RV ALASKA - "Lean Right!" (And Don't Fall Out of the Cart!)

Even before we started out on this expedition, we knew we’d have to schedule at least two, and maybe even three, oil changes along the way.  Alan has always been a stickler about vehicle maintenance, and both times the percentage of oil life remaining on the truck dropped to a certain level, he started pressing me for more details about our schedule.  Our first oil change was done in La Grande, Oregon, while we were there to have work done on the trailer.  On an earlier pass through central Alaska, we had already identified an express lube business in Wasilla as a good possibility for an oil change; upon our arrival in Palmer on the 22^nd, we were down to 9% oil life remaining.  I believe that’s 1% above the point when we start getting alerts to “Change Oil Soon.”  (How’s that for timing?!)  So, one of the most important items on our list of activities for the Palmer-Wasilla area was an oil change.  Once that was accomplished at Wasilla Lube Express on Swanson Avenue (nicely done, we’d go back), we enjoyed breakfast at IHOP, and then headed out to a place that has been close to my heart for almost 20 years.

In January of 1925, an outbreak of diphtheria threatened the village of Nome on Alaska’s western coast.  By January 21^st, two children had died and more and more cased were being diagnosed.  Diphtheria – highly contagious and often fatal – threatened to wipe out the entire town of 1,400 people and spread to other villages in the area.  The town’s doctor called for a quarantine, and contacted the U.S. Public Health Service to beg for a shipment of the anti-toxin serum that would battle the illness.  At the time, the only supply available was in Anchorage, 1,000 miles away.  Planes were of no use in the Alaskan winters, unable to fly due to frequent storms and frigid temperatures.  Glass vials of serum were packed up for an emergency run on the Alaska Railroad.  The 20 pound package was wrapped in furs to prevent both breakage and freezing, and the train headed north to Nenana - as far as it could go toward the village of Nome.  Then, experienced mushers – mail carriers, freight drivers - and their teams of sled dogs took over, running a life or death relay from roadhouse to roadhouse in the dead of winter.  They transported the life-saving serum 674 miles across frozen lands, through blizzards and across the perilous Norton Sound at frigid temperatures well below zero, accomplishing an urgent task no one else could have managed.  The serum did freeze, but was successfully thawed, and the village of Nome was saved.  The 1925 Serum Run made news around the world, and the mushers and their dogs were lauded for their heroism.

Fast forward 40 years.  In the 1960’s, Joe Reddington, Sr. and Dorothy G. Page were concerned that the historical significance of dog sled teams in Alaska was being forgotten by the general public as more modern modes of winter travel, such as the snowmobile (or snowmachine, as it’s called up here), became the more convenient choice.  Long before the 1925 Serum Run, sled dogs had been used by native people for transportation and the hauling of freight.  Reddington and Page began working to create a long-distance race that would commemorate the Serum Rum and highlight the significance of The Iditarod Trail and honor the sled dogs that made travel along the Trail possible.   The Iditarod Trail was an overland route developed by mushers that ran from the port of Seward up to Iditarod.  The creation of this trail finally allowed goods and people to be transported by sled dog teams well into the interior of Alaska, and the Iditarod is now designated a National Historic Trail.  The race that Reddington and Page envisioned came to fruition, and The Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race celebrated its 50^th anniversary in 2023.

Do you know how I know all of this?  Because sled dogs worked their way into my heart from the time of our first visit to Alaska in 1998.  Alan and I both love dogs, and a chance meeting with an Alaskan Malamute on that first trip would eventually lead to Tanner, our very own Mal, joining the family in 2003.  On our second trip to Alaska in 2004, my relationship with sled dogs was cemented when our family of four visited the kennels of Iditarod champion Jeff King.  The concept of running dog teams in a long-distance race in the isolated interior of Alaska intrigued me so much that I returned to Alaska the following year for an educator’s conference organized by the Iditarod Trail Committee, the organization that runs the race.  The purpose of this annual conference is to assist teachers with developing and incorporating lesson plans that relate to the Iditarod Sled Dog Race in their curriculum back home.  Most kids love animals, and lessons on math, science, biology, history, English and art can easily be built around this race, successfully capturing the excited attention of students who don’t realize how much they’re learning.  Although I was never a teacher, I had previously developed a two-day seminar on hiring practices during my stint in the Human Resources area of banking, so creating the curriculum was an easy task.  Working with several teachers at our kids’ elementary school, I brought the Iditarod into their classrooms, and also developed an after-school arts-in-education program based on the Race.

This subject is so close to my heart, I could go on and on.  But I won’t.  I would like to address one other point, though.  Animal rights activists condemn the Race as being cruel to the dogs who run it.  I cannot deny the fact that dogs have, in fact, died during the Race.  That, of course, breaks my heart.  What I will say to anyone who objects to the Race or to running sled dogs in general, is please educate yourself first, before forming an opinion.  Through the educator’s conference, I was able to visit three more kennels run by mushers.  The dogs are well cared for, and even to an untrained eye, you can see that these dogs absolutely love to run.  It’s literally in their blood because it’s what they’ve been bred for over hundreds of years in a way of life that most of us will never truly understand.  Are there bad apples in the barrel of mushers?  Probably.  As with any group, the behavior of certain individuals can reflect poorly on the rest of us.  The majority of pet owners don’t abuse their animals, but, certainly, there are some.  We all read about them in the news.  But, if you could see these sled dogs (and the mushers who love them), you would know that the majority are well-cared for – and they all love what they do.  If a musher walks into his or her dog yard with sled harnesses, every one of those dogs will begin barking and jumping in excitement, as if to say, “Pick me!  Pick ME!”  I’ve seen it, and their excitement is contagious.  Fun fact:  The National Park Service has been using teams of sled dogs to patrol Denali National Park in the winter for 102 years.  (More about that in a future post.)  At this point in our trip, I was returning to Iditarod Headquarters for the first time in 19 years.  What made this visit so special was that, instead of educators I didn’t know and would never see again, I was there with Alan, and we were going on a dog cart ride!

Date(s) – July 24th - July 25th   

Total Miles Traveled to Date – 11,609

Wildlife Sightings to Date – No wildlife either day – unless you count some of the lunatic drivers we saw on the road - so our wildlife count remains at: 62 eagles (including 2 fledglings); 4 seagull chicks; 8 swans (including 2 fuzzy cygnets); 3 Steller sea lions; 13 harbor seals; 2 sea otters; 3 cow moose; 1 bull moose; 1 grizzly sow with 2 cubs; 1 back end of a grizzly bear; 6 black bears; 1 coyote; 1 snowshoe hare; 3 rabbits (including one very fast bunny that just managed to cross the road safely); several small herds of bison with at least 2 dozen young calves; 9 deer (2 of them bucks with their racks covered in velvet); 9 mountain goats (including 3 tiny and adorable kids); 23 bighorn sheep; 62 elk (including 7 calves that hadn’t yet lost their spots and a number of bull elk with full racks covered in velvet); several small herds of pronghorn antelope (including 2 mamas with 3 newborn fawns between them); 3 great blue herons; dozens of American white pelicans; at least a half dozen families of adult geese with goslings; and several dozen ducks (with lots of little ducklings).

Highlights – Personally, I wouldn’t consider an oil change a vacation highlight, but, based on how happy Alan was after it was completed, I guess it falls into that category – at least for some of us.

I was thrilled to return to Iditarod Headquarters, and just as happy to see that dog cart rides were being offered.  With no snow on the ground, mushers turn to various types of wheeled carts to keep up with training runs year-round, and I had enjoyed a dog cart ride when I attended the educators’ conference.  As it turned out, the musher providing the rides the day we visited was Iditarod veteran Riley Dyche, and Alan and I jumped at the chance for a cart ride with him, his lead dog, Ace, and the rest of his team.  As we raced around the track at a respectable 12 miles per hour, Riley yelled, “Lean right!” as we came into the far turn.  He didn’t have to add, “And don’t fall out of the cart,” because that was already running through my mind.  Twelve miles per hour doesn’t sound that fast, but, when you’re being pulled by a team of very enthusiastic Alaskan Huskies, it does make you wonder if that dog cart ride was your best choice of the day.  Actually, it was tons of fun, and it was over way too soon.

Following our dog cart adventure, Alan and I explored the museum room inside Headquarters, and paused for a moment to watch the video that had caught the attention of other visitors.  With me in the house, having developed coursework based on the Iditarod, I can assure you that all of our family members know a lot about this race and the running of sled dogs.  Every March, the race map would be stuck on the refrigerator, and we’d track the leaders’ progress and keep our eye on “the Red Lantern,” the last musher on the trail.  It was rewarding for me to hear the visitors’ positive comments as they watched the video that opened their eyes to a way of life they didn’t know and weren’t even aware existed.

The educators’ conference I attended was held in June, timed so that we were in town for the annual volunteers’ picnic and musher sign up for the next year’s race.  This race couldn’t take place without the huge number of volunteers who offer their time and financial resources to make it work.  Volunteer pilots transport race officials, news media, veterinarians, volunteers, mushers and dogs as needed along the Trail.  Those volunteer veterinarians fly from checkpoint to checkpoint along the race route, examining every dog to be sure they’re physically and mentally fit to continue the race, and conducting drug tests for both dogs and mushers to ensure the safety of and fairness to all.  Meanwhile, other volunteers check in mushers at every checkpoint along the way, leapfrogging by plane as needed to staff each outpost – many of them remote and not much more than a small roadhouse or a temporary community of winter-proof tents.  Other volunteers cook meals for the mushers, who won’t eat or sleep until their dogs have been fed and settled in piles of hay to rest.  Still more volunteers remain at race headquarters, updating the Iditarod website, providing information to news media and handling every single one of the countless tasks necessary to make this race happen each year.  It was a pleasure to meet many of the volunteers at the picnic and the mushers, as well.  And it was just as exciting to me to return to Iditarod Headquarters and share that experience with the guy who held down the fort at home while I flew off to Alaska to play with the dogs.  That Alan – he’s such a good guy!

The Independence Mine State Historic Site provided an eye-opening look at gold mining life in Alaska.  In 1906, Robert Lee Hatcher staked the first hard-rock gold claim in the area.  His claim later became part of the Independence Mine, and over 150,000 ounces of gold were removed from the mine between 1936 and 1943.  It was the second largest gold-producer in the Willow Mining District.  The mine operated year-round and, at its peak, employed just over 200 men in the mine, camp and mill.  General Manager Walter Stoll was well-liked and well-respected by the miners who worked under him.  “Big Walt” provided the mine’s employees with excellent food, good accommodations and the best tools and equipment available.  He’s credited with much of the mine’s success.  The Independence Mine closed in 1951; the abandoned buildings and surrounding acreage became the Independence Mine State Historical Site in 1983.  It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1974.  The cloud cover at the top of Hatcher Pass provided an ethereal tinge to our visit, despite the fact that we were only about 20 minutes from Palmer.  I wouldn’t have been surprised at all to hear voices from the past conversing in the mess hall after a long, hard day’s work in the mine.

Alaskans have an enduring love affair going on with their coffee.  Or their espresso, or their cocoa-mocha-double-triple-caramel-sweetened-will-need-some-valium-after-this lattes.  To the extent that countless (and I really do mean countless) tiny, drive-through coffee shops exists everywhere.  The interesting thing about them is that they all have their individual personalities.  Sure, a lot of them look like log cabins – to be expected up here in “the last frontier.”  But there are plenty of other iterations, too.  There was the little green coffee cup-shaped building that was absolutely adorable.  (I don’t remember where it was, but I do remember trying to grab a quick photo of it as we drove by.  When I come across it, I’ll post it, assuming it came out well enough that you can actually tell what it is that you’re looking at.)  Another one, in Palmer, looked like a little cobblestone cottage.  That one was called Brew HaHa.  The Purple Moose, also in Palmer and just a couple of blocks away from Brew HaHa, sold soft-serve ice cream, as well as coffee in all of its variations.  The ice cream was nothing to write home about, so I’m thinking they should stick to coffee. At least we got to pretend that we were true Alaskans, driving through their favorite coffee kiosk to pick up a cup o’ joe.

Alan and I have been fascinated by the color of many of the rivers here in Alaska, but it has been extremely difficult to photograph them in such a way that the grayish-blue color we’re seeing appears true.  The photo below of the Little Susitna River near the Independence Mine is the best pic of the color that I’ve been able to capture.  In researching what determines the color of the water, I’ve come across two different answers.  One is simply that it’s glacial silt.  The other is that it depends what type of rock and minerals the water is exposed to and runs through.  I don’t know enough earth science to venture a guess as to which theory is correct (maybe both?), but I will say that the water colors we’ve seen have run the gamut from crystal clear to muddy brown to a bluish-gray teal – and some of them are absolutely gorgeous.

Lowlight(s) – I really need a cut and color, but don't spread that around.

Campground(s) – Out of the frying pan, into the fire.  Do you remember me mentioning on our first visit to Matanuska River Park in Palmer, that the small plane traffic was plentiful?  We were on the approach to the local airport; in the evening, especially, small planes were coming in almost directly overhead, one after the other.  We figured it wasn’t as noisy as it could have been because they were all on their descent, and we weren’t bothered by it enough to keep us away from that sweet little campground.  When we moved over to the Springer Campground (also in Palmer) for nights 3 and 4 of our stay in that area, we found ourselves at the other end of the airport.  Planes were taking off directly overhead on a regular basis.  Yikes!  It was so loud that we would pause our conversation as each small plane flew by overhead.  The Springer Campground was located in an incredibly beautiful setting, but the only reason I’d go back is if our favorite sites at Matanuska River Park weren’t available.

Here’s an, “It’s a small world!” story for you.  When we pulled up to our site at the Springer Campground, we were delighted to see another Outdoors RV trailer in the site next to us.  At one point, we got to chatting with our neighbors, Larry and Teri.  During the conversation, Larry brought up the East Coast Outdoors RV Owners Rally that’s scheduled for September in Virginia, and he asked if we’re going.  Yes, indeed.  Well, guess what!  So are they!  They’ll be traveling in the lower 48, and made reservations to attend the Rally.  Alan and I will be in site 105 at the state park where the Rally is being held; Larry and Teri will be in site 116.  The East Coast Rally attracts maybe 15 to 30 rigs.  We’re from the east coast; they’re from Alaska.  Not only did our paths cross, but we were camped right next to each other for two days, thousands of miles from where we’ll meet again at the site of the Rally.  What were the chances?!

Special Message(s) – The Happiest of Birthday wishes to Anna, Bob and Geo!  Hope you all have a wonderful time celebrating your special days!

Pic(s) of the Day

Springer Campground, Palmer, Alaska - Larry & Teri's rig next to ours

Taken from the main road outside of Springer Campground - such a beautiful setting!

Iditarod Headquarters - Wasilla, Alaska

Alan and me with Riley Dyche's team - we're petting Riley's lead dog, Ace.

The dogs run right into their line of pools to cool down after each cart ride.

Me and Riley with Ace (the brains of the team)

Independence Mine State Historic Site - mine manager's house on the left

One of the bunkhouses

The cookhouse and mess hall

The Purple Moose - Palmer, Alaska

The Little Susitna River - along the road to the Independence Mine

Up Next – On one of the days we were at the Kenai Princess RV Park in Cooper Landing, juggling our schedule to make the best use of our time, Alan and I had driven down to Seward for the day.  It was only about an hour away, but with delays due to road construction, it took two days.  Just kidding, but it sure felt like it.  Nonetheless, that brief visit in Seward confirmed our theory that Seward was our kind of place.  Based on that day trip, we extended our reservations from seven nights to ten.  And we couldn’t have been happier we did!

Note:  We're in the middle of nowhere, struggling with cell and internet service again.  All is well, and I'll be back as soon as is technologically possible.