Honestly, if you've ever seen the animated movie Balto, you probably think you know the story. A heroic dog saves a town, there’s a statue in Central Park, and everyone lives happily ever after. But the real story of the Great Alaskan Race—officially known as the 1925 Serum Run to Nome—is way more intense, messy, and controversial than a cartoon. It wasn't just one dog. It was a 674-mile relay across the frozen throat of Alaska in temperatures so cold they literally froze a man’s hands to his sled.
It was January 1925. Nome was a lonely outpost of about 1,400 people, plus thousands more in the surrounding area. When Dr. Curtis Welch realized he was looking at a full-blown diphtheria outbreak, he knew they were in trouble. Diphtheria is a nasty bacterial infection that coats the throat and basically suffocates children. His supply of antitoxin was expired. He’d ordered more, but the port had iced up for the winter before the shipment arrived.
The Impossible Logistics
Nome was cut off. The Bering Sea was a solid sheet of ice. Planes back then had open cockpits and water-cooled engines—essentially useless in -50°F weather. The only way in was the Iditarod Trail. Usually, the mail took 30 days to cover that distance. The people of Nome didn't have 30 days.
They had maybe six.
✨ Don't miss: Historic Sears Building LA: What Really Happened to This Boyle Heights Icon
The solution was a relay. The serum would travel by train from Anchorage to Nenana, and from there, 20 mushers and about 150 dogs would carry it the rest of the way. These weren't just professional racers; they were mail carriers, local mushers, and many Alaska Natives—Athabascan, Inupiat, and others—who knew the land better than anyone.
Breaking Down the Miles
The first musher, "Wild Bill" Shannon, took the serum from the train station at 11:00 p.m. It was -50°F. By the time he handed it off, he had severe frostbite on his face, and three of his dogs were dying. That's the part people forget. This wasn't a fun adventure; it was a brutal battle for survival.
Here’s how the distance broke down among the key players:
🔗 Read more: Why the Nutty Putty Cave Seal is Permanent: What Most People Get Wrong About the John Jones Site
- Total distance: 674 miles.
- Total time: 127.5 hours (about 5 and a half days).
- Average leg: Around 30 miles.
- Leonhard Seppala’s leg: 261 miles (including the round trip to meet the relay).
- Gunnar Kaasen’s leg: 53 miles.
Seppala and his lead dog, Togo, were the absolute powerhouses of the run. While most teams did 30-mile sprints, Seppala and Togo covered more than double the distance of any other team. They took a shortcut across the shifting sea ice of Norton Sound in the middle of a blizzard. If the ice had broken, they would have drifted out to sea and died. Togo was 12 years old—basically a senior citizen in dog years—and he navigated that ice in total darkness.
The Balto vs. Togo Controversy
This is where things get kinda spicy in the mushing community. Gunnar Kaasen and his lead dog, Balto, were the ones who actually crossed the finish line in Nome at 5:30 a.m. on February 2. Because they were the ones the reporters saw, Balto got all the fame.
Seppala was, frankly, pretty salty about it. He called Balto a "scrub dog" and felt Togo had been robbed of the credit. To be fair, Togo ran 261 miles while Balto ran about 53. But Balto did save his team when they got lost in a whiteout and nearly flipped into a river. Both dogs were heroes, but history definitely has a favorite.
💡 You might also like: Atlantic Puffin Fratercula Arctica: Why These Clown-Faced Birds Are Way Tougher Than They Look
The impact was immediate. The serum worked. Dr. Welch thawed the vials, started injections, and by February 21, the quarantine was lifted. Five deaths were officially recorded, but the number was likely much higher in the outlying Native villages that didn't have the same access to medical reporting.
Why the Great Alaskan Race Still Matters
Today, we remember this event every year through the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race. While the modern race follows a different schedule and is more of a sporting event, it’s rooted in that 1925 desperate dash for mercy.
If you're interested in the legacy of the Great Alaskan Race, here’s how you can actually engage with this history:
- Visit the Statues: You can see Balto in New York’s Central Park, but don't skip the statue of Togo at Seward Park in NYC or his preserved remains at the Iditarod Headquarters in Wasilla, Alaska.
- Read the Real Accounts: Check out The Cruelest Miles by Gay and Laney Salisbury. It’s the definitive book on the run and uses real journals and records.
- Support Sled Dog Welfare: Look into the Leonhard Seppala Humanitarian Award, which is given to Iditarod mushers who provide the best care for their dogs. It’s a great way to see how the bond between humans and huskies has evolved since the 1920s.
The Great Alaskan Race wasn't just a win for medicine; it was a testament to what happens when a community—native and settler alike—refuses to let a town go dark. It’s about more than just a dog on a movie poster. It's about 20 teams who decided that -60°F wasn't enough to stop them from saving their neighbors.
To learn more about the specific history of the trail, you can explore the Alaska State Archives online, which holds the original telegrams sent during the crisis. For those planning a trip, the Carrie M. McLain Memorial Museum in Nome has an incredible collection of artifacts from the 1925 era that puts the scale of the journey into perspective.