On his blog, 1989 Iditarod winner Joe Runyan gives some interesting perspectives and an updated view on that New York Times article I linked to earlier about warm conditions affecting this year’s race.
http://iditarod.com/musher/update-1/
A few veteran mushers say the trail is looking great. Now that’s some good news!
Iditarod Trail (map shows northern and southern routes). © 2008 Iditarod Trail Committee
Above is a map of the route sled-dog teams will follow for the Iditarod, which starts March 2. It is the official map put out by the Iditarod Trail Committee. Iditarod veteran and bush pilot Don Bowers (now deceased) wrote some wonderfully detailed descriptions of what sled-dog teams face on each leg of the race. They can be found here (scroll down to the table links) along with a printable version of the map.
I’ll mention only a few of the trail’s more salient features.
The first thing to note is that the map shows the trail splitting at Ophir, near the halfway point of the race, into a northern and southern route before meeting again at Kaltag. The northern route is used during even-numbered years (e.g., 2008, 2010, 2012), the southern-route during odd-numbered years (e.g., 2009, 2011, 2013). The southern route was added to the race in the late 1970s for several reasons:
This year’s mushers will, of course, follow the southern route.
CHECKPOINTS AND MANDATORY RESTS
Mushers must check in with a race official at each labeled checkpoint. The race official notes the musher’s time in, number of dogs, and asks whether the musher will stay to rest or pass through the checkpoint. For most checkpoints, staying or going is up to the musher. However, there are three mandatory checkpoint rests each musher must take:
Mushers may also rest anywhere along the trail between checkpoints provided they move off the trail to make way for other dog teams.
During checkpoints rests, mushers unharness their dogs and spread straw for them to rest or sleep on. (Before the race, mushers arrange with the ITC to have straw bales and dog food shipped to the various checkpoints.) Mushers remove their dogs’ protective booties and apply ointment to the dogs’ feet. They also feed the dogs before getting a hot meal and sleep themselves.Veterinarians at each checkpoint along the route examine the dogs for any health issues. If a dog is overly tired, sick, or injured, a musher can drop it from the team at a checkpoint. (Mushers start the race with a maximum of sixteen dogs and must have at least six on the towline when they finish.) Mushers are not allowed to leave sick or injured dogs on the trail between checkpoints. If a dog gets sick or injured or dies on the trail (which is rare), the musher must carry it in their sled basket to the next checkpoint.
THE ROUGH STRETCHES
The trail from Willow to Finger is a relatively trouble-free run, though during this early stretch of the race sled-dog teams still have to contend with fans, media, snowmobiles, etc. Once they clear the Alaska Range, after Rohn, they head into the Alaskan interior where they are pretty much on their own, at least between checkpoints. However, they do sometimes have to contend with wildlife on the trail. Moose can be a particular problem, especially when there is heavy snowfall. The moose sometimes use the trail to get better footing. This can lead to violent encounters between moose and dogs. During the 1985 Iditarod, veteran musher Susan Butcher had to withdraw from the race after two of her dogs were killed by a pregnant moose.
The difficulties with the trail itself start after Finger Lake, as sled-dog teams make the 3,000-foot ascent up the Alaska Range to the Rainy Pass checkpoint. On the way to Rainy Pass, sled-dog teams encounter the Happy River Steps, a series of three sharp, twisting descents. Sled brakes often get a good workout tackling this part of the trail, and it can be particularly treacherous during periods of high winds or blizzards.
After reaching the summit at Rainy Pass, sled-dog teams make the steep descent down the western side of the Alaska Range into Dalzell Gorge, a several-mile winding drop into a frozen river valley. It is quite a wild ride! Here is a video clip, shot by Aliy Zirkle, showing a musher’s perspective of heading into the Gorge.
Veteran musher and four-time Iditarod champion, Martin Buser, says of crossing this part of the Alaska Range, “It takes two days to get up it and two hours to get down.”
Once mushers reach the Rohn checkpoint, they’ve cleared the Alaska Range and the most difficult part of the trail. Still, there are some tricky stretches that await them, especially in bad weather.
The Farewell Burn
Between the 75-mile stretch between Rohn and Nikolai, mushers cross the Farewell Burn, the result of a 1977 forest fire that scorched over 300, 000 acres. When snowfall is light, mushers encounter a bumpy field of grass tussocks and deadfall poking through the snow. It can make for a bone-jarring ride that has been known to break both resolve and sleds.
Once mushers reach the ghost town of Iditarod, they’re halfway to Nome.
The Yukon River
The southern route along the Yukon River, between Anvik and Kaltag, can be challenging as mushers sometimes face fierce 50 mile-per-hour headwinds across the desolate tundra. Windchill can bring the temperature down to 50 degrees below zero.
The Bering Sea
Mushers reach the Bering Sea Coast at Unalakleet. High winds and blizzards coming off Norton Sound are not uncommon. Between Shaktoolik and Koyuk is a 50-mile stretch across sea ice where it is easy to lose sight of the trail in a blizzard.
In addition to these highlights, sled-dog teams face slick glaciers where dogs find it hard to get their footing and mushers work to control their sleds; undulating hills and sharp hairpin turns; holes in the ice; narrow ice bridges spanning rapidly moving water; missing or misplaced trail markers; fighting dogs; dogs in heat; unfriendly wildlife; and trees, trees, trees. It’s also easy for lead dogs to lose the scent of the trail, especially for teams who are out front. Front-runners have to break trail, which can slow them down considerably. Warmer winters raise temperatures on some parts of the trail to 30 – 40 degrees, which is hard on huskies used to running in -20-degree weather.
Other than that, it’s a sled ride.
Not that you’ll be seeing me try it anytime soon!
Dog sled arriving in Knik carrying gold from Iditarod, January 12, 1912. Library of Congress
Parts of the historic Iditarod Trail had been used by Native Alaskan dog drivers for centuries, but the 1000-plus mile route associated with today’s race came about largely as a result of Alaska’s gold rush in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. Originally called the Seward-to-Nome Mail Trail, it ran from the southern shipping port of Seward north through the Alaskan interior and on up to Nome on the Bering Sea Coast. The trail connected the various settlements, trading posts, and mining camps that popped up as prospectors from around the world descended on Alaska, making it possible to move people and freight and deliver mail. Explorers, surveyors, and prospectors had learned from the region’s indigenous groups that sled dogs were the most reliable means of transport during winter months. The trail became associated with the town of Iditarod after a gold strike there on Christmas Day, 1908. (The word ‘iditarod’ is an Anglicized version of the Ingalik word ‘haiditarod,’ meaning ‘distant place.’)
That same year, the first official sled-dog race in Alaska, the All-Alaska Sweepstakes, was held in Nome. The race ran from Nome to Candle and back, a distance of over 400 miles. One of its winningest mushers was Norwegian-born Leonhard Seppala. Seppala came to Nome during the gold rush there in 1900 and worked for a company sledding freight and supplies. He won the race three times, in 1915, 1916, and 1917.
Leonhard Seppala with his lead dog Togo
However, Seppala is more famously remembered for participating in what came to be known as the Great Serum Run of 1925. The winter of that year, a diphtheria outbreak in Nome threatened the city’s population, especially its indigenous inhabitants who had never been exposed to the disease. The last ship into the port before it froze over did not include a critical supply of antitoxin that had been ordered. With the only two airplane pilots capable of navigating the dangerous Alaskan winter weather traveling out-of-state, the Iditarod Trail became the only means of access to Nome. Relay teams of mushers and sled dogs were set up to transport serum from Nulato, in the east, to Nome. Seppala mushed the longest stretch of this run and subsequently became something of a legend in Alaska.
Dorothy Page, the “Mother of the Iditarod”
During World War II, the U.S. Army used sled dogs for transport and search-and-rescue missions. But after the introduction of the snowmobile in the 1960s, dog sledding was on the wane, even in the native villages. The Iditarod Trail had fallen into disuse. Then a New Mexico transplant named Dorothy Page, an avid fan of sled-dog racing, came up with the idea of putting together a race to commemorate the centennial of the United States’ purchase of Alaska from Russia. Initially, Page had little luck getting dog mushers interested. She then approached Joe Redington Sr. Redington was one of the last dog sled freighters. He had worked for the U.S. Army doing search-and-rescue missions and salvaging airplanes that had gone down in the Alaskan interior. Like Page, Redington wanted to preserve sled-dog culture. Since the 1950s, he had been lobbying to make the Iditarod Trail a national historic trail, and he felt a commemorative race would help bring attention to his efforts.
The first race was held in February of 1967 and ran 25 miles across a stretch of the old Iditarod Trail between Wasilla and Redington’s hometown of Knik. Leonhard Seppala was invited to be the race’s honorary marshal. Tragically, Seppala died shortly before the race took place. The race was named in his honor, the Iditarod Trail Seppala Memorial Race.
Joe Redington Sr., the “Father of the Iditarod”
By 1969, interest in this short precursor to the Iditarod had diminished. But Redington was determined to keep both dog mushing culture and the Iditarod Trail alive. He wanted to establish a longer, more ambitious race, one that would involve the interior villages where sled dogs had been used for so long. With the help of other mushers, including Dick Mackey and Dan Seavey, Redington organized the first Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. It ran over 1,000 miles from Anchorage to Nome.
The first race got underway on March 3, 1973 (each year the Iditarod begins on the first Saturday in March). No one knew what to expect. Many believed the mushers might not survive the long trek through the Alaskan wilderness. Both Mackey and Seavey competed. Redington had intended to compete, but as money for the race fell short, he was forced to engage in some last-minute fundraising to help make up a shortfall in the promised $50,000 purse (he had already mortgaged his home in Knik to keep the race alive).
The first Iditarod was dedicated to the memory of Leonhard Seppala. Bib #1 was reserved in Seppala’s honor from 1973 through 1980. (Since 1980, bib #1 has been reserved for individuals, both mushers and non-mushers, who have made significant contributions to sled-dog racing.)
Dick Wilmarth, a miner and trapper from Red Devil, would go on to win the first race. It took him 20 days, 49 minutes, and 41 seconds. (Compare this to John Baker’s 2011 record-setting race of 8 days, 18 hours, 46 minutes, and 39 seconds.) The $50,000 purse was split up among the top twenty finishers. Wilmarth received $12,000.
Dick Wilmarth after winning the first Iditarod in 1973.
Iditarod Trail Committee, Inc.
Wilmarth would later described that first race as less a competitive sled-dog race than “a chance to spend time with friends in the wilderness.” When it was discovered at the last minute that no finish line had been put up in Nome, a quick thinker grabbed a package of Kool-Aid and poured a line in the snow across Front Street. There was only one veterinarian for 34 dog teams. (The 2013 race will have 52 veterinarians spread out among the various checkpoints.)
Over the years, the Iditarod has become a more organized, competitive race. Today’s mushers have learned from the early trailblazers how to handle the treacherous topography and unpredictable weather faced on the trail. Care and feeding of the dogs has practically become a science. Winning times have been cut by more than half and a handful of mushers have upped the ante with multiple wins. Rick Swenson holds the record with five Iditarod wins.
The purse for the race has increased too, though not by much–at least not by American sporting standards. This year’s purse is $600,000, to be split among the first 30 finishers. The winner will receive about $50,000 and a brand new truck. Only the most famous mushers are able to make a living off sled-dog racing, and even they must rely on corporate sponsorship and year-round promotion. Mushers do it for the love of dog sledding, not for the money.
The names Redington, Mackey, and Seavey will become familiar in this blog. The children and grandchildren of three of the men who helped make the race possible carry on its legacy. Joe Redington’s son, Raymie, and grandsons, Ray and Ryan, have all competed in the Iditarod. Mitch Seavey, son of Dan Seavey, won his second Iditarod this year. Mitch’s son Dallas won last year’s race. The two men have the distinction of becoming the oldest and youngest Iditarod winners. Lance Mackey, Dick Mackey’s son, is the only Iditarod champion to win four consecutive races, in 2007, 2008, 2009, and 2010. Dick Mackey and Lance’s brother, Rick, are also Iditarod champions. Dick won the closest Iditarod race ever, beating Rick Swenson by one second in 1978.
Also in 1978: the federal government designated the Iditarod Trail a National Historic Trail. Joe Redington finally got his wish.
Redington died in 1999.
Stay tuned for my next post, which will feature a map of the race trail and discussion of some of its nastier features. And, yes, in an upcoming post I’ll talk about the dogs.
Iditarod from Outside 