Mike Dillingham - Alaska Dogs and Iditarod Mushers - The Adventures of Balto, Back of the Pack, Honor Bound, Rivers

The trail arrives on the Bering Sea coast at the ancient village of Unalakleet, perched on its treeless spit at the mouth of the Unalakleet River. The “place where the east wind blows” has been has continuously inhabited for at least two thousand years.

March 14–15— The Iditarod: Unalakleet to Shaktoolik (40 miles)

The first thing we hear on pulling into the checkpoint is the checker telling us we need to get moving up the trail as quickly as possible. Ostensibly there is more snow coming and we must take advantage of what appears to be a 24-to-36-hour weather window. It would be a good idea, he says, to be across Norton Sound to Koyuk by the time things deteriorate. Nobody debates the wisdom of his suggestion, but we are beat. We’re soaked to the bone and must get our gear dried out, and the dogs are plainly in need of a rest after their snowplowing marathon.

When we announce our collective decision to stay here for as long as it takes to put things in order, the checker responds by hinting he will send the trail sweeps on up to Shaktoolik in a few hours, and if we want to have a decent trail we’d better be moving by then. We don’t appreciate the roust and Lisa takes matters into her own hands with a phone call to race officials in Nome for clarification.

In the makeshift kitchen in the Unalakleet checkpoint during the 1994 race, mushers Bob Ernisse (at table, left) and Ron Aldrich (right) grab a bite to eat and discuss the race with checker Doug Katchatag (center).

The compromise result, agreeable to all concerned, is an eight-hour stay here in Unalakleet. We all concur a few extra hours won’t make much difference if the forecast holds; we’ll make Koyuk in plenty of time. Besides, I want the extra hours in the checkpoint to work on Buck, who’s starting to show shoulder and wrist problems. By careful massaging with liniment and applying leg sweats I’ve been able to keep a couple of dogs in the team the vets thought I should drop. However, in my opinion only three or four hours in a checkpoint doesn’t give enough time to bring a shoulder or wrist around. I want to keep Buck if I can because he’s my main reserve leader — and now we’re on the coast where you can never have enough leaders.

I notice Linda Joy’s team is still here, as is her handler. Linda, running in the group ahead of us, came in last night with extreme swelling in her legs. She’s been in the local clinic for observation, but there seems to be no change this morning and no one knows what’s causing the problem. Everyone thinks the best course is to fly her to the hospital in Nome.

Some mushers change to lighter sleds once they reach the coast at Unalakleet to let their smaller teams go faster on the last 275 miles to Nome.

Unfortunately, this means she has been withdrawn from the race, and her handler says she’s not in very good spirits right now. I feel badly for her; she’s worked as hard as anyone I know to make this dream come true and has already gone through an incredible journey of her own just to get this far.

After a couple of hours to work on the dogs Lisa and I head over to the restaurant for a real burger. We’re joined by Harry Johnson, the local airport manager whose beacon was our lodestone on the way in from Old Woman. His sister Harrilyn taught the fourth grade across the hall from mine while I was student teaching in Anchorage in the fall of 1994. Their brother Paul raced in 1986 and the family is well known in coastal mushing circles. As the saying goes, Alaska may be a big place, but it’s a small world.

I wish we had more time in Unalakleet; it’s the biggest town between Wasilla and Nome with 800 people, mostly Yup’ik Eskimos. (Fewer people are using the term “Eskimo” these days; it was once a derogatory term used by French-Canadian voyageurs and has been applied indiscriminately to half a dozen different Native peoples.) Nowadays the town is a major fishing center and the beaches which surround it on three sides are lined with all manner of boats hauled out for the winter.

We’re ready to go by late afternoon. Old Buck looks fit and I’m thankful for the extra rest he got. There’s been no word of any trail problems out to Shaktoolik. In any case, the trail sweeps are leaving ahead of us so we will again be the beneficiaries of their trail grooming.

Our only possible concern is for the polar bears reported by other mushers about 10 miles north of town near the fishing camp of Egavik. Jerry Austin, who lives in this area and ought to know a polar bear when he sees one, claimed he was charged by two of them a couple of days ago. There have been other reports as well, and it seems a sow and two big cubs have crossed 100 miles of ice from St. Lawrence Island to check out the hunting in this area.

Polar bears are definitely not common along this part of the coast and have never before been seen on the Iditarod. However, this has been a surpassingly strange winter and no one is discounting anything. Just in case, mushers have been urged to travel in groups if possible, especially during the evening. The potential danger lies in the fact that polar bears are the only bears which will intentionally stalk humans. What’s more, they’re huge—10 feet tall or better when standing, and weighing as much as 1,500 pounds, much bigger than the biggest blacks or grizzlies or even the monster Kodiak brownies.

Slim and the trail sweeps roar out ahead of us; they’ll be in Shaktoolik later this evening. Andy pulls out not long after they do, followed an hour later by Lisa and me. The weather is clearing rapidly and the wind is blowing 15 miles an hour from the north, which usually means the front has passed and the snow is over. If the wind doesn’t pick up too much, this will only be a six-hour run, followed by a short stop at Shaktoolik and a quick push on to Koyuk, 60 miles farther north across the ice of Norton Bay.

The trail basically follows the coast north from Unalakleet for 25 miles and then runs along a low-lying spit northwest for 12 miles to Shaktoolik. Enough of the coastline is rock-bound and cliff-lined to force the trail inland before it reaches the Shaktoolik spit. This necessitates about 10 miles of heavy climbing right up the spine of the Blueberry Hills in a series of several long grades.

The last climb is an endless pull up to the 1,000-foot crest of the hills, followed by a notorious three-mile downgrade to the beach. The screaming descent from the summit has devoured more than a few mushers over the years. In 1992 Lloyd Gilbertson broke a leg when he missed a twisting downhill turn. Last year Diana Moroney wrecked so badly she had to scratch at Shaktoolik, and the list goes on.

Musher Steve Adkins runs along the coast of Norton Sound during the 1994 race. Coastal trails are some of the toughest on the race because they are completely exposed to the wind, and because the emptiness can sometimes cause teams to hesitate.

Before we get too far out of town Lisa and I stop to lock and load for our safari. She’s carrying a.45 automatic and I’ve got my ancient single-action.44 magnum Virginian Dragoon, which is so big and heavy I’d probably get better results using it as a club.