As a trail it began, as a trail it lived gloriously, and when
the gold petered out and the rush was over, as a trail it died.
Rod Perry: That no road was ever built over the route and that
the country it traverses remained largely raw wilderness
would preserve its primitive character and its colorful, romantic
gold-rush luster through the decades of abandonment as if the
trail had an appointment with destiny.
To the trail’s romantic allure may be attributed one of the
main reasons the Iditarod would one day live again. A half
century after heavy trail use died out, in a man-and-team-
against-the-wilderness setting, the old path would experience
a glorious rebirth. From its long slumber it would awake once
more to hear the barely audible hiss of runners and the
creaking of sled joints, it would feel the staccato footfall and
listen to the panting of trotting huskies. The world’s longest,
most grueling sled dog race, termed “The Last Great Race on
Earth” would be held over its spectacular course, capturing
international imagination.
But I forget myself at times and stray, as this is all so alive
to me. Back to the Iditarod Trail’s founding . . . .