Sledder blazes Iditarod trail for visually impaired

Rachael Scdoris, 21, is racing in the Iditarod Trail International Sled Dog Race, which spans 1,150 miles through Alaskan wilderness. As if the prospect of freezing temperatures and sleep deprivation weren't enough, Scdoris is legally blind.

She was born with congenital achromatopsia, a rare visual disorder that affects her ability to see depth and detail and makes her sensitive to light changes. Scdoris (pronounced Sih-DOOR-iss), of Bend, Ore., says her vision is like wearing Vaseline-smeared glasses.

Despite this, and criticism from racers for the accommodations that need to be made so she can race, Scdoris never stopped competing. For this Iditarod, which kicked off Saturday, she is raising money for visually impaired athletes by asking people to donate money for each mile she completes.

The money goes to the United States Association of Blind Athletes. Her sponsor, Standard Insurance Co., will match the first $50,000 of donations.

Scdoris grew up around mushing. Her father, Jerry, raced; and as a baby, Scdoris would fall asleep riding in his sled. At 8, she got the desire to mush.

"My dad's former kennel partner, John Patten, came to visit," she says. "He told me all about running the Iditarod."

Scdoris had ridden on a sled with someone else before, but she began asking her father to let her go solo.

"She never let up. It was ridiculous," her father says. When Scdoris was 11, she mushed a one-mile trail alone.

Some races go perfectly. Others don't. Scdoris has had hallucinations, which are common during long races, and frostbite.

She uses a visual interpreter who rides ahead in races, warning her of obstacles such as low-hanging branches. Scdoris and her interpreter shout or use two-way radios.

On June 6, 2003, Scdoris asked Iditarod board members to let her use two snowmobiles to guide her. To mushers, the Iditarod is purely humans vs. nature. No outside help is allowed, and many viewed the snowmobiles as just that.

"It's not about motorized vehicles; it's about dog teams and people," says Mitch Seavey, who won the Iditarod in 2004.

Her request initially was denied.

Others question how well Scdoris can see and care for her dogs; why she has media coverage and her own book, No End in Sight, first published in 2005; and whether interpreters would assist her more than just avoiding obstacles.

Scdoris isn't fazed and says she concentrates on how people act toward her.

"All the interactions I've had with mushers and all the people associated with the Iditarod and other races have been nothing but respectful," she says. "So that is all I care about."

Mitch Seavey says he is friendly with the Scdoris family, and his son, Tyrell, was Scdoris' visual interpreter for a race. Even with the criticism, he says, no mushers are "against" Scdoris.

"I support her," he says. "And I hope she is able to finish that thing and get it done."

On Sept. 19, 2003, board members reached a compromise: Scdoris could compete with another sled dog team guiding her.

After completing more than 700 miles of the 2005 Iditarod, her dogs became sick, and Scdoris quit.

"It was obvious they weren't having fun," she says.

To qualify for this year's Iditarod, Scdoris ran January's Tustumena 200 Sled Dog Race in Alaska with musher Tim Osmar. Osmar completed 20 Iditarods and will be Scdoris' interpreter for this year's race. She considers the Tustumena one of the tougher qualifiers.

"There are some pretty easy qualifiers in the lower 48 (states) that I could have done," she says. "But I wanted to really ... test myself, test my dogs, and prove that I could."

*To donate to the U.S. Association

of Blind Athletes and to check Scdoris' Iditarod progress, visit www.gorachaelgo.com.

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