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The “Lower 48” of the USA has its World Series and Super Bowl, England has its Wimbledon, New Foundland its Royal St. John’s Regatta on Quidi Vidi Lake, France has its famous bike race the Toure Du France , Pamplona Spain has The Running of The Bulls, in Monaco it’s the Grand Prix, even in Sonkajarvi, Finland no one misses the annual World Wife-Carrying Championships. But in Alaska no other sporting event known commands more attention than the annual Iditarod dog race. It is a passion intertwined into the very fabric of Alaskan life.

The Iditarod is based on the historical run of the much needed diphtheria serum from Seward to Nome in 1925, a distance of over 1,160 miles through some of the most grueling landscape on the face of the earth. It has been called the “Last Great Race on Earth” and it has won worldwide acclaim and interest. It’s not just a dog sled race, it’s a race in which unique men and women compete. Mushers enter from all walks of life. Fishermen, lawyers, doctors, miners, artists, natives, Canadians, Swiss, French and others; men and women each with their own story, each with their own reasons for going the distance. It’s a race organized and run primarily by volunteers, thousands of volunteers, students and village residents. The race now starts in Anchorage on the first Saturday in March rather then in Seward and runs to the first of 27 check points, in Eagle River, 14 miles up the trail. Then the mushers and their teams restart in the little town of Wasilla, 36 miles north, away from crowds and the highway traffic of the cities. Most teams finish the race in anywhere from 10 to 12 days with the fastest finish in 9 days, 2 hours, 42 minutes and 19 seconds by Doug Swigley in 1995. That is a far cry from the time of over 20 days by Dick Wilmarth, the winner of the first Iditarod in 1973. The faster times are a testimony to the efforts that mushers and trainers have invested in the breeding of faster and faster dogs. And speaking of investments, each team entering the race must pay an entry fee which was raised for next year from 3 to 4 thousand dollars. And that is just the down payment. Adding up transportation of your team and equipment, gear, vet bills, cost of feed for anywhere from 25 to 70 of some of the hungriest dogs in North America for a year (of which only 16 of the finest in the kennel can actually race),and you have some idea of the investment every musher makes. It can well cost over $20,000 just in race expenses. All this for a chance to win $60,000 first prize and a new pickup.

The 1,100 mile course is broken up into 27 check points where food for the dogs is stored, neatly separated in piles for each of up to 88 teams. The dogs are checked by vets for illegal drugs before the start of the race and at several of the stops. There are a myriad of rules and regulations, most seemingly to protect the dogs more than the mushers. Even then between moose attacks, storms, crevices, and bone chilling temperatures, just finishing the “The Last Great Race” is an accomplishment revered by all Alaskans. During the race most citizens of our 49th state watch the progress daily as if it were the last dog sled race that will ever be run. Sara and I had the rare privilege of meeting some true Iditarod mushers during our visit.

Just north of Denali National Park, near the tiny town of Healy, live Todd and Anne with their two beautiful daughters, Grace and Rose. Talk about living out ones dreams. Todd is an MD who works three 12 hour shifts at an emergency clinic in Fairbanks over 100 miles one way, so that he can spend the other 4 days a week pursing his passion, sled racing. Todd has placed in several big races including the Iditarod. But this past year was Anne’s turn. There is a popular T-shirt in Alaska emblazoned with the words, “Alaska, Where Men are Men, and Women win the Iditarod”. And as excited as Todd gets about mushing, Anne eyes begin to glow at the mere mention of any aspect of dog sled racing. Anne didn’t win this year, she didn’t even place in the first half of over 88 mushers, but just finishing this grueling test is a badge of honor worn proudly. Todd and Anne started their love of dog sledding in Northern Wisconsin, but lack of snow and competitions drove them to Alaska. Todd said that they knew in the first 5 minutes of being in Alaska that this was their home.

As Sara and I drove into their 40 acre homestead on the northern border of Denali, over 35 dogs, each with their own wooden house began to howl. Talk about a door bell; it was deafening. Each dog is chained to a thick post in such a way that they can move around in a circle and move they did. Just as we turned into the yard, a team of dogs came at us pulling a huge 4 wheeler ATV with two neighbors. The dogs were straining at their harnesses connected to the pull rope with such intensity that some of them were literally jumping off the ground. The ATV was barreling down the side road toward us at breakneck speed with its motor off and the passengers, we were told later, “riding the brake”. Welcome to the world of dog sled racing.

After we met Grace 9 and Rose 7, who shyly hid behind their mother, Anne and Todd gave us a tour of the homestead. Sara asked how many dogs they had and Anne sheepishly replied that it was somewhere around 34 but she wasn’t sure. Somehow we think she knew the exact number. They were still howling when Todd shouted for them to be quiet and they did. Almost silence. It did not take long to determine who the Alpha dog was. The girls then took Sara around and politely introduced her to each of the dogs by name. Anne explained that both girls help with all the household chores,the dog training and both have competed successfully in junior division racing. Todd, Anne and the girls have been living out a dream since 2003 in one of the harshest environments on earth, filled with bears, moose, wolves, mosquitoes and black flies, in a place where temperatures can range from 70 above to 50 below zero, where simple mistakes can mean life or death. Todd explained that the moose come into the yard to “drop” their calves because they know that the wolves will not eat their babies as long as they are close to the dog yard. Jeez, it looked like the dogs were going to eat us. The homestead is over 80% self sufficient. Anne proudly showed us their goats that they milk and use for meat, their ducks that are valued for the eggs and meat, chickens bred without combs so that they don’t freeze, and pigs, along with rabbits, geese, guinea fowl and bees. Many of these animals, not the bees, will be slaughtered for food in the fall. Sara asked Anne how the girls handled the killing of the many livestock as they each clutched a newly born goat kid. Anne replied, “We don’t name the livestock.” Then out of their mother’s watchful eye, Ruth and Grace softly ticked off the names of each of the pigs.

At the Hoof ‘N’ Woof Kennel, http://www.hoofnwoof.com/ Anne explained that they used to raise cattle, but they were “too much work”. You have to be kidding!! At the homestead everything is recycled. Nothing is wasted and Anne and Todd are constantly experimenting with the older “Heritage Varieties” of animals. Plants for the garden are carefully selected for tolerance to a short growing season. Besides being a dedicated musher and dog trainer and breeder, Todd is part veterinarian, wood worker, house builder and mechanic, just to name a few of his homesteading skills. He has run in the Iditarod twice, in 2003 and 2004. Anne described herself in the 2008 Iditarod Mushers Profile as a homes schooling mom, kennel manager, livestock keeper, homestead manger, vintner, gardener, weaver, chef, and accountant. http://iditarod.com/race/race/musher/racemusher_301.html

After seeing the Internet antenna, weather station, wine cellar, walk in freezer, green house, woodworking shop and library (built for home schooling the girls and graced with Anne’s beautiful stain glass) Sara asked Anne if she thought the girls would ever want to go to the local public school, to which she quickly replied, “Gosh, I hope not!” Todd quickly added, “With all this? How could you get a better education? And the best part, no TV! “ Yes, indeed and without any TV. As we left the homestead, we glanced back at the kennel sign over our shoulders and knew we had visited with a family that truly was “living their dream”.

Speaking of dreams, any visit to Alaska would not be complete without attending the traditional dream dining event, a salmon bake. Northern Wisconsin has its fish boils, Maine its lobster and clam fests, Louisiana its crawfish steams, Texas its BBQ’s and Baja its fish tacos, but in Alaska there is nothing like a salmon bake. For $18 a person you get some of the most delicious fish on earth, wild king salmon or halibut, in season, (farm raised are dirty words in Alaska) with all the salads, beverages and desserts you can eat. We attended a bake in Fairbanks at Pioneer Park and their popularity was confirmed by the sheer number of both locals and tourists that attended. And the food could only be described as outstanding.


Another goal for Sara and I was to see a glacier close up while we were in Alaska. Visiting one of Alaska’s many glaciers took on an air of urgency when one considers how fast most glaciers are disappearing. While glacial ice actually covers over 10 percent of the earth’s surface and contains 90% of the fresh water, some 16 million square kilometers, unfortunately over 98% is in Greenland and Antarctic, two places we probably aren’t going to visiting in the RV for a while. The glaciers in Oregon have decreased about 30% since 1900 and the glaciers in Glacier National Park in Montana have decreased by a whopping 66% during that same time. So much for global warming as just a theory!!! We figured we’d better hurry. To grow a glacier, annual snow accumulation must be greater than the annual summer melt, and there just aren’t many places like that left.

There are basically three ways to visit a glacier: by water, the easiest, but somewhat expensive; by foot, inexpensive but much harder on the body; or by air, the easiest if you are not afraid of flying in a tiny plane, but extremely expensive. There are actually three other ways: by dog sled or snow machines but those aren’t available during the summer months, and ATV (all terrain vehicles)the last way, but our 60 year bones are not well suited for that anymore. So out of the three available avenues, we tried the first two, by water and by foot.

At Valdez, on the Glacier Spirit, we took a tour boat cruise to the Stephens Glacier. It was one of the most beautiful, sunny days we had in our 31 day visit to the Last Frontier State. What a day for a boat ride!!! As we cruised out of the harbor, we first sighted a group of sea otters playing in the blue water. Sara loved them. Their little faces seemed to say, “Come play with us.” That would be a very foolish decision when one considers the water is about 37 degrees. The boat captain explained that the sea otter have the highest number of hairs per square inch (10,000) and are constantly rolling in the water to fill their fur with air to keep them warm. We saw humpback whales breaching, porpoises playing in the wake of the boat and seals along the shore and on some of the channel buoys. Sara’s eagle eyes and spotting scope picked up some new birds for her every growing life list, including the tuffed and horned puffin, king eider and red legged kittiwake.

But we were here to see a glacier and soon we did. As the boat slowly edged its way to the face of the Stephen’s Glacier we were in awe. We were looking at the bluest, blue ice, hundreds of feet thick and miles long. The boat could not get too close because if one of the chunks were to fall off, (calving) it could swamp the whole boat. But we were close enough to appreciate its magnificence. We could hear the ice crunching and crackling as it hit the sea water. We were in what seemed a surreal world, surrounded by ice formations of countless shapes and sizes, so inspiring that few of us even noticed the extreme drop in temperature near the glacier. It was really cold. It was stunningly beautiful.

On the way back to the harbor, we passed the site of the famous Exxon Valdez oil spill in 1989 when over 11 million gallons of crude oil were spilled into Prince William Sound. It was hard to believe that so much death and destruction took place here. But most of the oil remains (only 10% was cleaned up) lurking below the surface of the water. What a tragedy. The environment will probably never fully recover and the lawsuits continue to this day, some 19 years later. Precautionary measures, such as oil spill retrieval equipment, are now in place. Every oil tanker that enters and exits the massive loading dock at the end of the Trans Alaskan Pipeline now must be controlled by an experienced ship pilot stationed at Valdez. These measures are too late for the millions of sea creatures that painfully lost their lives in the black ooze and the countless fishermen who lost their livelihood from the sea.

At Seward, another port city, Sara and I had an opportunity to hike to a much smaller glacier, the Exit Glacier north east of the city. As we entered the park and began to walk up the still snow covered trail, we were greeted with a series of signs showing how much the glacier had retreated since the 1920’s. This glacier was over 10,000 years old and is one of the 35 glaciers that make up the massive 500 square mile Harding Icefield in the Kenai Fjords National Park. Exit Glacier has retreated over 5 miles in the past hundred years from its original 8 mile length to a mere 3 miles. We were there just in time.

As we started up the trail head toward the terminus, we saw the ever present moose droppings (they have a Moose Dropping Festival each year in Alaska) and pussy willows just start to bud out. After crossing a few glacial streams, we stood at the face of Exit. Water was rushing from below its wall, a pale bluish gray as most glacial steams are in Alaska, (the fine slit). The glacier almost seemed to be slowly, softly, silently sobbing at its own demise.

The last way to see a glacier is by the air and that is a very expensive proposition. With the ever increasing cost of fuel, an airplane charter anywhere in Alaska is out of sight. But Sara and I were very disappointed that we had not gotten a good look at Mt. McKinley, the highest point in North American and the highest point in the world if you count height from a point below the first foothills. We were given a tour book full of coupons from a couple who was leaving Alaska as we landed in Anchorage. In the coupon book was a half price trip, 80 minute flight to the summit of “The Big One”. Normally for $600 two people we could get this flight. We never do anything that lasts only 80 minutes for more that $600, short of open heart surgery, but we decided this would be our last chance. We aren’t getting any younger. And like someone once said, “It doesn’t make much sense to fly to Paris and not visit the Louvre because you don’t like the admission prices.”

Our pilot’s name was Andrei Tsyganengo, very young, very thin, and we think by his accent, very Russian. We started to get a bit more white knuckled when he explained the procedures to use the oxygen mask and why we would have to take the white garbage bag and all its contents with us after the flight in the event we got sick. Oh my God!!! We were sure he was way too young to remember the Cold War and doubted that he held any ill will toward us Americans. On a flight like this, you want your pilot to think well of you. There was a young newly married couple with us on their honeymoon, and we secretly were thankful for all the wonderful years we have had together. What a tragedy it would be for them if we never came back from this trip alive. Then at the sound of our little dog Charlie howling in the nearby RV, we were back to reality that we too didn’t want this to be our last flight. I gazed at the two fuel gages above Andrei’s head and wondered why they were a bit less than three quarters full. As we taxied and took off, I was relieved that Sara’s little white lie about her weight during the preflight check in had not hampered our upward progress.

Suddenly the vastness that is Alaska became apparent from the air. There are hundreds and hundreds of lakes in every direction and the Alaskan Range loomed before us. Mount McKinley is so tall at over 20,000 ft that it makes its own weather and usually it is not clear. Only one third of the millions of visitor to Alaska actually see the summit and we were flying right to it.

As we approached the summit, we had to put on our oxygen masks so that, according to Andrei, we would not fall asleep. He had to be kidding. The inside of the plane got colder and colder and we were told it was 25 degrees below zero at the summit. Andrei said we would be ok because we would not be up there that long, and we both wondered what the hell he meant by that. As we descended off the summit, flying between the peaks, Andrei would turn around and point something out as the front windshield of the plane was being filled with more and more snow covered granite. “Andrei, Dammit, would you watch where the hell you are driving, I mean flying!!!” Then at the last minute he would casually turn around to steer the plane off the rock face. Oh my God!!!

Before we left the mountain, we saw where two Japanese women died last year and their bodies were never found. Three men had died this past week. All the searchers found was their tent at the 17,000 ft level. As we pull away at the 14,000 foot level, we were able to see 5 climbers, appearing like ants against a giant snow cone, so small that the rope that connected them was not visible.

I have searched and searched for the right words to explain this experience and cannot find them. McKinley close up is like nothing either of us has ever seen. It is so huge that we felt like we had been reduced to the size of a grain of sand on a vast beach by comparison. We were nothing and the mountain was everything. We have never felt so small and humbled.

But then most of Alaska is like that, bigger than life.