Youngren Epics: 8+ days on the Iditarod Trail: Part Two

Lonely trek along the Yetna River between Yetna Station and "The McDougall". Courtesy of Amber Bethe.

Near the Susitna River to McDougals: ~70 miles and 1 day 15 hours elapsed time

It was around 5 a.m. completely dark and amid a flurry of falling snow I rushed to extricate myself from my bivy (still fully clothed included my boots), pack up and go. I was half awake, sore and clearly still feeling very fatigued after not even a day into the race! Ugh! I'd poorly prepared my bivy spot; all around me was deep snow and I'd failed to pack it down enough to provide a firm and stable platform. So now, as I raced to pack my bivy back up into the dry bag I continually post holed up to my waist in the snow and had to carefully pull my self back up out of the hole. The upside was all this activity warmed me up and I was soon back on my way. I think I did get at least a couple hours of reasonably solid sleep, although I do recall hearing at least a couple foot racers pass me by in the night. But as it'd been snowing fairly heavily, their tracks were gone; replaced by unbroken trail with least a few inches of new powder. So, right back into snow-shoes! My goal had been to bivy in the last bit of woods before committing to dropping onto the Susitna River. The reason was simple; wind protection. One of near constant companions on the trail is the wind; sometimes barely there, sometimes near gale force in your face; but always around. So in the woods provides one some degree of protection. Also, typically dropping onto the frozen rivers one also experiences a significant drop in temperature as well; it's generally a big "no no" to try and bivy on the river; cold, windy and so exposed; not to mention the real threat of getting run over by a passing snow mobile. So my bivy location ended up being pretty close to river; I only had to hike another mile or so before I emerged out of the woods and dropped down a steep section of trail to the river.

Almost immediately I saw a line of moving lights in the distance (on the other side of the frozen river), travelling from my left to my right. Bike lights. Wow! This was my first indication that this was going to be a tough and slow year. Usually the last time time foot racers see the bikers is there distant backs as they fade in the distance right after the race start. To still see bikers at this point meant they'd been pushing their heavy steeds more than riding them. A biker pushing their bike is, for the most part, slower than a foot racer dragging a sled; there are exceptions of course but that's a general rule. From the rate the lights were moving though, this group of five or six bikers were riding; they'd found some solid trail! That was good news for me as well as it looked like my route would converge with their route in short order. As happens sometimes at this race, there are often alternate routes the one can take that may be longer but could prove to be easier terrain, i.e. avoid some hills, soft snow, avalanche danger, etc... This was what I was seeing here. Looking back at the GPS tracks after the race one could clearly see most or all of the bikers ended up following the snow-mobile track advertised by the Good Samaritan I mentioned in Part One. Apparently it must not have been all rideable as the bikers would have been long gone; or perhaps they'd simply decided to bivy early like I had? Who can say. I'd guess that they all bivied for a few hours like I did as I'm sure they were already making pretty slow progress in the snow storm.

Quick aside. It's worth mentioning that at the ITI, all one's route choices are completely optional; the only requirement is that racers must pass through specific check points and sign in and out. How you chose to get there (under your own power of course) is completely up to you. This year, with the heavy amount of snow and the fact that the trail would mostly be a deep trench through it, route choices were few. However, in other years, particularly low snow years, the route options might vary. It's because of this high variability of route choices that the total race distance can vary from person to person year to year. Although advertised as 350 miles, most years it's no where near that number; much shorter. If I had to estimate I'd say it's definitely more than the 299.7 miles I got credit for on the Track Leaders website; probably close to 320-330 miles. The reason being, these Track Leaders distances come from the accumulation of GPS tracker measurements at 10 minute intervals from each racer. I know for a fact most of those straight line parts on the tracking map were far from straight and far from flat; lots of twists and turns within that 10 minute period that aren't indicated on the map. Also, just based on some short sessions when I'd turn on my personal GPS watch just to get a bead about my pace it was easy to estimate average pace and look at how much moving time I had for the particular day and estimate that way how far I'd traveled. Adding all that up gave me around 320 miles give or take a mile.

The bike lights slowly faded away to my right as I continued to slog through the soft snow towards the other side of the river. I was so hopeful that when I reached the other side that I'd find a well worn snow mobile path which is surely what the bikers were following. Sure enough my less trodden path soon merged onto a much more firm path. It was a thin white line to be sure but it was, for the moment, the best packed trail I'd seen since the first few hours of the race. Since I could no longer see the bikers I took that as a good sign that the firm line continued for some distance so I took the opportunity to remove my snow shoes and stow them, strapped to the top of my sled. It was still pre-twilight but past the witching hours for sure, even my rough sleep was enough to revitalize me. The best part was it had stopped snowing! So I hiked on for a while hoping the path stayed firm enough to stay out of snow shoes. In this time another biker caught up to me and passed me by. I tried to pay close attention to where he went because I found that there were indeed a few different lines to follow at this point. Frozen rivers during the winter in Alaska are prime time "highways" for snow mobiles that travel to and from everywhere to acquire goods and services, make treks to visit neighbors or just to head out for a long cruise. As such while there was typically a fairly dedicated line for snow mobiles there would often be other well worn tracks leading off in other directions. So it was important to pay a bit more attention to where I was going. My immediate goal was to head upriver on the Susitna and eventually slit off to the left to head up the Yetna river. Sounds easy enough but it was still dark and this was a really big river I was on and there were all sorts of little islands and sloughs that could easily be the way to go. But continual checks of my GPS showed I was going in the right direction.

After another hour or so of good hiking, the sun didn't so much rise as it just got light enough to not need my headlamp any more such was the cloud density. But now the light was so flat it was often difficult to pick out the firm line; I'd only realize I was off of it when my feet would post hole! This would be a common theme throughout the rest of the race during daylight travel on the various rivers we'd follow. I was now approaching the Yetna river according to my GPS although it all looked the same to me; difficult to discern a difference in the terrain. I'd also sort of caught up to that large group of bikers who had stopped to take a break, adjust tire pressure, etc... They were still a little bit ahead of me but I'd definitely made up some ground. This would also be a common theme over this day, I'd see this group or another group of bikers fade into the distance while I kept marching on but then I'd eventually catch up quite a bit; almost close enough to be in yelling distance but then they'd saddle up and disappear again. Sometimes they'd take longer breaks and I'd actually pass them by for a short while until they got going again and left me behind. Still, it was good to see other racers throughout the day as it was mentally challenging hiking along the river with huge site lines; felt like I wasn't getting anywhere; nothing seemed to get any closer! A couple hours after sunrise I caught up to the foot racer from Indonesia, Hendra. Hendra was stopped on the side of the trail melting snow with this stove. I kept going but just a couple hundred more meters when I thought I could use some coffee and some more significant calories. So I figured why not stop and go through the motions of getting the stove fired up and melt some snow while I was at it as while I wasn't low of water, my progress looked to be pretty slow enough that I would need some more before I reached the first check point still some 30 miles away. Long story short it was a good thing it wasn't too cold out at the time (probably mid 20s Fahrenheit) because I fumbled around for way too long trying to get the stove going, melting snow (damn it's a slow process melting snow and it takes A LOT of snow to properly fill up any container). But in the end I was successful if a bit chilled from stopping a bit too long. Yeah, sure enough just as I'm finishing up preparing my back packer meal it starts to snow again! Great! I hurry to cut off my stove and carefully pack it away and get going again. Boy that instant coffee was awesome by the way! Really highly recommend the Nescafe Hazelnut.

The snow continued to fall fairly steadily and soon enough I was starting to have trouble finding a firm enough trail so about the time I was solidly onto the Yetna I stopped to put my snow shoes on once again. This was one thing I'd struggle with throughout the days, when to put them on and when to take them off. I think I was most reluctant to stop and sometimes stubbornly kept going despite difficulty far longer than I should have. The snow shoes I honestly only brought with me "just in case", I never figured I'd be using them at all, let alone for most of the race! I'm not a snowshoer. I would be but we don't get many opportunities in Alabama... The pair of snow shoes I have were a pair of Red Feathers I bought many years ago just to play around over the winter holidays in the San Juans of Colorado. They are sturdy shoes but heavy and cumbersome to put on and take off. I began to have some serious snowshoe envy after a few days on the trail; watching how easily the other foot racers got into / out of their snow shoes and boy did their snowshoes look light! Oh well, use what you got right? Nothing to do but head on upstream. So that's how I spent most of that day, just hiking into a steady wind aiming for an outpost somewhere upriver. The snow finally stopped and the sun came out of hiding; the storm was finally past! It was a long day on the river. Around every bend I thought I'd be there. I know I had a long way to go and tried to avoid looking at my GPS overly much as I really didn't want to know how far I had to go to the checkpoint nor how slow I was going. With the sun out it made it even warmer out and the snow even softer making it more and more difficult to drag the sled behind me. The way other foot racers just blew by me, it started making me think that perhaps there was something wrong with the way I had my sled packed and balanced. Gave me a real complex and something I started to really think about. But in the middle of the river was no place to stop and repack. Time enough for that later.

After several boring hours hiking along sometimes good trail, sometimes soft snowmobile churned up trail I finally arrived at Yetna Station sometime around 4 p.m. or so I believe. Still daylight. I was so looking forward to getting inside, eating a big meal, setting my sleeping bag and wet layers out to dry and getting in a solid few hours of sleep. Unfortunately it seemed like a large portion of race field had the same idea. The place was packed full of gear hanging set to dry, racers taking up all available space to sit or sleep. Yetna Station is literally a family's home; very homely. You literally open the door and enter right into the living room. There was a baby crying in a rocker on the floor, a toddler and their mother donning snow boots to head outside, meal orders being shouted to the kitchen and zombie racers staggering around the too small place; a flurry of activity. I also learned all the available bunks were taken and I'd have to wait a while to get a place to sleep. Clearly this was no place to stop, especially with no promise of rest and there being several hours of daylight left; I needed to keep going; make hay while the sun is still up. But what could I do? Bivy somewhere upriver I suppose. Not a bad strategy. I doubt I could hike the rest of the way to the next check point at the Skwetna Roadhouse without sleeping some more, but that was another 30 miles away. As I sat the counter and ate my meal, fellow foot racer Daniel, from Australia, mentioned something about "McDougalls" being the new Trail Angel spot this year and it was only 12-15 miles up river. That peaked my interest, that was still in striking distance to get too before too late at night and sure beat trying to hang around this place. It seemed a sizable number of folks were actually scratching from the race and were awaiting a plane to come pick them up; bad vibes all around I had to get out of there! So I finished my meal quickly and joined Daniel outside as we both quickly re-packed our sleds (me with my still wet sleeping bag and clothes). Daniel figured we were only 4 hours or so away from McDougalls. He asked what kind of hiking pace I was doing, 3 mph? I laughed and said I wish! Well maybe 6 hours or so for you? It is what it is, I was still thinking that there must be something wrong with my sled if he's yet another foot racer who seemed to easily march along at 3 mph or faster! Anyhow, we donned our snowshoes and quickly put Yetna Station behind us.

Watching Daniel steadily move away from me despite my best effort made it clear that I was in pathetic shape (probably not far from the truth) or my sled was clearly not pulling as efficiently as other foot racers I'd seen. But what could I do? I had no idea what could be wrong but whenever I really tried to stride out to achieve 3-mph in snow shoes I'd feel like my heart was going to explode with the effort. Ugh! So I'd throttle back into my typical 2.3-2.5 mph that seemed to be my peak normal moving pace in snowshoes. Damn why was I so slow!

The shadows were really starting to get long now, only a couple hours left before sunset and about another hour of usable light after that. Still, it was a fine time to be hiking along the Yetna. Absolutely gorgeous. It was around a couple miles out from Yetna Station when I spotted my first moose. Thankfully it wasn't close at all, not even close enough to attempt a photo with my phone sadly. It was on the far side of the river and sitting in the snow! Now's a good time to mention that the biggest wildlife threat along the Iditarod are moose attacks. Moose are much more than very large cows as some racers described them. The are also extremely lazy and irritable; especially in heavy snow years. Why? Well, getting late into the winter they are becoming very hungry and they don't like tromping around in the deep snow any more than we do so they, like us, tend to travel along the easiest way possible. Yes, moose like to use the same trail we're following! And being irritable and hungry they don't take too kindly to others using the same trail. We were told in the pre-race briefing that we would definitely have a moose encounter out on the trail. There were just far too many reports coming in of heavy moose activity all along the Iditarod trail between Knik Lake and McGrath for somebody to not have a run in during the race. The RDs also said there is not much we can do other than to wait them out until they become disinterested and wander off the trail and back into the woods. They said to not try and scare them or sneak by; that they will charge you, rake you with their antlers and then stomp you until your soft insides are a mushy pulp! Yeah, seriously, this were not the friendly kind of moose I grew up with in cartoons; no Bullwinkle! Doh! I'd heard a rumor of one racer's anti-moose strategy being to cover themselves with a white sheet (snow camouflage) and shoot bottle rockets at them! I'm not sure about the bottle rocket thing, but moose don't have good eyesight so I can perhaps see covering your sled and self with white sheets and sort of slink by... Then again the trail is not wide at all typically so would be nearly impossible! In a normal year you might could get by wading off trail and give the moose a wide berth with which to pass them by, but when the snow pack is over your head? Not happening. Sure enough there was indeed an incredible moose attack story at this year's race but we'll have to wait on that for another day (cue: foreshadowing).

As the sun began to set the wind also really began to pick up in intensity. It also seemed as if the temperature began to plummet as well. I'd been dressed in fairly light layers as it'd been so warm. I had to quickly zip everything up and add a layer and grab my face mask and goggles. The wind sure had some bite to it! Now in the near darkness I began to regret pushing on from Yetna Station. I was getting very sleepy; it was getting difficult to keep my eyes open. It was a bit scary to be honest. I was feeling so exhausted and all I wanted to do was lie down for a few hours to sleep. But, yet again, I was in a bad spot to bivy. It's a huge risk to bivy on any river, especially the Yetna. Not only is it really cold and exposed to the winds but snowmobiles travel the river at all hours (often at high speeds) and they could easily be on (and over) you before they knew it. And trying to get off the river onto land was a huge no-go this year with there being so much snow! It'd take a Herculean effort to try and wade ashore, up at least a short and steep river bank and into the woods. No way. Luckily I've had similar experiences with the sleep monsters at more sane races and knew all I needed to do was really pack on the calories hard. So I forced down handful after handful of my own trail mix concoction (full of chocolate and peanut butter goodness among other salty and sweet things). That definitely perked me up but wow it was getting difficult to stay awake none the less and it wasn't even that late yet. Just a testament to how difficult it is to pull a heavy, possibly unbalanced sled in soft snow with snowshoes (at least for me) for mile after mile. At the time though, I was cursing my stupidity; that I'd ignored my race mantra of "make smart choices". The smart choice, to me at the time, would have to have stopped earlier to rest at Yetna Station. Now I had honestly no idea how far I had left to McDougalls and honesty if the place really even existed. Damn! It was honestly a bit scary, because I was still feeling a bit sleepy and didn't know how much longer I could go without having to stop but to stop now could be dangerous; that wind was really blowing now; enough to need wearing the face mask and goggles continuously. It was, ironically, one of those moments though when you feel powerfully in the present. Those moments when you know you are in danger. I was in no obvious danger, I had plenty of gear to keep me warm enough even through the night if I had to, but that's hindsight. I'd never been in a situation exactly like this and it, frankly, scared me. But all you can do is keep moving. That I know I could do if I had to.

After what seemed like an eternity, I began to see some flashing lights in the distance. And soon I was close enough to read a hand lettered sign next to the trail that said "Racers Welcome". It was around midnight and this must be the illusive McDougalls Fishing Lodge! Splitting off the main trail the trail angels and constructed a path lit up by torches that led to the side entrance to the blinking lodge. YES! I'd made it. It felt like I'd crossed an ocean, weathering so many mental and physical hurdles since the race had started. But now it seemed as if I'd finally have the opportunity to get some real rest and food for the first time in nearly 36 hours since the race started or nearly 44 hours since I'd had any true restful sleep. I dragged my sled to join several other sleds (and more than a few bikes) near the side entrance, quickly grabbed what I thought I'd need right away and head inside.

Wow. I walked in and was immediately met by two wonderful ladies who seemed to be expecting me. They said they'd been following my dot on TrackLeaders. This also seemed to be a common theme on arriving at the check points; race volunteers and trail angels always knew you were coming. They offered me a meal and I didn't hesitate. They also said there was a bed with my name on it in a small bunkhouse not a far walk away. Awesome! So I filled up on grub, A LOT of grub then made my way to the bunk house back outside and not far away; arms full of damp gear. I really didn't know what to expect. But arriving at this little warm oasis in the middle of nowhere was already miraculous; then getting fed like a king? What else? To my amazement the small bunk house was HEATED and pipping hot! Yes! The temperature had already dropped to well below zero so it was a nice treat. At the pre-race briefing we were cautioned to not expect much from the various checkpoints and trail angels; that most likely any space available to sleep would not be heated; that we should plan on using our sleeping bags even if sleeping indoors. Well that's why I was so shocked that this little cabin was heated quite well! While there was an available bunk on the lower level, I decided to climb up a spiral staircase to the upper level (pro-tip: always sleep up as high as you can; warm air rises!). There were four bunks here, the back two in a separate room were already occupied. So, as quietly as I could I hung my damp sleeping bag and other wet layers out to dry then crawled onto a bunk and was instantly asleep.

I set my watch for an appropriate wake time. There is a real danger in resting too long perhaps worse than not getting enough rest. With a prolonged rest, your body starts to shift gears into recovery mode; your muscles and joints get stiff and swell up; your entire body just begins to ache like crazy. So while I might want a full 8 hours of sleep, it would be foolish to do that as my body would definitely shifted into recovery mode and I wanted to start before first light.

Difficult to fathom that only an hour or so earlier I was in a state of real, adrenaline stoking fear of making a dumb mistake in the growing wind driven cold in my near sleep walking state. Instead I'd had the amazing luck of stumbling into the amazing "McDougall" as we called it later. Even to this day I'm not sure if that place was for real or just a waking dream. Unbelievable. I didn't realize it then, but I didn't know how lucky I was to have this opportunity for a restful several hours of deep sleep in a warm, cozy cabin.