Alaska's Iditarod National Historic Trail is an incredibly unique route in that its 950-mile-long length across the state, from just north of Anchorage to Nome on the Bering Sea coast, is passable for just a few weeks each winter when there's enough traffic to keep the snowy trail packed. During that short time, the trail attracts a variety of travelers drawn to remote winter adventure - snowmachiners, mushers, skiers, cyclists, and even hikers. Some travel short stretches of the trail, and some strive to traverse its full length.
Dena’ina Ełnena, Dënéndeh, Deg Xit’an, Koyukon, and Inupiat lands
ELEVATION GAIN
riding season
days out
PHYSICAL challenge (don't underestimate the difficulty of winter expeditionary travel)
miles
TECHNICAL challenge (heavily loaded bike + ungroomed trail = challenging riding)
Stewarded by the Iditarod Historic Trail Alliance; made passable each winter thanks to work by the Iron Dog Race, the Iditarod sled dog race, and local volunteers.
Administered by the Bureau of Land Management on lands managed by a variety federal/State/local agencies, native villages, and Native Corporations.
The Iditarod National Historic Trail is a ~950-mile-long public winter route connecting Knik, just outside of Anchorage, to Nome on the Bering Sea coast. The trail was established in the early 1900s as an overland route to transport supplies and mail to the gold mining boom town of Nome. Today, the trail is rideable for just a few weeks each winter when trail traffic associated with the Iron Dog snowmachine race and the Iditarod Sled Dog Race make the most remote sections of the trail passable. This is not a groomed, maintained trail, though – it’s simply there because of snowmachine traffic, and a single wind event or storm can wipe that trail away in a matter of hours. The Iditarod Trail is the longest trail of its sort in the world, and each winter, it attracts a variety of adventures seeking a remote, challenging, and incredibly rewarding experience whether that’s by snowmachine, dogsled, bike, ski, or foot.
This guide offers a short overview of the trail itself here, a few trip ideas, detailed GPS data, and a wealth of safety, gear, logistical, planning, ethical, travel, and navigation details and recommendations, as well as an example packing list and a brief history of the trail. Hopefully this all helps ease the process of planning adventures on the trail – but all this is just the first step. The other massive piece of the preparation is gaining the experience, skills, and fitness necessarily to safely and confidently travel in harsh winter conditions on a particularly remote and demanding trail. That part of the process is yours to completely own.
Options for trips on sections of the trail: Folks looking for shorter trips on sections of the trail could consider the following options. All can be ridden in either direction.
Riding the full length of the trail: Plan on roughly a month to complete the full length of the trail. Careful timing of the trip for passable trail conditions is crucial (see details on that in next section below), and taking any longer than a month dramatically increases the likelihood of seldom-traveled sections of the trail becoming unpassable.
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For a series of incredibly detailed section-by-section descriptions of the trail, the landscape, and bits of history, spend some time on the Iditarod sled dog race’s trail map/descriptions page. For anyone unfamiliar with the trail, there’s no better resource than this for helping figure out just what to expect along the way. Below is a far less detailed description of the trail.
Knik to McGrath
Although the historic Iditarod Trail originally began in Seward, the contemporary winter route to Nome starts at Knik Lake, a bit north of Anchorage. A network of snowmachine trails can take riders west from Knik to the Susitna and Yentna Rivers across marshy lowlands. Deshka Landing near Willow, is an alternative location to start right onto the Susitna River. This route is slightly shorter, but more importantly, snowmachine traffic is higher on the Susitna River, so the trail is more likely to be easily rideable than on the trails west of Knik. These two routes converge at the confluence of the Susitna and Yentna Rivers. From there, the trail heads upstream on the Yentna for 50 miles to Skwentna. Along the way are a handful of lodges that are open in the winter (think hot food and beds) and scattered private cabins. At Skwentna, the trail leaves the river and heads overland toward the Alaska Range. Trail traffic gradually declines, the rolling hills get a bit larger, and the forested valley through which the trail meanders grows deeper. 70 miles past Skwenta sits Rainy Pass Lodge below imposing peaks. This is the final opportunity for a hot meal and bed until McGrath, some 150 miles distant in the Interior. Services at Rainy Pass Lodge are expensive, but consider its location!
The push over the low Rainy Pass to the north side of the Alaska Range begins right upon leaving Rainy Pass Lodge – it’s 20 miles and 2,000 feet of climbing to the summit. The trail gradually but steadily climbs a broad valley, trees become sparse, and the wind even more raw. It’s an exposed section of trail to say the least. Seven miles from the summit, the trail over Rainy Pass splits off from the trail to Hells Gate and ascends a narrower drainage. Even with great trail conditions, expect some hiking through this stretch leading to the top; also note that this section of trail isn’t usually in until a week or two before the start of the Iditarod sled dog race (see section below on ideal timing to ride the trail). Beyond Rainy Pass, the trail descends steadily and steeply toward the Dalzell Gorge, quickly getting into willow and alder thickets, and then forest – this means shelter if conditions on the pass were harsh. Through Dalzell Gorge, the trail repeatedly crosses Dalzell Creek – beware of open sections, weak ice bridges, or overflow. Iditarod volunteers usually build some makeshift bridges as needed in this section. The long descent leads riders to the Tatina River and then Rohn, where there’s a safety cabin (not available for public use during the Iditarod), an airstrip, and sheltered areas to camp.
Upon leaving Rohn, riders will cross the South Fork of the Kuskokwim River (overflow is likely here) and begin the 70-mile trek to Nikolai. This section of trail sees very little use and is deceptively demanding with seemingly endless short, steep climbs. Passage through the Farewell Burn section is quite exposed, snow cover can be very minimal, and winds on the north side of the Alaska Range can be quite strong. 50 miles from Nikolai, the terrain eases slightly and becomes more sheltered among black spruce and the trail can be frustratingly “whooped out” in places from Iron Dog racers. The Bear Creek safety cabin, a mile off the main trail, is the only shelter from the elements between Rohn and the very small village of Nikolai. Nikolai to McGrath is a 50-mile stretch that’s relatively flat traversing marshes, lakes, and forested lowlands. In the final miles to McGrath, there may an overland trail or one on the Kuskokwim River. McGrath has several lodging and restaurant options, a store, and an airport with scheduled flights.
McGrath to Unalakleet
Coming soon . . . I haven’t had time to write this quite yet!
Unalakleet to Nome
Also coming soon . . .
Photos by Kurt Refsnider
Disclaimer: This route and associated information is just a starting point for your preparation, and your safety is your own responsibility; follow these GPS tracks at your own risk. Although this route, its GPS track and waypoints, route data, and the route guide were prepared after extensive research and travel, their accuracy and reliability are not guaranteed. Winter trails may or may not be in the same location from one year to the next, the trail may not be “in,” safety cabins may have been destroyed, etc. Check for current conditions, trail updates, talk with locals, detours, use common sense, obey local laws and regulations, and travel with alternative means of navigation. This website and its creators and contributors will in no way be responsible for personal injury or damage to personal property arising in conjunction with following this route or utilizing any of the route resources provided on this website or via RWGPS.
The origins of the Iditarod Trail date to just a few years after gold was discovered along the western coast of Alaska in 1898 near the Iñupiaq village of Sitnasuaq. The gold mining boomtown of Nome was founded and exploded to a population of more than 12,000 by 1901. In response to the need to be able to transport supplies and mail to Nome in winter months when the burgeoning town was inaccessible by ship, the Alaska Road Commission, established in 1905 by the Army War Department, sent Walter Goodwin to establish a winter trail between Seward and Nome.
In the winter of 1908, Goodwin and a small party of men with dogs and two sleds reconnoitered route options from Seward all the way to Nome. In 1910, work to fully mark and clear the 960-mile-long trail was completed. This included traveling the length of the trail with what Goodwin described as “such an odd looking contrivance as a bicycle wheel running right in the sled runner track” with an attached cyclometer to precisely measure distances along the trail.
Within a few years, more than 100 roadhouses and inns were built along the trail to support the dog team mail carriers, prospectors, and everyone else who mushed along the trail by foot or with dogs. These accommodations ranged from canvas tents to elaborate buildings with fancy meals, but travelers could expect to sleep inside every single night. A decade later, however, trail traffic declined dramatically. Railroads were built, virtually all the roadhouses closed, and by World War II, use of the trail nearly ceased. It wasn’t until 1973 that the first Iditarod Sled Dog Race from Anchorage to Nome was run, created in part to revive interest in long-distance dogsled travel and help get the Iditarod Trail established as a National Historic Trail, a designation it received in 1978. The Iron Dog snowmachine race began in the 1980s, and long human-powered racing began in the late 1990s, first with races like the Iditasport Extreme and later the Iditarod Trail Invitational.
Kurt Refsnider here – I decided to tackle creating this guide and GPS data resource by popular demand (a huge thanks to Huw Oliver for contributing some of the GPS data!). There seems to be considerable interest in such a resource to help folks get out and experience some (or all) of the Iditarod Trail. My experience on the trail is considerably less than many others, and I’d welcome any additions/suggestions for improving this resource. I won the ITI350 in 2020 as a rookie and rode as far as the Yukon River on the Northern Route that winter before the arrival of Covid-19 in Alaska forced the trip to be aborted as the Native Villages closed to visitors. I returned in 2023 and rode from Deshka Landing to Nome, pedaling to McGrath solo and from McGrath to Nome with Huw Oliver and Nicolas Carman. With very mixed trail conditions (as is usually the case), it took 6.5 days to reach McGrath and another 14 to ride from McGrath to Nome with a 3-day rest in McGrath waiting for the Iditarod trailbreakers to come through. The final two days of the trip were a massive 160-mile push as we raced a major storm to Nome.
My perspective comes from someone from Arizona who hasn’t spent a ton of time traveling long distances in winter (or in Alaska) but has ample expeditionary bike travel and self-supported ultra racing experience. I don’t think I would have been nearly as likely to ride to Nome had I not participated in the ITI350 – the event is a great way to get a solid taste of the trail with some logistical support on either end, a couple food drop bags at aid stations, a very loose safety net via official checkpoints, and a cadre of like-minded folks out on the trail at the same time. But I had no desire to race to Nome or to do so within the confines of an organized event – I wanted a different experience, taking everything at my own pace, lingering in villages, and not being in any sort of rush beyond whatever sense urgency the trail itself and the weather naturally instill. I’m grateful to have had the opportunity to travel the trail in both manners – they each were exceptionally enjoyable and empowering for very disparate experiences. If you care to learn more about my own experiences on the trail, check out an article I wrote for Issue 31 of Adventure Journal and an upcoming Q&A on The Radavist (set to be published in early January, 2024).
Photo by Huw Oliver
Thanks to Huw Oliver and Jay Cable for providing some GPS data I was missing from the trail and to Jay and Kendall Park for making some very helpful suggestions during the creation of this guide. Nicholas Carman also answered so many questions about the trail and communities I had while sharing hundreds of miles miles with him on the trail. Finally, thanks to Jay Petervary and Nan Pugh for all the very last-minute help when I unexpectedly lined up for the Fat Pursuit 200-miler in 2018 – that was the start to my winter bike adventures – and to Kait Boyle for teaching me all sorts of winter camping skills!