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24 Hours in Unalakleet

Teams Pass Through a Checkpoint Steeped in Iditarod History

by Andy Moderow

03/13/2006

As the first teams arrived into Unalakleet yesterday afternoon, you could tell that the mushers had traveled a long way. Doug Swingley was forced to sew up a hole in his pants while resting before traveling onward. Brand new gear in Willow had major signs of use: Sleds that hadn’t been used at the start in Willow had received numerous dents, and dirt dulled the bright colors of once unused clothing, a sign of 900 miles of use. Aluminum dog dishes were misshaped; sleds weren’t packed in a completely orderly way. The dogs themselves were somewhat more subdued, settled into a rhythm of run and rest, run and rest.

Several things stood out while visiting the checkpoint in Unalakleet. One was the intensity of all the competitors, who managed in their sleep-deprived state to maintain their focus on the finish line, their teams and the trail still to come. The sense of competition is hard to describe, because it is somewhat difficult for an outsider to imagine a competitive intensity that can be maintained for 8 days straight, day and night, in the brutal conditions that the mushers have met along the trail. This intensity isn’t like the intensity seen in speed skaters lining up at the Olympics: The race is simply too long for that level of intensity to be maintained. The mental competition is much different than that displayed by poker players, attempting to figure out what someone across the table from them is doing: Without adequate sleep, mushers struggle to think rationally. Add in the fact that each musher is the member of a team, comprised of dogs as opposed to humans, and that may be a starting point for someone not here to understand what mushers are going through on the trail. As each worked with their teams, asked questions about their competition, and worked to overcome whatever ailment they had acquired on their long trip to Nome, the goal of reaching the finish in a respectable time was still quite evident in everything they each did.

Other things stood out in the past 24 hours in Unalakleet, other than this competitive intensity. Sonny Lindner, who has run many Iditarods, managed to reach Unalakleet with all 16 dogs that he started with. This is a truly remarkable feat: Along the trail, teams often elect to send dogs home for any little reason: A slight soreness, a lack of appetite, or any other ailment that hurts how they perform translates into an airplane ride home. Often, if a dog just isn’t having fun, a musher will elect to send them home: Dogs that aren’t having fun simply don’t perform well, and provide little benefit to the team. Traveling 900 miles is obviously challenging for both man and dog alike: The fact that each member of Sonny’s team was still performing well is amazing.

In addition to the long journey that brought the mushers to Unalakleet, the Iditarod, now 34 years old, showed signs of coming of age. Doug Katchatagg, a lifelong resident of Unalakleet, conversed with volunteers who gathered around him last night, who were eager to learn about the history of the race they know well in its modern form. As snowmachines buzzed past in the night, he told stories about his experiences volunteering for the first Iditarod, when he and others would take up to a week pioneering the 90-mile run from Unalakleet to Kaltag, using snowshoes and dog teams. He mentioned that mushers, if caught in a storm, would often be forced to do the same on their journey to Nome, walking in front of their team: In those days, the race trail was only put in once, and often a long time before teams would arrive. While today teams must still ‘break trail’, as they have been doing for the past 24 hours, busting through the wind drifted snow that covered parts of the trail, it has been quite a few years since a musher was forced to use their snowshoes, creating a trail for their team, while racing to Nome. Today, with thousands of volunteers, international attention and competitors traveling from around the world to race, the Iditarod has certainly come of age. But the history of the race, just as the history of the 1925 Diphtheria Outbreak in Nome, will never be forgotten: It makes the annual race to Nome that much more remarkable.

With teams approaching the finish line, it is amazing to reflect on where they have been this year. It will be equally amazing to see what they can do in the years to come, and what the future has in store for the Iditarod. The history of this little 1100 mile trail across Alaska will continue to grow deeper as competitors race to Nome each year, doing justice to those who came before them, while adding to the long running record books of Iditarod history.