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.
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.
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.
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
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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.
