Training Sled Dogs In Kentucky

Training Sled Dogs In Kentucky?

For These Two Women - 'SNO PROBLEM

by Les Reynolds

Publication Date: January 1997

Thousands of miles from Alaska's frozen rivers and snowy tundra - a mere stone's throw from Interstate 64 in a tiny Kentucky community called Waddy - the call of the wild takes the form of a rugged farm, a team of eight huskies, a four-wheeler churning through three inches of mud and behind it all, two women following a dream.

Paula Ciniero, 35, a Columbia, MD native, is a contract home-health-care nurse. Paula's mushing interest was piqued in the late '80s while nursing in Alaska and volunteering as an Iditarod sled-dog race checker (examining sleds for proper equipment, giving directions to checkpoints, getting food, etc.). She recalled thinking "Hey, I could do this," and was "hooked" after her first sled ride. She stayed hooked after moving to Shelbyville, Kentucky in 1991, and eventually vowed to compete in the famous annual Alaskan event - an 1100-miler begun in 1973. The event was named for a mail and provisions trail used in the early 1900s that went through Iditarod and other now-deserted mining towns.

Judy Young, 51-year-old wife, grandmother, Shelbyville resident and native, and recently retired elementary-school P.E. teacher, began her friendship with Ciniero on a chance meeting while both women were out walking dogs early last year. Young, interested in Alaska, had read articles about Ciniero. She had seen her neighbor's dogs (they live half a mile apart) and volunteered to care for them while Ciniero was at a race. Now, they've cemented a friendship and a working synergy into an effective training team on the spread Ciniero rents. While Young will enter her first race ever this month, Ciniero has three racing seasons under her belt and has the role of teacher for a willing, hardworking student. Lots happened for her in those three years - most notably, the Iditarod.

Months and months and hundreds of miles of training, fundraising, and qualifying races - including eight dark months in Alaska - found Ciniero prepared for the event of a lifetime in March 1995. The Iditarod starts in Anchorage and runs over Alaska's roughest terrain. It takes up to two weeks to finish and mushers must face extreme elements; possible moose encounters, sled mishaps, day and night racing, as well as, an average of 50-plus competitors. Ciniero, one of only nine women entered (and the lone Kentuckian) started slowly and made up ground to average 75 miles a day. Nearing the Nome finish, Ciniero battled fatigue and illness with only nine of her original pack of 16 dogs. Pushing hard, she averaged 100 miles per day in the homestretch and finished just ahead of a major blizzard: 38th of 50 in 13 days and 8-plus hours. (Montana's Doug Swingley, then 41, won in record time - 9 days, two hours - as the first-ever Lower 48 winner and six hours ahead of runner-up and former record-holder Martin Buser.)

Although it's her biggest race to date, it's not her only one. Ciniero's participated in a 1995 Alaskan relay commemorating a Tolovana to Manley Hot Springs serum run; the Elton (WI) 80 (finishing 13th) in '96; the Mackinaw (MI) Mush (also '96); as well as, two Iditarod qualifiers in '95: the Knik 200 (11th) and a 13-place effort in the Copper Basin 200.

Her plans for this season are to revisit the mid-January Elton 80 (40 miles each day, maximum 22 dogs - she'll run 12 - with prizes to the top 15 fastest combined times) and her main event the Feb. 1, nine-day, 350-mile, International Rocky Mountain Stage Stop Dog Sled Race in Wyoming. Former Iditarod winner Rick Swenson will compete in the 30-person field, which will race only during the day. Ciniero's (fourth) short season will end there. But, the Iditarod remains a magnet as she hopes and expects to be contract nursing in Alaska come March so she can also volunteer for The Big One.

Young's entire racing career will begin with a four-dog (from Ciniero's pack), four-mile sprint race along the same trail (and on the same day) as the Elton 80. After that, Young will just "wait and see," but she's anxious. Though she loved her job and loves her family (husband Bill supports her "but probably thinks I'm nuts," she stated), Young said she wanted to retire because "there's just too many adventures out there." She loves hiking and nature (as does Ciniero), and says she's entering the mushing event for fun - "something I'd probably otherwise never have the chance to do."

Young, who loves and works well with Ciniero's 19 Alaskan Huskies, said her neighbor is "mentally and physically strong, energetic, a good promoter of mushing and a good friend." Ciniero sees Young as a good training partner. "She's the only one I know who'd ride out with me in sleet." Young observed Ciniero as competitive but not a cutthroat. "She likes to make a decent showing, using her competitive edge to achieve her own goals." Indeed, the attractive, dark-haired, dark-eyed Ciniero seems all those things, and exceptionally focused - all necessary traits in a tough, male-dominated sport that takes lots of work.

Ciniero admitted she didn't start mushing to crack some "good ol boy's network." It was something she wanted and found early on could do. However, even today, females are tremendously outnumbered as evidenced by the '95 Iditarod and this year's Wyoming Stage Stock Race, where only four women are entered in-spite-of a $100,000 purse. (The Iditarod doled out $350,000 last year, winner taking $51,500.) "I guess it's just not appealing; nobody wants to be really cold," Ciniero offered. Fundraising can also be difficult as sled-racing is a costly venture - much of it from the dogs, equipment and traveling to races. Sponsorships are reserved for the top finishers in major races, which creates a "Catch-22." To have major sponsors, you need a "big name." To get a "big name," a major sponsor is needed. (This is also not a gender-specific problem.) She also explained that race length comes into play. Distance races (over 500 miles) and mid-distance races of up to 300 miles or two-three days (Ciniero's favorites - "my dogs aren't fast enough for sprints") don't interest female mushers. "In a sprint, you do, say, 20 miles and you're home; it's obvious why women like those," she stated. Ironically, however, two women may own the most famous names in this mostly-men's event: Libby Riddles, who won in the early '80s and four-time winner Susan Butcher. In addition, Ciniero has said that she feels women have better ways with dogs than men do.

The hard work and training may also not appeal to women, but Ciniero and Young defy the stereotype. Training begins in November, rain or shine, snow or no snow. Dogs pull a four-wheeler on the farmland around Ciniero's farmhouse until one of her two sleds can be used. Eight racers are used at a time until all 15 (retirees and pets make up the remaining four) can pull in the harness line as a team. At first, it's three days on and one off, increasing mileage every third day (3, 6, 10, 15, 20). Maxing out at 25 miles here, "We run out of room and get tired of going in circles." Because adapting to this type of exertion is possibly inbred (Alaskans are a working breed), even sudden large mileage increases are no problem for the dogs. Mushers also have to train. Ciniero works out on a treadmill, hikes and even practiced long hours of sleep deprivation for the Iditarod.

Dogs, the obvious key mushing element, takes special care and training from a young age. Ciniero begins harness-breaking at six-ten months and pairs young ones with older dogs. She said these dogs instinctively want to pull once harnessed in, but some discipline is occasionally necessary should they become lax or distracted. "My dogs are very good; they know what's expected," Ciniero said. "They've learned to listen to me and do what I say." She's also sure to give plenty of immediate, positive reinforcement for obedience. Young observed that Ciniero's also good with voice tone. "They have to know you mean business."

Ciniero's dogs average four years of age and her oldest racer is nearly ten. Five have raced the Iditarod, and one is from Butcher's group. Her pack is typically diverse-looking, unlike the Siberian Husky and Alaskan Malamutes, which have consistent physical appearances and are often used for pulling freight. Ciniero said sprint race dogs may do 16 mph or more, but that won't be maintained 100% of the time. Her dog's names?...some are: Wino, Brokaw, Gypsy, Knik, Chubby, Kiska and Koyuk.

Diet and seasonal changes, as well as satisfying dog's needs along the trail also present special challenges for sled dog trainers/owners. Ciniero has more than ably met each of them, along with maintaining her sleds and equipment. Sled handling may entail creek-jumping, ice-traversing, or very sharp curves and proper technique, balance and quick thinking - as well as a pack of intelligent, experienced dogs -- are essential. Ciniero recalled her sled runner catching another sled's track and flipping over a hillside in the Iditarod. After unloading 75 pounds of equipment, righting the sled in waist-deep snow and starting off, it happened again after only ten feet! That remains her worst race memory to date. Her best, however, in the same event, was riding down the frozen Kuskokwim River and having a pack of wolves following along the banks.

Ciniero's memories are mostly of the good variety, however, and she said watching the dogs work is enjoyable and simply "amazing," making the training all worthwhile. On the trail, it's the "quiet and solitude, hearing nothing but the swoosh of sled runners on the snow, harness jingle and dogs breathing." And what does Ciniero bring to the sport? "Experience and a different view. Being in Kentucky, I have to train so differently than they do in Alaska," she noted. Young said "Paula's obviously a novelty in Kentucky and among mushers in Alaska because she's from Kentucky." Recognition may not be universal for the usual mid-pack finisher, but Ciniero has come a long way from her post-Iditarod experience when an autograph seeker nearly passed her by and barely believed her upon being told she was indeed a musher. Ciniero mentioned that a friend and his son were traveling the Southeast. Their camper had their dog team name on it, and folks in several states would approach the pair and talk about her.

Ciniero holds no unrealistic expectations concerning racing success, but simply pursues it for the love of the sport, intelligently, with focus and purpose. Though admitting it's an arbitrary number, she said she'd like to do this "at least 'til I'm 40, then after that, we'll see."

Meanwhile, the dogs still pull, the four-wheeler grinds through the mud, the traffic rushes by on I-64, and two women quietly follow a dream.