Alaska's Grueling Dogsled Race Part 1

Can you imagine riding on the runners of a crude sled one third the distance across the United States, or from London to Rome? Traveling such a distance day and night through barren, windswept and snow-covered wilderness would certainly be a test of strength and endurance. Sixty-two mushers and their teams were ready to do it, and I wanted to see it.

With a friend, I flew to the historic gold-rush town of Nome, Alaska. The Iditarod Trail Race would conclude here, on the coast of the Bering Sea.

A Bit of Nostalgia

Iditarod (pronounced Īdĭt′arod) is the name of both an abandoned mining town and an old mail route that followed a network of trails dating back to the late 1800's. These pathways stretched for more than two thousand miles (3,200 km) from Seward, on the Gulf of Alaska, to Nome, on the Bering Sea. Summer traffic along the Iditarod was mainly by boats and barges on the Yukon River. However, in winter the mode of transportation shifted to the dogsled. Therefore, the name of the race, the Iditarod Trail Race.

It wasn't until recent years that the snow machine took the place of the musher and his sled. So, many old-timers view the Iditarod race as a nostalgic reminder of how much men depended on their dogs to open up a new frontier.

Dogsledding, or "dog mushing," is popular in many parts of the earth. During the long winter season in Alaska it provides a welcomed diversion. It can reduce the depressing moods of "cabin fever," which occurs when one remains indoors too long. Dog mushing can be a delight for the spectator also. The beautiful Siberian Huskies and the Alaskan Malamutes in action in front of a sled in a winter wonderland are a thrilling sight.

Several races are held each year, inviting thousands of people to line the course where mushers speed along at between 18 and 20 miles per hour (29 and 32 km/hr)! Most races are for two to three days at about 25 to 30 miles (40 to 48 km) per day. In contrast, however, the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race is like the marathon run. It is a call into the wild, where men and dogs are tested by the winter elements, minus 50 degrees F (−45.6° C) at times, 30-knot winds, blizzards, loneliness, and exhaustion due to sleepless nights.

Our plane was approaching the beautiful but barren edge of the Bering Sea, the coast of Nome. Shore ice and packed snow extended along the coast as far as the eye could see. I scratched the frost from my window in order to see more clearly. Right below us, proud and graceful, trotting along in the bright noon sun, was the lead dog team. Pressing forward on their padded harnesses, those canines were aware that they were out in front of the challengers and they were heading for a victorious finish.