Boy Scout Troop 325
Scoutmaster Minute
Iditarod Sled Dog Race
February 20, 2007
Michael Shantz, Scoutmaster

There is a great race that happens every year about this time. Some call it the Last Great Race on Earth. It's called the Iditarod. And this year it starts on Saturday, March 3, 10:00 a.m. It is Alaska's great sled dog race.

A race over 1150 miles of the roughest, most beautiful terrain Mother Nature has to offer. She throws jagged mountain ranges, frozen river, dense forest, desolate tundra and miles of windswept coast at the mushers and their dog teams. Add to that temperatures far below zero, winds that can cause a complete loss of visibility, the hazards of overflow, long hours of darkness, an occasional moose on the trail that can stomp a dog team to death, treacherous climbs and side hills, and you have the Iditarod. A race extraordinaire, a race only possible in Alaska.

From Anchorage, in south central Alaska, to Nome on the western Bering Sea coast, each team of 12 to 16 dogs and their musher cover over 1150 miles in 10 to 17 days.

The Iditarod pits men and dogs against raging blizzards, bitter arctic cold and rugged mountain terrain as they wind their way north along frozen rivers and historic trails. Their reward? Spectacular wilderness scenery; vast stillness punctuated only by the panting of dogs and the swish of sled runners on the snow; a special camaraderie with fellow racers and, maybe, a finish in the money.

But, most importantly, mushers develop a special bond with their traveling companions - the dogs. These are the real athletes. Lean and fast, they love to run. Anyone who has ever witnessed the start of the Iditarod has seen these well-trained dogs, pounding the harness, and voicing their energy and eagerness to begin their northern quest.

Why do we have this great race?

The Iditarod was inspired by a monumental and historic event - a dog-sled relay of life-saving serum from Anchorage to Nome in 1925. That January, in the middle of a frigid winter, deadly diphtheria broke out in Nome, remotely located along the Bering Sea. Between the stricken town and the nearest serum in Anchorage was nearly 1,000 miles of Alaskan wilderness.

The Alaska Railroad ferried the medicine 250 miles north to Nenana. From there, 20 volunteer dog-sled drivers relayed the serum non-stop the remaining 674 miles. When the first musher left Nenana, the temperature hovered at 50 below zero. According to legend, the serum was nearly lost when a huge gust of wind toppled the sled of the final musher. The musher frantically dug the serum out of the snow with his bare hands, righted his sled and continued on.

Through the efforts of those heroic mushers, the serum arrived in Nome five days and seven hours after leaving Nenana. The town was saved.

Today, Iditarod mushers brave much of the same wild Alaskan trail as those early heroes. Lives of Nome residents no longer hang in the balance, but the journey remains just as challenging. And challenges that require the most effort are also the most rewarding.

Thank you for listening and may God be with you.