The Sawbill Trail, a place where the woods go dark and deep and the temperatures can drop well below zero, a small village rises out of the snow each winter. Canvas wall tents glow, the smell of a woodstove in the air, fire pits crackle, straw is stacked in neat bales, and, floating in the cold night air, the sound and smell of sizzling bacon.

This is the Sawbill checkpoint. For mushers, this is a remote, unassisted, and mandatory 4-hour layover during the John Beargrease Sled Dog Marathon. 

This checkpoint is remote by design. It prepares mushers aiming for the Iditarod, offering a stretch of trail and an unassisted layover that demands self-sufficiency. The mushers do not have their handling team; just deep snow, a bridge, a hill, and a quiet camp lit by firelight.

Like most sled dog races, the Beargrease is run by volunteers who drive or fly from Minnesota and beyond. The ones at the Sawbill checkpoint each year build it, run it, and tear it back down. They call themselves Sawbillies, and they say it’s the challenge, the community, and the friendships that keep them coming back to this remote wilderness checkpoint year after year. 

Being a Sawbilly takes grit.

 The true essence of Sawbill at night.

Meet Steph

Long-time volunteer Steph Bartelt now lives in Massachusetts. Her path to Sawbill started years ago through her work as a former vet tech. A friend who had been volunteering at the race, endearingly known as Sawbill Sally, invited her to tag along and help in the vet tent.

“All it took was one drop dog to meet and fall in love with, and I was hooked,” she said. (A dropped dog is one that was, for its best interest, mindfully 'dropped’ by their musher to not continue the race.)

Originally from the Midwest, Steph already loved northern Minnesota, but it’s the people who bring her back to Sawbill.

“The volunteers there are particularly dedicated and most return every year. They’re family — and only some of them are actually related.”

That family feeling is real. Many Sawbillies have been returning for over a decade, and two Sawbillies even got engaged at the checkpoint during last year’s race.

Steph admires the toughness, too. Some volunteers camp on-site, even in cold weather. Others nap in their cars before the first teams arrive, and between mushers entering and exiting the checkpoint, but must stay flexible depending on race pace. 

“We nap in the car and wait for the teams to pull in during the night, fires lit, and hot bacon waiting for them,” she said. “I feel so lucky to be a Sawbilly.” 

 A dog team comes into the checkpoint.

Meet Ryan

This year was Cook County local Ryan Clinton’s first experience volunteering at a sled dog race. And at Sawbill, that’s no small introduction.

“I thought it was challenging, fun, and interesting,” he said.

What stood out most was the camaraderie. “Seeing the dogs and mushers in the race was super cool. The camaraderie among the volunteers was awesome.”

He was also surprised by the level of care the dogs receive. “I didn’t necessarily know how much they enjoyed it and how well they were treated.”

He plans to return next year. For many, one winter at Sawbill is enough to understand why people make it an annual pilgrimage.

Volunteers help guide a sled dog team.  

Meet Josh

Josh Capps first encountered the Sawbill checkpoint as a 15-year-old. The small camp in the dark and snowy woods left a lasting impression.

He remembers sitting around the campfire listening to volunteers and mushers tell stories, watching dog teams come down the hill and across the bridge into the checkpoint, and seeing a wall tent with a smoking chimney under a starlit sky.

Josh Capps (L), Mark Oldencamp (middle), Richard Devries (R)

Fifteen years later, he returned, volunteered, and got hooked. After assisting the checkpoint coordinator for a couple of years, Josh stepped into the role himself.

“I wanted to preserve the qualities of the checkpoint that had such an impression on me as a teen,” he said. “I made it my goal to make the Sawbill checkpoint a quiet and special place.”

The bacon tent became part of that vision. After years of borrowing or renting tents, the volunteers decided to crowdfund money for their own. Within 24 hours, the extended Sawbilly community raised enough to purchase a large new tent and woodstove.

“I was amazed and so touched that people came through like that so fast,” Josh said. “And thus the bacon tent was born.”

His mother has become known as the “bacon lady,” a title she holds with pride.

Lynda Capps AKA The Bacon Lady and Mary Madden

What keeps him coming back is simple: “The community of volunteers that we’ve cultivated over the years. I’ve made lifelong dear friends through this volunteer service. It’s rewarding to be a part of something like this; to work hard and make a special place for mushers, dogs, and volunteers. I love it. It’s truly the highlight of my year.”

Meet Monica

Monica Wade, another Cook County local, didn’t even know what a Sawbilly was her first year.

A friend met a musher at the Rustic Inn Café and heard about volunteering. They signed up without fully knowing what they were getting into. Monica had never seen a dog sled race before.

“I was instantly hooked,” she said. “It felt like pure luck — or maybe a little bit of magic — that it led me into such an amazing community.”

As someone new to the North Shore, volunteering became a way to connect. She shared that “this has been an incredible way to connect with people and dog lovers I might never have met otherwise. And knowing the race truly depends on volunteers makes you want to show up and give the mushers and dogs the best experience possible.”

Creating that experience requires serious work.

"Papa Sawbill" himself holds tarps and rakes 

Preparing the Checkpoint

Preparation starts about a week before race day. Volunteers make multiple supply trips and begin stomping down snow with snowshoes to set up tent pads and dog chutes. Additionally, they chop a hole in the river ice for dog water, and build a hospitality station. The day before the race, volunteers arrive to finish stomping trails, build fire pits, erect the bacon and veterinary tents, and establish their own volunteer camp.

In heavy snow years, it’s a chore. But as Josh puts it, “It’s fun work.”

On race day, they haul straw to each chute and stage musher equipment and drop bags (a bag of supplies prepared by mushers pre-race that is delivered to the unassisted checkpoint). The volunteers’ job is to have everything organized and ready so that the mushers can care for their dogs and themselves safely and efficiently.

 Traci Sturman Ellingson pours Tang, a Sawbill delicacy, to create a timing line for teams as they enter the checkpoint.

When teams depart in the morning, cleanup begins. Straw is raked, tents come down, fire pits are dismantled, everything is packed out, leaving no trace behind.

By the end, Monica said, “everyone is completely exhausted — but in a good way.”

The cold helps keep people alert. This year, temperatures dropped to -28F, with wind chills in the -40s. “You might be exhausted, but you’re definitely not falling asleep in that kind of cold,” she said. 

Monica carefully plans and layers her clothes and brings backup boots, dry socks, extra gloves, and hats. This year, battery-powered socks were a game-changer.

 Timer volunteers record when mushers arrive at the checkpoint, when they can leave after their mandatory four-hour layover, and when they leave the checkpoint.

“At the end of the day, you’re not always warm — sometimes you’re just managing the cold,” she said. “Being able to stay active, work together, and get the job done in extreme conditions is part of what I love about this checkpoint. It pushes me outside my comfort zone, and the reward is absolutely worth it.”

And thanks to the Sawbilly volunteers, who, year in and year out, push themselves out of their comfort zone to make this remote checkpoint a comfortable space, positive memories and connections are made.