Sports

Carol Pickett Hull was small in stature but a giant in her sport, and while she will always be remembered for the world record she set in 1989 for the One-Foot High Kick, she was much more than an athlete.

Fans of traditional Native games credit her for helping to build them into the success they are today.

Hull died on May 5 at the age of 61 at her home in Seward, where she had been working to rebuild the Qutekcak Tribe’s Native Youth Olympics team.

It’s a love and dedication to the sport that her friend Nicole Johnson remembers well. Johnson was in the seventh grade when she met Carol, who was a junior in high school.

She says they were, “tiny little powerhouses” back then.

At 5 feet tall, Nicole was only 4 inches shorter than Carol, an Inupiaq with a slight but muscular build.

“There’s nothing that could stop us. Our height. Our weight. Our ages,” said Johnson. “Nothing stopped Carol from doing what she loved to do.”

Carol’s specialty was the One-Foot High Kick, in which you jump with both feet and kick with one foot at a ball hanging on a string, then land on that foot without losing your balance. In the 1989 World Eskimo Indian Eskimo Olympics, Carol executed a flawless jump, to kick at a ball suspended at a remarkable 7 feet.

Reggie Joule remembers that moment.

“When she won the One-Foot High Kick, she was asked if she wanted to go for the record. She had this infectious excitement,” said Joule, a 10-time gold medalist in the WEIO blanket toss. “She was jumping up and down. I want to break the record. I want to break the record.”

In the early days of competition, Joule says the men grabbed the spotlight for their flashy performances. There were also twice as many men in the sport, but Carol and a group of other young women were about to change all that.

“They were coming onto this scene,” Joule said, “with this energy but also with this hunger.”

Joule says the women were eager to learn about their culture and took pride in its strengths, born from a struggle to survive in an unforgiving land.

Like many of the games, the One-foot High Kick has its roots in hunting and fishing traditions. The high kick could be seen for miles across the tundra, so hunters used it to signal a successful hunt.

Carol’s 1989 record at the World Eskimo Indian Olympics would stand until last year, when Emily King, a Canadian from Whitehorse, would surpass her achievement of 7 feet by one more inch.

“We were all cheering her on,” said Greg Nothstine, a longtime competitor and game official. “Carol was out there being her biggest fan and said, ‘You can do it. You can do it!'”

For more than three decades Carol had cheered on many other athletes to beat her record, which Nothstine says is what defines Native Olympics – to compete, not against others, but against yourself to achieve your personal best.

“That is the idea of hoping for others,” Nothstine said, “what we hope for ourselves and that’s really just success.”

Nothstine says traditional hunters always encouraged each other to improve their techniques for the benefit of the entire community.

Over the years, Carol seemed to be an endless source of encouragement. She coached. She officiated and became one of the sport’s biggest cheerleaders.

“She loved teaching games,” said Gina Kalloch, another longtime friend and former competitor. “That’s another reason why so many young women came after her generation.”

Gina met Carol at a WEIO competition in 1984. Soon afterwards, they became ambassadors for the sport and put on shows for tourists.

“She had dark hair and dark eyes and a gorgeous smile and a very engaging personality. She sparkled when she came in the room,” Kalloch said. “I don’t know if I’ll ever meet anyone else like her. She just made such an impact on anyone in her sphere, and that included inmates at the Fairbanks Correctional Center.”

Kalloch says when she and Carol volunteered to teach them games, it was a chance to share something meaningful.

“It goes back to, when I was hungry, you gave me food. When I was thirsty, you gave me drink,” Kalloch said. “And when I was in prison you came to visit me and bring something to you that gives you a bit of self-confidence and pride in yourself.”

When Carol Pickett Hull first entered the sport, the games were held in small gymnasiums with only a few observers. Today, the statewide Native Youth Olympics draws thousands of athletes and their fans, a reminder of how a little encouragement can go a long way.

Carol’s memorial at the Alaska Native Heritage Center on Saturday drew many NYO families. And for the Hulls, the games were definitely a family affair.

Her husband Garry, like his wife, is also in the North American Indigenous Hall of Fame. The couple’s two children, Garry Hull Jr. and Sarah, have also competed in Native games.

A poem the Qutekcak Tribe posted on her Facebook page was among many tributes to Hull’s life and legacy. Here’s an excerpt:

NOME – Jessie Holmes raced into Nome early Friday, winning his first Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race on the longest trail ever.

The 43-year-old musher and his team of 10 dogs were escorted by a convoy of police cars down Front Street in Nome. The team, led by Polar and Hercules, ran under the arch at 2:55 a.m. in temperatures hovering around zero degrees, to hundreds of cheering fans.

“It’s hard to put into words, but it’s a magical feeling,” Holmes said.

He’s been waiting for this moment for years.

“I have nothing to stop smiling about,” he said. “I have everything going for me. And you know, I shouldn’t ever feel a down moment in my life. If I died tomorrow, I’d just die the happiest man.”

Holmes went down his line of dogs, petting them and giving them steaks. He jumped into the crowd to hug fans and shake hands. He praised his team.

“I’m really proud of these dogs. I love them,” he said. “And they did it. They deserve all the credit.”

Race officials presented Holmes with a check for $57,200.

Longest Iditarod trail ever

Holmes, who’s originally from Alabama, lives in Interior Alaska, where he says he works as a carpenter. He starred on the reality TV show “Life Below Zero.”

This is Holmes’ eighth Iditarod race. He has placed in the top 10 nearly every year, as high as third, and won Rookie of the Year in 2018.

He notched his first Iditarod victory in 10 days, 14 hours and 55 minutes — the longest time it’s taken a winner to finish the race in over two decades.

“Those are 10 quality days, I got my money’s worth,” Holmes said at the finish, laughing.

This year’s mushers were racing on the longest Iditarod trail in history, at an estimated 1,128 miles. The route is normally closer to a thousand miles, but scarce snow in Southcentral Alaska forced race officials to move the trail north at the last minute. It’s the fourth time the race has started in Fairbanks, and it’s a change that climate specialist Rick Thoman expects will likely have to happen more often in a warming climate.

Holmes said he soaked in every minute of this year’s race — “the lows, the highs, the in-betweens.”

“It’s not about this moment now,” he said at the finish line, “it’s about all those moments along the trail, you know, being up in the Blueberry Hills, and the most amazing sunset you could ever imagine, moon shimmering on the glazed snow and the northern lights.”

‘My life hasn’t been a dream run’

Holmes said he also thought about prior Iditarod champions as his team traveled across Alaska, including the late Jerry Riley, his mentor, and late four-time winner Lance Mackey.

“Just wanted to join that club with them,” he said. “And, you know, I’ve wanted that for a long time. It’s unreal.”

He spoke to a crowded room at the race headquarters in Nome about his struggles as a young man.

“My life hasn’t been a dream run,” Holmes said.

Holmes said his love for animals, along with help from Riley, turned his life around. A win, he said, motivates him to give back to communities and young people.

“If I could do anything in this world, it would be to be able to give all of you some of this joy that I feel,” he said. “And, you know, people that are struggling, especially.”

Rob Urbach, Iditarod’s CEO, said that Holmes has an especially strong bond with his team. In White Mountain, Holmes laid with his dogs in a bed of straw — what he calls a “cuddle puddle.”

“He found he was born to do this,” Urbach said. “His relationship with his dogs is a very special thing to see.”

A banner year for Interior mushers

This year’s race was a game of leapfrog between Holmes, Matt Hall and Paige Drobny, who were all chasing their first Iditarod win.

“They’re awesome competitors,” Holmes said. “And, you know, I never once thought I had this thing until we made it over Cape Nome.”

All three mushers live not too far from one another in the Interior and all three have come close to winning before — Drobny placing as high as fifth in her prior Iditarods and Hall was last year’s runner-up.

Holmes said he and Hall have been friends for decades. The two met in Eagle, a village on the Yukon River, where they worked at Hall’s father’s trapline.

At one point when they saw each other on the trail this year, Holmes said, he yelled out.

“I go, ‘Man, 16 years ago, in Eagle. Can you believe this?’ Like, here we are, we’re leading the Iditarod and, like, it was a real cool moment between us,” Holmes said.

Holmes came back out to the finish chute Friday morning as Hall and his 10 dogs dashed in right before 6 a.m. to secure second place for the second year in a row. Holmes and Hall shook hands. Dozens of people cheered for Hall, including his wife, Elke.

Hall’s team was led by his dogs Dyea and Qivik, who he called the perfect pair to lead him into Nome. Dyea, he said, is “just this rock star, push-button leader.”

“He’ll do anything,” Hall said. “I can steer him right around, park him wherever we want to. And then for this race, Qivik, the one running next to him up there, was a little speed demon.”

Holmes and Hall were both back at the finish line to congratulate Drobny for her third-place arrival. Veteran Jeff Deeter, another Interior musher who scratched earlier in the race, was there, too, to congratulate all three. Drobny also had a group of family and friends waiting for her.

Drobny’s team, known as the Squids, is known for their themes — last year was disco, this year is tropical. As Drobny and her dogs raced in, her friends and family chanted in hula skirts, wearing flower leis around their necks, while doing a kickline. The crowd chanted along.

“Paige! Paige Drobny! Paige! Paige Drobny!”

Droby pulled underneath the burled arch just over three hours after Hall, at 8:38 a.m. Friday, led by Ladybug Mecca and Spinderella.

She gave all the credit to her dog team. She said she didn’t sign up for the Iditarod until a few months before it started, persuaded by the skill-level of her team.

“As we saw this year, this dog team is amazing,” she said. “I just really recognized that they deserve to be here and to play in this field.”

 

Tough trail conditions

It was not only the longer trail that led to this year’s slower race, but also tough trail conditions.

Mushers slogged through sections of soft snow and were even hit by a sandstorm early on. Further up the trail, between Kaltag and Eagle Island, frozen snowmachine tracks made for some of the worst trail conditions Drobny had ever seen, describing it as “70 miles of crap.” Mushers then faced strong headwinds heading up the coast.

Hall was raised on the Yukon River, which much of the trail followed. Still, he said, the trail this year went on for too long. It included a loop on the river that felt endless.

“Oh no, more Yukon, and more and more,” Hall said, laughing as he recounted the trail. “And then we got to go back on it again.”

Drobny agreed, and said the long river stretch is a lot more complex than it sounds.

“It sounds like it’s just a straight level path, but there’s a lot more to it actually,” she said. “I think that a lot of teams found that out there, that it wasn’t just like an easy trail, it was a pretty difficult trail.”

‘We love all three of them’

As mushers and dogs raced in Friday, fans crowded the finish chute. They came from all over.

Homer resident Denise Jantz and her sister Roberta Deal, who traveled from Indiana, experienced their first Iditarod finish together. They’re huge fans of the top three finishers and were glad to see Holmes take home his first Iditarod win.

“I think he has worked so hard and it’s so well deserved. I love that Paige is his neighbor, and she’s in the frontrunner too. I love it, and we love Matt too. We love all three of them,” Jantz said as Holmes waved to fans.

 

It’s been a tight race, and Jantz said watching the tracker has been nail-biting.

“It’s been obsessive,” she said. “Three in the morning, it doesn’t matter.”

This year not only had the longest trail, but the starting race field was also tied with the smallest ever with just 33 mushers.

Eight mushers have dropped out of the race, including one musher because his dog died. Two rookies were withdrawn Wednesday because officials said they were going too slow.

By the time Drobny raced into Nome Friday, the remaining 20 mushers were spread across more than 250 miles of trail.

Leaders in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race are on their way to Unalakleet Tuesday, about three-quarters of the way into the competition. Jessie Holmes is in the lead, chased by Matt Hall and Paige Drobny. Those leaders and most mushers are racing with sled dogs that are bred for these long-distance competitions.

Then, there’s Justin Olnes.

Olnes said 11 of the dogs on his starting team of 15 came from the Fairbanks animal shelter, or from other rescue organizations throughout Alaska — including his lead dog, a 3-year-old female named Fly.

“She’s truly an extraordinary dog,” Olnes said. “It’s just so cool that she also happens to have been a puppy that we adopted from the shelter, along with her brother, Tippet, who’s also a very good dog. But sorry, Tippet — I just have to say, Fly is something else. She is a very good, headstrong leader. I don’t think she’s reached her full potential, and that makes me really excited.”

Olnes and his wife, Kailyn, operate ReRun Kennel just outside of Fairbanks. And their mission is to promote dog mushing while providing homes for rescue dogs in need. Olnes said racing with rescues can be kind of a gamble.

“When you go to the shelter and you see a dog that may have potential to want to race, you’re looking at its confirmation, its attitude, its build,” Olnes said. “Beyond that, you may not know much. So, you’re only going to find out by adopting that dog and giving it a go.”

While, sure, there are some risks — or just genetic and behavioral question marks — Olnes said there’s also big benefits to having a more eclectic kennel.

“You get a little bit more variety in your kennel, so you’re not pigeon-holed by whatever line you’re breeding,” he said. “And that variety means that you have dogs that are capable and adept at different things, and you can kind of mix and match as you need.”

Olnes said there have been a lot of racing success stories among the dogs he and his wife rescue. But even the ones that don’t make the cut get important jobs.

“It hasn’t panned out all the time,” he said. “In that case, we might find something else for that dog. Some of those dogs that we have just run shorter distances, or we use them to socialize with dogs that we foster.”

When Olnes arrived at the Galena checkpoint on Friday, he said he and his dogs experienced plenty of twists and turns on the first 400 miles of trail — including a sandstorm. But they’re in good spirits.

“Well, as many folks talk about the Iditarod Trail being an emotional roller coaster — that’s definitely been the case so far,” he said. “But overall, it’s been a great experience. It’s amazing country, and I’m very happy to be out here.”

Olnes’ team isn’t leading the pack this year, but his main goal is to finish in Nome with all dogs healthy and happy. Secondary to that, he said, he just wants to showcase all the talent and potential that was previously hidden away in Alaska’s shelters.

Thirty-three sled dog teams raced out of Fairbanks Monday onto the longest Iditarod trail in history. The last-minute plan to change the route went off without a hitch despite significant changes to the original trail. The race start was moved up to Fairbanks due to dismal snow on the normal route in Willow.

Even still, it was a balmy 40 degrees at the front of Pike’s Waterfront Lodge, with the melting snow under the dogs’ booties starting to look a little like mashed potatoes by the 11 a.m. start time. Iditarod CEO Rob Urbach said he’s optimistic about the race ahead, but he acknowledged the strain of changing the route on such short notice.

“There’s always challenges,” Urbach said. “We’re synonymous with challenges. And this year, clearly the universe even decided, ‘Hey, we need more challenges to try to overcome.’ So, we try to laugh at adversity and focus our energies on just getting it done.”

The day was full of superlatives — race officials said this could be the warmest Fairbanks start on record. It’s also the longest Iditarod trail yet, and this year’s field of 33 teams is tied with the smallest in race history. Plus, it’s the 100-year anniversary of the 1925 serum run to Nome, when sled dog teams relayed antitoxin from Nenana to Nome to combat a diphtheria outbreak.

This year’s race will mirror that historic route, and the significance isn’t lost on Willow-based musher Gabe Dunham.

“The history of mushing that basically came in and helped save so many lives… I get goosebumps whenever you talk about it,” she said. “And that is the history of these dogs — they were modes of transportation and everything. It just encompasses everything that the Iditarod stands for.”

Dunham said the race is also the sum of the support it gets from sponsors and fans — like the one who gave her a tiny stuffed T-rex that is now lashed to her sled.

“I got him when I raced the Idaho sled dog challenge from a little, little guy that wanted to give me a gift,” Dunham said. “I zip-tied him on the sled, and he was starting to cry. And I’m like, ‘What’s wrong?’ And he’s like, ‘He’s a dinosaur. He’s gonna get cold.’ So, ever since then, he’s kind of been my sled mascot.”

Hundreds of people lined the starting chute as Dunham and the other mushers readied their dog teams, including other young superfans like 9-year-old Lucy Lee who huddled next to the fence with her mom. Lucy said she isn’t rooting for any musher in particular — she’s solidly “team dog.”

“I just love dogs!” Lucy said, giggling. “I just love them so much.”

Further up the line, a few people carried signs who did not love what they were seeing. It wouldn’t be the Iditarod without PETA protestors, and the last-minute route change didn’t throw them off course. John Di Leonardo flew out from New York to protest the restart in Fairbanks, as well as the ceremonial start in Anchorage.

“The Iditarod doesn’t resemble the serum run at all,” he said. “I think it’s time that we evolve this tradition into something more humane and leave the dogs out of it.”

Fairbanks musher Jason Mackey was first up to the starting line — and grateful for it. He was also the first out when he raced this year’s Yukon Quest sled dog race. He scratched on the Quest, he said, due to poor weather conditions. But this time, Mackey said, he feels like the gold is in reach.

“My goal is everybody’s goal, whether they tell you it is or not. It’s to get to Nome healthy, with a healthy team — but to get to Nome first,” he said. “I’m not saying I’m going to win the race, I’m not saying I’m not going to, but that’s my goal. I’m not here to mess around.”

He said his team is in great shape to run. All but one of the dogs are Iditarod veterans, like him.

“I do have one dog in there that has never done this before,” Mackey said. “His name is Flash, he’s a team dog. He’s a 3-year-old, but he’s an all-star 3-year-old.”

Just after 11 a.m., Mackey and his seasoned team — and MVP Flash — charged through the corridor of cheering spectators and into the taiga beyond, with nearly 1,150 miles of snow and ice between them and the finish line in Nome.

Veteran musher Gabe Dunham ditched her gloves in downtown Anchorage Saturday morning to pet one of her sled dogs.

“This is UNK,” Dunham said as dogs barked all around her in 30-degree temperatures, readying for the ceremonial start of the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race.

City officials had to scrape together snow from neighborhood cul-de-sacs to make this year’s significantly shorter, 1.5-mile ceremonial start happen. Dunham’s dogs haven’t seen a lot of snow this year at their home in Willow. They’ve had to travel north to train.

“One of the trips, I went up to Denali, they hadn’t seen soft fluffy snow for quite awhile,” Dunham said. “They all spread out and they were loping through the deep snow. It had snowed like 8 inches. Like little puppies, just like, ‘Woo! This is so amazing!”

Scarce snow and unseasonably warm temperatures in Southcentral have turned this year’s Iditarod upside down. Not only was Saturday’s ceremonial start a fraction of its normal length, but the 33 mushers then loaded up their sled dogs to head to Fairbanks for the official race start Monday, instead of starting out of Willow. It’ll be the fourth time in the Iditarod’s history that teams will leave from Fairbanks.

It’ll take Dunham and her 16 dogs about five hours to drive to the Interior city. She said she planned to hit the road early Sunday morning.

“It’ll be a nice, kind of easy morning. Scrambling to put everything in the trailer and make sure I got all the last details. And then another early morning,” Dunham said Saturday.

Anna Berington, who calls Knik home, said she’s treating the 350-mile trek like a regular road trip. The team has gotten good at traveling this winter in search of snow.

“It’s just another road trip, a little longer than the other ones we’ve been doing this year. But the dogs have been good at traveling, and we’ve been traveling so much,” Berington said. “A lot of stuff is packed and ready to go, and we’ve been keeping a good schedule and getting everything ready, so we should have a good departure.”

The conditions on the trail are much better than those in Anchorage. Last week, Iditarod’s race director said trail conditions were snowy.

Rookie Emily Ford is racing to be the second Black woman in history to finish the Iditarod, and said her dogs are eager to run in those snowy conditions.

“I think they’re gonna be so stoked and be like – finally,” Ford said. “I think we’re gonna fly like, I’m gonna be hard on the break for a long time once the sun goes down, because they’re gonna cool off and their paws are gonna feel good, and their wrists are gonna feel good. We’re just gonna cruise. It’s gonna be awesome.”

Some mushers view the start change as an advantage.

Seven-time Iditarod finisher Jessie Holmes lives in Brushkana, about 30 miles from Cantwell. He said the route change gives Interior mushers the upper-hand.

“I always feel like us Interior mushers that come down to race against these Willow guys are at a disadvantage because their dogs are all at their houses,” he said. “Our dogs are on our trucks. So now that it’s a Fairbanks start, I get this extra day and I get to go home.”

His dogs will get to sleep at home Saturday before driving to Fairbanks Sunday.

Holmes was a big fan of Saturday’s somewhat-warm weather. He said the temperature, around 30 degrees, is similar to what his team, and other mushers, might experience on the trail.

“Conditioning yourself for the heat the week before the race is kind of a critical thing,” he said.

But not everyone was excited about Saturday’s weather. Tara Stevens, a longtime Iditarod fan, was dressed in fur at the end of this year’s ceremonial route.

“No snow, shortened race,” Stevens said. “Warm, which is nice, but it’s kind of a bummer that there’s not enough snow. We’re Alaskans so, you know, any weather, we’ll come out and support the teams.”

Despite the temperatures, the panting dogs raced the trail as residents lined city streets cheering, high-fiving mushers and yelling for dog booties. The event was shorter this year not only because of the shorter route, but also because of the number of teams: the field of mushers is tied for the smallest in history, with 17 veterans and 16 rookies.

The Iditarod will officially start Monday, March 3, at 11 a.m. at Pike’s Waterfront Lodge in Fairbanks. From there, teams have about 1,128 miles to the finish line in Nome. This year’s trail is the longest Iditarod trail yet.

When staff at Pike’s Waterfront Lodge in Fairbanks got the news a few weeks ago that they’d host the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race for the first time since 2017, they immediately jumped into action.

“We’re already busy, but we love hosting the Iditarod,” said Michelle Davis, the lodge’s chief operating officer. “We’re so happy it’s here.”

Davis is among Interior Alaska residents who are hustling to get ready for the Iditarod next week after race organizers’ last-minute decision to push the route north due to dismal snow on part of the normal trail out of Willow. Many business owners and checkpoint volunteers along the revised route say they saw this coming, but it’s still a herculean task to get ready to welcome floods of Iditarod staff, mushers, spectators and — of course — the sled dogs.

Davis said her team comped about 40 rooms for the race’s mushers and organizers — even though they’re in the thick of tourist season for aurora viewing, and are almost completely booked out. On a recent afternoon, she walked through one of Pike’s few remaining vacant rooms, which could very soon be occupied by members of the Iditarod crowd. This one has a full view of the lodge’s live reindeer pen.

“We kind of wanted it to feel like a cabin — but not a cabin,” Davis said. “Like, more luxury, you know? And you open the window and you see reindeer! And then you can walk out your room and you can be right outside with the reindeer.”

Pike’s Lodge is a pet-friendly resort, but the reindeer room invite doesn’t extend to the dog teams. They scare the deer, so many of them will be kept at a nearby church.

It’s an exciting time, Davis said — especially for her international employees.

“I always let all our staff come out and watch a couple of the races when they’re working,” she said. “So, it’s going to be great for them to experience something they wouldn’t have been able to.”

She said getting the lodge into the global spotlight at the starting line will be great for business. That sentiment was echoed in the public sector by Fairbanks Mayor Grier Hopkins.

“It means a lot to host the biggest sled dog race left in Alaska, and we’re a big, strong supporter of our state sport,” he said. “I think our economy is ready and excited to have the influx in winter and build on our strong winter tourism as we’ve seen in recent years.”

Scott McCrea is the president of a local tourism marketing nonprofit, Explore Fairbanks. He said the logistics of having the start in Fairbanks with only two weeks’ notice is a bit tricky, since March is the city’s biggest month for tourism. But the fact that the race is on the small-side this year — 33 mushers, as opposed to more than 70 in previous years — could make it more manageable.

McCrea said his organization is already reflecting on the possibility that the city will host the Iditarod with greater frequency, as the climate demands.

“We’re seeing here how the winters in Alaska are changing,” he said. “So it just probably won’t be the last time that we’ll have it here. And if that’s the case, we will proudly embrace it being here, and just kind of do what we do as Fairbanksans and try to make it the best possible.”

Further out on the trail, Galena is scrambling to get its race checkpoint ready. The town of just under 500 wasn’t supposed to be on the trail either this year — it usually only hosts the race every other year.

Tim Bodony, Galena’s checkpoint manager, said he’s getting lodging squared away at the community center, where mushers will sleep on cots gifted by the Red Cross to shelter people displaced by Yukon River floods in 2013. The dogs will bed down in the snow that covers a frozen lake nearby.

There’s also the food. Bodony said he expects residents to rally to cook for the mushers, as they’ve done in the past.

“We have to practice hospitality out here,” he said. “That’s the way of the trail. You got people coming in with no ability to just simply go out to a restaurant, and they’re reliant on us for that. And it gives Galena a good name.”

Bodony has a very specific set of instructions for his neighbors-turned-Iditarod-cooks: keep it hardy, keep it simple.

“Keep it comfort food-style,” he said. “Don’t get too spicy. That’s not going to go well. Mushers tend to want something that sticks to the ribs and is warm. Volunteers too. Once you’ve been outside all day, you just want something comforting to heat you up, and then you want to go to bed.”

The 2025 Iditarod will hold its parade-like ceremonial start in Anchorage on Saturday, March 1, at 10 a.m. Then, the race officially starts at Pike’s Waterfront Lodge in Fairbanks, on Monday, March 3, at 11 a.m. Lodge staff encourage spectators to arrive early to find parking and good spots to view the starting line.