ON THE OUTDOORS Ex-Chicagoans savor tough sledding BY LEW FREEDMAN Published March 7, 2004 ANCHORAGE -- Alaska long has been the land of dreams and adventure, where the starry-eyed collide with the bold and the fittest survive. It was true at the turn of the 20th Century, when men came north for gold. It was true in the latter part of the century , when men came north for oil. These days the same pioneer spirit is embodied in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. There is no simple way to explain what drives a city boy north, to trade the skyscrapers of youth for the wilds of the trail. But Saturday morning in Alaska's largest community, two Chicago men who spent years imagining the moment, culminated personal quests. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Hugh Neff, 36, who spent the first 28 years of his life in Evanston, and Dennis Kananowicz, 28, a transplant from Evergreen Park, set course on the 1,100-mile route to Nome on the Bering Sea coast behind 16-dog teams. "Alaska is the biggest playground in the world," said Neff, a one-time Eagle Scout who once was a caddie at Westmoreland Country Club in Wilmette. "I feel like I am at home. This is what I was bred for." The ceremonial start of the 32nd annual Iditarod began on Fourth Avenue in downtown Anchorage with a record field of 87 mushers vying for a $710,000 purse. Prize money is paid to the top 30 placers, but other finishers still can earn a coveted commemorative belt buckle. There are 33 rookies in the group--Neff and Kananowicz among them. The two, seasoned by other races, and in-depth training, are contending with a field that includes five former champions and 25 of the top 30 from last year. "I'm ready," Kananowicz pronounced. "You worry a lot of about what you're forgetting. I definitely want to enjoy myself. I want to make sure the dogs have a good experience. I don't want to scratch. I'll give it the best we have." After high school, Kananowicz spent a couple of years at Illinois Wesleyan, then, in 1997 he took off for Alaska. He worked in fish canneries on Kodiak Island, at Dutch Harbor and in the Pribilof Islands, "all the desolate places" as he put it. Before he moved to Copper Center, about 200 miles northeast of Anchorage, Kananowicz steered his first dog team--for a moment. "The first time I took a dog team out, there was a turn and that's where I ate it," he said. "But I got hooked right there. I really liked it." The difference between the equivalent of riding a bicycle around the block and entering the Iditarod is gargantuan. But Kananowicz spent a year being mentored by esteemed Iditarod musher Charlie Boulding. And now Kananowicz, a slightly built man of medium height with long, thick brown hair and a bushy beard, and his girlfriend, Jessica Hendricks, share a 65-dog kennel. Hendricks startled the mushing world by finishing 19th and winning the rookie-of-the-year award last year. "It was like, `Wow,'" Kananowicz said. "We were surprised we did so well. Seeing her do so well made us realize we had pretty good dogs." This year is Kananowicz's turn and Hendricks had some advice. "I told him rest is a must," she said. "Otherwise you make mistakes." It is said that it takes at least one time through the Iditarod, which is appropriately called The Last Great Race on Earth, to begin to comprehend the challenges of wind, cold, isolation, sleep deprivation and dog care and racing. Mushers from the Lower 48 often try to explain the attraction to friends and relatives back home. In Kananowicz's case, older brother Curt, who works with computers, is boggled slightly by Dennis' adaptation to roughing it. But he is thrilled for him. "I couldn't be any prouder of Dennis right now," Curt Kananowicz said. "Anybody who knows my brother knows that this kid does not know the meaning of the word quit. I think it takes a lot of guts." Some may say it takes guts to forsake a familiar way of life for a more rustic lifestyle. In 1995, when Neff put his days of caddying at the Western Open behind him and came to Alaska, he had $200 in his pocket and slept in his car. He now works at what he calls "the world's farthest north truck stop" in Coldfoot. As a youngster, Neff said, his father Phillip, who is retired and still lives in Evanston, was a scoutmaster. Neff figures it was karma that one of his earliest scouting tasks was to build a mini-dogsled. It took just a couple of decades for him to move up to a larger model. After entering four 1,000-mile Yukon Quest races and becoming more settled in Nenana, south of Fairbanks, Neff sounds giddy about the choices he made. Even after meeting and spending time on the trail with some of them, he speaks of mushing stars with awe. "All these guys I thought were the coolest guys in the world became my friends," he said. And now Neff and Kananowicz are among the coolest guys in the world, part of a fresh generation of Americans enraptured by Alaska. Copyright © 2004, Chicago Tribune