No Roads to Nome

Just 150 miles east of Siberia is the Seward Peninsula, Alaska, so far north that for a large part of the year the sea freezes over and the sun barely peeks past the horizon. A hundred years ago dogsled was the primary means of transport and communication, able to carry 500kg of freight, they delivered the mail, the groceries, the preacher, and hauled out gold and furs all the way to Anchorage. 

Scott Bone, Alaska's governor at the time said "No one understands Alaska. [Officials in Washington] wire me to step over to Nome to look up a little matter, not realizing that it takes me 11 days to get there."

The town of Nome sits hunched on the icy coast of the Bering Sea, at the edge of the Arctic Circle. In 1924 Dr Curtis Welch was the only physician in Nome and the surrounding communities. During December he treated a few children for tonsillitis; over the following weeks, he began to fear it was actually something far worse. On January 20th 1925 Welch diagnosed the first case of diphtheria, with another the following day. The hospital's entire store of antitoxin had expired, and the new batch hadn't arrived by the time the port froze solid in October. Out of desperation he administered the expired antitoxin hoping it may have some effect, but the girl died a few hours later. Realising an epidemic was imminent, Welch called the mayor and they implemented a quarantine.

Without antitoxin the mortality rate was expected to be almost 100% of the total population of 11,000. 

On January 22nd Welch sent desperate telegrams to the U.S. Public Health Service in Washington as well as major towns in Alaska. 

"AN EPIDEMIC OF DIPHTHERIA IS ALMOST INEVITABLE HERE STOP I AM IN URGENT NEED OF ONE MILLION UNITS OF DIPHTHERIA ANTITOXIN STOP MAIL IS ONLY FORM OF TRANSPORTATION STOP"

The US Health Service would ship 1.1 million units of antitoxin serum to Southern Alaska, but it wouldn't arrive until around February 7th. 

A hospital in Anchorage offered 300,000 units of antitoxin, not sufficient to defeat the epidemic, it would help contain it until the larger shipment arrived. The question though, was how to get it to Nome in time.

A day travelling north by railroad would get the serum to Nenana, about 700 miles east of Nome. At this time of year, the only way to make the rest of the journey was by dogsled. The trip through this rugged wilderness, over treeless tundra and along frozen waterways, usually took a month; by that time Nome would be beyond saving. In perfect conditions the journey had been done in nine days, it was estimated the serum could survive just six in the sub-zero conditions on the trail. A relay was proposed, with one team starting from Nenana, the other from Nome, meeting halfway at Nulato, but if they were to save the town they would have to cut the record by a third, in the most unforgiving winter known. 

Mayor Maynard suggested flying the antitoxin to Nome. The previous year the first winter aircraft test in Alaska took place in lows of a relatively mild -23°C. The reliable Airco DH4 made several crash landings and barely managed a flight well under half the distance the serum needed to travel. In addition, polar night meant there were very limited hours of daylight to fly in, and furthermore the only aircraft operating in Alaska in 1925 were Standard J-1’s, vintage biplanes made from wood, fabric and wire; with open cockpits they were essentially a winged sled with a water-cooled engine strapped to it, and they’d been dismantled for the winter.

It was decided the mushers would run, and the famous Norwegian dogsled racer, Leonhard Seppala, was an obvious choice. Having acquired his first dog team by chance because polar explorer Roald Amundsen cancelled a trip, Seppala fell in love. He put his dogs above everything else and developed an incredible rapport, in particular with his lead dog, a grey and brown Siberian husky named Togo. Now twelve years old, Togo had been a weak puppy, Seppala didn’t think him suited to mushing, and he was naughty, so he was rehomed. Almost immediately jumping straight through a pane glass window to escape his new home, Togo spent the night outside the cabin where Seppala was staying during a run. The next day he caused so much trouble Seppala was forced to put the pup in harness to control him. He proved really good, “an infant prodigy” “a natural born leader” that day he ran over 75 miles, worked his way up through the team to lead dog, and soon became Seppala's best friend, together they covered tens of thousands of miles, won numerous major races and even guided Amundsen around Alaska, when he eventually got there!

The mushers already on stand-by were notified and the antitoxin vials wrapped in furs, placed in a metal cylinder and handed to train conductor Frank Knight at Anchorage. While the serum was on the train to Nenana more cases of diphtheria were diagnosed and weather conditions worsened, Governor Bone ordered the US Post Office Inspector to arrange their best drivers and dogs to join the first half of the relay, meaning the serum would travel non-stop from Nenana to Nulato. Seppala would still run the full second half, a 630 mile round trip from Nome to Nulato and back.

Late the next evening Frank Knight hands the cylinder, weighing 9kg to ‘Wild Bill' Shannon and his team of relatively inexperienced dogs led by Blackie. It’s -45°C and falling fast, the paws of Shannon’s malamutes pound the snow-packed trail on the first steps of the ‘Great Race of Mercy’. Despite running alongside his team, by the time he reaches Minto ‘Wild Bill’ is suffering from hypothermia, his face black with frostbite. He rests briefly and continues, when the trail becomes impassable he travels on the ice of the frozen Tanana River. Fifty two miles later Shannon hands the precious package to Edgar Kalland, who makes the trip to Manley Hot Springs without complication, except the owner of the roadhouse there has to pour water over his frozen hands to free them from the handlebars of his sled. Two more drivers, Dan Green and Johnny Folger, run the antitoxin from Manley Hot Springs to Tanana during the remainder of the day and night. The next day the serum is handed along between a further five mushers and their teams. Polar night means they travel through almost total darkness, with only the moon and the northern lights dancing overhead to illuminate the trail, temperatures do not rise above -40°C. Around midnight the serum arrives at Whisky Creek where the diminutive but wiry Edgar Nollner is waiting, he harnesses his malamutes, and couples them to the front of a homemade birch sled. Wearing a squirrel-skin parka and reindeer mukluks, he heads downriver. The frigid weather surpasses anything he has ever experienced,

“I couldn’t see the dogs because of the ice fog,” Nollner said. “I just let them go and they followed the trail.”

During the night he hands over the serum, along with his sled and team of dogs to his brother George, who travels the rest of the way to Bishop Mountain.

Two new cases of diphtheria are reported.

As the teams race west, roadhouse owners provide periodic updates by telephone and telegram where possible. The crisis has become headline news across the US,

"All hope is in the dogs and their heroic drivers... Nome appears to be a deserted city."

There is another death and a bad storm moving in, Governor Bone decides to speed up the relay with more drivers on the second half, but there’s no way to tell Seppala. The plan relies on the driver from the east catching him on the trail, probably in total darkness, almost certainly during a blizzard.

Twenty-one year old Charlie Evans and his team head out and almost immediately run into freezing fog caused when the icy Koyukuk River breaks through it’s frosty crust. The terrain is deceptively beautiful, but treacherous as a minefield; when the lashing wind drops he can hear the trees freezing, popping and snapping like pistol shots. They struggle on winding their way through biting fog, avoiding thin ice and freezing river water, but Charlie’s dogs are struggling with frostbite, his lead pair can't go on, he’s forced to carry them on the sled, he has no choice, he takes their place and helps pull the rest of the way to Nulato.

The route between Nulato and Nome is Alaska’s most hazardous, running along the windswept, blizzard prone coast of Norton Sound, known to Alaskans as the ice factory. Tommy ‘Patsy' Patterson leaves Nulato within half an hour of receiving the serum, they run the 36 miles to Kaltag at a blistering 10mph, the fastest speed of any of the teams.

The number of cases has reached 27.

A further three teams carry the package from Kaltag, they cover difficult terrain, often having to break their own trail. By the time they reach Shaktoolik the storm is paralyzing Alaska, driving snow and gale force winds have brought the temperature down to a bone shattering -65°C.

The serum is now less than 170 miles from Nome.

Nobody has managed to contact Seppala, he has no idea of the additional teams on the trail and the faster progress they've made, but he hasn’t passed through Shaktoolik yet. Henry Ivanoff is waiting there just in case, Henry heads out with the package but hasn’t travelled far when he runs into trouble, his team get caught in their rigging, he is now stationary, cursing and frantically attempting to untangle them.

Seppala is running towards Shaktoolik when he thinks he hears a faint cry, not believing anyone else would be out in this storm he dismisses it, but then hears it again. Through the darkness he makes out the dim glow of a lamp and the faint shape of a stationary sled. He shakes his head ruefully, sorry he doesn’t have time to stop, believing he has to get to Nulato they fly on past the stranded sled. Ivanoff runs after him shouting,

“The serum! The serum! I have it here!” 

Seppala realises and calls to Togo, they pull up, Ivanoff hands over the package, Seppala swings his team around and heads back into the howling wind. Togo leading them through the dark, towards the most hazardous part of the trail - the shortcut across Norton Sound saves more than a day’s travel, but it's extremely dangerous, 42 miles straight across the frozen sea, on ice completely exposed to the fury of the storm. 

Togo and his fellow dogs struggle for traction on the glassy skin, fierce winds rock the ice causing huge cracks to shoot out, like lightning through the night sky, threatening to break the ice apart and send them drifting out to sea. Seppala trusts Togo’s senses but the swirling blizzard, roaring winds and almost total darkness means even he doesn’t realise they are drifting until too late; they’re floating on a huge chunk of ice, separated from the main crust by a fierce stretch of freezing water. Seppala doesn’t know what else to do, he anchors the sled and throws Togo over the gap, hoping his stubborn determination will make him strong enough to haul the ice floe closer to shore. It’s as if the scrappy little husky knows, with his team mates baying encouragement he pulls with everything he has, the divide seems to close, a little more, the second pair jump, they’re over, pulling, claws digging into solid ice. The floe creaks closer, the next pair are over, they start to pick up speed, the ice is close enough now, Seppala kicks the brake free and the sled's long birch runners bridge the gap. 

He breathes a shallow sigh of relief.

Togo navigates the rest of the breaking ice, avoiding cracks and soft spots, sometimes only a few feet from the open water of the Bering Sea, they arrive at the roadhouse in Isaac Point at 8pm. They rest briefly before departing into the full power of the worsening storm, winds over 65mph and temperatures less than -75°C. The ice they crossed only a few hours earlier has all gone, broken up by the storm and floated out to sea. 

The team climb 5000ft along a ridge to the summit of Little McKinley mountain. The trail is exposed and steep, gruelling, especially for exhausted men and dogs. 

Having travelled a total of 260 miles, five times further than any other musher, Seppala and his team arrive at Golovin and hand over the serum to Charlie Olsen, who shortly after setting out, is blown off the trail by the increasing wind, forced to stop to put blankets on his dogs, he suffers extreme frostbite on his hands. Around 25 miles later he makes it to Bluff.

The same day the 28th patient falls ill. The serum they are carrying is enough to treat 30 people.

Gunnar Kaasen, the next musher waits at Bluff for a break in the weather, but sees the storm worsening and realises they risk the trail becoming completely impassable. He sets off for Solomon.

Winds rage at over 80mph and a growing storm is blowing in, messages are left at Solomon and Port Safety to stop the relay, believing a delay better than losing the serum all together. 

Kaasen is running into a cruel headwind and blinding snow, so fierce that his squinting eyes cannot see his wheel dogs harnessed just in front of the sled. Ice begins to crust the long hairs of their dark brown coats as they navigate visibility so poor it is several miles before Kaasen realises they’ve followed the more well-used, though now invisible trail to the south of Solomon, missing their scheduled stop, meaning they will not receive the message to halt due to the advancing storm. They’re running through the dark, into a blizzard so thick it threatens to make them part of the scenery. Kaasen can do no more than trust Fox and Balto, his lead dogs to keep them on track, while he clings on trying his best to keep the rig upright; several times the sled is hurled off the trail, dragging the dogs with it, each time Kaasen has to stop to right the sled and untangle the dogs, it’s a miracle none of them are injured. 

As the team head onto Bonanza Slough a massive gust flips the sled, Kaasen finds himself in a deep drift, he clambers out and crawls through the dark, managing to right the sled, he pats it down feeling for the package, methodically, then frantically; his stomach tightens, he drops to the ground, panic coursing through his frostbitten body. He tears off his mitts and rummages through the snow, his hands blister and blacken, finally his right hand finds something smooth and metallic, he manages to yank it out of the snow and lashes it to the sled before fleeing that hellish place.

Believing the relay to have been halted, Ed Rohn is asleep and his team are not harnessed when Kaasen reaches Port Safety. Fox, Balto and the team are running well and the weather is improving, so after a quick stop to warm the serum Kaasen sets off to run the final 25 miles to Nome. The team pulls onto Front Street at 5:30am on February 2nd 1925, Kaasen stumbles to the front of the team, mutters "damn fine dog" to Balto and collapses.

The teams had covered 674 miles in 127 hours - just over 5 days - cutting the record almost in half, crossing the most dangerous terrain in treacherous conditions, extreme sub-zero temperatures with blizzards and hurricane force winds. Not a single glass ampule of serum was damaged, it was being administered by noon. 

The official death toll from diphtheria was reported as five.

It was decided that when the 1.1 million units of serum arrived, half would be taken by dogsled and the other half by airplane. On February 8th half the batch left, with many of the same men and dogs running the trail; while the plane, which was not ready for another two days, then failed to start. The additional serum was delivered to Nome on February 15th by Ed Rohn, the musher Kaasen had left sleeping on the first trip.

“It came right down to just the spirit of men and dogs against nature,” said a reporter from Nome.

 * * * * * 

These days The Iditarod - ‘The Last Great Race on Earth’ is run in memory of those awe-inspiring heroes, it honours the 1925 relay with many traditions that commemorate the mushers, and much of the route still follows that of the 1925 serum run. Many descendants of those heroic men and dogs still run the same trails too.

Following the life or death mission in 1925, technology improved, bush planes and air mail routes were established, but dog sleds continued to be the main mode of transport until the mid 1960’s when the iron dogs took over.

To this day, there are still no roads to Nome.