8+ days on the Iditarod Trail: Part Six

Puntilla Lake to The Burn (near Charlie Lake): ~192 miles, ~5 days, 11 hours

Wow! I ended up having a totally awesome deep and relaxing sleep! First time in so many days! Definitely not since the race started have I woken up rested. While I could've easily slept until well after sunrise, I'd been at the checkpoint already FAR too long. It was time to get up and get going! Seemed like a lot of other racers had the same idea as there was a lot of rustling about and activity. I gathered up my hanging gear and collected my boots. To my horror I found that the laces were singed and brittle and the upper eyelets and heel collar looked a bit melted! When I'd placed my boots near the stove it was at a safe distance (I thought at the time) but I guess at some point somebody had stoked the stove pretty good (it was very warm in the bunk house) and the excess heat must have done some light damage to my shoes. Oh well, what could I do? One thing I didn't pack was spare shoe laces. No matter, I carefully tied my shoes; fairly loose and made a mental note to treat those laces with kid gloves from now on as they did hold but looked like they could part if I tugged at them too much.  I had some backup options with the parachute cord I had but that would be tricky to lace and would take time. Anyhow, I honestly didn't mind the looser feel of the boots as my feet were starting to swell up more day by day and I needed the extra room!

After bagging up my sleeping gear and dried out layers I quickly made some oatmeal for breakfast and helped myself to several cups of instant coffee and hot Tang. Trust me, Tang is great hot and I drank cups and cups of it when it was available. Then it was time to go. It looked like the Kiwi bikers (Graham and George) and Beth Shaner were about to head out. I heard that foot racer Amber Bethe had left not long ago. So I'd have company.  Looked like a whole host of other racers were getting ready as well when I finally stepped outside to go. 

It was still a couple of hours before dawn when I donned my back-pack sled harness and headed out towards Rainy Pass. It was clear and cold out but by now I'd pretty much gotten used to the cold. The ground seemed to be pretty firm so I gambled and didn't put on my snowshoes.  The trail crossed the end of Puntilla Lake and began to climb slowly up towards a hanging valley that would eventually lead us to Rainy Pass. Under the bright moon it was hardly necessary to use lights. I still used enough lighting to make sure I didn't step in a hole or veer too far from the thin white line. While ascending a lengthy, exposed grade, I could look around and imagine the amazing panoramic view there must be from this spot. I mean WIDE open all around. Unfortunately it was barely twilight but there was just enough ambient light that I swear I saw a dark shape not far ahead of me on the trail. Then that dark shape moved off the trail to my right and stopped as I stopped. I could see a pair of glowing eyes staring back at me. Then the eyes snapped shut and the dark shape was gone! Lone wolf? Coyote? I've not idea; I didn't get good enough of a look!

Not long later I can spy a light above and ahead of me. It's got to be Amber. Even on this seemingly open terrain snowy incline there are enough dips and folds in the terrain that her headlamp continually disappears and reappears.  Eventually I draw closer and pass by Amber as she pauses to take a break and gather something from her sled.  I continue to climb slowly. Elevation gain is coming very slowly but surely; the once unthinkably far away heart of the Alaska Range now nearly close enough to touch! Truly unbelievable to me that I was now approaching the section of trail I'd dreamed so many years about visiting; seen so many photos of! Unreal!  The view I beheld will burn in my memory for as long as I live. The sun began to rise behind me as a pink and red orb lighting up the range ahead of me in the most incredible Alpine Glow I've ever seen! I didn't even dare to try digging out my phone to snap a photo because I knew no cell phone picture could possibly do it justice but mostly I knew these moments were fleeting and I didn't want to miss a second of it! Even now, months later, I can still recall that glowing range as if it was on fire in the surrounding darkness. Wow!

The amazing Alpine Glow moment seemed to stretch out in time as I walked onward and upward. Soon the mountains all around me we lit up in the same pink hue. It was a truly magical moment in time that I will never forget!

As I look behind to catch more of a glimpse of the rising red sun (yeah, that's some foreshadowing too, "red sky morning, sailor take warning...") I spot a bike light approaching me. It's Beth.  The ground is pretty solid and she's finally making good time on the bike; I'm sure she was ecstatic to be riding and not pushing! I can't spot any other lights behind me; but I knew it'd only be a matter of time before the Kiwis and Matheau the French skier would catch me. If not by Rainy Pass then certainly on the long downhill after; a biker's and skier's dream descent!  Soon I reach a bit of a false summit, crown of the long hill I'd been climbing since Puntilla Lake.  Here I spot several old-school tripod Iditarod markers.  Basically wooden tripods made locally from whatever trees could be found on hand and fashioned into a three legged structure with one "arm" a bit longer than the rest on which was nailed several reflective Iditarod trail markers. To me in the twilight they looked like marching spiders with glowing eyes!  The tripods serve as a last ditch to indicate the trail route over open and exposed areas even in the worst of Alaskian weather. The hope is that you can spot a tripod much like a rock cairn on a mountain trail. The tripods marked the way to proceed on the Iditarod trail from the top of that hill. Really it looked like you could just about any direction you wanted to from this high plane.  I was happy to have the way marked, even though I double checked my GPS track!

The route descends a bit into the high valley I'd mentioned earlier. Here are the head waters for some of the rivers I'd been following the past several days and some I'd see in the coming days.  This was also where I had to not make a wrong turn as there are (theoretically) several ways over the Alaska Range from this point. The easiest and best option, this year, is to go up and over the classic Rainy Pass.  However, there is also a much longer route that crosses "Hell's Gate Pass".  Going that way adds about 30 miles to the overall route as it winds around the Alaska Range to follow the Kuskokwim River to Rohn.  From what I hear it's a long and potentially dangerous route because of the huge potential of overflow on the river and there is typically not a great, overland route possible. I only mention this route because even a day or two into the race there was still the potential that we'd be advised to take that route what with all the snow this area had received this winter and in the 48 hours around the race start. The narrow Rainy Pass gulch is notorious for bad weather and avalanches. However, we'd learned en route that Rainy Pass was clear and we were to follow the primary Iditarod route to there. I was a bit concerned at the outset of the race as I'd planned the calories I carried in my sled and in my packed drop bags as if we'd be following the traditional route. If we had to do an extra 30 miles before getting to Rohn I could very well run thin on food!  I think though I still had plenty but you never know and it was a genuine worry I had during the first days of the race!

Nearing the split in the trail. Hell's Gate or Rainy Pass? Hmmm?

It's fully dawn by the time I reach the crucial trail intersection where one has to choose between heading towards Hell's Gate or to the right towards Rainy Pass. There was no question, I made my way towards Rainy Pass!  I could still barely see Beth far ahead and still plugging away, although I could tell she was starting to walk a bit more than ride.  The route began to follow Rainy Creek Gulch upstream.  It was difficult for me to tell which drainage we were going to be following. It all looked to be impossibly steep! I just trusted in the tracks ahead of me as I drew closer and closer to the mouth of the gulch.  I suddenly caught of glimpse of something small and white flitting across the ground. What was that? A little white bird. A Ptarmigan! Now that my adjusted, I could see literally dozens of them all around. Some pecking away on the snow covered ground, but most perched up in the branches of small, bare trees. It was an amazing sight. The roosting birds looked exactly like left over wind blown chunks of snow in the trees.  Often there were both things to be found in any particular tree. Perfect camouflage!

I continue up into the gulch soon enough, leaving the Ptarmigan behind. The path wound its way back and forth between the ever narrowing canyon walls. One didn't have to look around very much to spot signs of avalanches. Fresh, non-snow-covered rocks and car sized boulders strewn here and there. Later on, as I neared the pass itself, I swear I heard multiple, echoing sonic booms. I still have no idea what I was hearing, but perhaps what I was hearing were avalanches some distance away. I could believe it. It was becoming a mostly sunny and warm day after so much snow had fallen several days ago.

In a particular narrow passage up the gorge I come across a discarded GoreTex mitten. It's got to be Beth's. Doh! I know she's going to be missing that! I pick it up and pack it into my sled to return to her when/if I see her again (who knows how long that could be!?).  I can still occasionally see this black dot way ahead and above me winding around the various slopes of the gently upward trending gulch. It's Beth but she's to far away to yell to. Also, part of me thinks yelling in an avalanche prone area might not be a good idea? Such is the fog of multi-day endurance racing! I doubt my yelling would've caused an avalanche but one gets on strange thought patterns during these things after a while! Strange stuff! Anyhow, a short time later I swear I'm hearing voices behind me. I look around but cannot see anybody behind me. I mean, I hear voices all the time; just part of my internal dialog, especially when I'm all alone for so long! But no, those are real voices that drift up with the wind and narrow confines of the gulch.  It's the Kiwis! Sure enough I spot one of them coming around a bend in the trail not far behind. I pause to let him catch up. I believe it was Graham Muir who caught up to me first although it could've been George. Sorry fellas! Bit foggy!  Anyhow they paused to chat, they were always in the mood to chat and frankly after so many days solo on the trail I didn't mind either.  I mentioned that I thought I had Beth's mitten and passed it on to them figuring that they'd see her long before I would! We kinda chuckled at that! Given the past trail conditions I might see all the bikers again really soon. However as it was shaping up to be pretty good riding conditions, I doubted I'd see most of the bikers again... He was on his way and his fellow riding partner soon caught and passed me as well.  At least now it looked like we were nearing the top of the pass as I could not see any higher point and it looked like the path was topping out on a small rise to my left; just a narrow gap between two towering mountains on either side. Like something out of a Lord of the Rings movie. I felt so small and vulnerable!  I kept passing by fresh avalanche damage including what looked to be a very recent slide full of huge boulders and actual bare ground to drag my sled across.

What I thought was going to be the actual pass was not; just a bit of a false summit leading to a downhill into a small valley before the actual pass rose in the near distance. I took the opportunity to ride my sled down the small hill before marching my way to final winding switchbacks to the pass.  As I neared the final switchback I could spot the French skier Matheau coming up behind me.  I could also just see Graham and George reaching the Rainy Pass sign and pausing for some photos. I also saw yet another small airplane slowly flying by overhead, probably heading for Rohn.  There was a big rush to deliver supplies and gear to that remote Iditarod checkpoint. I'd learned a bit later that there was another big snowstorm on the way (red sky warning?) and the Iditarod folks were scrambling to finish up supply drops before the storm hit!  I'll admit I was a little bit terrified at being out on the remotest part of the the 350 course when the storm hit! Great!

I pause to take a few selfies with the famed Rainy Pass sign when along comes a couple of guys on snowmobiles. Awesome timing! They take a few pictures for me and I'm on my way just as Matheau is about to arrive.  I head on down from the pass to give him his moment. I regret now not lingering a bit longer at one of my dream destinations! I've seen so many racer photos at this spot over the past 20 years! I was burning with envy for so long, but now that I got here all I could think about is getting to Rohn and preparing myself mentally for the huge gulf of solitude that awaited me to get to Nikolai! Seemed unfathomable at the time even though I was getting fairly "battle hardened" by this point. I thought I'd been through some shit, but I had no idea what was to come! I ain't seen nothing yet!  Anyhow, I moved on down the other side of the pass. Unfortunately the warming conditions made the snow a bit sticky so it was impossible to sit on my sled and slide downhill. Trust me, I tried many times!

Looking behind and back towards Rainy Pass.

The good thing though is that the trail had been firm enough that I'd been able to not even look at my snowshoes all day; they stayed safely strapped to my sled! So I was actually making pretty good time. In fact, I was actually able to RUN a bit down the slope leading into Dalzell Gorge. It was the first time I'd run in many, many days and it was glorious! Soon Matheau caught up on skis and we paused to chat and snap a few photos. 

Matheau then was soon gone, gliding effortlessly downhill. Awesome!  I was just pretty stoked to be able to run a bit.  I was doing the mental math and realized that I'd be able to reach Rohn well before dark.  My only goal had been to reach Rohn on this day so now I had to begin to plan what I wanted to do when I got there. Keeping to my plan of moving while daylight it seemed only logical to use Rohn as a pitstop before venturing on into the wild to get as far as I could before I needed to stop to sleep. So that was the revised plan. Stop only long enough to dry out gear, hammer some calories and sort through my dropbag and then be on my way.

On my way down into the upper beginnings of Dalzell Gorge the trail passed close by a derelict snowmachine. This fella probably had a tough day and wild experience! 

Now the route began to get narrow again. I was truly passing into Dalzell Gorge now I believe. It was amazingly beautiful!

At a particularly narrow point the trail pretty much was just off a large icy patch of icefalls and iced over streams.  There were some open holes where I could see flowing water, but the ice was thick and the ice bridges seemed pretty firm.  About the this time a couple of snowmobilers caught up, it was Kyle the RD and another volunteer shuffling gear from Rainy Pass Lodge to Rohn. I made room to let them pass as best I could with how narrow the area was.  The went around a bend and I heard the snowmobile engines cut off. I soon caught back up with them snapping photos of me! I tried to look candid as I marched by and out of sight.  I kept going and got around another bend in the gorge where the snow began to get a bit deeper but the trail still very narrow.  I could hear the snowmobiles coming up the trail behind me again so I attempted to get off the main trail but it must not have been enough.  Kyle came up the hill behind me at a bit of an angle; I think to make sure he swerved around me. Well, all I can say is this happened...

Sorry Kyle, I swore I wouldn't share this photo I snapped online... Whoops! I continued on after laughing a bit and apologizing profusely! I began to descend into more woods that looked kinda spooky.

I was also nearing the infamous Tatina River which is notorious for overflow conditions. Kyle and the other race volunteer soon passed me by having recovered from the little incident! According to Kyle this wasn't his first rodeo! ha ha! I arrive at the shoreline of the river. It's a very lonely spot. I can see the fresh snowmobile tracks heading downriver though.  So I turn to follow the snowmobile tracks and am soon traveling on the river itself. 

There was a lot of glare ice; basically no snow covering at all and super slippery! This is one spot where having some ice spikes in or on my shoes would've been good but I just adjusted by not picking up my feet and just sort of took sliding steps like a cross-country skier.  I'd experienced a lot of miles of this kind of ice during the back half of the Tuscobia 160 when early rain puddles transformed into huge patches of ice on our return.  Slick footing but it made traveling pretty easy with the sled as it'd glide along so easy that I'd have to look behind to see if it was still there! I was having the same experience gliding along down the Tatina River, but now; all exposed the winds wanted to push my sled all over the place!  I was started to pass through some slushy sections but still no overflow, although it looked like I was already in an area that had seen some.  

All of a sudden SPLASH!!! I'd been marching along with my head down to avoid the wind in my face (dumb) and ended up stepping right into some knee deep overflow!!! Holy SHIT! I was instantly wet up to my knees! STUPID STUPID STUPID! Why hadn't I been paying better attention!!! Now what! I tried to not panic as I stood stupidly in the knee deep water. I first back tracked and stepped back onto the relative safety of the "firm" ice.  First, I knew I only had, at most, a few miles left to Rohn. Second, it was perhaps the warmest part of the day and hours before it'd get possibly real cold again with nightfall. Third, I was already wet so it seemed fairly unnecessary at this point to to pull out my Wiggy Waders.  

The real mistake I was about to make was to just blindly cross through the overflow along the "trail" to the other side. Stepping into overflow happens; sometimes even when being cautious; that wasn't my biggest mistake.  I could see that the overflow stretch lasted for perhaps fifty feet. BUT, and this was crucial, I could not see the bottom. For all I knew, in retrospect, there could be a bigger hole in the ice under the overflow that I could plunge through and disappear! But, at the time, all I could think about was that I had to get across quickly and move smartly to Rohn to dry out my feet! So, I gathered up my sled in my arms and stepped back into the overflow. My weight held and so I was thinking I was good to go. So I slowly slid my feet along the underwater ice surface trying to "feel" my way across. I was trying to probe with my feet for any holes along the way, but the smart thing would've been to use a trekking pole. As the rule goes you shouldn't step where you can't see the bottom! But, somehow, I survived. I reached the other side and thankfully the ice cold water didn't get any deeper. Whoa! I climbed out the other side and continued on; at a bit of a brisker pace than before to get some warmth back into my chilled feet!

My heart was racing in overdrive. What a shock! It was truly a flight-or-flight moment for me. I really didn't think about what to do. I just reacted and got myself out of there and on towards Rohn as quickly as I could. Had I been trekking along looking where I was going, I'd have noticed the HUGE hole in the ice just off the trail where one of the RDs snowmobiles and gone through the ice in a major way! It was a huge mess of water, chunks of ice and snow. Hard to miss and an obvious clue that the path ahead was very soft or, in this case, liquid! Duh!

Anyhow I practically flew the remaining miles along the river and thankfully left the river back onto solid ground about a mile out from Rohn.  It was getting really cloudy now and airplane after airplane continued to drop into Rohn or leave. It was a very busy place for such a remote location!

I emerge out of the woods and next to the Rohn airstrip.  And a quarter mile or so later I arrive at the small Rohn checkpoint. There is a cabin and a ton of gear around but that's all for the dog race that is about to get underway. The ITI checkpoint is a lone canvas wall tent on the periphery of the encampment. 

ITI Rohn Checkpoint

Rohn safety cabin and official Iditarod dog race checkpoint

Brief break inside the ITI Rohn Checkpoint.  Gunny sacks on top of straw and alder branches = old school bed! 

This checkpoint is so small that it can only fit six racers inside and on the straw and alder branch "bed" at a time. So the rule is first in, first out.  So if there are six racers there when a seventh arrives, whoever has been there the longest must exit the tent. They don't have to leave the checkpoint but they must give up there spot in the tent to the new racer.  When I arrived there were a couple other racers there including the Australian foot racer, Daniel. So I made number three so I had some time before I had to worry about getting kicked out. Still, there was no way I'd be able to stay the night in the tent even had I wanted to as surely there would be a large group of racers arriving within the next few hours. 

So I checked in and told my overflow story as I stripped off my wet clothes and boots and hung them up to dry by the small stove.  I then ate all I could of what was offered and drank more hot Tang. Yes I did! It's awesome, trust me!  Once I'd warmed up enough, I ventured back outside the tent to gather my drop bag (yes, barefoot!). I sorted through my bag and collected some other nice discarded items; mostly backpacking meals to add to my pile. I stowed the stuff back into my sled bag then ducked back inside the tent before my feet froze! It was relatively warm out, but even I have my limits! ha! I just ate and drank more while I waited for my gear to dry out enough. Mostly was concerned about getting my boots dry.  I changed out socks at least so I didn't have to worry about putting on wet socks.  While I waited, the Italian trio of cyclists arrived and just like that the tent was at capacity! That was my queue to get moving! I was jonesing to get going anyhow as I was burning daylight but, damn overflow messed me up!

To my credit, my Rohn stop was less than 2 hours so that was pretty good for me!  I was all dried out, including my boots and back down the trail with still a solid couple of hours before sunset. I was pretty stoked! This was all bonus mileage as far as I was concerned. I'd been content to just camp at Rohn for the night and probably would have, had I arrived after dark. But I also knew that quite often racers will continue past Rohn a few miles and bivy where it's a bit more quiet. So that was my initial plan. To just go a couple more hours or so walking very easy and then stop and cook a meal and take some downtime before an early morning re-start. So I just continued to walk along very slowly, mostly to kill time and let my stomach process the large amount of food I'd just eaten.  I had to cross another river, the Kuskokwim, right where the Tatina joins it. Another famously overflowy area. Luckily it was all solid but there was a lot of slick and soft spots and some huge ice domes that looked pretty cool. Unfortunately it was getting too dark for my crummy phone camera to grab a decent picture. I could just imagine these domes breaking open and freezing water gushing out at any minute!

Thankfully it wasn't a long crossing and I was then back on land; most likely for a very long time! It was then getting dark enough to need lights so I cut mine on in the woods. In retrospect, I screwed up again. I was hiking right by many awesome potential bivy sites! Dark and quiet woods, low snow pack. It was ideal! But I'd become a bivy snob all of a sudden. I felt it was too soon to stop, I felt good and besides surely there be good bivy spots ahead when I really needed them right?

Eventually a see a light coming up rapidly from behind. It's Daniel. He tells me that he wants to push until 2 a.m. or so before bivying. At the time I recall thinking that was a solid plan and telling him that was my thought as well. I say we're not far out from the Post River crossing where I mistakenly think there might be some good spots to camp.  He nods and continues on, but, it's clear he's moving much faster than me and soon he drifts away but not completely out of sight. I can see his headlamp occasionally. 

The trail starts to turn really nasty. Very short and steep climbs and descents. Over and over again! Now I am getting pretty tired and start looking around for possible bivy spots except there aren't any. I've passed into The Burn area. A huge swath of burned down forest; nothing left but charred skeletons of trees totally exposed to the growing winds falling down the mountains all around me. 

It's also been a really long day at this point. It's closing on midnight and my eyes are getting heavy and my mind clouded!  Not a good state to be in on an exposed, cold and wind stretch of wasteland in the middle of the night!  In one particular ravine (between two steep hills) I search around frantically for a spot to bivy. There was some potential there but the snow pack off the trail is extremely deep and then I literally stumble over something on the side of the trail while looking for a spot to bivy. I crash down to the ground. WTF? I shine my light on the shape and it's the remains of a bison! Literally just the guts and innards. Gross!

Can't stay here! Too spooked out by that! So I continue on even though this was probably a pretty good spot.  Dumb! Now I find myself completely in The Burn now. No more Alders to hide in nor small pockets of terrain to hide from the wind. Nope.  So, there I am, fully exposed in the cold wind without any prospects for shelter. Now I'm desperate. I walk along slowly trying to shine my light on either side of the trail for something, anything at this point. Any place to get out of the howling katabatic winds.

Just then I spy a small cluster of alders poking out of the deep snow.  I looks like there is a bit of a depression in the middle of the cluster. Fuck it, worth a shot! I try and step off the trail towards the cluster and instantly I'm hip deep in powder! Fuck!  I manage to crawl back to the trail and take a different approach.  There is a thin crust on top of the powder that I find I can low crawl on and not punch through. So, slowly, very slowly, I crawl to the cluster of low hanging trees and muscle my way past a ton of face scratching low branches and into the small depression beyond. A tiny refuge from the wind; hardly larger than the length of my body and zero overhead space.  It's crazy!  I turn and carefully pull my sled in after me. There is no room for me and the sled. It's a very tight spot. Carefully I try and pack down the space around me. I manage to break off a few face scratchers then layout my ground pad (contractor trash bags) and bivy system.  I crawl inside and move my sled to act as an additional wind block. I'm paranoid that it's going to get frightfully cold this night so I jam into my sleeping bag everything I don't want to freeze up. Water bottles, wet clothes and even some food. I finally get everything in there alongside my body and it's very tight! The bivy hood keeps collapsing over my face; suffocating! So I rig up a way to keep it propped up using my sled harness and carabiner.  Then I struggle to zip the sleeping bag up all the way. The zipper is firmly jammed with sleeping bag material! Fuck! I can feel the cold working its way into the bag; I've got to get it closed! It took a lot of contorting and cursing but I finally get the zipper free and zip it all the way up to my head. Now I'm good...

The wind is still screaming all around me but thankfully I've created a little island of calm amid the storm. The real storm was coming, that was clear, the clouds were racing across the sky so fast; the moonlight gone!  But all I cared about at the moment was sleep. Even with all the racket of the wind, I'm completely exhausted and spent and it doesn't take long to fall fast asleep... What would tomorrow bring?

8+ days on the Iditarod Trail: Part Five

Another full day on the trail after a crazy night!

Finger Lake to Puntilla Lake: ~148 miles, ~4 days 1 hour

Even before my watch alarm had time to sound off I was wide awake. I could have easily hit snooze and fallen deeply asleep but for the parade of athletes pouring into, at this point, the all too cozy tent. While I'd slept, just about all the floor space had been taken up and occupied; clothing hung from every available inch of clothes line and more than a few improvised hangup points. It was crowded already and even more dead tired racers were stumbling in out of the cold night. That was definitely my cue to leave. Luckily that was already my plan and I was pretty much ready to go within 10 minutes of waking up.  I quickly packed away my sleeping bag and inflatable ground pad, donned my dried out clothing and was out of the bustling tent. I'd forgotten to mention it, but somebody had placed an old sofa just outside the tent on the "patio" portion of the wood tent platform. I kinda thought it was a bit of a joke, but there was a racer curled up in a thick sleeping bag snoring happily away on it! Ha!

I buckled my sled bag onto my sled along with my snowshoes (yeah, I was still optimistic) and hiked up to the checkpoint for some breakfast. I didn't linger long as I was actually pretty excited to get going. I wanted to see some Northern Lights and this was to be a pretty clear night so anything was possible. There had been some discussion at the ITI pre-race meeting about seeing the Aurora. There was a guy there who whipped out his phone to show us an app that was forecasting high probability of seeing the Aurora around this very night I was headed out.  The only downside I could foresee was that the moon was majorly waxing it was so bright! I didn't know if that effected Aurora visibility but I can't imagine it wouldn't; it was difficult enough to see the stars in the general direction of the moon.  Anyhow, I ate some oatmeal, drank a few cups of coffee and was back out into the cold and surprisingly still night. No wind. Odd.

Anticipating the inevitable I go ahead and put on my snowshoes and then head on out the well packed trail knowing trail conditions will probably change shortly once I get away from the high use area. I knew from studying Lars's GPX track that this next section to Puntilla Lake would be mostly an uphill slog. Today's journey would take me most of the way uphill, out of the river valleys and on up into the Alaska Range. By comparison the final hike to the highest point of the course, Rainy Pass, which would come on the following section to Rohn, would be a mere foothill compared to today's elevation gain. Still, I was excited by the changing terrain and the overnight hike to knock most of it out.

Very soon after hiking out of camp I encountered already very different terrain from what I'd been accustomed too. Steep downhills followed by even steeper uphills! Until now the terrain had mostly been flat with the exception of the bobsled climb before Shell Lake. I was initially worried that my rope pulling sled harness system would prove to be a real headache with the steep hills. This proved to not be the case. For the most part when the sled would start to take up slack and catch up to me the caribiner that connected the sled tether to the backpack harness would get run over by the sled and act as a "brake" slowing or stopping the sled. So the sled would almost never nip my heels. Over the days to come and more hills encountered I began to be able to judge which steep down hills would potentially cause me problems and which I could safely hike or run down.  The really steep ones were the most fun because I'd just sit on my sled and slide down! Whooooo!  I'm pretty sure I must've hit 15-20 mph on a few short and steep bobsled runs. There was no danger of flying off the trail as the side walls of the trail were always at least a few feet tall.

Anyhow, on this night I was still figuring out the steep hills and so I carefully followed my sled down the hills careful to keep the beast under control.  It was amazingly bright out. For the most part I wasn't even using my lights as the moon was so bright! After a few steep hills I found myself out on the banks of a river; wide open all around me under the moonlight. It was an epic sight! And oh so still and quiet. Unbelievable. But also the trail began to disappear. I'd been following fairly reliable tracks and finding reflective lathing but even the lathing was getting harder to spot as the trail had undoubtedly begun to get blown in from the winds earlier that day. While hiking along the "bank" of the river I lost the track completely. The moon was bright that attempting to use my small LED lights proved fruitless to try and pick up any reflective markers in the area. Instead I sort of "felt" around in my snowshoes to where the trail became soft and I'd be almost post-holing. Then I'd know I was off trail; that the firm portion had to be the trail. This seemed to work and after a short bit of wandering around I believed I'd found the trail again and set off marching across the frozen river. Not long later I began to discover reflective lathing that confirmed I was on trail. Ironically, it wasn't until I was nearly on the other side of the river did I think to look at my GPS track. It too confirmed I was a least following the correct electronic bread crumbs.

Once on the other side of the river I encountered what I called the first of the Happy Steps. Not sure if they technically start this soon, but they were definitely STEEP.  I'm not kidding, I was having to crawl at times on hands and knees just to have enough friction traction to end up sliding right back downhill! And the trail was also virtually non-existent. It didn't matter though as about all one could do was climb as the route was taking me through some steep-walled gullies where there weren't many navigational options. Still, it was hard work and I was soon having to remove layers in order to avoid sweating out. I was postholing so often it was unbelievable; can't even imagine trying to tackle this kind of terrain without them!  This was definitely going to be a climbing day as I encountered steep uphill after steep uphill without hardly any downhill in between; just a bit of a break out of the dark woods while I crossed a moon soaked meadow.  I kept staring at the skies during these rest intervals hoping to spot any sign of an aurora but never ended up seeing any this night! Drat!

It was during one of these meadow crossings, as I continued to steadily climb the foothills of the Alaska Range, that the winds returned with a vengeance! I thought I'd experienced some pretty fierce winds earlier but those were nothing compared to what I was instantly getting slammed with! At first I'd simply duck my head and adjust my fleece buff over my mouth and nose and be fine. But as the temperature also steadily dropped as I climbed I could feel my face getting cold and the Buff icing up. So I stopped and dug out my thicker fleece balaclava, neoprene face mask and ski-goggles. With my back to the wind I swapped out head gear and put on the balaclava.  That allowed me to endure the wind blasts for a while longer.  I began to look forward the next climbing section as those were typically in the thicker woods where the trees acted as a pretty effective windblock. But soon it was even windy in the woods! I've no idea what the windchill was but even with the thick face mask and layering up with full Goretex ski jacket I could feel the penetrating cold. Didn't feel dangerously cold but it was enough to convince me I needed to keep moving! My nose and mouth felt cold again so I put on the neoprene mask directly on my face with the balaclava over everything and that finally did the trick. Toasty!

With the bright moon I'd mostly been limiting the usage of my lights as the trail was mostly easy to follow now that I'd gotten the hang at "reading" various tells. It was a thin white line but it was there. I also began to get concerned that perhaps my choice of regular alkaline batteries was a mistake. My lights, even in power saving mode were dimming. Fast! So now I was using the bright mode only when I was attempting to spot a reflective trail marker and otherwise just keeping them off.  This made the going mostly 2D; no depth perception at all; the level and smooth seeming trail definitely wasn't and I'd stumble periodically in a hole or soft section. Still, I persisted like this for a while until, to my amazement the trenched out, single track trail emptied out onto a road? WTF??!! I thought for sure I was lost now. There shouldn't be a ROAD out here should there be? I checked my GPS and, sure enough I was still on track. So, for whatever reason, there was a nice, wide and well plowed out road right here in the middle of the wilderness. So I turned to the right and continued to follow the GPS track of Lars.  He'd come this way in the past so it must be the right way to go.  Even with the surface now being somewhat firm I kept the snowshoes on fearing it wouldn't last. I also largely kept my lights off as the moonlight was definitely ample to continue following something as wide as this road! That was my first mistake.

So I continue on down the road for the better part of a mile and I'm moving faster than I have in a while as the road is trending flat to downhill now. I'm still checking the GPS track but probably not as closely as I should or certainly not with the map zoomed in near enough. Most of the time I kept the map zoomed out so I could see major weigh points ahead; the big picture. Well I should've had that map zoomed in much more and been more concerned about navigation.  For I soon found myself heading fairly steeply downhill and all of a sudden the road is nearly completely blown in with snow. In front of me is a berm nearly 4 feet high!  I can tell the road continues on the other side so I make my way to the edge of the berm where it's a bit lower and clamber up the soft wall along the edge of the road and post hole my way across the soft snow to the other side.  Back on the road it makes a steep bend downhill to the right and it's wide open for the better part of a 1/4 mile or so as best I can tell; to the left the view is overlooking the Skwetna River lit up by the blazing moon. Another Christmas card moment, no photograph could do justice to that view! It was simply amazing! It was bobsled time, I believe I removed my snowshoes as it was clear I *thought* I was going to be on this road for awhile more.  I then sat on my sled and zoomed down the straight road all the way down to river level. Back on my feet I started to get the impression that perhaps I'd messed up. The road was starting to deteriorate as I approached the shoreline. There was a collection of conex boxes here too; probably storing equipment of some sort. That's when I paused and really looked at my GPS map closely; finally zooming in. That's when I audibly exclaimed, Ah *uck! My current position was well off of Lars's track. Not only off, but well below in elevation.  I realized then that I must've missed a trail intersection that left the road some miles back. Damn! Right about this time I get a text message on the Inreach. It's Kathy and she says I'm off course! No *hit! I zoom in on my location and I see on the topo map that there is *supposed* to be a winter trail or old road near my position that looks like it re-connects to Lars's track.  Well, I wandered back and forth several times right in the exact area of the ghost road and never found/saw anything. There was simply way TOO MUCH SNOW to truly tell if there was anything there or not. Didn't matter, even if there was it was buried so deep to be impassable.

The "Youngren Bypass" a.k.a. just a wee bit off course!

I then considered my options. The obvious thing to do in any other race would be to simply backtrack to the missed intersection and hopefully find where I was supposed to go. Remember, that since I was travelling overnight, the night after heavy wind (that had by now thankfully abated) I literally had nobody else's tracks to follow on the ground.  So it's no wonder I had no other cues to find the the obscure intersection I'd missed. Then I remembered, this was the ITI and there was no requirement to follow a set course; the only rule was we had to check-in and out of all required checkpoints; route choice was optional! Up to now there really hadn't been any route options but stay in the trench!  I looked at where I was on my GPS; on the shore of the Skwetna River. I then looked at where Lars's track was heading after my missed intersection. Holy smokes! It looked like it was clearly heading down to the Skwetna River! And it looked like his track passed near the river about a mile or so away directly upriver from me. Boom! I was going to simply navigate my way along the shore of the river until my track came close enough to Lars's that I'd cut cross-country if I had to to get back on trail. So that's what I did. Almost immediately I donned my snowshoes once again because I knew this next mile could be very arduous. It was. The first half mile or so was on top of a punchy snow. I was just light enough that if I moved slowly I managed to not break through the eggshell thin hard layer and posthole up to my knees. It was a bit scary because it was still dark, my lights were failing and the moon had gone down. These were the witching hours before dawn.  But slowly but surely I drew closer to the little slough where the Happy River drains into the Skwetna River.  Near here there was quite a few open spots and water ran free and unfrozen.  So I began to get a bit paranoid that I was on a thin ice bridge rather than solid ground. Still felt fairly firm but I wanted to be off the Skwetna as soon as possible! I reached the confluence with the Happy River and found several deep tracks in the snow. Had somebody else on foot been this way and gotten off trail as well? I was not less than 200m or so from Lars's track so that was a possibility right? So I began to follow the deep, fresh looking snowshoe tracks.

But, they weren't snowshoe tracks at all! There were very fresh moose tracks! Judging by the fresh piles of moose scat they'd just been through here! What to do? I was committed now, there was no other way to get back on track. I was so close! So, breathing heavily and sweating from the effort, I continued to post hole through the deep snow following the moose tracks (no not the ice cream; I could only wish!). Thankfully I never saw any moose but I'm certain they saw me and were saying, "What a dumb SOB!". At last I emerged out of the deep snow and onto a well beaten down path right at the woodline of the Happy River; right at the beginning of the true Happy Steps! Unbelievable! I was back on course! I think, but for the milling about looking for the ghost road, this *might* have been a time-wise shortcut to the Happy Steps. Certainly more entertaining I imagine, but also very, very sketchy; especially for a bike or without snowshoes. But on a more normal snow year??? Who can say.  Perhaps somebody will use my GPX track in the future: The Youngren Bypass.

I took a breather and sat on my sled. It was well into morning twilight by now; still no moose in sight or could be heard.  I'd really dodged a bullet there; moose tracks all around me. Fresh. I took a long pull from my water bottle and eat a few handfuls of my trail mix concoction. I'd really burned some calories over the past hour.  I could now tell for sure I was back on trail; I could see a clear path and Iditarod trail markers. Yes! I sent a message back to Kathy and then I was on my way once again. I've no idea how much time I'd lost; if any? The track led to a narrow ice bridge over a bit of some exposed Happy River flow.  Only a little bit scary compared to where I'd just journeyed; probably quite a bit on top of the Skwetna River itself near shore where the ice probably wasn't as solid judging by the pools of overflow I'd passed by along the way.  Across the ice bridge the trail turned extremely steeply straight up. Thus I'd now arrived a the actual Happy Steps!

Honestly, compared to what I'd struggled through overnight, the Happy Steps were a bit of a let down. Sure they were wicked steep, but with snow shoes and sticky packed snow I made slow but sure work of this short section. In all this time I'd not seen another soul; not even any animal. It was quite lonely but the scenery was incredibly breath taking. It was a very cold and clear morning and a wonderful time to be alive! I'd never been so happy to see the sun!

After the Happy Steps the trail began a pattern of long lake crossings followed by very steep uphill grinds then a long swamp crossing followed by more back breaking uphill. On and on all morning long. At least the views of the surrounding mountains were amazing to behold. So still and quiet I easily felt like it was just me out there as I hadn't seen anybody else on trail for so long! While crossing one particularly long lake I happened to look behind me to see the same biker who'd stopped at Finger Lake for over a day. Very quickly we figured out how I'd gotten off course. He said he'd been following my tracks that early morning, some hours after I'd left, and wound up right down at the Skwetna River just like I had! However, he decided to back track up the hill and eventually found the obscure turn off the road onto the Iditarod trail.  There were reflectors there but they were very dull and covered with snow. He said He placed some alder branches down at the intersection to aid other racers coming along as to the proper direction to go.

The biker was on his way quickly after that. I recall he claimed he wanted to make it to McGrath within a couple more days I believe? I think he said something like he hoped to make it to Rohn by that night and then basically all the way to McGrath in one huge push! I might have the details wrong, it has been a minute, but I do recall being shocked at how far he wanted to go to finish up in time to make a flight home. I wished him luck and that was the last I saw of him. The biker in black fled across that frozen lake and I followed...

The uphill grind continued. But now I could begin to tell that I'd gained quite a bit of elevation. Every now and then I'd catch a glimpse of the huge, surrounding mountains through gaps in the trees. This was clearly the Alaska Range; I'd seen so many photographs from this portion of the course; unmistakable! I tried to guess where Rainy Pass Lodge was; how far away and which gap in the mountains might be Rainy Pass itself.  It was getting well past midday as the expansive views of the Alaska Range emerged as I continued a steady uphill hike. I was getting very tired by this point and just when I thought things couldn't get any slower; the wind started to pick up yet again; fierce katabatic winds right in my face! The uphill grade was just enough to feel but visually it just seemed like another long swamp crossing. My body ached I was falling asleep on my feet; I just needed to get there!  I'd planned a long rest at the next checkpoint at Rainy Pass Lodge on Puntilla Lake. This would be my last opportunity to get some quality rest for over 100 miles!  Between Puntilla Lake and Nikolai there was only a small tent checkpoint awaiting racers just on the other side of the Alaska Range. After that we had to travel at least 75 miles (most likely much more) to the tiny habitation of Nikolai.  Yeah, a very LONG way to go just to have another 50-54 miles to go after that! I tried not to think about it. Just focused on getting to the next checkpoint and taking some serious down time to reset.

-Finally to Puntilla late afternoon, the kiwis and some light humor/antics but all I care about is hanging my gear out to dry and wolfing down my allotted can of warm soup in a caldren and whatever I can lay my hands on! Then earplugs in and lights out for nearly 8 hours!!!! Mistake? Not this time. Need the full reset after over 36 hours of pushing with not much downtime at Finger Lake

Eventually the uphill slog abates and now I'm back into the woods; no more long swamp crossings! The trail now features some frequent steep downhills that are super fun to bobsled down! From checking my GPS track and maps this is a good sign that I'm getting close to Puntilla Lake.  Other good signs include more frequent air traffic passing overhead. I'd seen several planes fly close by over the past hour; low and slow. And then, in the very late afternoon I finally see Puntilla Lake and several structures in the near distance. Yes! It's been a long night and pretty full day and I'm just ready to eat and lie down and sleep until the following morning! But first I navigate my way along the shore of the lake and soon reach the small village of cabins, buildings and a flurry of snowmobile traffic. I pass by the old cabin that used to serve as the ITI checkpoint. Man that thing really IS small! This year's ITI checkpoint is much more swanky (check out the photos below). After wandering around the the structures for a bit I finally stop and ask some folks loading up a snowmobile trailer with firewood where the ITI checkpoint cabin is. They point the way to the cabin with the "crooked stove pipe" and soon I'm there.

I quickly park my sled and unload the gear I need to dry out, empty water bottles to fill and whatever stuff I just don't want to leave outside and step into a pretty nice and nearly empty bunkhouse. The only person there is Ryan Wanless and I believe he was still napping when I arrived.  So I had my pick of bunks. I chose an upper bunk near the door as it had the most space to hang up stuff. Thanks to Jeff Rock's race report and Ten Junk Miles podcast, I'd brought along some parachute cord which I used to make an instant clothes drying line! I hung up my wet gear on the line and set my soaked through boots by the stove to dry out overnight. On top of the oil barrel stove was a large cauldron full of water and very warm cans of various types of soup; none of them had labels.  However there was a color coded key available so one could identify what was what. I retrieved my allotted one can of soup and devoured it. It was some kind of thick pea soup. Delicious! Pro-tip, always go for the pop top cans! There were several traditional cans that required a can opener; the provided can opener either required Mensa status to figure out or, more likely, it was just broken. All I know is none of us could figure the damn thing out! I was fading fast which I deeply regret.  The Kiwis and some other trail friends had arrived and were joking up a storm and preparing to head over to the main lodge for a large meal. I really wanted to join them but I simply did not have the energy. I'd been pretty much on the go for over 36 hours but for a rough short rest at Finger Lake in a noisy tent. I could barely keep my eyes open any longer. While the others discussed their dinner plans, I set out to eat all the free stuff available. From Ramen and cookies to hot Tang (yes they still make the stuff and it soon became my staple along the remaining miles of the course!). While my Ramen steeped, I unfroze a sachet of tuna on the oil barrel stove. Yum!

But I was lights out shortly there after. I climbed up to the top bunk, put in my ear plugs and covered my eyes with my warm balclava. I was dead to the world and never heard or woke up as the bunkhouse slowly filled up over night. No idea!  All I know was that this full reset was necessary for me to have any chance at pushing through all the way to Nikolai which was still well over 100 miles away! But I pushed those thoughts aside as I lied there. Tomorrow early I'd be heading out and up the highest point on the course: Rainy Pass. To me this was the most symbolic location on all of the Iditarod trail that I'd see and wanted to visit for well over 20 years. And finally I'd be there! I could hardly wait!

If only I knew that I was headed for some wild and dangerous experiences that next day... That's the Iditarod trail for you; always keeps you on your toes!