It was March of 2022 and it was the 50th running of the Iditarod, people from all over the world gathered in Anchorage, Alaska, to witness the legendary sled dog race. The air was filled with excitement and anticipation as teams of mushers and their dogs prepared for the grueling 1,000-mile journey through the Alaskan wilderness. The snow drifted in enormous snowflakes from the sky, as the teams lined up to begin the Ceremonial Start of the Iditarod.
I had always been fascinated by the Iditarod and it was an experience to photograph I had always wanted to have. When I learned a few months earlier, one of our team’s photojournalists would not be able to cover the race this year, I quickly tossed my name in to gain credentials. A few weeks later, my press credentials came in, and off to plan a trip of a lifetime to cover the 50th Running of the Iditarod.
That March, I had come to Alaska specifically for the race and was determined to experience it in the most unforgettable way possible. So, I decided to hop on a chartered flight with a bush pilot to see the race from above and fly over the great Alaskan wilderness to the first checkpoint of the teams following the official start in Willow, Alaska.
As I boarded the small plane, a rush of excitement came over me, the chill of the Alaskan air seemed far away, and even though I was so cold, I had wondered how I would be able to take pictures in such temperatures. The bush pilot was a veteran pilot in the Alaskan wilderness that seemed to know every inch of the land below.
Our bush plane soared over the snowy expanse, offering a breathtaking view of the Alaskan wilderness with Mt. Denali in the distance. I often found myself gazing in wonder at the enormous mountains, the frozen rivers, and the endless forests that stretched out into the vast infinity of the Alaskan landscape. It was a view, unlike anything I had ever seen before.
As we flew over the race course, we saw teams of sled dogs and their mushers weaving their way through the snow. Even with the loud roar of the small bush plane engines, you could easily imagine the sounds of the sleds and dog teams gliding over the trails, with only the perfect silence a new snowfall makes, that drowns all things out, except for the lightest jingle of the dog tags on the sled dog’s collars. Mush on! It was an exhilarating sight to witness from the small bush plane, as we banked from side to side to get the best views of the teams below. At times, we would watch herds of moose move slowly across the snow barren landscape just a few hundred yards away from the teams, a bird’s eye view that only for that moment in time, we were witnessing seeing both the sled teams and the moose, but to both, neither knew one was a close as the thick forests separated the herds and the trails.
As we flew through the early morning hours, the bush pilot pointed out the window. “Look down there,” he said. “Do you see those moose, just behind the tree line?”
Once again, we peered out the window and saw a group of enormous moose, grazing in a clearing below. They were magnificent animals, with towering antlers and thick fur that shimmered in the sunlight. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe and respect for these creatures that lived in the unforgiving Alaskan wilderness.
As the plane continued on its journey, we flew over one of the mandatory checkpoints, where the sled teams were required to stop and rest for a certain amount of time. It would be at Rainy Pass, we would land and spend the day documenting the teams as they came into the checkpoint. It was a crucial stop in the race, where the mushers could strategize and plan for the next leg of the journey as the next checkpoint for the teams would cover more treacherous terrains as the teams headed North to Nome.
As the light faded and the temperatures began to drop, we watched as the sun began to set and our bush pilot returned. We were the last ones to leave the wilderness camp that evening. As we flew back towards Anchorage, we watched the sun melt against the highest peak of Denali, North America’s tallest mountain.
Hours later, when we landed back in Anchorage, the sense of fulfillment that I had witnessed the Iditarod in such a unique way. I knew that I would never forget the sights and sounds of the race or the incredible beauty of the Alaskan wilderness. It was an experience that will stay with me for a lifetime.