“Hello Darlin”

“His boots like glass on a sawdust floor, had moves like nothin I’d seen before.”- Ella Hawkins

     “You look ridiculous”, she said.  My feelings weren’t hurt one bit and I knew she was right.  The cowboy hat I was pretending to rock in the store was pigeon-holing me as a bonafide tourist (aka idiot).   A year ago in Arizona seems like yesterday.

    “Hello darlin”, I told her as I tipped my hat proper.  She laughed out loud as the store clerk peered at us over his reading glasses from behind the counter.

     “This time would be different”, I told myself. It was a year later and although it took me twenty five minutes to find the left one,  my cowboy boots were found without too much trouble.  I put them on the counter for inspection.  They were still a little glorious although a bit tattered.  All conservative estimates in my head have last-use at somewhere around 35 years ago. 
  

     Public high school is a unique beast.  Take my word for it as a retired high school teacher with 26 years of service; sometimes kids do weird things.

     Back in my day, for some unknown reason it became popular to wear...cowboy boots.  Was Chugiak High School nestled in a hotbed of ranches, livestock, and rodeos; No. None.

     Regardless, it didn’t take too long for wildfire to spread to the underlings after several of the popular upperclassmen donned this new and strange footwear.   Before long all of my crew were all-in saving up for and eventually rocking the iconic footwear of old....the cowboy boot. 

     These boots, we all found soon enough, weren't particularly comfortable.  The heel rise creates a lot of pressure on the forefoot.  Luckily the unstoppable confidence of adolescence seemed to provide enough dopamine to counteract any manner of foot pain that may have occurred.  Besides, if there was at least a snowball’s chance that these things might turn the head of at least one cute chick, it was well worth it. (....putting out the vibes.) 

     But as they say, what comes around, goes around because now the little lady and myself are headed off to Nashville Tennessee.  There’s no way in tarnation that I'm showing up at Musicville U.S.A. in tennies or loafers; I’ll be Dang-Gone!  I figured that I should try them on first before I work myself up too much.  I tugged on the second one just as she walked through the door after a long day at work.

     “Hello Darlin”,  I announced.  I made sure to heel strike as I approached her.  I was standing at least an inch taller than normal.  I embraced her with a kiss that would have put Tom Cruise and Rebecca De Mornay to shame.

     After the laughter died down and she’d caught her breath she said something like “okay honey”. 

     Lookout Nashville. 

Headed to New Orleans, Memphis, then on the Nashville
with this hot chick.

Part 3: Iditarod Trailbreakers: Ruby to Nome

Part 3: Iditarod Trailbreakers: Ruby to Nome.

     "Life is a journey.  When we stop, things don't go right."-Pope Francis   

    

      It was the morning of the sixth day and the weather was clear and cold.  The leaders were coming and it was time to go.

     Much of the trail between Cripple and Ruby is on old mining roads.  After losing the trail briefly around the abandoned mining town of Poorman, we regained our route eventually passing an old steel bridge spanning the Sulatna River.     

      

Irondog cabin at the old Poorman townsite     

       From there we would wind our way down and out of the hills and onto the streets of Ruby. 

     "Make yourselves at home," she said.  Rachel and Ryan own and operate the Wild Iris bed and breakfast in Ruby.  She had prepared a delicious meal for us including chicken thighs, mashed potatoes, gravy and a garden salad. Four of us would stay in the bunkhouse;  It was a small heated cabin with four beds and was perfect.  The other two, (Spencer, and Kody) would spend the night down the hill at Rachel’s mom's house.   

     On the table in this cabin I found a fascinating book called “Iditarod The First Ten Years” an Anthology compiled by The Old Iditarod Gang.  It was a collection of early Iditarod stories written by a variety of authors.  I quickly thumbed through it and found two articles on the first Iditarod Trailbreakers.

      As aforementioned, I have had lingering questions about how things were done in the early years in regards to breaking trail for the Iditarod.

      What I learned

       One of the Old Iditarod Gang authors was Al Crane who contributed a chapter called "MILITARY TRAILBREAKERS LED THE WAY".  As the story goes, Joe Redington sr. was a super charismatic guy and whoever he talked to about the idea of this crazy Iditarod race was soon onboard.  The most notable of which might have been Major General Charles M. Gettys who gave considerable military support for the trailbreaking effort.  Gettys was the commander of Fort Richardson at the time and was all-in to help.  According to Crane he issued “an official order to send a team of Army snowmachiners on a winter survival skills exercise into the Alaskan Wilderness, where they would test their skill and equipment in-and-against the harsh Alaskan environment”.

     “Twenty two snow machines and that team of trailbreakers and communication specialists would be the first people over the Iditarod trail to Nome in decades.  The first since the gold-rush days early in the twentieth century;  The first to do it with a modern, motorized vehicle.”

Four members of the original military trailbreakers lined up in front
of the historic Nugget Inn on Front Street in Nome.  

       Another of the book's contributing authors was Don Rosevear who penned the what's next part of the trailbreakers story.  After the military team had finished and three weeks prior to the start of that first Iditarod, another group of five civilian volunteers set out ahead of the mushers to re-pack and mark the trail.  Rosevear was 17 at the time and was riding his Dad’s Alpine which had two tracks and one ski up front.  

Don Rosevear with his Dad's Alpine ready for action.  Photo by Don Rosevear.

      The misadventures on that first trip were many.  One of the trailbreakers named Bob Stone broke through ice on the Kuskokwim near Rohn.  After pulling Bob and the snowmachine out of the river, they were able to make it back to the safety of the Rohn cabin where they would have to cut off Bob’s frozen pants.  Ironically, Bob was the only one of the five to make it to Nome, crossing the burled arch just ahead of Iditarod’s first winner Dick Wilmarth.

     Snow machines of the early seventies were a far cry from what we were riding on our trip.  Mechanical breakdowns were a daily part of life on the trail back then.  Additionally travel through deep snow was a non-stop exercise in getting un-stuck. 

     I thought about what it must have been like riding an Alpine all the way to Nome as I packed up and stretched a bungee over the top of my gear bag.  By stark contrast, we were riding 20,000 dollar skidoos with four stroke engines and heated handgrips.  The sled I was riding was on its third trip to Nome and would be sold the next season. 

Civilian trailbreakers in 1973 in front of the Knik Bar before hitting the trail.  Photo by Don Rosevear.

         

      "Let's keep em tight," said Spencer as we dropped down onto the Yukon River.  Visibility can be a problem while running big rivers so closer spacing of the lath is necessary.  It would be a long flat ride today of 135 miles.  We would stop in Galena and Nulato to re-supply fuel and lath on our way to Kaltag where we would stay the night.  

The boys headed out of Ruby, down the hill to the Yukon.

         In Kaltag we would stay at the community hall called the Roundhouse.  It was an incredible eight sided log structure with a big wood stove and bench seating around the entire perimeter of the inside.  I'm sure the Roundhouse was the site of every wedding, funeral, and potlatch.  Before we arrived there was a big birthday party for the Chief of the village, who was turning 94 years old.  They were gracious enough to leave some of the leftover food for us.  

A minor hiccup outside of Kaltag negotiating Ten Mile Creek.

Cameron packing a soft ramp off of Ten Mile.

      

Another day in paradise between Kaltag and Unalakleet.

Taking a break at the Tripod Flats safety cabin.  Cameron, in the doorway finally finds what 
we have been looking for!

The geography in this part of the world is breathtaking.

The boys taking a break just outside of Unalakleet.

     

     The last ten miles into Unalakleet I felt like I was riding through a Fred Machetanz painting.  Low angled white mountains rolled on both sides of us as the Unalakleet River snaked along below us in concert with long bands of spruce trees.  One again, the urge to ride off and explore the landscape was undeniable. 

     In Unalakleet we stayed with Cameron's folks at their place in the middle of town.  Cameron's dad Chuck is a successful mechanical services contractor and has an impressive shop and house. Chuck himself was a trailbreaker for 14 years and was an amazing story teller with an incredible memory for detail.  I was mesmerized listening to all of his Iditarod adventures.

     Cameron's mom Marie was a sweetheart and had prepared NewYork steaks and baked potatoes for us when we got there.  It was agreed that the accomodations in Unalakleet with Cameron's folks were the best along the whole trail.   I ended up with my own room with a shower. 

Hanging out in Chuck's shop with the boys.  Race director Mark Nordman holding court.

Between Unalakleet and Shaktoolik.

Headed out of the hills to the barren coast leading to Shaktoolik.  Super windy here.

      Once we hit the coast the wind was considerable.  The ambient temperature was hovering around 20 degrees below Farenheit.  With 20 mile per hour winds, according to the wind-chill chart had us traveling along through 48 below temps.  I had busted out the expedition weight parka and down pants at our last break in the brush before dropping down onto the coast and was super comfortable.   The stark beauty of this flat barren country was breathtaking.  We warmed up at the Iditarod checkpoint in Shaktoolik and it took me a solid ten minutes to take all of my layers off once inside.  We were offered hot coffee and a grilled cheese sandwich.  "Yes please," I said. 

     It wasn't long before we hit the trail due North.  About nine miles up-trail we crossed a section of Norton sound to a crude safety cabin called Island point. From there it would be a straight, flat, ride North across Norton Sound to the village of Koyuk. 

Island Point cabin.

     Although this is a well traveled route across the Sound to Koyuk, the winds serve as a giant eraser on the daily and there was no trail to be found as we headed across.  Spencer followed a direct line on his GPS from Island Point to Koyuk and we fell-in-line stabbing tight lath along the way.  Little did we know that some of the locals in Koyuk, who were expecting us were tracking our progress with binocs and could see us coming (headlights) from miles away.  We too could see the lights of Koyuk from at least twenty miles away but it would take us a while as we methodically stuck lath into the stubborn snowpack on the sea-ice. 

Sunset while crossing Norton Sound.

      We were greeted by a local Koyuk man."You're staying over there," he said, "Five star".  The man pointed across the street.  The five star reference, in my opinion, was at least three stars off but nonetheless we wheeled around and started unpacking our sleds.  It was the mushers quarters which was the old library of Koyuk (I think). There were two toilets and two showers.  They brought us dinner cooked by one of the local teachers and we settled in with our sleeping bags and pads.

     The next morning I was up early and was recruited to help pack the mushers area nearby.  A lone red fox darted by as I was packing up my sled.  Soon we would head down the trail along the Bering Sea passing through the small villages of Elim and Golovin collecting lath on our way to our next night's stay in White Mountain.  Along this stretch was some of the coldest temperatures we would experience on the whole trip.  The prevailing wind whips from the North so the right side of our faces and bodies took the brunt of it.  I stuffed one of those cheap hand warmer packets under my facemask on my right cheek to mitigate the biting cold....it worked!

Another safety cabin break on the way to White Mountain.

           Just before Elim, I rode around the corner of the trail and could see that Jerney was visibly agitated in the middle of the trail.  "I'm done," he said "My suspension is busted".

      Upon closer inspection, one of the rear suspension bars broke and poked up into the track.  Jerney came to a screeching halt in the trail because that metal bar rubbed against the track as it spun until it had cut it in two pieces lengthwise.  Two tracks just like an old-school Alpine!

Modern day Alpine?

      Soon enough the rest of the crew came back to help and was able to replace a couple of bent suspension bars, tighten the track and off we went.  Jerney's snowmachine would roll all the way into Nome without a hitch!

     

On our way to White Mountain.

White Mountain.

         White Mountain would be our last overnight stay before Nome.  We stayed in a community center that also served as Iditarod headquarters.   We slept in the library portion of the building and I was stuffed between two tight rows of library books that didn't seem to be organized in any particular order.  I may or may-not have thumbed through a nearby book called "Kosher Sex".  Don't judge me.  

     The next day after fueling/ lathing up we headed down the Fish River and onto the trail for our final day of snowmachine travel. 

     Mid day we took a break on a large open expanse between rolling hills.  As per usual, the wind was a constant but we were trail-hardened by now.  In the near distance was a long band of willow bushes running along a small creek.  "Are those snowballs?" Spencer asked.  Upon further inspection the "snowballs" were beautiful willow ptarmigan.  Our trail would take us through these willows.  Flock after flock after flock of these plump white birds took flight as the winds pushed them all in the same direction.  I stopped briefly for the sole purpose of getting an estimate on their numbers.  Although it would be hard to claim any kind of accuracy with such a flurry my conservative estimate of 900 birds couldn't have been too far off.  

      Wonderful white rolling hills took us to the best safety cabin of all the Topkok hills safety cabin.  This cabin was built by the city of Nome and was dialed in!  There were solar panels charging batteries with an inverter providing lights and power.  A robust barrel stove with sturdy welded steel legs was set 2 feet off of the floor.  High on the wall near the door were three "golden hammer" plaque awards for excellence in construction.  I couldn't have agreed more.  We cut up some firewood, lit a fire and stayed there for about an hour and a half as the cold wind whizzed-by outside.  

     From here we would ride along the coast of the Bering Sea.  There were so many interesting gold mining cabins along this section. Before long we pulled into the last checkpoint of all:  Safety.

     Safety is a bar.  

Safety.

     Safety is 22 miles from the finish line in Nome and has a rich history dating back to the early 1900's.  Inside the walls are covered with memorabilia including hundreds of dollar bills stapled to the walls and ceiling.  Each dollar bill is written upon with markers.  We all signed a dollar bill and stapled it to the ceiling as well....when in Rome!

Check out this cool article in the Safety bar about the Trailbreakers by Jay Croft.

The excitement was real as we got closer.

The Bering Sea

Kody zooming by with a full box of lath.

     

Under the burled Arch on Front Street in Nome.

     That night we whooped-it-up in Nome.  Many people thanked us and bought us drinks at the bar.  Myself being the oldest member of the crew found myself ducking out a little earlier than the rest.  We would stay down the road about a mile at the old youth detention center.  It was a cold clear night and it felt good to stretch my legs. As I walked along the streets of Nome, I couldn't help but feeling a touch of melancholy in my heart   It had been a glorious wild ride but now it was over.  A certain song played over and over in my brain as I pulled up my hood up and slowly strolled back to my bunk. Song link

Part 2: Iditarod Trailbreak 2024: Biglake to Cripple

Part 2: Iditarod Trailbreak 2024: Biglake to Cripple

“I did, I did, I did the Iditarod trail...”- Hobo Jim

   

2024 Iditarod trail breakers:  From left Kody Dubie, Jerney Simkowski,
Steve Harrison, Cameron Grayson, Jalen Katchatag.

      “Say ahhh,” he said.   I opened up as instructed and tried not to watch as he lowered his dental extracting forceps into my face.   That’s right I was having a tooth removed; Fun.  What started as a minor toothache the week prior had jumped to the next level right before hitting the trail...shit!  I thought about toughing-it-out, but then imagined what might happen if it got worse.  I couldn’t get the Tom Hanks figure skate scene from Castaway out of my head (one, two...three!)

     So with a pocket full of pills in my coat I set out with the boys once again.  This time would be different.  This time we would ride all the way to Nome! We left from Allen’s place in Big Lake as usual and before too long we popped out onto the Susitna River.  “Alright, let's start stabbing lath,” said Spencer. 

     It’s all about the lath

     Lath by definition is a thin strip of wood.  The Iditarod has special trail marking lath produced for the specific purpose of marking the Iditarod trail.  The top six inches of each stick is dipped in bright orange fluorescent paint before being adorned with a reflector and a blue ribbon.  They are banded in bunks of 50 stacked and staged at all of the checkpoints.  All six of our machines are equipped with custom angled aluminum lath boxes that are filled and emptied each day with hundreds of lath. 

Jalen replace a blown belt.  A full box of lath is overseeing the job.

      It is one of our primary responsibilities as trailbreakers to place these important trail markers along the trail from the beginning of the race to the end in Nome.  The mushers rely on these markers to ensure they are on the right trail.  As it turns out, there are lots of different trails intersecting and veering off-of the 938 miles along the historic Iditarod route.  

Aside from what fits in our boxes we haul an additional lath
box on a sled.

      It has been estimated that we place 15,000 of these markers along the way.  One trailbreaker sticks lath at a time and the rest follow and  and “fix” leaners and shallow stabs.  Sometimes lath needs to be turned 180 degrees because the prevailing wind swings the blue ribbon around covering the reflector. 

      There are a variety of techniques to stabbing lath.  Generally a strong left handed down-stab will do the trick but not always.  In icy conditions a chainsaw plunge-cut creates a slot for the next-in-line to hammer one in with the side of an axe.  It is a game of chase as one guy cuts slots with the saw while the rest leapfrog and race to the front of the line.  In the heavily treed areas the spacing is very far apart because there really is no way to get off the trail but crossing large open areas such as swamps and sea-ice is a different story.  Here we stab lath every eight seconds traveling 20 miles per hour.  The possibility of getting lost in whiteout blizzard conditions is much higher in these open areas and it is important to adjust the spacing accordingly.  The last lath, I would find out is stabbed into the snow right next to the burled arch on Front Street in Nome.   

     When we left the Dalzell cabin this time I was excited, I knew that soon we would be at Rohn and from there we would be traveling through over 700 miles of Alaskan wilderness most of which I’d never seen.

     A notable section of trail through here was the Fairwell burn which cuts through the aftermath of Alaska's largest forest fire.  Very little snow accumulates here and much of the riding was on dirt and ice. 

Fairwell burn 

     

We ran into this delightful English chap on the trail.  We share the
trail with many folks including racers in the ITI (Iditarod Trail Invitational)
This is a human powered race finishing in McGrath or Nome depending 
on your tolerance level for suffering.

        This area is also home to one of only four herds of plains bison in all of Alaska.  It is a highly coveted hunting tag with a very low percentage chance of drawing.  Each year thousands of Alaskans (including myself) donate money in the form of a lottery with hopes of drawing what many consider to be the holy grail of Alaskan hunting tags.  Although we did not see any bison, we found a bunch of fresh bison poop that was still warm.  It was 20 below zero so they couldn't have been far away.

Cameron warming his hands with fresh bison poop.

       From this point in our Journey a variety of "Safety cabins" could be found along the way.  Typically they were located along long sections between communities.  Some of them were funded and built by BLM, others were built by some of the communities along the way.  Regardless of origin, these safety cabins are open for everyone to use and no one can be turned away.  This can sometimes lead to super crowded conditions.  There is no doubt that these cabins have been a life saver over the years for many adventurous souls.

Here we stayed at Carlson Crossing Safety cabin.  We shared this cabin with at least 10 others,
most of which were competing in the ITI.  It was like sardines in there except sardines smell better.

          One of the most interesting aspects of this entire trip for me was the opportunity to meet adventurous people along the trail.  During our stay at the Carlson crossing safety cabin, we met Alex Bellini who is a professional explorer from Italy.  He is sponsored by a project called "Eyes on Ice" who's mission statement is: A Journey to the epicenter of global climate change.  He was fascinating to talk to as we left I asked for a photo with his fat tire bike which was 3d printed with recycled plastic.

Explorer Alex Bellini with his cool bike.  Check out the message on the frame by the
back tire.  It reads "Avanti, bastaro!"...translation: Get going you bastard!  This was a message to himself whenever he gets tired.

     The next day we would drop down onto the Kuskokwim River and on to Nikolai where we would fuel up and continue on to McGrath.  As our journey progressed I couldn't believe the incredibly beautiful wilderness we were passing through.  I wanted to take more photos but realized that my quick snapshots along the way didn't do much justice to the reality of the spectacular vistas around every corner.  I have been lucky enough in my life to have been involved in a wide variety of Alaska wilderness adventures and I soon realized that the country we were passing through on the daily was among the most breaktaking of all.  

   Approaching Mcgrath had us passing through large stands of tall spruce trees.  Untouched by spruce beetles these perfect specimens  towered over a hundred feet high, were straight as arrows and perfectly tapered (lake a Christmas tree).  My thoughts turned to the late Arthur Mannix who was a good friend and passionate about the forest and wilderness.  The spruce beetle epidemic passed through our home town of Talkeetna and killed almost all of the large white spruce trees. Art found a lone giant "super tree" that had somehow resisted the invasion of the invasive beetles.  All the trees around it were dead. He took it upon himself to harvest the seeds and plant a bunch of super tree descendants in hopes of revitalizing the local forest.  I felt like I was riding through an entire forest of super trees as we pulled into McGrath.  

Iditarod headquarters in McGrath.  Great food for all volunteers.
We stayed at the Innoko Inn and had our first shower of the trip!

        The next morning, after a great breakfast in Mcgrath, we fueled up and hit the trail.  Soon we would drop down onto the Takotna River.  We passed several beautiful log homes as we left the river and pulled into Takotna itself.  After "lathing-up", we hit the trail which at this point was a road that took us up and over a mountain pass that was the divide between the Kuskokwim and Yukon River drainages.  Soon we passed through the abandoned mining town of Ophir on our way to the halfway point of Cripple.  

Cripple

     Cripple is a bit of an oddity along the trail as it is simply a collection of wall tents situated on the edge of a swamp.  Two older gentlemen named Chris and Bob are the go-to volunteers each year and were flown into Cripple two weeks prior to set up camp.  They had replaced metal roofing on several of the wall tents and had everything organized and tidy as we pulled-in  Along with organizing all the the mushers hay and food-drops, they are also responsible for cooking for everyone in a separate galley tent.  We stayed in the mushers cabin which was warm and cozy.        

     While we were there a plane landed to drop off more volunteers.  One of them may or may-not have witnessed one of us mooning the plane as it buzzed us earlier on the trail.  It amazed me that most of the volunteers at the checkpoints were from out of state.  I met people from Florida, Colorado, Montana, Arizona and California.   At dinner time there was a lot of buzz as the mushers were getting closer.  "Are you getting excited?", I asked Bob.

     "Well actually when the media circus gets here and all the hoopla around the front runners, I'd prefer to hide-out in the back cabin," he said.  This was not Bob's first rodeo.  The first musher into Cripple wins 3000 dollars in gold nuggets and it's a big deal.  Most of the mushers take their one mandatory 24 hour rest here.

     It was hard to believe that we were only halfway to Nome.  I had seen so much already and was trying to process it all.  Most of our daily rides were around 75 miles long and it was all new-country for me.  I was blown-away with the passing wilderness and wanted to spend more time exploring but would have to settle for passing through.   The fact that this expanse of wilderness has been protected and is celebrated through organizations like the Iditarod warmed my heart. 

    From here-on we would try to stay 24 hours ahead of the mushers so that our trail could set-up nicely for fast mushing conditions.  Our next stop would be the Yukon River village of Ruby.

Cameron chilling with our new friend Jan who was an ITI racer.
When we pulled up she came out of the cabin and hugged us.
"I'm so glad to see you!".She said.  She had been slogging through deep snow
the last few days.  She knew that our trail would dramatically improve
her progress.

Kody and myself taking a break near Cripple

Our fearless leader Spencer Pape doing his thing.
Be sure to check out the video below.

Part 1: Iditarod Trailbreak Pre-trip 2024

ITC (Iditarod Trail Committee)

MISSION STATEMENT

To promote, sponsor and sustain the world premier sled dog race along the Iditarod Trail, which incorporates traditional wilderness mushing skills, mandates the humane treatment of dogs, reflects the human wonder and challenge of Alaska’s wilderness, contributes to the historic, social, economic and cultural fabric of Alaska, and preserves the historic contribution and contemporary practice of dog mushing.

                                   My rig parked at the Dalzell cabin
     The shop door closed after the last of six snowmachines rolled out of Allen’s shop. We were on the Pre-trip with a specific mission. Allen’s shop is located on the shores of Big Lake and serves as home-base for snowmachine rigging and maintenance.
     I zipped my coat, slid my goggles down into position and headed onto the lake along with the others. Jerney and Cameron were dragging long siglin sleds with gear and fuel, Allan was pulling a giant groomer (...named Tyrone). Spencer, Kody, and I were bobtailers, a trucker’s term for driving a large rig with nothing in-tow behind. “Let’s Roll!”
     The Iditarod (ITC) owns and maintains 14 snowmachines. Six are for the trailbreakers (us), four are for the trail sweeps, and the other four are for the Iditarod Insiders (Media)
     Specifically they are Skidoo expedition LE 24 inch wide tracks with 900 ace four stroke motors. Each sled is outfitted with specific modifications for the mission at-hand. Aftermarket high output LED cube lights on the front, Electric hot-pot cookers under the cowling, aluminum racks with an angled box for trail stakes (lath), brackets and latches for shovels, axes, and long handled pruning shears.
     Each year four of them are sold and replaced with new ones. Each sled makes three trips to Nome before being sold. On a journey of over 1000 miles it’s prudent to have new sleds that won’t break down.
     As we zipped down the lake, I tried to take-in all of the sights and activity going on around me. Big lake in the winter is a web of ice roads and snowmachine trails. The shores of the lake and several islands are overcome with large homes, shops, and docks. We passed several groups ice fishing along the way. One guy was fishing off of the tailgate of his truck!
     Ten miles down the trail my sled started sputtering, surging, and backfiring. “Damn!” I thought.
     “It’s the sock filter” said Spencer. Apparently I was driving one of the sleds that missed the fuel-filter change party.

                                         Soiled filter (top) vs. new filter (bottom)

     Allen and I turned around, back to the shop to swap out the dirty filter. Allen competed in the Iron dog snowmachine race several years ago and is a whiz with a wrench. What would have taken me over an hour was done in half that time and before too long we were back on the trail, racing to catch up. I felt like I too was racing the Iron dog just trying to keep up with Allen.
     The rest of the crew had continued down the trail, crossing the Susitna River and then up the Yentna. Eventually we caught up to them (coincidentally) very near Indian Creek where our families cabins are located. It felt weird for me to pass the turn-off, having spent so much of my life in that area. 
     We stopped to fuel up and grab a beer at the Skwentna Roadhouse. Owner Cindi Herman is super friendly and has her finger on the pulse of what is going on up and down the trail at any given time. “Finger lake got two feet of snow yesterday”, she told us.
     Sure enough, further up the trail the snow started to get deep. It was 30 degrees and the new snow was the consistency of mashed potatoes. It was still snowing and the wind was howling at 20 miles per hour. The groomer Allen was dragging needed several snowmachines in front of him to continue forward progress. Visibility was low and whoever was in the front at the time had snow piling over the cowling as they plowed to the next marker. Several of us have GPS devices mounted to our dash which was essential for finding our way in the low visibility. Finally after a long day of bashing through the mashed potato snow (w/o gravy) through sideways wind, we pushed across Finger lake and then to Winterlake Lodge where we would stay the night.
     Spencer had flown a barrel stove up to the lodge a few days prior so we knew the old log cabin would be warm this year. Each year we stay in the original log cabin. It has plenty of beds but is super drafty, has no lights, and an under-powered wood stove.

                                   Original log cabin at Finger lake. Snow anyone?

     The barrel stove was an awesome upgrade and before too long we had our wet gear hung on nails and hooks. I knew the next day would be a long work day; Nobody wants to start out the day with wet gear.
     The next morning we started by packing a giant dog-lot on the lake in front of the lodge the size of a softball field. Finger Lake is an official checkpoint for the Iditarod and all the teams need a packed down area to park their teams as they check-in and care for their dogs.
     “Whoa, look at that”, Kody said. The lake next to our new dog lot was littered with hundreds of snowballs ranging in size from tennis ball to volleyball size. The wind had blown so hard last night, and the snow was so heavy and wet that it created the perfect storm for rolling natural-made snowballs from the chunks of snow blown off of the trees. “I’ve never seen that”, he said.

Natural snowballs. Photo by Kody Dubie

     As predicted the rest of the day was lots of work including deep snow trail breaking and cutting over 70 trees out of the trail.
     The spruce bark beetle epidemic has decimated the white spruce population on the South side of the Alaska Range; All but the youngest of spruce trees across a giant swath of Southcentral Alaska are now dead. Even a modest wind storm will knock a bunch across the trail.
     The wind was blowing again all day and at one point while cutting a tree out of the trail, the army of dead spruce towering over us started swaying and cracking. “Leave this one!” Spencer shouted over the wind. “Too dangerous.” I passed the message onto Kody behind me. Later Kody told us that right after we all moved-on they witnessed a big one crash down behind them.
     Additionally, I found out later that after we had passed through the area, another six trees had fallen over the trail behind us. By the time we would return this way several days later, that number would be closer to twelve.

Before shot of crew cutting a sidehill

down to the Happy River. Photo by

Spencer Pape

After shot of safe trail. Photo by Spencer Pape

Allen bucking up free firewood. Photo by Spencer Pape

Hey that's me! Photo by Spencer Pape

LED light cubes are nice at night. Photo by Spencer Pape

Photo by Spencer Pape

     We stayed the night in the graces of the Perrins’ family Rainy Pass Lodge located on the shores of Puntilla Lake. They had dinner and breakfast for us the next morning before we fueled up and left. Our plan was to push up and over Rainy Pass and start work on our biggest obstacle, the Dalzell Gorge.

Steve Perrins and his daughter swung by to chat
while I was fueling up.

Two red foxes bickering around camp at Rainy Pass Lodge.

Above treeline near Rainy Pass.

     A few miles out of Puntilla took us above treeline and we were rewarded with spectacular views in all directions. We found the trail easily and pushed up and over Rainy Pass itself. It was obvious that the area had seen lots of wind action too because most of the snow had blown off the mountains leaving some of them barren and brown. Luckily for us a lot of that snow had settled into the steep cut down Pass Creek. What took us several hours last year (Cutting brush, shoveling sidehills, building bridges ect.) took us through the area in less than 45 minutes. Several of us missed shots at ptarmigan while passing through this area. Soon we would arrive at the Dalzell cabin.

Dalzell cabin. photo by Kody Dubie

The Crew fully assembled at the Dalzell Cabin

     From here we would work up and down the valley putting in the trail and cutting brush. Dalzell Creek had frozen over nicely and was in stark contrast to last year.

Once again what took us almost a full day of work last year turned out to be closer to a half of a day. Before long we were all parked on the Tatina River near where Dalzell Creek washes in.

Natural ice bridge over Dalzell Creek.

     The four miles down river to Rohn was covered in glare ice from shore-to-shore.

Our sleds all have studded tracks that grip the ice nicely. Soon we arrived at the checkpoint that many consider to be the most beautiful of all; Rohn.

Jerney and Jalen having fun on the Tatina

     Rohn is on the National Historic Registry of Famous Places and is a lone log cabin and official checkpoint of the Iditarod; No one lives there. It is situated near the confluence of the South Fork of the Kuskokwim and Tatina Rivers and is surrounded by tall glorious mountains. Originally constructed in the 1930’s, it has been used by gold rushers, pilots, trappers, mail-carriers and mushers alike.
     After packing down the airstrip next to the cabin we took a long break enjoying the views overlooking the South Fork of the Kuskokwim River. “I’ve always wanted to pee in the Kuskokwim”, I announced mid-stream.

Me on the far left crushing the bucket list

     This would be the furthest we would go on this trip. In a few weeks we will be back repairing any trail damage that might have occurred and then we will push up the Iditarod trail for more of the same. At that point we will try to stay 24 hours ahead of the leaders on our way to Nome.
     There is no doubt that we have a lot of fun along the way but we all take our job as Iditarod trailbreakers seriously. Each of us has an intimate connection to the Iditarod and we all want to create trail conditions that are ideal for all of the teams. The Iditarod trail cuts through some wild country including lots of creek crossings, overflow, sidehills, and deadfalls; I believe that our work is essential to ensure the safety of all 40 mushers and over 600 sled dogs.
     Often we marvel and comment on what it must have been like in the infancy of the Iditarod but it often leaves me with more questions than answers: The first Iditarod was in 1973. The snowmachines back in the early 70’s are but a shadow of what we ride today and in my wildest imagination can’t image these vintage sleds making it out of a parking lot let-alone over the Alaska Range and beyond.

1973 SkiDoo Olympique...All the way to Nome!

     What manner of trailbreaking was done to help these early Iditarod mushers? Maybe they were mostly on their own? Did the mushers have to pack their own trails with snowshoes ahead of the team. As my journey unfolds, I hope to learn more about the history and communities along the way. I feel honored to be a part of something so rich in Alaskan culture as the Iditarod.
     The rest of the trip we would make our way back the way we had come, snipping brush a little, shoveling in some holes a bit, but mostly enjoying the camaraderie and breath-taking scenery of the Alaska Range. I can’t wait to go back.