Laureli Kinneen

Kelley Griffin was applying pink ointment to her dogs’ paws at Circle. She was getting ready for the run to Central. There she was—a real dog musher, running a real race and I got to ask her questions.

Growing up in Unalakleet, a fishing village at the heart of the Norton Sound, I was fortunate to grow up running to the river to cheer for Iditarod mushers on their way to Nome. In 1992, Martin Buser was the first musher to get to Unalakleet, the first village on the coast. I was in awe. I watched him working with his dogs and wanted to ask questions, but I was too shy. He was the first to finish in Nome a few days later.

The same thing happened the night we covered the Quest. Griffin was the first musher I approached in Circle. She, like Buser, was very friendly and smiley. I just stood there watching her. She was talking with O’Donoghue, our instructor. He’d ask questions and she’d give a colorful answer. Still, I just stood there.

Finally, I managed to force out my first question. After that, the night was full of learning. I was able to talk to mushers and learn about what they go through while running a race. I felt really lucky.

Still, interviewing was tricky. Race officials and volunteers were tired and sometimes grumpy. We had to be considerate, but our mission was to capture potential stories while people slept on tables and inside the fire truck. I didn’t want to wake people up, but I really wanted to get good interviews.

Following mushers and volunteer checkers in the 45-below zero conditions was interesting. The headphone wires that connected to the audio kit froze and were stiff. I was afraid they’d crack if I moved too quickly.

I wore two jackets that night and kept the audio kit inside to keep the batteries from freezing. It was comforting, knowing we had a warm fire hall to run to if our fingers started getting stiff. I kept wondering how the mushers dealt with the cold while on the trail and was giddy knowing I could simply ask.