I was resting comfortably at 6 p.m. at a church Sunday in
Cantwell, AK when a man came in and offered to take me home. It was Bob
Hempstead. "You'll be more comfortable at my house and my wife Jayne is
making dinner; you're welcome to join us."
Bob Hempstead
Bob, 56, was an elder at the church; the pastor explained to me that Bob and
his wife often adopted travelers.
I had heard about Bob while in Fairbanks. Someone at Fred
Meyer grocery mentioned I should look him up because he participated in the
Iditarod sled-dog race.
"That was in 2000 and I came in 56th," said Bob, acknowledging he finished toward the back of the pack. "Lack of sleep is
probably the toughest part of the 1,049-mile race. You're trying to sleep and
people are stepping over you and talking."
Bob, it turns out, had quite the Alaskan resume. He
summitted Mount McKinley. "I made it to the top on my third try," he
said. The first expedition he was called back because of a family emergency.
"The second time we ran out of food ,and this last time I made it. Actually, I've completed seven summits," he said, having returned a couple weeks ago
from summiting Mt. Everest in Nepal.
Bob was fit; a high-energy wood chopper kinda guy disguised
behind a very mild-mannered demeanor. Unique to his summits - he did rope tricks
when he got to the top.
Originally from Nebraska, Bob relocated while in the Army
and stayed in Alaska. For the past 23 years he's worked on the slope in Prudhoe Bay for BP as an instrument technician.
"So you race sled dogs, climb mountains, work for BP
and run the vet clinic," I asked referencing the sign, Cantwell VeterinaryService, at the entrance to the driveway.
"No, Jayne is the doctor - that's her clinic,"
said Bob.
Jayne was originally from West Virginia. She graduated from the
University of Georgia, lived in Soldotna, Alaska but fell in love with Cantwell
and built a home.
"I'm going to apologize for the size of our bathroom -
when we were designing the home I didn't realize it would be this big but I
love it," she said.
Jayne had short reddish hair and a homesteaders efficiency
that was on display as she made dinner, got me settled, and contacted a friend
so I'd have a place to stop for water and a rest the next day.
My comfortable upstairs bedroom was filled with books on
Alaska and posters commemorating past Iditarod races.
"Bob never wanted sled dogs," said Jayne, standing
in a perched yoga position with the sole of her right foot resting against her
left knee . "He said it would be like having dairy cattle with the
commitment and amount of work.".
However, looking outside my bedroom window the lot in back
was full of 13 dogs; huskies all chained to their individual raised sleeping
quarters.
Luke was Jayne's special dog. A hearty white-and-black husky
that liked to nuzzle. (more below)
(Me, Luke and Jayne)
"If you're up before me just hit the coffee button, and
then, if you want, you can ride along while I run the dogs," said Bob.
Early the next morning, dressed in insulated overalls, a
winter jacket, knee-high rubber boots and a red knit hat, I watched Jayne and
Bob perform a well-rehearsed dance getting nine dogs ready for their daily
exercise.
The two managed a cat's cradle of ropes and harnesses,
hitches and clasps. The dogs eagerly cooperated, answered to their names and
showing their personalities... nudging, jumping and squirming to be picked as the
lead.
Howl = Let's get going!
Jayne's dog, Luke, stayed behind.
We climbed aboard an ATV, the dogs were already tugging and
lunging at the line. Jayne fired up the engine and we were off down a rocky
trail through the woods. The dogs were in their element.
Loving it!
They pulled and ran and loved it; following a familiar
5-mile trail that led us over hills and through streams. Jayne killed the
engine as the dogs laid down and lapped at the water.
"If we don't stop, they'll overheat," she said
adding, "This was the area where Sean Penn shot that movie "Into the
Wild."
Jayne said they had a replica of the Magic Bus just up the
road. "Only a couple businesses really made out financially - many
Alaskans didn't actually like how the main character was framed because he just
didn't know enough to live through a winter in Alaska."
We chatted a bit more about the movie and then I asked about
Luke.
Jayne said she got a call one night from the State Troopers
to come euthanize a dog that had been tied to the back bumper of a pickup with
a yellow tow rope.
"The guy was drunk and I'm sure he just forgot he was
back there," she said.
"The guy never made it home; wrecked his pickup. The
troopers said the dog had been dragged 17 miles."
Jayne went to look at the animal but was adamant with the
troopers. "I didn't even want to see the owner," she said, with a tone
that still carried back to that horrible day.
"That poor dog. I drafted papers to put him down and
had to wait a day before anyone got back to me. I couldn't believe that dog was
still alive the next day and I just thought - he's tough, and he's fighting to
live so I'm going to help him."
Jayne's coworkers thought she was nuts. "He needed tons
of medical attention. He was recovering for three months and in that time
withered to just 35 pounds."
Today, Luke is like a gentle giant. He has icy-blue eyes and
can't get close enough for Jayne's affectionate pats and soothing words.
Upon our return, Bob helps untether the team and gives them food
and water. Jayne quickly whips up breakfast which is when I learn she has her pilots
license, has run a marathon, a triathlon, and run the Alaskan Seward Mountain
Marathon eight times.
"That one makes you feel like a kid,"' said Jayne
about the 4,600-foot climb overlooking Resurrection Bay. The "up" takes more
than an hour; the descent is completed in 10 minutes.
Jayne also summitted mountains and she's a familiar face
each March caring for the dogs at the Iditarod.
We were just finishing breakfast at 7:34 a.m. when the dogs
started howling. I sat up and took notice, but for Bob and Jayne it was a regular
song, like the opening hymn at morning Mass.
Dogs waiting excitedly for an exercise run.
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