"TEAM ON THE LAKE!"
The yell goes out every time a race ­volunteer spots a new team emerging from the woods. After leaving the maze of spruce and birch trees, the teams turn left on the trail and skirt the edge of the frozen lake. Though thick skies and low visibility have kept many of the expected day-trippers from flying in by ski plane to watch the racers come in, there are still plenty of people waiting for each musher's arrival, including the volunteers, journalists, and guests staying at Winterlake Lodge, which sits just above the trail. The noise and activity provide a sudden shift from the quiet the teams experience between checkpoints. "You have the sound of the dogs' panting and the sled runners underneath. There's not a whole lot of sound. That's maybe some of the reason we do this sport," says Mackey. "It's so peaceful, and you just have time to think."

Along the way, experienced mushers usually leave the trail watching to their lead dogs. "I'm watching the dogs. I know where I am on the earth, and they know where they are on the earth," says Plettner. "I'm watching them to see if their gait changes any. A tired dog goes from trotting to loping. I'm watching to see the slightest change in their normal traveling pattern." When something goes awry, it's time to stop and "check their feet, check their boots, give them a massage, move them farther forward in the team, make life better for that animal, and see what happens. If they don't come out of it, they're going home."