One doesn’t have to follow the sport of dog mushing to know what the Iditarod is. I’ve met people from the East Coast, Sweden, Germany, and the UK who watch the notorious race from behind their computer screens, and every year, thousands of fans congregate at the starting line. However, few could comprehend the amount of effort, money, and planning that comes before even getting to the weather-beaten, moose-infested, 1,000-mile trail. This year, I got a close glimpse of the Iditarod mania that happens before the race starts because my dad, Will Rhodes, is running it.

Alaskan mushers are all part of a big family, and that community is based around a lifestyle. I never once was left with the impression or saw any evidence that any musher was in the sport purely for business. The first-place purse from winning the Iditarod barely covers the expenses of running a kennel for a year. These people live and breathe dog care, exercise, training, and hard work, including literally shoveling shit daily. They’re all hooked on that ghostly song of wailing desire the dogs let out when waiting to pull the sled. And, most importantly — where answering that call brings them.