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!
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| Nearing the split in the trail. Hell's Gate or Rainy Pass? Hmmm? |
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!
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| 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!
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...
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.
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| ITI Rohn Checkpoint |
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| Rohn safety cabin and official Iditarod dog race checkpoint |
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| 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.
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?
