5/18/23: Wasilla's Iditarod, Talkeetna, & Hurricane Flag-Stop Train!

After learning so much about the Iditarod Trail Race in Anchorage, Seward, and elsewhere in Alaska, Steven and I stopped at its headquarters in Wasilla to discover more about the fabled race. The US Congress had designated the former mail route and Gold Route from Seward on the southcentral coast to Nome on the Bering Sea a National Historic Trail. 

I hadn't known it was also a literal lifeline, enabling diphtheria serum to be transported to Nome during the 1925 epidemic. Though often viewed as a recreational trail, it is still a lifeline for some villages in Alaska's interior. "The Iditarod," traveling 1,049 miles from Anchorage to Nome through the state's wilderness over mountain passes, down frozen rivers, and along the windswept sea coast, is considered by some to be "the last great race on Earth," as it is the most demanding and challenging dog sled race in the world.

Joe Redington, Sr. (1917-1999), was a man of many talents: big game guide, bush pilot, commercial fisherman, boat builder, fish plant manager, and mountain climber. After serving in the army during World War II, he moved from Oklahoma to Alaska, where he established Knik Kennels. He and his dog teams performed search-and-rescue missions and reclamation work for the Army until 1966. To show the world what dogs could do, he mushed a dog team to the summit of Mt. McKinley, North America's tallest mountain (20,310 ft) in Alaska's Denali National Park, in 1979!

His interest in the old mail route known as the Iditarod Trail led to its declaration as a National Trail. He was the driving force behind the creation of the first Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in 1973 and fought to keep it alive through its most difficult years. Redington will always be remembered as the Father of the Iditarod.

I liked the quote from musher Joe Garnie concerning the importance of bonding with dogs. "If you've got a good connection with your dogs, you're a part of them, and they're a part of you. They're an extension of your arm. If you feel it from down deep, those dogs will feel it. We all focus as one mind."

At eight months of age and on the first day in harness, Togo, born in 1915 or 1916 at Leonhard Seppala's Little Creek, Alaska's Dog Lot, became a lead dog, a position he never gave up until he retired from running. The 48-pound dog's strength, endurance, and intelligence became legend over the years as he led Seppala teams to many championships. In 1925, Togo led Seppala and his dog team from Nome to meet the relay dog teams carrying the diphtheria antitoxin serum to avert the epidemic. He led the team 340 miles through a blizzard and twice across the treacherous Norton Sound in the race against death, where no other team and driver had gone more than 53 miles. After retiring to an easier life in Maine, Togo died in 1929.

Dog harness maker Lolly Medley, one of the first two women to enter and finish the Iditarod in 1974, created and presented a Golden Harness Award to an outstanding lead dog in each year's race beginning in 1979. Since her passing, the city of Nome presents the Lolly Medley Golden Harness each year.

Dogs participating in the Iditarod must go through a battery of tests, including bloodwork and EKGs. Each dog is microchipped, with all the information stored and updated over the years on the chip. The dogs' feet are protected by wearing booties. The ultimate goal is what is best for the dogs. 

Forty vets accompany the teams, so they can check the dogs every 20-30 miles, and the dogs are also checked at each of the 20 checkpoints. Good genetics, proper nutrition, including probiotics, and 10,000 calories a day are essential for dogs to participate in the Iditarod. Gastric ulcers used to be a source of death in sled dogs, but fortunately, that's no longer the case. 

Though the race officially begins in Anchorage, it's only for the sake of appearances. After a short run, the teams bid adieu to the cameras, pack up their dogs and sleds, and drive to snowier country up north for the 'restart.' Wasilla is the second official start for the race, though its lack of snow often pushes the restart farther north. 

Phil and Sarah: If you look closely, you can see the Iditarod Dog Team crossing sign outside the headquarters!

Outside the headquarters, we encountered a musher, Rylie, who first trained for several years in Leadville, in our home state of Colorado, before moving to Wasilla. He told us that the Alaskan huskies - part malamute, Irish setter, pointer, etc - are elite marathon athletes who are born to run. As we'd read in the museum, he stated that the relationship between the dogs and the musher is critical. I hadn't known, however, that dog teams were the link to survival for the state's Indigenous people and were a significant part of Alaska's history. 

He emphasized that you can't make the dogs run - they have to want to run. 

Rylie had participated in five Iditarod races. He explained that, like race car drivers, mushers get sponsors to fund their races, but it's a chicken-and-egg situation. You have to be good at mushing to get a sponsor, but you need a sponsor to be good at mushing!

Steven and I could have paid to take a dog sled ride through the forest with Rylie, but I wasn't in very good shape then. I was recovering from a broken femur I'd suffered the previous October after slipping in some mud in northern Guatemala, and awaiting two operations from a limb restoration specialist on our return home.

We stopped at the Denali Overlook, on the last stretch of highway leading into the quirky town of Talkeetna, for one of the best views of Mt. McKinley, which was known as Denali in 2023, meaning "the tall one" in the Koyukon Athabascan language. An executive order by Trump earlier this year sought to change the name back to Mt. McKinley, though the broader park remains Denali National Park. We were fortunate that the mountain was "out," meaning that it wasn't obscured by clouds.

If you've traveled as much as we have, I admit that it's hard not to become a tad jaded with one more spectacular view. However, we agreed that it was one of the more eye-catching ones.

For some reason, a large rock at the overlook had been spray-painted gold. Was it to reflect the state's gold rush?

Shots of tourist-mobbed Talkeetna, where temperatures are relatively mild by Alaska standards: highs in the 50s or 60s from May to September and average just 28 inches of precipatation year round:

Walking along Main Street was a delight, as it's one of the state's artiest towns, with lovely shops in historic buildings designed to waylay curious folk and separate them from their wallets!

Though the popular 1990s TV series, Northern Exposure, was set in the fictional Alaskan town of Cicely, it was thought to have been modeled on Talkeetna.

The most iconic building in town was Hagley's Store, which initially served as the town's general store, post office, and district territorial headquarters.

Hearing the buzz of an airplane taking off from the nearby historic airstrip got us excited for our first 'flightseeing' trip anywhere, coming up the next day! Some of Alaska's most adventurous bush pilots were based right here in Talkeetna, pioneering early landings in and around Denali. Planes still ferry climbers back and forth to Denali. After a local pilot, the late Don Sheldon, was among the first to land on glaciers on Denali, an airline in Talkeetna was named after him.

Today, another adventure awaited us, the Alaska Railroad's Hurricane Train, which operated from mid-May to mid-September. Described as one of the last flag-stop trains anywhere in the world, it stops for anyone along the line who flags it down. Just as in the early days of homesteading, it's the only lifeline connecting some rural residents to town.

Alice, the cheery conductor, told us that the Chase Trail runs for 10 miles up the Big Susitna River to Chase, the last place people can reach without a train. Some people ride their bikes out, then flag down the train for the return trip!

The Hurricane Train is also used by locals to access their privately owned cabins, for hunting opportunities, paddling trips, and to haul camping equipment north. Small freight shipments are also a major public service of the state-owned railroad. 

Alice mentioned that the train had started running five days ago, since it was just the beginning of the season. One of the great things about taking the train was that it would stop if any animals were sighted, AND it would even back up, too!

Ice jam in the Big Susitna River:

Alice said the flag-stop train had the last priority over any other train, because they all have schedules that must be adhered to. That was why we ended up waiting on a siding for 30 minutes, north of Chase, for the train to pass by. 

Alaskans jokingly call the logs in the river "alligators."

Another ice jam from a melting glacier brought in a lot of silt, according to Alice.

As we were seated in the dome car, we had first-class views. The train's capacity was 110, but Alice remarked that the most they get is 56 in the summer. I wonder if that has changed now, since I'm writing this two years later.

As we neared Curry, our train slowed considerably due to concerns about rockslides. One had just occurred earlier that week.

An old rotary snow plow:

Alice thought that all the ice would melt in a week. I wonder if she was right?! About five weeks earlier, there had been three feet of snow in Talkeetna, and they had had much more that winter. The snow was generally very dry, and therefore, not suitable for making snowballs or snowmen!

Alice told us that Curry had been home to one of the largest hotels in the region, and that it had been the epitome of luxury, with a pool, golf course, tennis courts, etc. It was destroyed by a fire in 1957, turning the town into a ghost town, though.

Four large men, dressed in Army fatigues, who boarded the train with us in Talkeetna, got off the train at this spot to go bear hunting.

Coincidentally, about the same time, Army helicopters were conducting maneuvers overhead.

Alice commented that there were 40 year-round residents and others who live there part-time. People get around by snowmobile, 4-wheel drive, or the train when it's in service. It must take a particular type of person who enjoys solitude.

Alice regaled us with one of her amusing tales as we reached Sherman. A couple moving up here had to learn to live in a place with very few amenities. They had ordered green paint from Anchorage, but when they opened up the can, they found it was blue, not green. They were stuck with it, as they couldn't return it!

For people looking for a weekend getaway, they could stay at Gold Creek R&R, accessible only by rail, helicopter, or boat! Still, not my cup of tea, thank you.

I was rather surprised that the train stopped at the remote studio of children's illustrator Shannon Cartwright, one of Alaska's most popular illustrators with 23 children's books to her credit. She credits the Talkeetna Mountains for inspiring her whimsical, brightly colored animals, which serve as the basis for her work.

I read online that Cartwright and her dog "travel by hiking and skiing, hauling supplies in by snow machine or sled. She thrives on living a simple life - hauling water by backpack, heating and cooking with wood, and lighting her work area with solar energy. Everything takes longer, like having to ski 14 miles just to pick up the mail, but it's fun and sometimes challenging!"

The daily summertime stop must be lucrative for Cartwright if other train passengers are as eager to buy autographed books for their grandchildren as I was! In 2022, she arranged for the Hurricane Train to stop at her studio for the first time. I wonder if she had to pay a commission to the railroad?

The stunning mountain views to the north were simply called the Alaska Range. We had reached about 1,300 feet in elevation after a slow, steady climb from Talkeetna, according to Alice. Sadly, the Sitka spruce trees in the foreground were dying off from disease. 

The Parks Highway to Fairbanks, 46 miles from Denali National Park:

The highlight of the ride and the state's engineering accomplishment was the Hurricane Gulch Bridge, which spanned 914 feet and rose 296 feet above Hurricane Gulch, the longest and tallest on the Alaska Railroad. Construction on the bridge began in early 1921, with steel assembly starting in June. Remarkably, the first passenger train crossed just a few months later, on August 15th of the same year!

Thanks to our domed car, we had eyepopping views of the largest, single-span metal bridge west of the Mississippi River!

Photo courtesy of Alaska Travel Blog:

Alice told us that the name 'Hurricane Bridge' derives from the Hurricane Gulch, which in turn was named for the powerful 90mph winds, or "hurricanes," that often sweep through the narrow canyon, creating extreme weather conditions. The bridge was named for the place, and the place is named for the weather, not because a hurricane hit it!

An open‑air observation platform provided uninterrupted panoramic views as we crossed one of Alaska’s most scenic landmarks.

Hurricane's only house was for the railroad workers.

On our way back to Talkeetna, we were able to flip our seats, so we were facing forward again. It was awesome seeing Cartwright, the artist, her dog, and two other people 'flag down' the train, as it was the first time it occurred. But Cartwright got off just two minutes later to snowshoe to her home.

We had hoped to spot bears, moose, and caribou from the train - oh my! However, the only wildlife was this swan!

The sun was about to set as we neared Talkeetna, about five hours after leaving.

Decades ago, before our suburban area got so developed, I remember loving the whooshing sounds of trains as they regularly traveled up and down Santa Fe, a main street a few miles away from our home. But having to depend on one to get around the bush in Alaska doesn't sound as appealing. Still, the chance to explore a part of The Last Frontier accessible only by one of the country's last flag-stop trains had been thrilling. Driving anywhere in Alaska pales in comparison to riding the Alaska Railroad. If you visit Alaska, do it, too; I assure you, you won't be disappointed!

Next post: Flightseeing to Ruth Glacier and heading to Denali - an OMG day!

Posted on December 20th, 2025, from Denver, where the winds have been howling in the Foothills this week, at times reaching the strength of a Category 3 hurricane, with 110 mph winds. More power company shutoffs have been underway, resulting in over 100,000 people losing power, due to the extreme risk of fire spreading in the wind. I hope that your weather is calmer and you will take care of yourself and your loved ones.