To where, that open table next to us? No, that's the veterinarians table. So I've got to squeeze into a spot a the two nearly full tables where I'd have to dodge the hanging
Yes, he said, adding that he could kick me out if he felt I was an intrusion.
I was miffed to no end about that last part. Kick me out? I had been nothing but professional this whole way. What the hell? In all honesty, I wanted to throw my laptop against the wall and retreat to a place that had warm beer and silence.
I met him several times later on the trail, and it occurred to me that he was just being efficient and trying to explain to me his purpose there so I would know. Just a hard-to-the-rules German. There were a lot of those types on the trail, treating the race as an all-revered spectacle that should be run efficiently and with as little intrusions as possible. As a member of the media, I am essentially an intrusion, so I came to despise this attitude. All in al, he wasn't trying to be pushy, though. It was just a cultural communication glitch.
Still, I was ticked, so I tried to walk it off around the dogyard. Luckily, a few mushers arrived while I was steaming through, and I got a couple more interviews. It was well after dusk by the time this was all done, so I trudged to the new schoolhouse at 7 to pick up some diner -- Mexican food again, the same as in Circle,; was this a coincidence or was there some strange connection I wasn't aware of? -- and I blindly ambled along the lightless streets to the library. The stars were bright, beautiful and the only things I could see. I kept on course by stepping lightly and feeling for snow berms with my feet.
At the library, I was somewhat delirious and more than eager to lash out at anyone who gave me the opportunity. I thing everyone realized this. Somehow, three stories were written and sent to the News-Miner. I honestly don't remember doing this. I remember thanking Peter for the strategy advice, which became the focal point of my main story. I remember making a last-minute run out to the checkpoint to try to catch Joshua Cadzow to ask about why he had dropped dogs, but I don't remember writing a darn thing.
At midnight, I went back to the checkpoint, using my cell phone to dimly light the way (I threw my bag against a wall in Central and broke the bulb in my headlamp). I needed radio clips, just in case we didn't get to Dawson in time to see the leaders come in. On my fifth or sixth wind, I sat around the checkpoint, caught two mushers and read the trail report from trail coordinator John Shandelmieier, who is known to leave little surprises out there.
Since there was no phone at the hotel, I decided to nap at the library before my radio interview with Dan. I threw some more wood into the stove and found a broken desk chair top that worked as a pillow. I got about 15 minutes of sleep. Before calling Dan, I killed time by breaking down numbers from old Quest results.
I strolled back to the old schoolhouse in the early-morning sun to see if there was breakfast available. There wasn't. Oh well, I was in better spirits anyway. It was warm, relatively of course, at just -10 degrees. I sat at a fire outside the checkpoint with some volunteers and chatted about sleep deprivation, which was becoming my newly acquired field of expertise. One of the volunteers said going 36 straight hours without rest was easy for him. "You just have to know how to take the edge off," he said before walking into the woods to smoke some weed. He came back a calmer man.
I stumbled into the hotel and fell face-first onto my unused bed.
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