The First Great Race

by Dan Seavey

The Story of Alaska's 1973 Iditarod as told by Iditarod Veteran Dan Seavey.

Genres: Dogs, Nonfiction, Biography, History

496 pages, Paperback

First published October 1, 2013

About the author

Dan Seavey was an American musher. He was one of the initial participants in the original Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race in 1973 finishing third. He donated his $6,000 prize winnings back to the race committee to insure the long-term success of future races, He competed in his final Iditarod race in 2012, finishing 50th.

Reviews

[Stephen Wallace · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am going to mark this review as ‘with spoilers’ just because I want to share a lot of good stuff from the book. Best if you are a big fan of sled dogs and the races to read the book, then come back and read the bulk of my review and leave comments. But if you don’t plan on reading the book, or have a poor memory like mine, or like to read good quotes again, then proceed. Of course, there isn’t any real spoilers in that we know the first Iditarod race in 1973 happened, but the book tells the story how it came about.

The book has a couple of themes. First is Dan’s history, how he got into dog sledding, how he was involved with making the first Iditarod happen, and his run within that first race. Then there is the huge dream of a 1000-mile race and making it happen. I think anyone with big dreams can appreciate that aspect of the book. Then there is the first race itself as told from various people’s perspectives. I loved it all, but I am guessing that the change in directions and large scale may make another reviewer drop a star off from not having one solid and consistent thrust through the book.

When I read a book, I leave post it notes in places for excerpts I want to potentially copy out. I had at least 32 post it notes in this book when I finished. So many I didn’t chose to copy them all out but enough to share in this review and to post as quotes against the book.

From the Foreword by Terry O. Adkins:

‘The early Iditarod dogs were tough and hearty and so were the people who ran these teams. The first races took many days/weeks. During these early Iditarod runs, there were no headlights, no booties except the rare hand-sewn seal-skin bootie, no reflective trail markers (spruce boughs if anything), no quick-change runners, and no pre-race drop-bags assigned to each checkpoint. The mushers that ran were experts in survivalist arctic living and elite dog-men; many times these individuals were the trail-breakers as Iditarod was a trail and not a highway at that time. I remember air dropping dog food to the mushers at Poorman, they were snowshoeing in front of their teams. Mushers camped ang rested at night. The dogs were more trap-line dogs than anything. Today's Iditarod dogs are trained better and selected for more speed.’

Dan kept notes as he raised and trained his dogs. Here is an example of one. While in that first race, he made some recordings in a tape recorder and some notes. Then amazingly one friend and journalist kept recordings including a blow-by-blow account of each dog taking off at the start of the race.

From Files: (Desirable Sled Dog Traits, 1965)
I. Above all others, must be genetically forward-oriented. Self-driven, trail aggressive. 2. Medium size, males 50 -75 Ibs; females 50-60 lbs. Good body conformation. Well furred. 3. Good feet. 4, Siberian husky appearance. 5. People-oriented (friendly). 6. Trail endurance, capable of a long day’s work.

One reason why reason sled dog books are my favorite type of dog books, is there is often so many crazy and interesting little stories that happen along the way. Here is one that made me chuckle a bit:

‘Genghis, leading the whole team, took off, hot on the trail of that cocker spaniel, which ran right through his “doggie door” in the Gillespie’s’ screened-in porch. I didn’t even have time to think before all seven dogs and the front of the sled crashed into the screened porch, leaving a gaping hole.

The ruckus brought the Gillespie’s pouring out of their house. When they saw what had happened, after a brief period of shocked silence, they began laughing. ‘

Most everyone familiar with the Iditarod race are aware of the ‘Father of the Iditarod’ Joe Redington. While he was only one of the organizers, his part was big enough that I think the title is well deserved. What is not as well known and could be questioned is the person sometimes referred to as the ‘Mother of the Iditarod, Dorothy page. In one sense, maybe yes, because she organized the first race. Not the first Iditarod race, but the Centennial race held in 1967, that included 9 miles of the actual Iditarod trail out of the 50 miles in the race. But as far as the Iditarod race that we know of, well… First, I give you some details for that Centennial race, then a bit from a taped interview with Gleo Huyck another organizer of the first Iditarod race.

‘Modern revival of both long-distance sled dog racing and the Iditarod Trail began with an idea for celebration of the Alaska Purchase (1867) Centennial. While a war canoe would be fashioned for that purpose in Southeast Alaska, appropriately, plans for a special sled dog race were laid for the South Central region. Dorothy Page is generally credited with getting things started in that direction. At the time, in 1964, Dorothy was chairperson of the Wasilla-Knik Alaska Purchase Centennial Committee and, providentially, secretary for the Aurora Dog Mushers Club. It was this resident Wasilla historian who first conceived of and began to promote the idea of a showcase sled dog event, among like-minded local history buffs and dog mushers. What better way of reliving, though briefly, the glory days of Territorial Alaska than to stage a specially billed race over an existing segment of the old and mostly forgotten Iditarod gold rush trail?’


‘Huyck: The latter part of October, first part of November, somewhere in there. We went to meet with Dorothy and explained our idea of having a long-distance race of three hundred to four hundred miles. She wanted nothing to do with being any part of this race and washed her hands of it. She said, “I don’t think it can succeed and somebody is going to get hurt, and I just don’t want my name associated with it.” Those were just about her exact words. She wanted nothing to do with it, so we (Redington and Huyck) left there... That was our meeting with Dorothy. That's the last I saw of her for all the months we put in planning the first race.’

Another misconception mentioned, is that the Iditarod race was to commemorate the first serum run. It wasn’t really. It was to commemorate the sled dog mail and freight carriers. There were also goals by the organizers:

‘From the beginning then, our two chief missions as a committee, were expounded: an event to give purpose for sled dogs and preservation of a trail over which to drive them.’

To make the race happen was an enormous undertaking. The day the race started, they didn’t have enough money to pay to pay the promised prize amount.

‘Joe and his committee found themselves undertaking some very frenzied fund-raising activities as soon as the last team disappeared down the trail toward Nome. Fact is, when I and my thirty-three trail mates struck out for Nome on that memorable date, Saturday, March 3, 1973, a major portion of our eagerly anticipated pot of gold was mostly—empty An estimated seven thousand dollars, that’s all. Stacked alongside our “accounts payable,” it was a pitiful trifle—and all that public bluster, ballyhooing, and promises given. Many reputations were on the line. A healthy portion of Alaska’s elite had come out in support of this untested affair by becoming honorary members of Joe's equally untested race committee. Redington had stood before thirty-four trusting mushers at their pre-race banquet two days previous and proclaimed to them and the world that, upon his honor, the money would be waiting for them upon their arrival at rainbows end. One has to believe that Joe, Tom, Gleo, and others, concerned with financial success of the race, counted their blessings daily as each passed and the race dragged on and on. One more day of grace. Another day to beat the bushes in quest of desperately needed cash. Another day of clutching at straws.’

Then it was making the 1,000-mile trail. Remember, the trail didn’t exist prior to the race and needed to be marked and ideally groomed by snowmobiles.

‘Though out of character, lofty-minded Tom Johnson, at one of our meetings, posed the question, “How in the world will we ever pull this thing off?” A bunch of ideas and suggestions were offered amid a goodly portion of friendly banter. It was agreed that to sell the race, it would be necessary to get all sorts of people emotionally involved. Get them to volunteer, to buy into the race. Joe, Sr., never one to think small, brought our task down to nutshell simplicity when he stated, “We have to get the whole darn state involved.”

This was our message: Look out, Alaska, here we come. We are going to buttonhole you and ask for your help. We believe in our product, now we want you to believe, too. To become involved in our dream. You, the musher, politician, lawyer, army, air force, event organizer, banker, merchant, recreationist, publicist, publisher, miner, villager, pilot, radioman, and a myriad of others, are needed. Together, we can relive our glorious past and provide something positive for Alaska’s future. Without you, all is lost and we are doomed to failure.

That was our basic approach in rounding up volunteers for the first race. It was an easy sell.’

So much had to be worked out and there were no good manuals left by the old timers. Everything had to be figured out including how do you feed the race dogs?

‘So much about the first Iditarod was a trail-breaking effort, an experimental belief in past attainments mixed with a good dose of foolhardiness. Old time dog-men quickly worked on trails, managed dog teams, and generally left little in the way of how-to-do-it manuals, To my knowledge, there had never been, in all of history, a sled dog race of Iditarod magnitude. So the question remained: “How does one feed a dog for and during a one-thousand-mile race?” I didn't know. No one knew. We all had unproven ideas sticking out our ears. Perhaps the one agreed upon understanding was an everyday diet for a working dog would, in the end, be grossly inadequate. Available were fifty-pound bags containing Friskies for $3.10, Don’s for the same, Purina at $4.50, or the king of dog food for the time was Iams at $6.25. That was about it.’

In addition to the organizing story, there is also the story of Dan Seavey. Should he leave his teachers job and family for a month to go on a crazy dangerous race? He had doubts but thought:

‘However, what an opportunity for a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. A chance to truly go somewhere consequential, somewhere distant by dog team. What a thrill it would be to soak in the very essence of a trail known only vicariously through book and legend. How overpowering the thought: To ride runners over a pioneer’s boulevard, where august spirits of old-time dog men sit in watch. Here was an occasion where all the noble qualities of a noble animal could be demonstrated to an ever-growing remote and mechanized world. Dare I hope that such an event would excite a renewed interest in the historic trail? That my adopted hometown, indeed all the communities along the way, would begin anew, an appreciative relationship with that heritage treasure? Yes, I just had to do it. There could never be another first Iditarod Race, and for that matter, the first could well be the last.’

I also found it interesting how Dan came up with one of the good ideas to fund the race that became one of the traditions:

‘However, I had another monetary scheme, which resulted from my study of trail history. The chief purpose of the original trail was to provide means of mail transport to remote mining settlements scattered across the vast Alaska Territory. Why not carry real mail to Nome by dog sled—for a price—and mail it from the Nome Post Office upon my arrival? Local artist and race advocate, Dot Bardarson, created the first “Iditarod Race Mail” ever, in the form of a souvenir letter that could be written upon, folded, stamped, addressed, and sealed, ready for my sled mailbag.’

My favorite parts of sled dog books are details about the dogs, and on giving them credit. Here is one bit I liked:

‘We human pioneers of the “great camping trip,” as George Attla would dub it, will remain incorporated, as it were, in the fabric that weaves our history. But what of the four hundred pioneer dogs? Those wonders of God’s creation, who weathered Arctic gales, slept in snowbanks, suffered exhaustion, sore, raw feet, and, to some degree, human ignorance, and neglect. What of them? Leaders Genghis, Kiana, and Sonny. Others, who strained in wheel, team, and swing positions, and at times, in lead as well, were Kuchik, Koyuk, Snippy, Eska, Shiak, Flame, Bandit, Casper, and Crazy. Names listed on a sheet of paper seem such a hollow tribute to twelve of a person’s most loyal, tested friends. And hollow that tribute would be, if all twelve of them were not imprinted indelibly in my heart. Those twelve devoted, steadfast trail companions bestowed upon me the one true adventure of my life. In so doing, they became the pathfinders for all ensuing generations of endurance race dogs. Genghis, Kiana, Sonny, Kuchik, Koyuk, Snippy, Eska, Shiak, Flame, Bandit, Casper, and Crazy—a renewed and heartfelt salute.’

I also liked this bit when trying to answer why the dogs run:

‘Sled dogs love new trails. The drive to explore unknown ground, to huge distances with pack mates, is genetic. In the wild, it is necessary for food gathering and survival. All canine senses come into play in this vital game of life. But, by far and away, the most important is the dog's astounding sense of smell, a million or more times that of a human, we are told.

A canine’s innate desire to travel, to sniff out new ground, and thig inborn compulsion to run with its kind, provides a key answer to the often-asked question: “What makes Iditarod racing dogs run a hundred or more miles per day?” In truth, nothing or no one really makes them run. They are, in fact, by their very nature, compelled to run. They were born that way. Selective breeding for those wondrous, wild instincts—in the case of the Seavey kennels, some twenty sled dog generations to date—simply brings to the top the very best of what has been there for centuries unnumbered.’

Amazing what the dogs can do. Here is a nice bit during Dan’s race:

‘The offshore north wind built to a gale force. My poor dogs. They would hit a wind-polished spot, loose traction, and literally get rolled into a knot, requiring a frustrating untangling, under something less than good picnic conditions. Other times, away would go the sled skidding sideways, with me firmly attached, until it struck an immoveable drift or a crusted snow patch, and over I went, taking the entire team with me, ending, one time, a half block off the trail. Wha, storm. What an experience. Blinding and, at times, breath-sucking Dangerous, scary, but exciting and exhilarating at the same time. One remembrance I have kept—all these years—is thankfulness for the relatively mild temperature at the time. And another is an absolute, set-it-in-concrete admiration for my dogs. In the course of many untangles I rearranged my front end. Genghis, my old faithful, went in front with Kiana. Bandit was placed back in swing. We went. In spite of roll! overs, roll-ups, wraparounds, and tangles, we went. And even when a couple of males—Kuchik and Casper—repeatedly attempted to dive behind snowdrifts, out of the punishing tempest, we went. How gratifying it was to witness my years of training pay off. Uncounted hours: back on Kenai Lake and Resurrection River flats, driving this never-say-die team head-on into fiendish, violent snowstorms.’

One more quote I liked talking about the dogs:

‘While dogs were a hole to sink money into, they were also more fun than a barrel of monkeys. There is nothing quite like hooking up a team of dogs who are raring to go. They bark and dance and just can’t wait. When you finally pull the hook and they take off at full speed (probably 25 miles an hour), there is a swish of sled runners and the wind in your face. Perhaps six furry behinds running ahead like a house afire. It is wonderful. You charge out into the boreal forest where there are no human sounds; no roads, no TVs, no nothing but you and your dogs and your wits.’

Also, including in the details of that first race story is how the winner broke the rules to win. Here is the bit that alludes to that:

‘Finally, Wilmarth threw his cards on the table, uttering, “You boys stay ahead of me and I will buy you all the whiskey you can drink when we get to Nome.” As God is my witness, those were his, almost, if not exact words. They had effect. Within fifteen minutes, the sound of the last machine blended into the music of wind playing through the cabin.’

So much of that first race carried on to the races that followed, but hopefully better enforcement of the rules.

‘Everything unique to the first race was a first. Meaning, for example, a sled dog race—nothing first, nor unique, here—but one of one thousand miles or more, using the same dogs, is decidedly a first and, without question, unique. There are many Iditarod Race traditions, whose origins are traced to the 1973 inaugural event. Easily coming to mind is the first weekend in March start, Anchorage start site (ceremonial, nowadays) trail mail (mine in 1973 was adopted by ITC in 1974), keeping record of the fastest time between Solomon (Port Safety or Safety, nowadays) and Nome, the town siren and police escort at Nome, use of veterinarians during the race, publishing dog deaths, employment of the “Iditarod Air Force,” multiple finisher banquets, red lantern award (adopted from earlier races), and reliance on volunteers.’

Although I hate how most people use the phrase, I would have to say a ‘must read’ for those who like books about dog sled races.

[E · Rating 4 out of 5]

Having read many a book about the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race, I was delighted to embrace this valuable book about how the first Iditarod race came into being, written by someone who helped found the race and participated in the first event. The Seavey family name is legendary in Iditarod racing fame, with Dan Seavey himself having raced in 5 events, including the first, and his son Mitch Seavey earning 3 championships, while Dan's grandson Dallas has earned 4 (as of the 2019 race; Mitch and Dallas also have their own books about Iditarod exploits). Here, octogenarian Dan Seavey shares amusing and harrowing stories about moving to Alaska with his young family in 1963 from Minnesota, surviving the 1964 earthquake in Seward, and learning the hard way to raise and train sled dogs (have you ever pulled porcupine quills out of an inquisitive husky's muzzle or chased an canine escape artist down a highway when he headed toward the forest rather than the truck?).

Many of the other books about the Iditarod revolve primarily around authors' personal race experience (which I love), and most of these authors have been racers from the Interior of Alaska. Seavey's book is different. I enjoyed learning from him more about the history and culture of 20th-century dogsledding on Alaska's Kenai Peninsula, and specifically about Seward and its contributions to development of the Iditarod National Historic Trail as well as the first Iditarod in 1973.

Dan Seavey--who, among other things, was a history teacher for many years in Seward--has done Alaska and the Iditarod a huge service by compiling this book, much of which was based on a box of materials he kept in his basement for nearly 40 years after the first race. The book is not only full of first-person anecdotes and history involving his own family and that of the Iditarod, but also generously stocked with transcriptions of historical interviews, narratives of other people involved in the first race, and documents like letters, photographs, advertising, contracts, race rules, and other historical records that provide a fascinating picture of the early days of the Iditarod. Thank you, Mr. Seavey, for the amazing amount of work and love put into this book.

[Bridget Neace · Rating 4 out of 5]

Really interesting to read about how the "Last Great Race" came about from Dan himself. :)

[Jim · Rating 4 out of 5]

Fun book chronicling the Seavey families introduction to mushing and the first Iditarod race in 1973.

[Susan Smith · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dan's way with words is pretty evident as you read this great account of his background and the first Iditarod in 1973. Being a teacher he just had to research and boy howdy, did he tell a great story.

[Tammy Hector · Rating 5 out of 5]

Dan Seavey has a way with words. I loved learning about the beginnings of the first Iditarod race. This book was so inspirational. It took you through the beginning of a fifth grade boy’s dream to move to Alaska and how he made it a reality. This story touched me and reminded me of how teachers can spark dreams in their students. I enjoyed all the stories of Dan’s adventures settling Alaska and starting this race. I’m a dog lover, so I love how the race was also started to honor the Alaska dog musher and dogs as part of the rich history of the Alaska frontier.

[J. · Rating 5 out of 5]

While this book isn't a literary masterpiece to those of us who follow the Iditarod Sled Dog Race, it is full of historical tidbits that I did not know and really enjoyed learning more about that very first race. For any Iditarod fans who haven't read it, you really need to do so.

[Wendy · Rating 3 out of 5]

I love the author, but 496 pages is a LOT of details about planning and executing the first Iditarod - even for a hard core fan!

[Brent · Rating 3 out of 5]

3.5 stars, interesting. Once I got into it, it was a good story. Pretty slow at times.

[Stacey · Rating 4 out of 5]

If you are interested in the Iditarod, this first-hand account of the inaugural race is fascinating. It is amazing that they pulled it off at all, and more amazing still how the race has continued and evolved. A must for any Iditarod junkie.

[Susan Cornwell · Rating 4 out of 5]

Great history of Seward, and Alaska Iditarod race. I enjoyed the read.

[Lauri · Rating 4 out of 5]

Interesting first hand account of what went into the first race