Veteran musher Brent Sass (bib # 21), of Eureka, Alaska, is the first musher to reach the Iditarod checkpoint, the halfway point of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. Sass arrived at 6:08 p.m. with 14 dogs.
GCI technician Bob James presented Sass with the Dorothy G. Page Halfway Award. By arriving first to Iditarod, Sass has a choice of either $3,000 in gold nuggets or a smartphone of the musher’s choice with a year of free GCI service.
The halfway award honors the late “Mother of the Iditarod,” Dorothy G. Page. The trophy, which is made of Alaska birch and marble and features a photo of Page, remains year-round at Iditarod headquarters.
“GCI is committed to supporting our community and traditions, now more than ever. As the official technology partner, we want to connect kids and fans of this Alaska tradition to the race and give them something to look forward to while many are distance-learning and hunkering down at home,” said Kate Slyker, GCI’s chief marketing officer.
This award will be re-presented to Sass at a later date.
Veteran Iditarod musher Gunnar Johnson (bib #11), of Duluth, Minnesota, has been withdrawn from the 2021 Iditarod race at approximately 3:15 p.m. today due to a positive COVID-19 test at the McGrath checkpoint.
Iditarod Race Marshal Mark Nordman, in consultation with epidemiologist Dr. Jodie Guest, made the decision to withdraw Johnson, who is asymptomatic, based on the protocols established in the COVID-19 mitigation plan. Under this guidance and per the Iditarod race rules, Johnson understands that he has been withdrawn. He is incredibly disappointed and felt his dog team looked great.
Per the mitigation plan, Johnson:
Was immediately notified by COVID-19 Team personnel of the positive results;
Was immediately removed from the checkpoint area by COVID-19 Team personnel to isolate away from others in an Arctic oven tent; and
Will be removed off the trail using safe transport.
Per the COVID-19 mitigation protocols, all mushers are tested for COVID-19 just outside the McGrath checkpoint using a rapid antigen test. Johnson was tested by a COVID-19 Team member and the rapid antigen test came back positive. Johnson was then re-tested twice using a molecular-based COVID-19 test and both results came back positive.
Johnson did not come into close contact with race personnel or community members, nor did he enter any buildings or community spaces in McGrath. However, he did park his team as he was planning to rest at the checkpoint.
The COVID-19 Team is in the process of contact tracing and performing additional mitigation measures as needed. The State of Alaska has been notified of the results.
Johnson had 14 dogs in harness at the time of the withdrawal.
We were scoping out the venue before the mushers and teams arrived. During this COVID time, everything is under wraps. Terry discovered a small drive on the edge of the landing strip. Toward the river a sign said “ROAD CLOSED” and on the other side of the road it mentioned something about not entering. Ahead we saw a couple of people milling about inside a fenced compound. As we edged closer, it was like someone pulled back the curtain to unveil the carefully organized area with all the essentials for dog care: straw, food, foot remedies. A man quickly came upon us and said, “This is off limits to everyone except volunteers and participants”. Our first COVID event and we ignored the rules. And Terry is in quarantine. This is no joke. I’m ashamed.
To track the races events from a distance, I purchased the Iditarod Insider program for my computer. It’s really busy with information, but it’s great for learning. The only way we know a team is arriving it from the program’s tracker. Each musher is wearing a GPS. One of the TV reporters told us Dallas Seavey would was coming in and would be there some time after 1:30. From the tracker, we knew he was coming. It was hard to estimate when. We returned about 12:30 because we wanted to buy some hot chocolate from the homeschool kid studying in his mom’s Loco Cocoa tent. We could have walked away with two Cocoas and five dollars, if Terry wasn’t honest. Math skills weren’t important to our cashier. Seavey arrived at 4:00. Luckily it was twenty degrees, but we shouldn’t have drunk the Cocoa. Looking for a musher, involves staring into the white, afraid to take you eyes off the prize and letting someone else spot the movement from down river before you. About 15 local spectators lined the narrow snow path overlooking the bank. The trail is almost mid-river at this point, so the view somewhat distant. In Grayling the teams ran right in front of our house and lined out their teams all around us.
After Seavey, we made a quick run home, approximately a mile. I checked the tracker and discovered that three more mushers were due shortly. We were going to do our own estimation of ETA. Every 5 minutes it tells how many miles they are from the checkpoint. We walked down to the river to get closer to the trail. Using the information on how fast teams were moving, we could be within five minutes, if they don’t stop to pee, snack their dogs, etc. Our new vantage point was only 20 feet off the course. We watched the next three until it was almost dark at 7:20. One of them, stopped about 200 yards away. I was filming his approach and my hands were getting cold. Deb had her binoculars, and we finally noticed he was making yellow snow.
At 5:00 AM I watched two more teams, under the headlamp. It’s a gorgeous flow catching glimpses of bootied feet, and long tongues, and crisscrossed halters under a towering light. And that fast crunching tempo on hard packed snow.
I woke Terry and he made it out for two more teams with the waxing civil twilight showing more forms and less ghosts.
During daylight we watched all of the teams, save one that has not yet arrived, the last one, the red lantern team. We were in and out all day, sometimes walking and talking with Elsie. Terry also joined Eva, the ice fishing fanatic, for some good fish tales, but no caught fish.
Yesterday was troublesome for mushers. It was too warm, nearly 30 degrees above. They would rather run in -30 conditions, as the dogs overheat. Also, the wet snow pushed down on the river ice, squeezing water out the edges, which flows under the snow pack toward the center. This is overflow. It is invisible, until a weight pushes down the top snow. That weight is usually a dogs foot, sled runner, or snow machine. Nobody likes cold, wet feet, even dogs. Snow machines can bog down and have to be abandoned. Today was around 10-15 degrees, with some overflow still lurking. Tomorrow will be around -20 and the pace will pick up.
According to GPS tracking, a group of Iditarod teams has left Nikolai. They should start arriving between 8:00 and 9:00 Alaska time. We’ll be out watching the river.
The following is from my Grayling Journal, March 9, 2001 when the first Iditarod musher arrived:
By nine we had been hanging around the river banking waiting for an hour under cloudy skies. But it was worth it. We could see the musher’s headlight shinning off in the distance and then the outline of movement, then we could make out the team and see the musher swaying from side to side, and when they got close the silence was incredible. Anything else you see coming at you with a light, makes noise. Here we’re used to the annoying sound of snow machines. But this is silence. And then you hear the musher call out “haw” for left and next “gee” for right and the dogs snake up the hill in fluidity.
We followed them up and watched Jeff King work on his dogs. Each musher has two or three human-sized bags of food and equipment shipped into every checkpoint. They open a bale of straw and fluff it under the dogs and then they start boiling water to mix food for the dogs. The musher can’t accept any outside help. They do all the work. One of the vets starts checking the dogs. They listen to their hearts and lungs and check shoulders, and feet, and hides for harness burns. Friday night was a zoo because the Iditarod checker and volunteers hadn’t fallen into a routine. They put the first musher’s dog alongside the community hall and even thought the hall was housing all these people, the villagers couldn’t forgo a Friday night without bingo, so all the Iditarod people were displaced. The locals had their snowmachines parked in the musher’s paths and they left their kids outside the hall.
The beauty of the dogs and mushers as one, really moved me. I’m looking forward to seeing this soon.
Back then, we had been in the village seven months. Here we are barely acclimated. Terry is still in quarantine. Therefore, so am I. We focus on the things we can do. Mainly cooking and outside exploring. We were working on skiing distance. But I don’t think I’ll be skiing due to my broken boot. Yesterday, Terry was in his skis, and I ran in my winter running shoes. We were the same pace. So I’ll pack my snowshoes for the deeper snow on our next outing. Yesterday, we made it twelve miles on the road. The last mile wasn’t plowed, just a snow machine trail. It was hard for me.
It was warm enough for our picnic lunch.
We’ve been comparing our outings to the one’s we experienced twenty years ago. Grayling is a couple hundred miles from here, in the same school district. But! There’s a 15 mile road here. It’s plowed to mile five. Trucks, SUVs use the first five miles. Snow machines use all of the road. At least one truck passes every hour or so and snowmachines are more frequent. There’s a clinic here and a State Trooper. It doesn’t seem dangerous by comparison, and not as adventurous.
Chili and cornbread.
I guess domestic duties have their own adventure. Terry treated me to dinner late night. He’s been ever increasing his repertoire of recipes since getting involved in The Great British Bakeoff. This was last night’s treat.
Twenty years ago, I was teaching in the village of Grayling AK. Yesterday’s ski outing reminded us of those days. I looked through my Journals and found this entry.
Terry and I had been talking about skiing to Anvik (the closest neighboring village) for months, but I hadn’t had much time to train for the distance. The farthest I’d skied was 9 miles and that was two weekends ago. Friday night was promising a warm Saturday, and the days are long enough to travel distance, so I suggested getting up early and leaving for Anvik by 9:30—about ten minutes before sunrise. Terry never questioned whether I could make it. He jumped right into action and started packing the sled.
At 9:23 the next morning, amid extremely giant flakes of falling snow we headed for Anvik. The sled, towed by a rope around Terry’s waist, was packed with emergency gear including a pistol in case of moose attack. I carried a daypack and Muk was unencumbered, trotting happily alongside his “daddy” for just another ski outing. One of my students stopped us on the way out-of-town and wanted to know our destination. She said we were crazy to be heading out in such a storm and that a couple from Anvik was holed up at her house right then. They felt it was dangerous to be out in such poor visibility. They might get lost and end up stuck in the overflow or diving into a river hole. Most locals cannot imagine that there’s a big difference between skiing and snowmobiling, having never skied. We don’t need much visibility when we’re traveling only a few miles per hour. So off we went with the blowing snow driving us along. It was relatively warm, 20o and beautiful. We were happy to be outside, doing something not connected with school. Muk pranced ahead of us, having no idea that we would be out long past his limit of endurance. Perhaps we should have listened to my student.
Our first landmark was a bluff 8 miles out from Grayling called Jonah’s nose (Is it Biblical?). The snow was still blowing, and we were totally alone breaking trail, but we seemed to reach the bluff in no time. By mile 14, however, I was really started to tire, plus, I could feel the blisters forming on my heels. Every time we’d stop for even a minute to adjust things, Muk would walk around in concentric circles, kind of stamping his feet as he went. We thought he was trying to spell SOS in the snow, but soon realized that he was making a bed. He could burrow down and be tight in a sleeping ball in less than 30 seconds. But as soon as we started anew, he’d jump up and plod onward.
At some point during the seventh hour, we were met by the first snow machine of the day heading toward us from Anvik. A woman in her early 60s, Betty, and her son, late 30s, Spud, slid off to talk to us. She and her son were inebriated. They were amazed by the sight of skiers, though she called us snowshoers several times. She shouted out, “are you tourists?” She told us she’s lived in Anvik her whole life and never skied nor seen anyone ski as far as we were. Her son was standing beside her, teetering back and forth like a thin tree in a strong breeze. His coat was wide open, and he had no hat on. His inside pocket revealed his secret for staying toasty warm, a bottle of Windsor. Betty tried to pull his hood up and tie it, but wasn’t quite capable of that, especially with all of his bobbing and weaving. He said his scarf blew off somewhere, pointing back over his shoulder. Fortunately, in our morning’s skiing, we had collected 3 hats and a glove along the trail. Terry dug out the best hat and pulled it down over Spud’s red ears. He gave a grin of thanks, but didn’t fasten the velcro, so it probably soon blew off. Betty ended the conversation by declaring that she didn’t know that other people would be as crazy as her to be out in such weather, and Praise God that we had broken the trail for her. She hugged me and beaming a large smile took off toward Grayling. Muk was taking advantage of every second, snug in his sleeping ball.
After seven hours, we hoped we were near to our destination. Betty said we were halfway, but Spud said we had 4 miles to go. We hoped Spud was right. All accounts had said that Anvik was 18 miles, so we figured it was just past the next bluff. After the bluff, the riverbank flattened to marshland and it seemed that this was the shore of the Anvik River. So, we slowly trudged on. By then, my heels were so blistered I was moving like the Tinman after a light rain. An hour or so later, we had made little progress. Another snow machine headed our way. This man was sober and friendly. From him we learned that Anvik was now four miles away and that it was actually 22 miles from Grayling by the trail, or 18 miles by air. He also said that it was above freezing. We knew that it was warm, but we didn’t know it was that warm. He headed off to Grayling to break trail for Martha (local bootlegger), who was planning to ride to Holy Cross for a funeral.
We had a hard time starting again. The snow was thawing and sticking to our skis. Terry cleaned mine off, but they immediately iced up and I couldn’t push them. Finally, I took them off, and stumbled along in the soft snow, sorry that I had neglected to bring snowshoes. Our speed seemed to be down to about one mile an hour. It was late enough to start worrying about whether we’d make it by sundown. Terry gave me his skis and put on mine. We pushed on slowly. About half mile out of Anvik we were overtaken by the same guy returning from Grayling. He promised to call one of the teachers and have her meet us at the shore for a ride up the mile hill to school. It was now after six, and the light was fading it seemed, though we had not seen the sun all day. Not that that stops people from snowmachining, but it was also raining.
When we angled off the river and entered the town the streetlights were lit, but no one was in sight. I was crestfallen. I had depleted all my energy and could barely stand the blister pain. It was torturous pushing up that long hill in the growing darkness, though Muk was happy to see and hear other dogs. Now if he ever wants to run away, he has a home away from home. Terry stopped the first person he saw, and she called the principal on her VHF. The teacher came racing down on the school’s snowmachine. She said they were just about to sit down to a dinner, and we could join them. The teacher took me first, then returned for Muk and Terry. We warmed up on ginger cookies just out of the oven. Muk relaxed in the Arctic porch, eating the other dog’s food.
Saturday already? February 6, 2021
The Iditarod starts tomorrow. We’re thinking we might see the first team on Wednesday.
Today’s big event was skiing to the top of Cranberry hill. My ski boot is falling apart after only twenty-five years. The top hook for the laces disappeared. So it was tied crooked. Cranberry hill is four miles out of town. At the top I realized, I was developing a blister from my cattywampus boot. I always love seeing what’s around the next corner, but with a four mile return, I lost interest in the next corner.
We made it to the dump and back before ukulele Zoom. Instead of playing ukuleles, we talk about who has had the vaccine, how they scored to get the vaccine, which one they got, the process, second doses, the rules after vaccination. It’s all sour grapes for me, since I can’t score.
To the dump
It was beautifully warm and sunny when we skied across the Kuskokwim River to a pristine environment of ice & snow, solitude and quiet. Next week fifty-eight dog teams will race over this same trail.
The report for the Aurora Borealis was high activity. After a dressing frenzy, we greeted the – 28 air at 4:45. I’ve lived in a number of small villages but the only place we’ve lived without street lights is Corralitos. You can’t see the Aurora without dark skies. We moved away from the street light, but the waning gibbous moon was bright enough to interfere.
The moon at 5:00 am. People in Grayling, AK talked about the little green men, and here’s proof.
I settled into writing and Terry reading. By 2:00 the temperature was up to -3. It was time to get out of the cabin and ski. Can’t do anything without first checking the message board app. It appeared that when we had our heads down working hard they posted that our veggies had arrived. I frantically called the airport, but no one answered. They have never answered that damn phone. How do we know if anyone is there so we can get our produce? So instead of going across the River to explore, we headed to the airport pulling the sled. The terminal door opened. No one was there. I searched around and found the box. This was our first time picking up the veggies without help from Brett. This was major!
What a difference direction makes. Going out of town on this 1 degree day was pleasant enough, but apparently we had a 2 mph tailwind. Not much you say, however walking at 3 mph into a 2 mph headwind makes it feel 5 degrees colder. We were lucky that wind wasn’t 7 mph, because then you would be feeling 21 degrees colder. This is my explanation for returning twice to the cabin today for extra clothing. Deb, after being here a month already, correctly dressed the first time.
Of course he won’t listen to me. Deb here.
You can tell it’s not that cold.
We have almost 11 hours of daylight. Three weeks to reach the equinox. But before that wonderful pagan celebration on March 14th, with the help of each of us, our clocks will spring forward, plunging our sunrise one hour later which is my mid morning. It’s time for my second cup at sunrise. It’s torture. How is it everyone goes along with this messing around with time, making us lose an hour which our god-given circadian rhythms can never recover from, putting us in a murderous mood, yet people won’t accept the polite edict to wear a mask for the simple reason it’s a small price to pay to same lives. And everyone knows you look a damn-site better behind a mask, and if you don’t believe me, study someone’s nose, anyone’s, stare at it and you’ll see how ridiculous they all look.
Back to our lovely time in McGrathland. Today I challenged my engineer husband to make something practical and brilliant from a piece of string, a wood chip and a stick of margarines. Here it is. Brilliant.
The Iditarod Air Force is going strong. We have a constant stream of take offs and landings. They deliver an enormous amount to supplies to each of the checkpoints including 400 bails of straw for dog beds, and 62 tons of dog food.
Terry brought our skis. It is an incredible treat to ski right from your door.
Our one square inch of sun for the day.
We came indoors long enough to make Irish Soda bread.
Straight from watching a Paul Hollywood YouTube.
This is all about the vegetables. With all the air activity, it’s really hard to guess when a delivery has arrived. NAC is our 727 jet carrier. It’s scheduled arrivals are Wednesday and Friday at 6:00 PM or whenever. I received a text from Brett at 5:30 yesterday, Tuesday, that NAC was in. I spent the whole month of February figuring out the contact for my Full Circle order was Ben. Well now that the air traffic has ramped up, Ben has left town. His replacement is Squire. I learned of this change because it was Sharpied on the styrofoam replacement for the window on the door at the air terminal. I was there picking up Terry. So I called Squire. He was going through the pallets of items. He didn’t know if my Full Circle Veggies were on the plane. He’d call me back in twenty. When he didn’t, we decided to pull the sled down to the terminal. At 7:00 PM we arrived back home with an empty sled.
Mountain Peace 