1999 Iditarod Journal

by Judy Currier


Iditarod '99 proved to be a trying, but worthwhile journey through the most isolated and peaceful parts of Alaska. Since Alaska has so many beautiful and varied terrains it may be an overstatement to say we also traversed the most beautiful parts, but certainly each segment of trail offered its own unique twist of wilderness. My favorite part of every day was to stop and listen to the silence of Alaska - no airplanes, no snowmachines, no cars, no ATV's, no TV's or stereos, just quiet. This is an experience few people can capture in today's world.

The most physically challenging part of the trail was from Finger Lake to Rainy Pass (shown at right). The Iron Dog snowmachines had run through here just a few weeks prior and as a result the trail was a constant series of moguls, both downhill and uphill. Some, as Charlie Boulding expressed, were "bigger than refridgerators." When I first left Finger Lake, I assumed I would have some time to warm up and ready my self for the tough trail ahead. Instead I was immediately confronted by huge bumps, tight twisty trails, and sharp drop offs. As we went down into one deep mogul my left foot caught on the side, twisting the lower part of my leg and cruelly wrenching my knee. My immediate thought was "Scratch, I'm going to have to scratch if I can't stand on this leg." After a few more miles of ups and downs the knee grew numb and useful again. It seemed it would be OK.

We were then approaching the Happy River steps, reknowned for causing crashes. I was tense and constantly looking for the sign "Watch your Ass." I never did see that sign though there was a "Danger Ahead" sign which warned me to slow down. We were running this section at night - something Devan didn't want - so the dogs were moving pretty fast. Fortunately, the steps - a series of three sharp drops on a narrow trail - proved harmless. There was plenty of snow and deep grooves in the middle of the trail to keep your sled from sliding of the downhill side of the hill. But it wasn't the steps that would prove so difficult; grooves created by the snowmachines were worse. My sled would hit a groove on a bend in the trail and go right off the trail into deep snow. This happened several times requiring alot of muscle power to push the loaded sled back onto the trail. Suffice it to say, I was tired when I arrived four hours later in Rainy Pass, but very happy to still be standing on two legs.

Perhaps my most exciting night was traveling from Ophir to Iditarod. It was late, probably midnight, my eyes were bleary as we followed the reflector stakes through miles and miles of rolling tundra. Suddenly, the reflectors were moving toward me, four to be precise. I rubbed my eyes to be sure they were not deceiving me. As the reflectors came closer, I could see they were attached to two large grey wolves. They swerved off the trail when they came face to face with my team, but only a few yards. Clearly they were curious about this pack of organized animals and certainly they must have smelled the fragrence of three bitches in heat. My team bolted down the trail, somehow knowing that now was not the time to play with wolves. As we moved rapidly down the trail, I flashed my headlight behind me and saw the four eyes following behind. I decided I didn't need extra company that night so I pulled out my pistol that Devan had conveniently stored in the side of my sled bag, brushed off the frost and snow, pulled back the lever, and fired behind me in the air. I looked again with the headlamp and could no longer see the eyes following. In other circumstances I would have savored this encounter and tried to maximize my time close to them; afterall its not often one gets to run with wolves.

I had been told before the race, if you make it to Nicolai then you will finish. So I assumed the trail was easier after Nicolai. Instead, it seemed each segment of trail offered its own unique challenge. Iditarod to Shageluk had unending hills, the Yukon was so flat and unchanging boredom struck the team, Unalakleet to Koyuk battered us with strong, frost bite ladened wind; Elim to Golovin sent us over Little McKinley; White Mountain to Safety forced us up Topcock and into the wind again. Until we safely exited Shaktoolik and its windy fortress, I had questioned every day whether we would finish this race. I learned as the race progressed, though, to focus on the trail just ahead and manage the team for that day. I knew if I did a good job with each run, that ultimately we would succeed and achieve the bigger goal: Nome.

My goals for the race were modest: finish and finish with a happy and healthy team. As I approached Front Street in Nome with my beautiful Siberians alternating between trotting and loping, I knew I had succeeded. The ten finishers - Laika, Sontu, Sabacha, Anna, Nakky, McGrew, McGee, Dawson, Icey, and Delia - all were still working diligently and all looked like they could turn around and run home again. As anyone at the finish will tell you, I was so happy I could hardly breathe. My husband, Devan, handler Oezkan, friends Carol and John were all there to greet me and, I think, very relieved to see the race at an end. I spoke with my family in NH later that afternoon and to my surprise found them gathered at my parents home, popping champagne bottles as they too celebrated the end of an intense two week journey, one which we all shared for better and for worse.