WILLOW, Alaska — Matthew Failor fell in love with native Alaskan culture during a summer internship at the Mendenhall Glacier nearly two decades ago.
That love affair has continued to grow — now shared by his wife of almost three years, their soon-to-be-born first child … and 50 Alaskan Huskies.
The Mansfield native recently completed his 12th Iditarod Sled Dog Race, a nearly 1,000-mile mush across the state aptly called The Last Frontier, a winding journey that begins in Anchorage and finishes in Nome.
Failor celebrated his 41st birthday on the trail and had even more reason to celebrate when he crossed the finish line in eighth place, his first Top 10 and best-ever finish in what’s dubbed “The Last Great Race.”
In addition to the $25,450 he received for finishing eighth, Failor earned another $2,000 prize and trophy as “most improved musher” after improving on last year’s 30th place finish.
Even more important than the finish for Failor is the tribute the sport pays to native Alaskan culture in a largely untapped land of 663,268 square miles that didn’t become the 49th state until 1959.
The Iditarod commemorates the role sled dogs played in the settlement of Alaska. Mushers travel from checkpoint to checkpoint, much as the early freight mushers did.
Modern dog sleds move at a pace that would have been incomprehensible to their old-time counterparts, making the trip to Nome in less than 10 days.
Failor finished in nine days, nine hours, 20 minutes and 36 seconds, less than an hour behind the seventh-place team. The winning time was eight days, 21 hours and around 13 minutes.
To put it in terms Richland County folks can easily understand, sled dog racing is to Alaska what Ohio State football is to Buckeye fans. It’s not just a sport — it’s a way of life and a connection to a past life Alaskans do not wish to relinquish.
In fact, Alaska lawmakers made it the state’s official sport in 1972. The first Iditarod was staged one year later.
“We take it very seriously here,” said Failor, a 2000 St. Peter’s High School graduate who earned a degree in fine arts photography from The Ohio State University.
“That doesn’t mean it’s not fun. But it’s a direct link to Alaskan culture, the native people and a link to their original form of transportation.”
Airplanes, snowmobiles, cars and even bicycles with motors have encroached on native traditions in recent years.
Failor, however, said ties among Alaskans, the dogs and sleds remain strong, perhaps in ways words cannot accurately describe.
His own passion for the dogs and the way of life have twice have helped earn him “Most Inspirational Musher” awards during Iditarod races (2022, 2016).
“Alaskans don’t want to see their dogs replaced by machines,” said Failor, whose previous best Iditarod finish was 13th in 2018 . “Dogs and sleds keep the window to the past open.
“Pulling into a native community with a dog sled … the feeling is palpable. It’s really hard to explain. You are unwinding the clock. The kids all want to pet the dogs, see the sled you built and even get your autograph.”
The pandemic takes a toll
Failor’s best-ever finish, even his continued participation in the sport he loves, fell into question when the COVID-19 pandemic hit in 2020.
He married his wife, Liz, in July of that year, having met her in 2018 when she was covering the race as an Emmy-award winning TV news reporter/anchor in Anchorage.
The two were married at their home in Willow, a town of about 2,000 people some 81 miles north of Anchorage.
The ceremony, of course, included their beloved dogs.
Two weeks after the wedding, as the pandemic tightened its grip, Liz’s TV news station merged with another Anchorage outlet and she lost her job of five years.
Failor said the new couple quickly had big decisions to make about their future.
“We could move, sell the dogs and try to go figure it out someplace else,” he said. “But we realized the dogs were very important to us. I had always been giving sled dog tours for other companies.
“We made the decision to start our own sled dog business, Alaskan Husky Adventures. We were kind of hoping and praying people would want to come see us, visit our (now 50) dogs, see how we build sleds and take tours with us.
“We had to market ourselves. The first few months, we were a little worried. But we became pleasantly surprised people wanted to come and meet an actual Iditarod team. They have come from all around the world,” Failor said.
The couple’s website invites people to “book an experience,” ranging from a 90-minute traditional winter sled ride to a five-hour “run with the pack” training run.
Another unique offering is the “Ride and Reel,” a summer dog sled ride that includes a private fishing excursion for Rainbow Trout and Alaska Salmon.
“It’s real hands-on experiences. You can ride on the trail, put on some of the gear we use and meet all the dogs who have done the Iditarod. Our actual racing dogs also do the tours,” he said.
Big crash and a tribute to Led Zeppelin
Failor said the Iditarod finish was a great way to cap a successful sled dog racing season for his team.
“I think (Iditarod success) was a combination of everything. We have built up a lot of experience on the Iditarod trail. We have become familiar with all of its twists and turns and we know where the hazard areas are.
“Almost every dog on my team this year has done the Iditarod before,” he said.
The longer race gets the most ink around the world. But Failor and his team also competed in the Knik 200 and the Kuskokwim 300, both in January.
Failor won the Kuskokwim race in 2019, shattering a 25 year-standing speed record that was held by his mentor, Martin Buser.
“It was a great winter this year for training, plenty of snow and great temperatures. We completed the Knik in fine fashion (ninth overall), even while taking extra rest breaks for the dogs.
“At Kuskowim, we have had great success there. It’s a relatively fast trail and the dogs like that. We finished second, just a few minutes behind (2019 Iditarod champion) Pete Kaiser, who finished second in this year’s Iditarod.
His sled dog team of 14 canine athletes (wearing their booties) was ready when the Iditarod ceremonial start was staged March 4 in Anchorage with 33 mushers beginning the race, the smallest field in the race’s history.
The tight-packed snow on most of the trail provided a fast track, which Failor’s team enjoys. The sled, light due to its carbon fiber construction, is not a hard pull for Alaskan Huskies, which are bred for the purpose and love to do it.
“They are eager to go,” Failor said. “Today’s gear is so much lighter (than in the old days). It’s more of a race than it is pulling. Today’s mushers need dogs that are more marathon runners than pullers.”
By the finish, eight of Failor’s canine athletes had been retired at checkpoints along the way for various reasons, including health and competitiveness.
Veterinarians check the dogs along the way, but Failor said mushers make the decisions to pull dogs from the team “99.9 percent of the time.”
“We have great relationships with our dogs. We know them far better than the vets do. Sometimes you may have a rookie (musher) and a vet may need to intervene.
“If I start with 14, I know which ones are the best, at the right age, at the right point in training. Sometimes we may move younger dogs out so the team can run faster and is more competitive,” he said.
Still, four mushers didn’t finish, scratching for injuries from crashes or health concerns.
One such crash nearly cost Failor dearly. Between the Finger Lake and Rainy Pass checkpoints about 150 miles into the race, his team crashed in the Happy River Steps, a steep passage with 90-degree, tight turns.
Failor said other mushers and snowmobiles had gone down the zigzagging turns, causing part of it to drop away.
“We were cruising down the trail and I pushed the brake with my foot. But there was no bottom and the brake had nothing to dig into,” Failor said.
The sled went airborne and his foot and leg got tangled under the sled, finally coming to a stop with him still partially underneath it.
“It definitely could have been worse,” the Eagle Scout said with a laugh. “We crashed into the snow. Fortunately, the dogs are well trained. I said ‘woah!’ and they all stopped (while Failor got untangled).
“You usually don’t have much time. If one dog leans into the harness, the others feel it and they start moving again. It took me about 10 seconds to get my foot out,” he sad.
About 875 miles into the race, after leaving the Elim checkpoint, Failor had to again put on his “coach’s hat” and make a formation decision as the trail turned northward toward the summit of Little McKinley Mountain.
His team, which had been reduced to six females and two males, struggled with the females in the lead. Failor said his female huskies like to go fast and were struggling in the slower pull up the mountain.
“A coach looks at his players and tries to maximize their potential,” he said. “Mushers are like coaches. We know who wants the ball and who can handle the situation. We know what their strengths are on certain parts of the trail.”
He turned to Led Zeppelin, one of the two male dogs still in the harness.
“I figured I would try Led Zeppelin. He has never been in the lead before. I just had a hunch. He has great work ethic and it was his time to shine,” Failor said.
The decision seemed questionable for the first 30 minutes as the new leader “kind of goofed around” and “flirted” with McClaren, a female in the team.
“Then he kind of just put his head down and went. It was almost like he suddenly knew he was in the lead. Going up that hill became his area of expertise. He reverted back to his pulling strength.
“Once we got over the hill, he kind of turned around to me and his look said, ‘OK, I did my part.’ I changed the formation back and we kept going,” Failor said.
Led Zeppelin is 8 years-old and has been racing with Failor for six years. His experience was invaluable.
“He is very reliable. It will be a sad day when he does retire. He is so smart. When the trail is kind of dangerous, he knows how to back off. Some times, other dogs are 100 percent forward … no matter how icy,” he said.
A fight to the finish
Weather during most of the race was unseasonably mild — until his team neared the coast of the Bering Sea.
After leaving the final checkpoint at Safety, about 77 miles from the finish in Nome, Failor and his team of now six dogs ran into high winds and biting cold.
The wind prevented the dogs from keeping traction on the trail, pushing the team toward the water during whiteout conditions at times.
Failor made another tough decision with about 30 miles to go. He stopped the sled and took point himself, walking and leading the dogs, who happily followed someone whose boots had some grip on the trail.
“It’s the worst storm I have been in. I was getting a little nervous. Winds were 30 to 40 miles per hour with gusts up to 50. We would go from marker to marker. Luckily, it was during the day. If this had been at night…”
It crossed his mind that perhaps he would need to backtrack his team to a cabin it had passed. He had consumed all of his water and feared dehydration.
“That was always in the back of my mind. You don’t want to do anything to jeopardize yourself or your dogs. I never felt I was in grave danger. I knew I could turn around and walk back (to the cabin),” Failor said.
His wife and unborn child were also in his thoughts.
“It was not just about me anymore. It’s me and my family now. I knew I couldn’t walk the rest of the way.”
Fortunately, the weather cleared and Failor and his team mushed to the finish line. He had once again finished an Iditarod. It was his best finish ever.
And he had again paid tribute to Alaskan culture he so deeply loves.
Will he back for a 13th journey in 2024?
“That’s the plan. But we are going to take it year by year with the birth of our child. We don’t want to get in over our head in terms of finances. The decision will be made in the best interests of our family.”
