Before the Iditarod Sled Dog Race became an Internet phenomenon featuring reality TV stars who reach the finish line in Nome and claim to be unaware they have won, it belonged to a bunch of wild-and-crazy folks who headed off into the wilderness each March on the grandest of Alaska adventures.
How much the race has changed since its 1973 beginnings is hard to believe for those who weren't around at the start. And the early memories of what author Tim Jones dubbed "The Last Great Race'' in his 1982 book of the same title are fading.
Enter Raine Hall, a one-time Iditarod Trail Committee staffer. Hall has been on a personally costly and time-consuming, four-year quest to collect the memories of mushers who were around when the Iditarod was truly an adventure that left many wondering if they would reach the end.
The late Col. Norman Vaughan, now a historic Alaska figure, many times did not. In 1976, he was lost for five days on the north side of the Alaska Range. A massive search was launched, and he was eventually rescued.
Nobody thought much of it. This year, Hugh Neff from Tok stalled on the ice of Golovin Bay and later claimed to have nearly died because it took race officials 10 hours to respond to his satellite-signaled SOS and come rescue him.
Technology changes Iditarod
Technology truly changed the Iditarod. Where mushers once had to search for a trail from Wasilla to Nome and sometimes work together with mushers out in front of their teams on snowshoes to break trail, there is now a 1,000-mile route north from Willow that's well-marked and often groomed to the extent that some mushers appear shocked when the going gets as tough as it did this year.
Tough going, though, made the Iditarod famous. It was what the Iditarod was long about, and there are people who still remember. Cajoled, prodded and inspired by Hall, they have had their memories turned into a book.
"Iditarod -- The First Ten Years'' by "The Old Iditarod Gang'' -- just launched on Kickstarter. A compilation of the recollections of early race competitors and winners, it is a labor of love for Hall (now Hall Rawlins), who hopes to eventually get the publication into wide circulation and put a copy in every Alaska school.
For Iditarod fans, the book might be worth the price for the artwork artist and musher Jon Van Zyle, a member of the Iditarod Hall of Fame and tireless Iditarod supporter, donated to the cause.
For Iditarod history buffs, the recollections of 1980 Iditarod champ Joe May are something to be cherished. May is a first-class storyteller who first ran the race in 1976, won it four years later and had the sense to retire two years after that.
The event was in the early years, truly the "grueling'' competition Jones described in his book. Jones is also a contributor to "The First Ten Years."
Another contributor was Frank Gerjevic, one of the first and best newspaper reporters to put boots on the trail, starting in 1979. Gerjevic, now an opinion pages editor at Alaska Dispatch News, was then a reporter for the Anchorage Daily News.
Gerjevic might be most famous among Iditarod insiders for once having his snowmachine key stolen by Rick Swenson, the Iditarod's only five-time champion. Swenson didn't much like the idea of sharing the trail with snowmachines back in the day.
Now there is no choice.
Snowmachines have become as ubiquitous in rural Alaska as cars in LA. And because of them, the Iditarod race has changed dramatically, both in ways good and not quite so good.
"The First Ten Years" takes readers back to the days before snowmachines owned the Iditarod Trail.
Hall said she hopes to raise $35,000 to cover the costs that have gone into producing the book. She and former musher Al Crane, a one-time Iditarod president and race marshal, fronted most of the money to make the book happen. About $20,000 has been raised as of Monday, with 38 days to go.
Contact Craig Medred at craig(at)alaskadispatch.com.
Alaska Dispatch Publishing