By Joe Runyan
The run from Kaltag to Unalakleet is over an old trading trail that communicates from the Yukon River over a small coastal range of mountains to the Bering Sea. There are so many changes and transitions involved in going from the Yukon to the Bering Sea that it is easily the most dramatic and pivotal portion of the entire racecourse. Historically, the Athabascan stronghold was the Yukon and the Interior, and the Eskimos prevailed on the coast. But they traded via this trail - sort of a neutral free-trade zone.
The modern-day musher can witness this same cultural change when traveling the 90 miles from Kaltag to Unalakleet. The Indians and the Eskimos share the same destiny as any other modern Alaskan, but there are huge differences in language, customs and lifestyle. The alert musher also anticipates a change in the weather. Generally speaking, the musher plans on extreme cold in the Interior, occasional trail breaking in deep snow, and long stretches of trail winding through black spruce, willow, birch and cottonwood. Although there are a few places to get blown around a bit by the wind, nothing compares with the storms that come off the Bering Sea to hammer the coastal portion of the trail. In addition, musher and team are very vulnerable, because there is essentially no place to hide if one is caught in a big blow.
The trail follows the coastal tundra and the rare tree can be a novelty. Even in a big blow in the Interior, it is possible to find protection in a creek-bottom grove of trees, or climb the banks of the Yukon into a thicket of willows to get out of the wind. Just when it seems the dogs have been tested to the max, the Iditarod comes up with another challenge on the coast. I visualize that the dogs are on a Herculean quest to prove themselves. It may seem that extreme cold is the biggest natural factor facing the team and musher. But inconceivable as it may seem, clothing has been developed that makes 50 below tolerable. In fact, most mushers have gear good enough that it is possible to flop on top of the sled bag or even stretch out on the snow and grab an hour or more of sleep in relative comfort. And that’s without any protection other than the gear on the musher. Likewise, it may not be the best day in a dog’s life, but Alaskan Huskies do very well physiologically at 50 below. They can handle it for days, and while they may not be comfortable, they certainly are not suffering. The wind is a different story, and the musher is preoccupied with being properly prepared.
The musher negotiates the spruce-covered hills out of Kaltag, summits the coastal range, and begins the long descent back to sea level and Unalakleet. Nearing the coast, the musher becomes distinctly aware of the breeze, which is now slightly humid from the ocean and seems to bite with more intensity. Some Iditarod mushers will wrap a scarf around their face or put on a ski mask for the first time to protect against the cold. Some of the mushers begin seriously thinking about putting “blankets,” tailored coats for the dogs, on some of the team members. The decision to blanket a dog is based on previous experience and gut instinct. Some male dogs seem to be more prone to frostbite on the genitals, which the musher recognizes, and will blanket them as a precaution. Females and males are both subject to frostbite on the flanks, especially in a ground storm that hits the team from the side. Some sled dogs, for reasons that seem inexplicable, have no features that distinguish them from other teammates, and yet are entirely indifferent to the wind and cold and never need a blanket.
The snow is also strangely different on the coast. In the interior, the virgin snow is almost like dry flakes of light Styrofoam. One can walk through the cold, dry snow and not get wet. It brushes off clothing easily. When snow is compressed - on a trail, for example - the snow melds together solidly, and even when the snow machines disrupt the surface, the trail of the Interior keeps a solid bottom. On the other hand, coastal snow is like slightly damp detergent crystals. I don’t have a scientific explanation, but the sensation is that the sea air from the Bering Sea has modified the snow crystals into a white heavy powder. Some mushers are so convinced of the difference in snow that they will take the booties off the dogs, believing that the danger of ice crystals causing “frost splits” in the soft tissues of the dogs’ feet is over. The majority will leave the boots on their huskies , but I mention this to demonstrate how much different the snow seems from that of the Interior. When the wind blows on the coast, the powdery snow has the very irritating ability to find its way into the tiniest aperture.
Many mushers and modern-day Eskimos, for example still prefer to wear a Kusbuk - a pullover parka without a zipper - just to avoid the problem of snow migrating inside the clothing. In an emergency, this can be a very important consideration if the musher is forced to park on the ice and wait for the wind to abate. Many Iditarod mushers have been pinned down by the wind, unable to see or move, for longer than a day. Lastly, the coastal snow “pulls hard” on the runners. Even when the trail goes across a three-inch skiff of snow on the sea ice, the sled moves with resistance and the dogs’ tug lines are tight with the effort of overcoming the grip of the snow. It is like mushing on a beach of fine sand. You can always walk on a sandy beach, but every footstep is an effort, and that is what it can be like on the snow surface of the coast.
Just so you are not totally carried away with this impression of the coast, there are places on some of the overland portages, which are wind-packed and similar to the Interior, and in these places the sleds pull easily. Consequently, the dogs can really make some time. The trail crosses the big, rolling hills of the coastal range. The last 30 miles is more or less flat going on the approach to Unalakleet. A well-known landmark is a rounded mountain named “Old Woman.” The trail crosses a wooded creek and passes very near the doorway of a shelter cabin (Old Woman Cabin). Usually some snowmachiners from Unalakleet have a fire going in the cabin stove, so most mushers stop for a hot cup of tea and check their dogs. The cabin is small and crowded, but it is a novelty being out of the wind, so it is hard to resist the opportunity to take a break.
Just 15 miles from Unalakleet the trail drops onto the Unalakleet River, a famous river for sport fishing. Fish camps and summer camps, boarded up for the winter, line the river. Normally, winds will have polished long sections of the Unalakleet into smooth glare ice, providing one of those rare opportunities for the dogs to pull the sled almost effortlessly. The trail approaches Unalakleet, situated on a spit by the ocean, on the frozen ice of the river backwater. The front of the village is ocean to the west, and its back is against the fresh water of the river. At first this seems like a wind beaten, irrational place to build a village, but after a local explains that the best fishing and hunting are in this area, it makes sense.
Eskimo culture dominates the village of Unalakleet. Most visitors feel like a tourist in Paris who is embarrassed to be dressed like a bum in the presence of the style-conscious French. A number of the villagers congregate at the checkpoint dressed smartly in individual, handmade, one-of-a-kind fur parkas, hats, gloves, mitts, mukluks and moccasins. This apparel is exquisite, and a demonstration of fine craftsmanship (a misnomer because the designers and tailors are women.) Squirrel parkas with elaborately constructed wolf ruffs and wolverine liners are tediously constructed with bands of fur sewn into symbolic designs. Just when I think the older people are the only ones to own such irreplaceable clothing, I see a young girl playing on the snow bank dressed like her grandmother. Many of the boys wear marten hats (expensive items) and mold snowballs on the tanned moose hide palms of seal mitts. Look closely and you can see curious little faces peeking out of parka hoods, the babies warm and comfortable on the backs of their mothers.
The sharp wind seems to always blow, but no one mentions the cold. The Eskimo people are contagiously congenial, happy, and courteous. Non-Eskimos who live in the village unconsciously mimic their neighbors. A visitor would have to be encased in a concrete block to not feel the friendly warmth of these people. I have visited Unalakleet many times and have always found these people worldly, educated and alert, but on the other hand, socially unique in their remote setting.