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 . . . .

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