THE ATHLETES OF THE IDITAROD

Dog sledding has a long history in North America. The exact origins are unclear, but we know the Inuit were using dogs to pull sleds in what is now Northern Canada long before European settlers arrived. But by the late 1960s, ubiquitous snow machines and bush planes began replacing dogs throughout Alaska. Ryan’s grandfather, Joe Redington Sr., wanted to keep this part of Alaskan culture alive, so he created a race for the toughest athletes in the world – and we’re not talking about humans.

The Iditarod is about the dogs and always has been. Mushers freely acknowledge that they’re the weakest members of the team. Dogs don’t just pull – they set the pace, navigate, see, smell, and intuit what the mushers can’t. And the dogs that run the Iditarod do all of that better than just about any dog on the planet. They are truly world-class athletes. That’s not to say that mushers don’t play an important part in preparing their dogs for the Iditarod. They just take a backseat.

Ryan is forever tied to the Iditarod. His mom, Barb, grew up in Unalakleet, the largest village on the Iditarod trail. His grandfather founded the Iditarod in 1973 and then ran it 19 times. His father ran it twice before there were trail markers. This year will be Ryan’s 16th race. Last year he placed 9th in an event where every finish is a victory. It was his third top ten in a row.

“I like being known as a dog man,” says Redington. “Up here, that’s a title you wear with pride. In part it means that you care for these animals. But I think it goes deeper than that. Being a dog man means you’re in tune with them. You can anticipate what they need. That you always do right by them.”

As Ryan adjusts a dog’s harness, he explains just how important the dogs are to him. “I think a lot of people have the wrong idea about these dogs and our relationship with them. These dogs aren’t just my friends. They’re my family. I’ve seen movies and shows where they whip their dogs. We’d never do that. It’s never been part of the Iditarod. We’ve got vets at every checkpoint, and our biggest worry isn’t injury – it’s that they’ll overeat.”

WINNING COMBINATIONS

The dogs that Ryan and most of the mushers rely on are Alaskan Huskies, a mix of Siberian Husky, Greyhound, and German Wirehaired dogs, bred to thrive in cold temperatures and pull long distances. They’re smaller than you’d expect. Leaner. A “working dog,” as Ryan puts it. And they work together as a team. 

Fourteen dogs pull Ryan’s sled as one. They’re roped together in a gang line. And while mushers can choose a variety of configurations, Ryan runs two abreast with a single wheel dog closest to the sled. The first two lead dogs take the commands: “Gee” for right. “Haw” for left. The next two in line are swing dogs who carry the sled’s momentum in the right direction. Lastly, the wheel dogs closest to the sled help steer around tricky terrain.

As with any team, Ryan is looking for chemistry. “They’re all different,” Ryan says. “And a lot more like us than you think. I like to pair dogs that work well together. They feel connected to their running partner. If visibility is low and one can’t see the trail, the other will pick up the slack.”

THE SUPERBOWL FOR SLED DOGS

There is no off-season when you’re trying to get dogs ready for a 1,000-mile race across the most demanding terrain and temperatures on earth. Training begins in October, when the dogs’ coats are thin, and continues until March. “My goal is to put in about 3,500 miles in that time,” Ryan says. Training runs go from five miles a day until the team is logging 40 to 60 miles by Thanksgiving. 

As with any athlete, diet is important. Ryan begins the training season with a dry kibble. As the miles increase, he mixes in ground beef, salmon, and chicken. On race days, the dogs eat between 10,000 and 12,000 calories – about double the amount that your average NFL player consumes. Getting all that food along the trail means flying out 2,000 pounds in advance and distributing it along the checkpoints. 

The Iditarod’s course runs a jagged northwest line through Alaska, from Seward to Nome. Dogs and their mushers cross more than 1,000 miles of often trailless terrain in temperatures that can dip below -58 degrees – too cold to run propane. Almost too cold to think. Over the typical eight days it takes to finish the race, Ryan’s dogs go through 1,400 pairs of protective booties. At night, dogs bed down on dry straw and sleep under coats. Just to finish the Iditarod is a victory. The victors are considered legends across Alaska.

VICTORY LAPS

An Iditarod dog’s career lasts around five years before it’s time to hang up the harness. Ryan currently keeps around 60 dogs in well-maintained kennels. If he could keep every one of them, he would. When it’s time to retire, he partners with a foster network – people who help acclimate the dogs to houses and then find families who will care for them. “This part is hard on me but easy for the dogs,” Ryan says. “They already love people, and they’re so friendly they make great family dogs. I get to FaceTime with them every now and then. They’re fatter and lazier now, but they’re still happy – and that’s all I care about.”