IDITAROD LEGEND DIES: Four-time champion succumbs to leukemia at 51.
By CRAIG MEDRED
Anchorage Daily News
Published: August 6, 2006
Far from her Alaska home and the dogs she loved so much, four-time
Iditarod champion Susan Butcher died Saturday in a Seattle hospital.
She was 51 years old and the mother of two young daughters. She had
been waging a battle against leukemia for a year and a half, but
sometimes not even the toughest warriors can win.
A child of the American upper middle class, she turned her back on the
civilized world of Cambridge, Mass., to carve out a niche for herself
and her beloved dogs in a cold, difficult corner of Bush Alaska.
Through her 20s and into her 30s, she lived an almost cloistered
existence in the Interior with her life dedicated to one seemingly
impossible goal, winning the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. She spent
days on end on the runners of a dog sled following huskies through the
frozen taiga and barren wilderness north of Fairbanks.
"I like spending a lot of time alone,'' she told a writer for the Daily News' old Sunday magazine, We Alaskans,' in 1981.
She was then 27 years old and already an Iditarod contender, though it
would still be five long and difficult years before the breakthrough
Iditarod victory of 1986. By then, she had joined forces with Dave
Monson, a one-time lawyer, a fellow dog musher and a soul mate.
Together, they would team to dominate the Iditarod. Butcher was the
driving force behind their Trailbreaker Kennels and the face of the
business. Monson was the organizer and administrator, the
behind-the-scenes player who held everything together.
They were married in 1985. Butcher won the first of her four Iditarods
the next year. She would go on to win three more in the next four years
-- the most impressive string of victories in Iditarod history.
T-shirts soon proclaimed "Alaska: Where men are men and women win the Iditarod.''
By the time Butcher decided to retire from mushing to start a family
almost a decade later, her athletic achievements were so well known
they had almost become synonymous with the 49th state.
Alaskans who engaged in conversations with strangers while traveling
outside the state would often be met with the refrain, "Oh Alaska,
isn't that where that woman always wins the dog sled race?" "That
woman" was Butcher, and though she eventually bowed out of the Iditarod
competition, she never went far away from the race.
She continued to breed, raise, train and sell sled dogs to other
mushers, and she regularly assisted various news organizations as a
color-commentator and analyst covering the race. Even this March,
though weak from chemotherapy treatments, she gritted out a trip to the
Bush village of Ruby to work as an Iditarod checker signing dog teams
in and out.
It was classic behavior from a woman who did not know the meaning of the word quit.
She was possessed of an indomitable spirit, and it was that which has
made it so hard for so many to comprehend that the cancer claimed her.
"I think everyone felt like Susan was such a fighter in the Iditarod
that, well, of course Susan Butcher is going to beat this,'' said Mark
Nordman, the Iditarod race marshal and a friend. "That's how everyone
felt.''
There was even a brief period when it looked obvious Butcher would beat
the leukemia the way she used to beat one-time archrival Rick Swenson
and all the other men of the Iditarod Trail.
"At the time she had the (bone-marrow) transplant, her leukemia was in
remission,'' her Seattle physician, Dr. Jan Abkowitz, said Saturday.
"She was feeling absolutely fine.''
The transplant took place May 16. About a month later, Butcher
developed graft-versus-host disease in which the immune system from the
bone marrow transplant begins attacking her organs. She was rushed from
her Fairbanks home back to the University of Washington medical center.
Monson and the couple's two daughters, Tekla, 10, and Chisana, 5, returned to Seattle with her.
Doctors began aggressive treatments to try to stop transplanted
bone-marrow cells from destroying Butcher's digestive tract. Monson
reported that she was often in excruciating pain from the disease and
the treatments but battled on.
Doctors eventually managed to turn back the GVHD with a combination of steroids and experimental drugs.
"Then to our dismay and surprise, about a week ago, when we did a
routine bone marrow test, we found that her leukemia had come back,"
Abkowitz said.
Butcher was given a tough choice: go home and die or begin another
round of painful and potentially deadly chemotherapy to drive the
leukemia into remission in preparation for another bone-marrow
transplant. Those who know Butcher say that choice was really no choice
for a woman who'd spent her life going against the odds and beating
them.
She resumed chemotherapy, but on Friday her condition worsened. She was
moved into an intensive care unit. Monson was at her side, as he has
always been for the past 21 years.
He was there when she died Saturday.
News of her death hit hard in Alaska, though it was not totally
unexpected. Friend, fellow musher and cancer survivor DeeDee Jonrowe
had gone to Seattle to see Butcher just weeks ago fearing it would be
their last chance to talk. Others were well aware her condition was
perilous.
Throughout her illness, Monson maintained a moving and forthright
online journal to keep everyone up-to-date. It was often painfully
honest about Butcher's condition as the cancer ravaged the body she
once fought so hard to toughen.
In her competitive days, Butcher pushed herself harder than she ever
pushed her dogs. There was never a musher more deserving of the honor
of being considered "the toughest dog in the team.'' Everyone in and
around the sport of long-distance mushing knew that.
"There are few still around that had the benefit of what we call 'The
Butcher Years,' '' said musher Martin Buser of Big Lake, himself a
four-time champ. "She was certainly an inspiration to all of us. She
was certainly one of the forerunners of having dedicated her life to
the sled dog, and because of that she was victorious so many times.''
Like others, Buser was having trouble grasping the reality of Butcher's passing.
"It's hard to believe,'' he said. "We don't feel any older than 10 or 15 Iditarods ago, but we are obviously all mortal."
News of Butcher's death was spreading rapidly through the tight-knit
world of people involved in sled-dog sports on Saturday night thanks to
modern telecommunications.
"Today is a very sad day for the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, for all
Alaskans, and for every person who has been touched by Susan Butcher,''
the Iditarod said in a message posted on the race Web site,
www.iditarod.com. "She will be greatly missed."
Nordman was at Iditarod headquarters in Wasilla on Saturday evening
making calls around the world to notify others of Butcher's death. It
was not an easy thing to do, nor headquarters an easy place to be.
"Of course, the first thing you see is Susan and Joe (Redington Sr.)
climbing Denali and the champion pictures and everything,'' Nordman
said. "It's just sad. It's a part of history that has left us.
"It will take a little while for it all to soak in."
The late Joe Redington, the father of the Iditarod, climbed Mount
McKinley with Butcher, legendary guide Ray Genet and photographer Rob
Stapleton in 1979. Genet later froze to death near the summit of Mount
Everest. Cancer got Redington in 1997, and now Butcher.
Nordman said she will be seriously missed as one of the greatest
ambassadors of sled dog sports. Even long after retiring, he said, she
remained the one about whom visitors to Iditarod headquarters always
asked.
"She's left a mark on the sport for sure,'' he said. "On dog care, there was no one finer.
"We knew she was on the biggest battle imaginable, but I think it came
as a surprise to everyone that it came especially when it did."
Daily
News Outdoor editor Craig Medred can be reached at [email protected].
Megan Holland, Beth Bragg and The Associated Press contributed to this
story.
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