By Joe Runyan
Many mushers opt to satisfy the rules requirement to take their mandatory eight-hour Yukon rest at Grayling. The checkers, who are traditionally residents of the community, note the time of arrival and make it a point to tell the mushers when they are allowed to leave.
Usually, the sled is packed and the team booted for the trail about 10 minutes ahead of schedule. One of the volunteers at the checkpoint can help the musher get his team out of its resting place and back on the road in front of the old community hall. Here, the musher sets the ice hook and waits for the checker’s watch to turn eight hours. No one wants to waste time unnecessarily, so the team leaves Grayling promptly.
The community hall is about 100 yards from a slip that takes the team back down on the Yukon. Going from the calm and protected village checkpoint and then dropping 30 or 40 vertical feet back onto the river is like falling into the ice cream freezers at the supermarket. It is always colder on the Yukon, for reasons we have already discussed. The smart mushers know that and dress warm before they depart.
The trail follows the Yukon to Eagle Island, which is just a place on the map, and then to the village of Kaltag, a total of 133 miles. Recall that Anvik is only 18 miles west of Grayling. It is therefore no surprise that most of the traffic out of Grayling goes to Anvik, and only a modicum of traffic heads upriver to Kaltag. As a result, Iditaroders can expect to find a trail, but it probably won’t be as hard-packed or well-defined as the downriver trail to Anvik.
The trail to Eagle Island is never put in the same way twice. Depending on how the river freezes and the whim of the first trail breakers, the trail is unique every race year. Sometimes it is easier to put the trail in the middle of the river because the wind may have hard-packed it, while the margins of the river are blanketed with loose snow. Or, the river may have stopped differently in the fall, with slabs of rough ice coalesced into a barrier on a normally smoothly-frozen channel. If a big storm moved through the Interior, all signs of a trail could be obliterated, and the process of putting in a trail starts all over.
A little note here on the Yukon: Generally speaking, the ice on the Yukon in March is safe almost anywhere. It could be 3 to 5 feet thick, which is enough to hold a D-8 Cat. Unlike silty bottom rivers such as the Tanana, which can be unsafe anytime of the year, the channel of the Yukon is usually predictable because it is defined by rock-lined channels.
However, there are places on the Yukon with shifting sandbars, which has potential dangers. For example, the ice could freeze solid to the margins of a sandbar. If the channel changed and took out a sandbar, what do you have? Exactly right - nothing but open water! Just suppose that happens and a cold spell on the order of 50-below hits, and freezes the new open water. Now a situation exists in which two layers of ice have butted up to each other, and with a new skiff of snow, they look exactly the same.
Naturally, a little local information is important and worth considering if you want to arrive safely at the next checkpoint. For the people who have traveled on the Yukon all winter and know its peculiarities, it is a no-brainer to avoid these areas of possible thin ice. Therefore, the Iditarod racer puts a lot of trust in the trail set down by the trail breakers and dismisses the idea of going off-trail.
In a big snow year, the drift can wipe out a trail and almost make it disappear, at least to the eye, in an hour or so. Deciphering a blown-in trail at night can really be confusing, like finding the light switch in a strange house.
Fortunately, veteran leaders can unravel a trail with a variety of assets, including good instincts, ability to feel the trail bottom with their paws, probably smell, colorblind vision (which is an advantage at night), and other factors not identified. Honestly speaking, I am sure a good leader regards the intruding musher as an irritating distraction when finding the trail at night. The experienced musher lets his leader go to work, jogs behind the sled, takes time to view the Northern Lights, and thanks his good fortune for having such a fine animal.
Meanwhile, the teams without a competent leader flounder pathetically. The musher who assesses this situation, totally swallows his or her pride and begins looking for a team with a good leader to follow. It is not uncommon to see a “night train” of teams working their way on the Yukon, following a team with a good leader.
Competitive teams can reach Eagle Island in about seven hours if the trail is reasonably hard. On the other hand, a slow trail could start mushers thinking about a rest break.
Black Burn Island is a good choice for a break because it is set somewhat out of the wind. With another ten-mile push, the teams arrive at the entrance of a narrow slough, which divides Eagle Island from the north bank of the Yukon. Usually, a cardboard sign put up by the Conaster family relieves first-time mushers and informs them that they have successfully arrived at Eagle Island checkpoint.
The teams are parked in the protection of the slough. Thanks to the work of the volunteers, the bags of dog food and provisions are neatly laid out in alphabetical order and an area is designated by another cardboard sign for trash and surplus gear. The Conasters, who have constructed a beautiful complex of cabins on the north bank hillside, are the ultimate wilderness hosts. Mushers can sleep in warmth, and hot food is usually available at the main cabin.
Accommodations like this are irresistible. I cannot recall anyone pushing through Eagle Island. Most mushers plan to stay at least six or seven hours before pulling the hook for another 70-mile run up the Mighty Yuke to Kaltag.