8+ days on the Iditarod Trail: Part Nine (FINALLY THE END!)

Nikolai to McGrath: ~300 miles, ~8 days 11 hours 8 minutes

Final moving time: 5 days 7 hours 8 minutes

Final stopped Time: 3 days 3 hours 55 minutes


Before 6 a.m. the next morning I was already out the door and on my way to McGrath. I'd actually had a few hours of relatively restorative sleep under that broken down pool table (I truly wish I'd taken a photo!). I don't recall there being a real bustle of activity that early morning leaving. A lot of racers were still pretty much passed out or beginning to wrestle about. This was the last leg to the finish (for most of us) so I don't think anybody was in a real hurry to move on; it was going to be a long slow slog to McGrath no matter what, so what's the rush? Greg the skier had just headed out, probably about 30 minutes before me, and the Kiwi's looked to be getting ready to go as well.


On paper McGrath was supposed to be about 50 miles away. A lot of that quoted distance depended on which route I decided to take. About 19 miles overland from Nikolai I'd arrive at the South Fork of the Kuskokwim River. There I had to choose which route to take to McGrath. I could continue to follow the serpentine path along the river or continue overland. I don't believe there was an appreciable difference in distance between either route; trail conditions would be the dominant concern in my book. The way that looked like I could get out of snowshoes would be the winner! Typically, in most years, athletes stick to the overland route unless there's a pretty good reason not to. Ironically though, the dog teams usually follow the river downstream to McGrath. Anyhow, I'd not think too much about it, but wait to decide when I had to.


I had a little difficulty finding my way out of town that morning. For some reason I thought I had to get right back on the river where I'd left the night before. But the ITI markers were clearly taking me out of town a different direction than expected. I was still following Lars's GPX track so was determined to treat it as gospel as it'd been very accurate for days now (well, over a week!). However just as I was leaving town on a road to the West (apparently towards the landfill) I spotted several reflective markers leaving the road and heading down toward the river. I also noticed a profusion of tracks heading that way, and coming back up?? I decided to check it out and dropped down towards the river as well. I knew Greg was ahead of me that morning on skis so I wanted to see which way he went. Despite my GPX track clearly telling me to follow the road, I had to check; the trail could easily have been re-routed as it often does year to year. Once down into the the little slough it was clear Greg reconsidered and back tracked back up to the road. So I did as well and kept on following the road a little ways further until the trail veered away and dropped down to the river.


The route would now follow the South Fork of the Kuskokwim river for a few oxbow bends before heading overland for a long while. After rounding the first, nearly 180 degree, bend I could see a light ahead of me in the distance; Greg. Phew! We either both were on course or off it! I needn't have been too concern, there was now an abundance of reflective lathing to follow here so the way was pretty obvious; this was a big checkpoint for the dog teams. Speaking of the dog race, it had started and they were well on their way now. With any luck I might be able to see the front runners in McGrath in a day or two. Heck, they might catch me before I made it town if I didn't pick up the pace!


Not long later I noticed some bouncing lights behind me. I expected it would've been the Kiwis but I was wrong. It was the race volunteer who was touring the Iditarod trail and helping out along the way. I guess with the Nikolai checkpoint about to close he'd packed up and headed out. He sailed by me with a wave and was quickly fading away in the flat light of near dawn. This was one of the most difficult periods of time to be on an open expanse like the river. With the lighting so diffuse it was difficult to make out the three dimensions of the river surface. It looked completely smooth and level, but it was most assuredly not. I kept kicking divots in the ground and getting tripped up. It was very cold and breezy this morning and my lights, even with fresh batteries (stupidly alkaline) were already fading and so provided no real lightening benefit; but it was worse without them. I tried to keep on Greg's ski tracks as best as possible, but they were often hard to discern. A bit later, the Kiwis did finally overtake me along with the Italian trio Roberto Gazzoli, and Willy and Tiziano Mulonia. The first two would end up, along with the Kiwis as part of the Unalakleet 8 (that's a whole different story). After the swarm of cyclists had past (I hadn't had this much action on the trail since the trail breaker team had passed me by a couple days ago) it finally got light enough from the dawn light to see a bit more clearly and I didn't need my atrocious lights any more.


Greg and I were pretty much averaging the same pace. I seemed to not get any closer for several hours as we left the South Fork of the Kuskokwim behind and headed overland across never ending swamps and forested strips toward the main branch of the Kuskokwim. Eventually, towards mid-day I got REALLY hungry. I still had a high caloric backpacking meal with me and hopefully enough fuel for my stove for one last good meal. So I started to look around for a good spot to take a lunch break. I think Greg must've been thinking the same thing because he'd paused in the trail and I quickly caught up (even on skis he'd only been a couple of minutes ahead for a very long time, that just proves how tough the conditions were; not great for anybody!). I think Greg might've been peeling off layers or putting some on, can't remember exactly. It was a blue bird day and the wind would frequently gust pretty hard. Clear and cold basically. I'd not be surprised if it was 20F below 0 at least, not counting the wind-chill. I'd been out in the wild so long I no longer was phased by the deep cold or the huge temperature swings. All I knew was I either added another layer or removed one. Hid deep in my hood under a balaclava and fuzzy buff or else was stripped down to base layers with no gloves; often over the course of just an hour or two. That's the Iditarod for you. Anyhow, I wasn't quite ready to stop just yet so I continued on ahead of Greg, but as luck would have it, only a short ways as I found a good spot to take a break. As had been the case, all the overland routes were through extremely deep snow. We literally were traveling along a deep trench most of the time, so finding a spot "off trail" was extremely difficult most of the time as it could involve having to stomp down a spot firm enough to hold your weight. What I found was the next best thing, apparently out in the middle of the flat swamp expanse a snow mobile or two had diverted off the main trail to either play around in the deep snow or else also take a break. In so doing they'd carved out some good spots off the main trail that provided a firm enough place to take a break and provide a bit of shelter from the wind. Perfect.


I got to work quickly; as being stopped you can get cold fast. I was prepared. I immediately threw on my "nuclear option" heavy down jacket with hood right over everything else I'd already been wearing (which was extensive). I dug out my stove and prepped it for the warm-up pre-burn. I sure didn't have a whole lot of fuel left, but I was determined to get enough water to boil for my meal and perhaps a bit more for some instant coffee. As I was working in my "kitchen" Greg arrived and asked if he could join me. I told him I'd like the company. So he stepped out of his ski bindings and took a breather with me. I continued to go through the motions of preparing my meal (boiling water and pouring it into the bag of freeze dried contents) and of all things he wanted to talk about the Barkley Marathons. Ha! Here we were, in the Alaskian interior, the adventure of a life time for me and even here I couldn't escape the long arm of that other adventure! Stupid Netflix! :) Both Greg and Lars (and I'm sure probably a lot of the other ITI athletes) had seen the Barkley Movie and seen my very small part in it. I just picked a really good day to have a good race there. My dumb luck! After 13 years (not contiguous) of failed attempts I'd finally eked out a "Fun Run" there the very year a successful documentary team decided to cover the event. Anyhow, it was actually a good distraction; took my mind off what was going to be a very LONG day (and night) as I was determined to make it McGrath without bivying again. I knew, given the conditions and my average pace, it could take me 24 hours or more to hike from Nikolai to McGrath; more if I ended up stopping to sleep some.


I continued to eat my meal as we spoke; hurrying to consume it before it got cold. I was lucky enough to have enough fuel to last to make some instant coffee as well. That was a nice treat! Finished with my meal and coffee I quickly repacked my stove and gear; anxious to get going. I was, even with all the layers on, getting a bit chilled from stopping so long. Mostly my hands. To have enough dexterity to cook I'd pretty much stripped down to just light liner gloves. At first it was no problem as I was so warm from moving and the bomber down jacket on that it felt good to dump heat via my exposed hands. But now even my hands were getting cold; time to go! As I finished packing up, Greg also made preparations to head out. I was a touch quicker, probably because I was colder, and headed out just ahead of him, probably getting a few minutes ahead before I spotted him keeping pace with behind me.


The cold, clear and breezy day stretched on as I dragged my way slowly (2 1/2 miles per hour) towards McGrath. Just a few miles after my lunch break I dropped onto the Middle Fork of the Kuskokwim River. Now I had to decide which way to go. The heavy flagging for the dog race headed to the right, down river to join the Kuskokwim proper not far away. However, the majority of the tracks seemed to be going the opposite direction, upriver heading towards the overland route to town. It was really a no-brainer. While the Iditarod lathing to the right looked enticing to follow; the trail conditions looked a bit better to the left. The majority of the snow mobile traffic seemed to agree and where the snow mobiles go, so would (hopefully) be the better packed down route. But, it was with a bit of heavy heart that I turned my back on the very markers I'd been following over a week! Felt almost wrong!


So, after a brief walk along the middle of the frozen river, I was back overland for the duration of the journey to McGrath. Endless frozen swamp after endless frozen swamp. Somewhere along the way I remember being passed by a couple different groups of snow mobiles that obliterated the good track I'd been following. It was another snow shoes on again / off again kind of day. Typically it was just easier to leave them on for fear of Murphy's law being invoked. It also made it easier to deal with the crushing disappointed that occurred whenever the semi-firm path became mashed potatoes after the snow mobiles blew through. At any rate, while I wasn't in any true hurry to finish, I did feel like I was a bit under the gun. I was getting extremely tired mentally. My body was holding up, but I could really start to feel that I was truly burning A LOT more calories than I'd been taking in since forever ago. When was the last time I actually felt full from a meal? My own densely caloric trail mix concoction was still going down well, as I packed a few different random varieties to keep me guessing; but I'm not sure I could stomach another day or two of the stuff. But, quite literally, I would be finishing with just crumbs left of my onboard food supply. Scary stuff. I think I still had some emergency calories if the stuff hit the fan so to speak, but I didn't want to go there unless I truly had no other choice. I was still a good marathon or so out from McGrath and the sun was already low in the sky. Anything could happen, overflow, step through a soft section of frozen swamp and get drenched. Who knew? In a nutshell I could still be out there a long time before making it to civilization even though it seemed like I was so close to being done. No time to be complacent. So I trudged on, trying not to think about what little food I had left. My mind was really beginning to wander, I felt so sleepy! So strange. I'd eaten a pretty filling meal not crazy long ago but still felt so tired! All I wanted to do was take another break.


As I moved on, the shadows of the sparse trees grew very longer and longer. The sun was nearing the horizon and along with it came a wicked wind and the temperature seemed to plummet. It was like somebody flipped a switch. I'd been sleepily hiking along and all of a sudden I was chilled to the bone. I had to react. As quickly as I could I paused to add an additional thermal layer under my long red hooded coat. I think around this time one of the zippers on my sled bag busted and so I had to immediately shuffle EVERYTHING around in my bag so that I could access the most important things. This was a headache and not something I wanted to deal with at all! The double zipper made bag access a breeze, but breaking a zipper suddenly changed everything. So, too slowly, I pretty much dumped out my bag right there on the trail in order to find the bits I knew I'd want later; calories, water, extra thermal layers for face, head and hands. But it felt like I was moving so slow! I was also getting cold just crouching there all exposed! Why hadn't I chosen a better spot to do this! Why now? It was now getting dark and my crummy lights weren't worth anything. I didn't have a dedicated head lamp, just these magnetic clip on lights that seemed like a good idea. You could clip then on your waist belt, pack straps, etc... which was fine MOST of the time, but in camp or fiddling around in my sled bag they sucked. I'd resorted to cutting up one of my buffs at the Bear Creek cabin a couple days ago in order to use it all folded up with one of the clip on lights as a make shift headlamp. It worked ok but was too tight on my head; especially with all the other gear I was already wearing on my head. And the cold was still killing my batteries! But finally I had stuff mostly re-packed correctly enough. I'd gotten thoroughly chilled by this point so decided to walk with my nuclear down jacket for a while. That helped. Soon I was super warm and so quickly paused to stow the jacket on top of my sled.


Greg was still just behind me, I think he'd also stopped to add some layers and fiddle with his gear. It seemed like in all things we moved in conjunction and he'd stayed the same distance behind me for the most part. It was truly night now and the terrain began to change subtly. The swamps had given way to more rolling country. So, hills. Ugh! I don't recall anything super difficult but there were rollers a plenty. The upside was in the folds of some of the hills we were protected from the growing wind gusts. I was consuming trail mix like a champ; it was the only thing keeping me awake despite the extreme cold. I could feel my eyelashes starting to freeze intermittently. Crazy stuff. I don't know how long I kept hiking up and down rolling hills. Seemed like an eternity. Somewhere along the way I do remember Greg and I finally passing each other back and forth repeatedly. Like clock work we'd come to an uphill and both have to peel a layer off because it was warm climbing and we were behind a wind block; then on the downhill side or in a little frozen meadow between hills it'd get wicked cold super fast and we'd have to re-don that layer or two. I think he was moving faster at the moment on the skis but I was able to adjust layers a bit quicker; so back and forth we went for the next hour or so.


At one point I vividly recall a bright light coming up behind me. I swore it was a snow mobile and was just about to stop and get off the trail when I realized it was the most beautiful FULL moon I'd ever witnessed. On that cold and clear night the moon was ENORMOUS and BRIGHT! It didn't even matter that my lights were crap, I had the moon! It was honestly like having a truck's high beams on behind me. My moon shadow was long. The hills and woods were lit up practically like daytime. It was one of the most incredible experiences of my life that I can still picture in my mind these many months later as I write this. Unreal. Perhaps that brahma bull was looking after me that night? I'll never know. But just as I was becoming so sleepy and frustrated with my lights again, all of a sudden nature's flashlight appeared over the Eastern horizon to light my way the rest of the way to McGrath. Unbelievable! I wish I could have captured the moment on my phone camera but didn't dare pull it out as every time I did, it'd brick up. Once again I kicked myself for not bringing a truly hardy camera along.


So things got a bit better after that. Being able to see the trail much better, real shadows and three dimensions just makes progress easier. I was still moving slowly, but at least I wasn't constantly tripping over the trail inconsistences. I think I finally got ahead of Greg just before the last uphill push to the "road" into McGrath. Vanderpool Road according to the map. It was the first firm surface I'd honestly encountered since before the Happy Steps and Happy River where I went off course those many days ago. It was almost surreal to emerge onto a road that had clearly been plowed at least semi-recently. At this point I still had close to 14 miles to go. It would be a long, lonely rolling road march to the finish. It was a bit after 9 p.m. I think. I'm still not sure, this would be the night the time would change. All I remember was that I was very, very sleepy by the time I got to the road. I wasn't getting in near enough calories or fluids; it was too damn cold by now to want to stop hardly at all. Temps were probably getting into the -30F range by now, it'd get to -40F before I'd finish. I was doing the math at that point. There was no way I'd be able to stay awake for seven more hours of road march. No way! I'd have to bivy! NOPE! I was so ready to be done and couldn't stand the thought of trying to dig out my bivy system from my wrecked sled bag to try and sleep in that kind of deep cold. That sounded like a one way ticket to becoming a meat popsicle. Nope. So I honestly started to panic a bit. I thought I'd read that one of the experiences of freezing to death was getting really sleepy and feeling comfortably warm or hot. F-no. Not me. So I did what the runner in me had been longing to do for so many days now. I ran! The road was actually fairly firm; from being somewhat maintained and from the deep cold the surface had really firmed up.


It was glorious! I'd tucked away the snow shoes not long after I'd reached the road and was in my Neos over boots once again as it was too much of a pain to not have them on; really nowhere left to pack them in my sled. I reasoned that by running, even at a slow jog I could cut my remaining time to the finish by half at least. Perhaps I'd get lucky and be able to get on a real roll. As it was, I was suddenly moving at closer to 5 mph, even pulling my sled. However, it wasn't all easy. There were still plenty of rough sections of road where the snow and blown in burying it completely! Also what went down went up just as frequently; it was a rolling road after all. So I forced myself to walk the uphills and move easy through the blown in bits of road and save the running for the flats and downhills. It was still a relief to finally be able to run again after so many agonizingly slow days stuck in snowshoes. I'd run most of the way down from Rainy Pass to the river, but outside that I hadn't run at all during this race but for perhaps a short stretch or two on the first day before the blizzard hit.


The adrenaline rush of running began to wear off after an hour or so and I began to get sleepy again. Worse, I was getting stupid. It was really cold now and I could still feel myself sweating under my many layers. Dumb. The right thing to do would've been to slow down to avoid perspiring so much; possibly even stop and swap a layer out. But no, in my mind I had no choice but to keep running as much as I could just to stay warm and to finish as soon as possible. So I kept pushing; making things worse by barely consuming any more liquids or food. I simply was through stopping! But I had to do something to keep my focused and awake. So I dug through one of my jacket pockets for my headphones and with some hand warmers folded inside the waterproof bag for my phone, I put on an audiobook I'd started listening to earlier that day. "The Three-Body Problem" by Cixin Liu which had only semi-recently been published in English and even more recently released in audiobook form. I'm a huge sci-fi geek and this has been one of the most amazing trilogies I'd ever listened to. Bit of a slow start with this book, but by the second book, The Dark Forest, my mind was completely blown. But that would come later. At the moment I didn't know a ton about the work, just that it was suggested to me based on my diet of other sci-fi audio books. Suffice it to say it was trippy stuff at a time when my mind was probably on the verge of hallucination!


So I rolled along down the long lonely road all by myself. I kept searching for signs of civilization, a light or anything to signify I was getting close to the end. No such luck. The audio book was helping though and I could smell the barn. I estimated I now was down to single digit miles remaining. And right about that time I did start seeing signs of life. First it was just a red blinking light from a radio tower. A bit later I saw a home lit up in the woods. Before I knew it I was really getting into the true outskirts of McGrath. The road surface vastly improved. What had been a soft layer of snow turned to packed hard ice. The running then became even easier and faster. I couldn't even feel the tug of the heavy sled behind me; I could've been out for an late evening run I shuffled along so effortlessly. I couldn't believe it. Well, really I could. I'd been moving so frustratingly (and necessarily) slow for so long it was just a huge relief to be able to run again.


Still, after over 300 tedious and excruciating miles; miles I had to work harder than I ever thought possible, I was nearly finished. It is difficult to describe what this journey was like. How relentlessly patient one must be. If I could describe a simple simulation of what it was like to travel like that for days on end I'd suggest the following. One training session I did to prepare for ITI was to drag a car tire behind me using the pack and harness system I'd use at the race. You've probably heard or seen folks pull a tire behind them as part of some strength training exercise. Well, this training session was quite different. At the time we lived in a private neighborhood that had a private trail system that almost nobody used. In fact if you didn't know where the trails were you'd be hard pressed to find them after the leaves had fallen. For this training session I hiked the local trails pulling my tire behind me. Also, these trails were not flat but packed in some pretty healthy elevation changes. It was brutally slow! The tire kept getting hung up on roots, rocks or stuck behind a tree or bush. I also had to stop frequently to clear out the mass of leaves that had accumulated inside and around the tire as I dragged it. At some point it was taking me 30 minutes or more to cover a mile. Now imagine doing this for days and days and you can begin to understand the kind of difficulty and stingy rate of progress. But that is only one dimension of the challenge. Another dimension were the cycles of heavy snow and almost balmy conditions (above freezing) to deep cold and strong head wind gusts. An additional dimension is the constant knowledge that you're mostly completely on your own! A mistake could be fatal or at least life threatening. Help would not be coming any time soon. But the essence of these combined dimensions, and several more that are difficult to describe is what some of us are searching for in the first place. It's why we were there. It's why I was there. It's also why I'll definitely return one day to find my way to Nome.

Well, there really isn't much more to say. I finally came rolling into town and had less than a mile to go. I was extremely careful to check my GPX track constantly because I really had no idea where I would be finishing. It was technically close to 2 a.m. (1 a.m. after the time change) so it'd be possible nobody would be awake at the home of Peter and Tracy Schneiderheinze, the host family who has graciously surrendered control over there home to tired and spent racers every year since the existence of the ITI. My only real concern was not running by the finish and getting inside quickly as my base layers were now irresponsibly deeply soaked with sweat. It was foolish to push so hard to finish but the knowledge that I'd be safe inside a warm place soon enough seemed to outweigh the risks of sweating out. I'd definitely not done that if I wasn't closing in on the finish! I needn't have worried about finding the finish. Right at the end of the GPX track I arrived at the end of the driveway of the Schneiderheinze home. How did I know for sure? There was a large Iditarod Trail Invitational banner there. I was done! I could hardly believe it was all over. Very anticlimactic. But I wouldn't have had it any other way. This entire "race" had the same theme throughout; the norm was to arrive at any checkpoint with little or no fanfare. I wouldn't want it any other way. This is not a spectator sport! Well, not quite true. I'm sure there were a lot of folks tracking our blue dots on Trackleaders throughout the event. I'm guilty of doing that every year. Living vicariously through many years of racer's GPS trackers. Now I was one them and now a veteran of the ITI! Pretty cool!


Well, after all that, I stumbled inside and as quickly as I could changed out of my wet clothes and tried to find a spot to dry the wet stuff out. No easy task as there were racers and gear strewn out EVERYWHERE. I wanted to sleep but knew I had some chores yet to do. Out of my wet layers I took a quick shower. A REAL SHOWER with HOT water! It was glorious. I would have loved to stay in there longer but didn't want to impose. A kindly race volunteer was there on the night shift to help me with my immediate needs. She cooked up some delicious food and provided some hot drinks. I ate hungrily and drank like a fish. After, I found some space for my damp gear to dry out on the backside of a huge sectional sofa nearest the massive wood burning stove. Then I squeezed onto an unoccupied part of the sectional and instantly passed out.


The next morning, after sleeping perhaps 4 or 5 hours, the other racers started to stir. Soon the host family was awake and Peter was cooking up a massive pile of his famous "man cakes". I must've eaten a half dozen of the thick, dinner plate sized pancakes! Afterwards, Tracy helped us all figure out how to get out of McGrath and back to Anchorage. No mean feat apparently. I'd been warned to not attempt to make travel arrangements out of McGrath ahead of time or on my own. With the uncertainty of my arrival to McGrath, weather conditions (pilots only flew by sight in Alaska) it would be impossible to predict when I could fly out. Now, since we were all a lot slower getting to McGrath, we had to compete with the dog sled race for room on the commuter planes. Just about every plane was being pressed into service to shuttle the dog sled race gear and officials up the course. However, the way the little flights work in small towns like McGrath is practically word of mouth. While the planes might be loaded heading into McGrath, there were a few heading back to Anchorage nearly empty. So Tracy called around and found a pilot who was willing to shuttle our group back to the big city. So, one by one, we passed Tracy's phone around the living room so we could provide our name and credit card payment! It was kind of hilarious! After that, we had a few hours to kill before we'd fly out, so me and Ryan Wanless decided to stretch our legs by walking into town a bit to see the sights. Before we left the Schneiderheinze home we repacked our sled bags and sleds and put them in a pickup truck that the others were going to ride to the airport. We ended up checking out a local library/museum that unfortunately was closed to prepare for the arrival of the dog sled teams; a charity banquet was in the works. It wouldn't have been quite as disappointing had the proprietor not talked about all the awesome stuff that was in there that we COULDN'T go see! Hilarious! Ryan and I ended up at a local tavern across from the "airport" just to take in a local perspective. Sadly our time was soon up and we walked across the street to the airport.


And just like that this adventure was over and another one was about to begin. But that is another story for another time. I want to thank you, the reader, if you've made it this far and endured this extremely long race writeup. I'm sorry I didn't complete it much sooner. Really no excuses. Just difficult to muster the motivation in a year turned upside down by COVID-19. But here we are!


So what's next? I have no doubt I'll be back to Alaska sooner than later. However, dedicating a full MONTH on the Iditarod is difficult to stomach or imagine right now. No way do I have the time or freedom to do that anytime soon. Eventually yes. It is my dream to hike the entire Iditarod Trail one day. However, I do want to return to do the 350 at least one more time. Now that I'm a veteran and experienced one of the more difficult years I'd like to return to do the route to McGrath again taking what I've learned this time and making some corrections next time. Make some new mistakes and hopefully not repeat the ones made during this journey. But, I probably won't go back to Alaska for a couple of years at least although I'd love to go sooner. Until then, I'll try and seek out "winter" from where I live as best I can. And if I can't, I'll get out and train in the worst conditions I can, because I'm proof that it does help to do so. It's also the most interesting time to train when conditions are far from ideal. As far as the immediate future, my next B.H.A.G. (Big Hairy Audacious Goal) will be to FINALLY complete the 314 mile Vol State Road Race this summer after two past failures! Should be another epic experience for sure. Stay tuned...

8+ days on the Iditarod Trail: Part Eight

Bear Creek Safety Cabin to Nikolai: ~252 miles, ~7 days 8 hours

*NOTE* I apologize for pretty much abandoning my race write-up for many months. With the growing COVID-19 pandemic and rough adjustment to a "new normal" of juggling teleworking, parenting, moving to a new neighborhood and "light" home renovations, I pretty much gave up writing for awhile. But I'm going to finish off this race report before the end of the year! That is my challenge! I do it not only in the hopes of entertaining whomever might read it, but also for me to re-live the experience and provide a bit of closure and clarity for the events that transpired during the event. What can I say, it's been a rough year! I'd hoped to share more about my experience, more widely locally after the event. I was really looking forward to our local Huntsville Track Club or Fleet Feet Sports hosting a meet and greet and Q&A session. I even thought about it during my last day on the trail. How fun those events would be! But COVID-19 robbed us all of that possibility. Sucks! Anyhow, back to the story!

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Unsurprisingly, nobody was in a rush to get an early start. Snow was still coming down outside, albeit at a much slower rate, and the sky was definitely showing signs of clearing up. We'd definitely gotten several inches of snow overnight. The snow mobiles had a thick covering of snow and racer's sleds that weren't under the protection of the roof were completely buried. There was also no indication of the trail that led to the cabin or back to the main Iditarod Trail (we were technically at the end of one of two, mile long spur trails that led to the cabin).

No racer desired to venture out to break trail through the thick snow, so we were at the mercy of the Iditarod Trail breakers yet again! On the flip side, we'd certainly be able to make very good progress almost immediately as we'd have a fresh packed trail to follow once the trail breakers forged on to Nikolai. So we waited. And as we waited, we packed and re-packed gear and melted additional water on the wood burning stove. My gallon sized zip locked bags that had been stuffed full of snow had produced a sad amount of water in return.  So I'd definitely need to find some more on trail before Nikolai. Fortunately, we'd be crossing Sullivan Creek which was about 10-12 miles away so I'd have the opportunity to refill my water bottles. Nikolai was about 50km away so I'd definitely be able to make it there today, even given the late start.

Finally, even the trail breakers were itching to go. And so by 8 a.m. the trail breakers were off; the high pitch din of their snow mobile engines gradually fading away; absorbed by the blanket of snow.  I think I was the first of the racers to head out after the trail breakers. 

I was raring to go I guess? After grabbing a few quick photos of our home away from home I was off. Anyhow the freshly broken trail was still very soft, but still much better than the alternative of breaking trail through several feet of snow.  Still, I was in snow shoes from the start with no real hope of being out of them this day. I quickly fell into the long established routine. It was going to be a very long day. But hopefully, by the end of the day I'd be resting in Nikolai for a spell and able to consume copious amounts of food and get a good sleep before pushing all the way to the finish in one go. 

The trail was much the same as it has been the previous day, an endless spruce corridor that just went on and on. Despite what the trackleaders map shows, the trail is definitely not completely straight for miles and miles. That would have been completely mind numbing! No, the trail did have frequent kinks in it, possibly to avoid some natural obstacle but still trended the overall same direction all day long. 

I'd not been back on the main trail long before both skiers had caught up and overtaken me. These conditions were probably pretty good for them as it didn't take long before they'd both disappeared ahead of me. Jill was still behind me somewhere and as we'd both been travelling at similar speeds we'd probably not see much of each other this day. So, I'd fully expect to not see another living soul all day long.

By mid day I'd arrived the Sullivan Creek crossing. Thankfully there was a bridge across the creek. For whatever reason, this creek rarely freezes over completely so it's a good spot to refill water containers.  Another bonus is that there is a can tied to a rope at the center of the bridge that you use to lower into the creek to access the swiftly flowing snow water. Unfortunately, some inconsiderate past user had left the can upright on the bridge rail so that it was nearly full of frozen water! There was only just a small top section of the can that wasn't completely full of ice! Still, it was something! I lowered the can into the stream and retrieved some delicious, ice cold water! Yum! I drank my fill from my water bottle and refilled it. I should probably have refilled my other nearly empty water containers, but for some reason I *thought* I'd not need so much water to cover the remaining 20 miles or so to Nikolai. Surely I don't need that much water do I? Why add more weight to my sled?

So left the can (inverted) on the bridge rail and continued on the trail. The next point of interest would be a fishing camp another 12 miles or so away. While it was abandoned this time of year, it would at least mark progress and remind me that the trail would about to make a radical turn from north-west to north-east to head to Nikolai. Yeah, this was one of the few times that the trail wouldn't generally be heading directly towards the finish line in McGrath but instead making a "detour" to head to town. Kind of a bummer, as one could simply avoid the turn and make their way down river until they reconnected with the section of the Iditarod Trail that connects Nikolai to McGrath; cut out the detour entirely. BUT, racers were required to check-in at Nikolai before heading to McGrath. Besides, the snow was SO deep off the trail that it would probably be extremely foolish to attempt to break trail that way anyhow. It looked like there had been some snow mobile traffic doing just that, but it wasn't recent and who knows where those buried tracks led... I think I was through following random tracks right?

Nothing more eventful happened for a long while. I just kept plugging away. The sun did finally make an appearance which was nice, but it was still pretty cold. That seemed to be the cycle we were in. Snow storm, then deep cold, rinse and repeat. I'd truly wanted to take more photos but the cold was wreaking havoc on my phone. I'd no sooner pull it out for a photo (kept under several layers by my body) when it'd "brick" and shut down. So, no more photos... Next time I'll have a dedicated small camera with lithium ion batteries! But, I'll re-post some photos from the previous day, as my view was much the same on this day.

So, by late afternoon I'd passed through fishing camp and arrived at the sharp north-western turn towards Nikolai. From here it'd be another 11-12 miles to the checkpoint. Ugh. Another long grind made far worse by the official yellow mile marker signs that kept me second guessing how far I really had to go.

Just when I thought I was well into single digit miles to go, I'd pass by the "Nikolai 10 Miles" sign. Double Ugh...  It grew dusk before I really starting worrying I'd not make it the check point by a reasonable time. I wanted to make it there early enough to get a good long rest as I'd planned to push through all the way to Nikolai without bivying (yeah, no more overnights on the trail for me!). I thought for sure I was only 3 or so miles to go now, based on what my GPS was saying, but, boom up ahead was a sign. "Nikolai 5 Miles". WTF??!! Anyhow, the upside of the deepening cold was that the soft trail left by the trail breakers (hey, any broken trail was better than none) was starting to "set in" meaning that it was firming up enough that I could remove the snow shoes at last! So I did. I was sill in the NEOs overboots, had been so since almost day 1, so I was happily marching along making pretty good progress, even if those trail signs were lying! The real problem I was starting to get concerned about was the fact that I was now completely out of water. I'd consumed the liter of water I'd gotten at Sullivan Creek and hadn't touched my other, empty, bottles. I really should have filled them up! So, dehydration was setting in. I could tell as even with adding additional layers I was getting cold in my extremities. I wasn't overly worried though as I knew I was almost there. But, it was a foolish mistake that could've really cost me in a different scenario!

At last though I passed by a wretchedly stinky swamp and dropped onto the South Fork of the Kuskokwim River. I was finally very close to Nikolai even though I could see no village lights just yet. However, the trail was marked extremely well. There was reflective lathing all lined up like a runway so it was impossible to get off course, even without a GPS. 

It was a cold last couple of miles along the river. But at last, I made around a bend in the river and could see the lights of Nikolai.  And just a little more steadfast marching led to the shore of the river and up an embankment, passing right through the dog race check point, and into town. The small village had street lights and small houses and buildings. I followed ITI race signs to the checkpoint at the local community center that was at the far end of town (about as far away as it could possibly be it seemed!).

I finally arrived at the check point about 10:30 p.m. local time. I parked my sled among the other racer's sleds and bikes and removed my harness pack. I didn't waste anytime but unhooked my sled bag and awkwardly carried it inside. Not for the first time I'd wished the sled bag had some sewn in handles or back pack strap; would come in real handy for dealing with hauling gear into/out of checkpoints. The official check point, after asking around a bit, was upstairs on the second level. Apparently there was no official welcoming crew. No surprise there...  

After finally lugging my heavy sled bag upstairs I paused and looked around. I was in a large open room, gymnasium? There were racers passed out amid piles of gear everywhere. There were ad hoc clothes lines strung everywhere for damp gear to dry out.  There didn't seem to be much space available to set up my own crash pad. Then I eyed a broken pool table by the stairs I'd just climbed. Good enough. I placed my gear bag under the table and quickly spread out my bivy to mark my spot. It'd be a tight fit crawling under the table to sleep, but it'd do. 

I staggered over to the kitchen area ( I must've looked like a zombie) kind of out of it. I was so tired, physically and mentally  and massively dehydrated. The volunteers did there best to serve us what was available which wasn't, pathetically, near enough. It seemed like the lead cyclists and other front runners had completely wiped out the food sources of this ITI checkpoint. All they could offer me was a couple of burgers and some chips. There was hot Tang a plenty but not much else. Pretty sad. I was bonking so bad and needed the calories as I wasn't sure I had enough to get me to McGrath. I'd stupidly abandoned my drop bag in Rohn thinking I had more than enough to get me to Nikolai. The calculus I'd done was that surely there'd be enough food/water at Nikolai that I could use to restock my stores. Not so. There was barely enough at Nikolai to even try and break even with the calories I'd lost that day! I looked around at the pitiful supply that was left and instantly felt mad. How could there be so little amount of food for racers here? Un-freaking-believable. What was worse was that one of the volunteers, a race veteran who was touring the trail on his bike independently of the race this year, informed me that the check point would be closing down early in the morning! WTF? There were still several racers well behind me and they'd arrive to a closed check point?  Apparently nobody had planned on the race panning out so slowly this year. In typical years, even the back end of the race would have passed through Nikolai already. So the checkpoint schedule hadn't changed at all and the volunteer's flight schedules were made long ago and couldn't be easily changed. I could forgive all that. I get it. BUT that didn't explain why there wasn't an abundance of food left. That's either poor planning by the race staff, or the racers who'd already passed through were really just inconsiderate. Perhaps a bit of both? Damn! I could only imagine the frustration that was to come as other racers arrived the next day only to find a closed checkpoint. Perhaps they'd be able to seek sustenance in town?

So, I ate what I figured was my quota (and no more) and really hammered the Tang.  After a quick bio break I headed to my bivy spot under the broken pool table. I managed to set out some of my damp gear to dry and set my watch alarm before passing out asleep. I needed a good sleep as tomorrow would be a REALLY LONG DAY; one final 50 mile long push to the finish! 

8+ days on the Iditarod Trail: Part Seven

A little worse for wear, the morning after my rough bivy in The Burn

 The Burn (near Charlie Lake) to Bear Creek Safety Cabin: ~220 miles, ~6 days, 8 hours

Somehow. I slept. Deeply. The wind whipping the branches directly above my head must've lulled me to sleep. That and the fact that I was so deeply spent and exhausted might've also contributed. It wasn't much, but it was restorative. Now the problem was how to extricate myself from this tiny fox hole and get going. It was already near dawn; clearly light enough to travel by without a lamp.

The worst part of any long stop is getting going again. My only focus the night before was finding a safe place to sleep out of the wind and to avoid any of my vital gear to freeze up. So my sleeping bag was crammed full of hydration bottles, damp clothing, food and who knows what else ended up in there. Definitely pieces of alder branches ended up in there because I could feel them poking me on the back and on my face! The other equally bad thing about being all nice and snug in my bivy was that I had to go to the bathroom; badly. But for my normal early morning constitutional I probably could easily have slept another several hours. But the pressure down below was now impossible to ignore. I had to get up and out! I won't provide any details, but let's just say it's extremely difficult to perform the morning rituals from within my tiny fox hole, practically buried in alder branches.  Very tricky!

I then carefully began to crawl and roll around in my limited space in order to gather up and re-pack gear. Eventually everything found a place back in my sled bag or on my person (in one jacket layer or another) and then I found myself carefully low-crawling out from my alder oasis and back into hostile territory. The wind had abated some but there was definitely a change in the weather in store. It was a cloudy day and really looked like snow was coming. I confirmed this notion a bit later by pulling down a weather forecast on my InReach device. There was forecasted snow expected to hit sometime this late afternoon and lasting 24 hours. Up to two foot of fresh...  followed by some more deep cold! Ugh!

More Farewell Burn goodness...

Lonely trail sign along the trail.

It is what it is. Nothing to do but keep moving forward. So that's what I did. All morning long I just kept marching on; not seeing another soul for many, many hours. I slowly made my way through the burn and approached Farewell Lakes and a signs of civilization. The bison hunter's camp. If not for them there probably would've been far less trail to follow from here to Nikolai as they were the only folks, beside fellow Iditraod athletes, to travel through here within the last week or so since the big snow storm. It also meant to exiting of the burn and transition into a bit more pleasant scenery as I dropped onto a series of frozen lakes.

"Only" 20 miles to go to the Bear Creek Cabin.

I look back at the Alaska Range from the burn before Farewell Lakes.

Snow is coming...

It was getting near lunch time and I was hungry enough to want to stop to cook a quick back-packing meal. I'd've liked to stop sooner near one end of a lake but that's when I spotted the orange geodesic tent of the bison hunter's camp and the obvious airstrip they'd used to drop gear. Good location! Smoke poured out of a chimney in the tent but I saw no sign of activity. Still, I decided to move on a bit further before I stopped to cook a meal.  A short time later I passed by a dead bison off the side of the trail. Looked pretty fresh (no snow coverage). I kept on trudging along until I heard the obvious sound of approaching snow machines. Sure enough it was the group of bison hunters, probably returning to camp. They were well armed by the looks of it and totted sleds with gear behind them. They nodded and seemed friendly enough but they kept right on going, disappearing behind a rise behind me; the sound of the engines slowly faded. I then found myself on yet another frozen lake and was excited that I'd waited to stop, because the views on the lake were spectacular!

Looking back at where I'd come from. The Alaska Range from Steele Lake.

Another look back but my lunch spot next to a small "island" on Steele Lake.

I had crossed onto Steele Lake I believe (looking back now at my track) and was mid way across when I spotted a small "island" in the lake that looked like the perfect place for a lunch stop.  Sure enough it looked like someone else had found the spot good enough to bivy. By deduction it could only be Mathieu as I saw ski tracks and he was, at that time to the best of my knowledge, the only skier ahead of me. Good spot Mathieu!  I quickly dug out my stove and fired it up for a quick boil. It probably took longer than it should've, I'm not very good at priming it and probably wasted too much fuel doing so! But it was worth having a warm meal and coffee right then. I needed something good as I just knew it was going to be long day and very uncertain how much progress I'd make with the coming storm.

As I was relishing my meal, Greg, the skier who was attacked by a moose earlier in the race, caught and passed me by with a little wave. Next along came Jill who paused briefly as she passed close by. I said isn't the view wonderful? As I was facing back along the way we'd come, towards the Alaska Range, she also turned around to look and said something like I always got to remind myself to take a look back every now and then. It's true. Some of the most amazing views on the Iditarod Trail, for me, where when I'd pause and look back the way I'd come. Simply amazing and indescribable! What you can't capture in any pictures is the the sort of real time light changes; almost minute by minute or faster as the sun would dart in and out of the clouds. It's moments like that I'll always cherish and take with me and will continue to fuel my desire to return!

Anyhow, I packed up my stove after melting a bit of snow and noticed that I really did not have that much fuel left! Yikes! Perhaps just enough for one more boil! I'd really have to make it count. Based on my initial, pre-race plan, this wasn't a problem as I'd planned to have to use my stove in between Rohn and Nikolai anyway, but if I had to endure a longer slog to Nikolai than expected because of the storm I might be needing to melt more snow for water! That was a big Yikes! I'd just have to be very careful and mindful.

I was on my way, I could still just see Jill far ahead of me basically at the far end of the lake. So at least I'd have somebody to follow for awhile. I was thrilled. After solo trekking for so long it was nice to have some "company" even if it wasn't close company. Just seeing a fresh track in the snow is hugely uplifting.  By the time I reach the other side of the lake, it's already beginning to snow.  Somewhere along here I think Jill decided to also take a short break because I quickly catch up and move along; so much for the "company". Ha ha! Still, I can just make out Greg's ski tracks so that's something. But even those begin to disappear in the slow but steady snow.

As I move along I'm trying to do the math. Always a bad idea this long into an adventure. My goal was to make at least 50km this day and hopefully end up near the Bear Creek Safety Cabin which would leave me another 50km or so the next day to Nikolai then a final 50+ mile push to the finish in McGrath. Only it was general knowledge by now that there was no trail cut to the Safety Cabin which was a mile off the Iditarod Trail.  I can't remember how I acquired this knowledge but I knew it by then. Lame. I think perhaps I was hoping that there might be a path cut by now by fellow athletes who decided to go for it. I was too optimistic. I was dog tired but kept trudging along.

Endless tunnel of spruce, or yet another scene from The Shining.

FRESH moose tracks, but no moose spotted...

At least I was finally out of the burn area and into the land of endless spruce trees. The Iditarod trail had now become an endless tunnel of spruce. The path itself growing steadily deeper and deeper as the snow continued to fall. As evening approached the snow fall really began to intensify. I remember messaging Kathy to ask her to look at the forecast for the area over the next day or so. She confirmed my fears. A lot of snow was on the way and then it was going to get super cold. Wonderful! But what could I do? But at the time the fear was now real. It was getting dark, it was snowing heavily and all I could think about was how was I going to find a place to sleep tonight? The trail was truly a deep trough now; the snow bank on either side was incredible in places; the snow level off the trail unbelievably deep. How could I make camp in that? I'm not an experienced winter camper, I was very unsure of myself, still. In my mind, in that moment, I figured my ONLY option was to just keep walking, all night long and hopefully make it to Nikolai within the next 24 hours. Ugh! I silently cursed myself for not making fast enough progress. For stopping too long back at Rainy Pass Lodge. If I'd only cut that rest in half I'd already be in manageable range of walking through the night to Nikolai. So much second guessing of myself. But really, I was going all I could do. When I rested long it was because I really needed it, if I got by on a short rest it was because it was all I needed.

Soon it was time to cut my lights on.  I was now within a few miles of the turnoff to the shelter cabin. I had no real hope that there would be a trail, but I was considering if it'd be worth it to break trail to the cabin; just to find a place out of the snow and wind and cold for the night.  Decisions.

Just then I heard something. Snow machines. Several of them. The bison hunters? Kyle the RD?Coming up from behind, the head lights cut through the falling snow making it twinkle like fire flies. Amazing sight! I struggle to pull myself and sled up onto the snow bank and out of the way. I'm waist deep in snow with my sled when the lead snow machine pulls up next to me and pauses. I see all sorts of Iditarod regalia on him including a "Trail Breaker" bib I believe. He says that he's part of the official Iditarod trail breaking team and they're going to break trail to the shelter cabin to spend the night! Un-freaking-believable! I let out a silent cheer as the team throttled up and pushed away. Each member of the team pulled various equipment or supplies behind them. Heavy sleds and other devices designed to help pack down and smooth out the trail.  I'm super weary as I climb down from the snow bank and keep moving forward. It's like I'm barely moving. I soon spot another light behind me and it's Asbjorn Bruun, the extremely fit skier from Denmark. He zips on by and soon Jill also catches up and slowly moves away. So, our rag tag group of four ITI athletes, two skiers and two foot athletes all eventually converge at the shelter cabin along with the six Iditarod Trailbreakers. It was going to be a tight fit that night, especially if other athletes made it to the cabin in the middle of the night. To our surprise, NOBODY wandered in that night! From the horror stories we would hear later, some athletes had just passed by the then unbroken trail to the shelter cabin before the Iditarod trail breakers had arrived and ended up pushing ALL the way to Nikolai over night. Some ended up attempting to bivy in the deep snow. I am now so thankful of my luck in being where I was when I was. To think of all the decisions I'd made up to that point; the time wasted, the time saved, all the breaks and pushes to arrive on the trail where I did just in time to be there when fresh trail was broken to a safe and warm place to stay the night! It was truly a small miracle!

As the boisterous trail breaking team eat candy bars for dinner and told tall tales, the four of us kept stoking the small wood burning stove in order to melt snow or heat water for meals. I remember the trail breakers commenting that it looked like a lot of work to get water. Then again they said, their supply of water was all frozen solid outside with their snow machines.  I believe they were drinking something else to re-hydrate... Anyhow, this was an awesome opportunity to save precious stove fuel. So despite my weariness I also began to collect snow from outside into gallon sized ziplocks in order to slowly melt overnight. It's so disappointing on how little water you get out of a full bag of snow! Lame. After a quick meal, most of us were ready to sleep; even the trail crew. Looking out the windows, it was STILL snowing heavily. Already our sleds were becoming buried in the fresh snow.  It was pretty clear to me that we'd be waiting leave right after the trail breakers the next morning. It simply was not worth the huge effort to break trail through 2 feet of snow for endless miles before the trail team caught up. Far better to just wait until they left the shelter and follow their freshly broken trail to Nikolai.

So everybody began to settle in. I carefully hung out my damp gear to dry where it hopefully wouldn't get lost or drip onto somebody else; no small feat! I think there were six of us that crammed in like sardines in the upper loft to sleep. I was thankful for the space I had as I'd secretly feared, being the last to the cabin in our group, that I'd have no place to go other than on the floor or back outside! Ugh! After spreading out my air mattress it became immediately clear I didn't need my sleeping bag, or many clothes to wear! It was seriously HOT up in that loft! The stoking of the fire to melt snow and make meals had totally hot boxed that tiny cabin. I was almost sweating up there and it was glorious! Thankfully there was a small window in the loft that we could just prop open using a piece of one of my trekking poles. We'd get just enough of a cool draft to make it manageable. We could also see the thick snow flakes still falling quickly. In an instant I was blissfully asleep!

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?