{"id":54966,"date":"2025-01-29T07:02:36","date_gmt":"2025-01-29T07:02:36","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/peraltafinancing.com\/aerospace\/this-heroic-dog-raced-across-the-frozen-alaskan-wilderness-to-deliver-life-saving-medicine-but-his-contributions-were-long-overlooked\/"},"modified":"2025-01-29T07:02:36","modified_gmt":"2025-01-29T07:02:36","slug":"this-heroic-dog-raced-across-the-frozen-alaskan-wilderness-to-deliver-life-saving-medicine-but-his-contributions-were-long-overlooked","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/fivemor.com\/?p=54966","title":{"rendered":"This Heroic Dog Raced Across the Frozen Alaskan Wilderness to Deliver Life-Saving Medicine\u2014but His Contributions Were Long Overlooked"},"content":{"rendered":"


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David Kindy<\/a><\/p>\n

Correspondent<\/p>\n<\/p><\/div>\n<\/section><\/div>\n<\/p><\/div>\n

The temperature hovered around freezing in New York\u2019s Central Park<\/a> on December 15, 1925. Clad in a thick fur coat, Alaskan sled-dog musher Gunnar Kaasen<\/a> stood next to the hero of the moment: Balto<\/a>, a Siberian husky<\/a> who\u2019d helped deliver medicine<\/a> across a frozen frontier to halt a deadly epidemic.<\/p>\n

The pair were on hand for the unveiling<\/a> of a bronze statue<\/a> heralding Balto\u2019s life-saving actions<\/a> ten months earlier. In the winter of 1925, Balto was part of a team that braved subzero temperatures to bring a shipment of antitoxin to the isolated city of Nome<\/a>, Alaska, where children were dying of diphtheria<\/a>, a serious infection caused by a highly contagious bacterium.<\/p>\n

In the aftermath of this mission of mercy, now known as the 1925 Serum Run to Nome<\/a>, Balto dominated media coverage around the world. Myriad stories and photos of the \u201chero dog<\/a>\u201d ran in newspapers, in many cases mythologizing or incorrectly stating his role in the daring rescue.<\/p>\n

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A statue of Balto in Central Park<\/p>\n

Pete LaMotte via Flickr under CC BY-NC-ND 2.0<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Back in Alaska, Balto\u2019s owner, Leonhard Seppala<\/a>, read the media acclaim in disbelief. The public was recognizing the wrong dog, he argued. \u201cI resented the statue to Balto, for if any dog deserved special mention, it was Togo<\/a>,\u201d he stated in his 1930 memoir<\/a>.<\/p>\n

Seppala added, \u201cIt was almost more than I could bear when the \u2018newspaper\u2019 dog Balto received a statue for his \u2018glorious achievements.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n\n

Nome\u2019s diphtheria outbreak began on January 20, 1925, when Curtis Welch<\/a>\u2014the city\u2019s lone physician\u2014diagnosed a 3-year-old boy<\/a> with the disease. (Though two Native Inupiaq children had died after experiencing similar symptoms the previous month, Welch initially suspected<\/a> they were suffering from tonsilitis, not diphtheria.) With only a limited supply of outdated antitoxin serum on hand, Welch realized that Nome\u2019s 1,400 residents, as well as those living in the surrounding region, were in trouble.<\/p>\n

Children are particularly vulnerable<\/a> to diphtheria, which starts out as a sore throat and fever but can quickly escalate to a full-blown respiratory infection. Later stages often include the development of gray or white patches in the throat and lungs, which can block the airway and cause suffocation<\/a>. Experts only discovered an effective treatment<\/a> for diphtheria around the turn of the 20th century, when public health agencies and pharmaceutical companies started producing an antitoxin serum derived from the blood of horses.<\/p>\n

\u201cMost probably every parent in this decade feared their children would contract this disease,\u201d says Elaine Salisbury<\/a>, co-author of the 2003 book The Cruelest Miles: The Heroic Story of Dogs and Men in a Race Against an Epidemic<\/em><\/a>. \u201cDiphtheria killed thousands of children each year, and with Nome cut off from the rest of the world by snow and ice, the town was in dire straits.\u201d<\/p>\n

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View of Nome, Alaska, in 1916<\/p>\n

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Alerted by Welch, public health officials devised a plan to send additional antitoxin by rail from Seward to Nenana<\/a>, located 674 miles away from Nome. Though authorities considered dispatching aid by plane, the dangers posed by flying in such cold temperatures over poorly mapped, inhospitable territory<\/a> led them to opt for dog-sled teams instead. Trained to carry mail<\/a> over the icy terrain, these teams would haul the serum from Nenana to Nome. Seppala, with Togo leading a pack of 19 other dogs, was chosen to cover the most dangerous part of the route, traveling from Nulato<\/a> to Nome and back again\u2014a distance of 630 miles.<\/p>\n

Driven by 20 mushers and more than 150 dogs, the relay of sled teams navigated a blizzard, hidden crevasses in the snow and ice, and the continual darkness of the Arctic winter. At one point, a howling gale caused the wind chill to drop to 85 degrees below zero, which could freeze sled dogs\u2019 lungs and the exposed skin of their mushers in seconds.<\/p>\n

All of the mushers \u201cfaced the risk, and they were willing to do it,\u201d says Salisbury. \u201cEvery single person was a hero of equal measure.\u201d Still, while Native Alaskan drivers covered nearly two-thirds of the route, these men received little recognition until the 1970s.<\/p>\n

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A map of the 1925 Serum Run to Nome route<\/p>\n

Map by Meilan Solly \/ Based on data from The Cruelest Miles: The Heroic Story of Dogs and Men in a Race Against an Epidemic<\/em><\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n\n

As far as Seppala was concerned, Togo<\/a> was the perfect dog to meet the serum run challenge. Born in 1913, the Siberian husky was small, weighing less than 50 pounds, but he was strong and determined, with an uncanny ability to lead a sled-dog team in harsh conditions.<\/p>\n

According to Seppala, Togo was \u201ca spoiled pup and hard to handle,\u201d though he soon showed signs of being a \u201cnatural-born leader.\u201d At only 8 months old, on his first run as a sled dog, he reached the lead spot on the team, where he stayed throughout his career.<\/p>\n

Togo and Seppala bonded from the start and became inseparable. They worked together on provision runs for the Pioneer Mining Company<\/a> in Nome and competed in races around the territory, including the grueling 400-mile All Alaska Sweepstakes<\/a>, which they won in 1915, 1916 and 1917. Seppala also earned a silver medal<\/a> in dog sledding, which appeared as a demonstration sport at the 1932 Winter Olympics<\/a> in Lake Placid, New York.<\/p>\n

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Leonhard Seppala with his sled-dog team, including Togo (far left)<\/p>\n

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

Born in Norway<\/a> in 1877, Seppala moved to Alaska in 1900<\/a>, during the Great Nome Gold Rush<\/a>. He was recognized as one of the best mushers in Alaska, while Togo was often considered the top dog in sledding. Seppala was also responsible for popularizing the Siberian husky<\/a> as a sled dog. He became captivated with the species when he trained some of its members for a planned expedition to the North Pole, which was canceled due to the outbreak of World War I.<\/p>\n

When officials first contacted Seppala to ask for his help delivering antitoxin, \u201cso much was at stake, he thought, that at first he hesitated,\u201d write Elaine Salisbury and co-author Gay Salisbury in The Cruelest Miles<\/em>. \u201cThis was not in character for the usually confident Seppala.\u201d (Adding to the pressure was the fact that Seppala\u2019s 8-year-old daughter, Sigrid, was one of the many children at risk of contracting diphtheria.) But the musher and his dogs were the only ones believed to be capable of covering the western portion of the run in time. Their prowess over the ice and snow of the Alaska backwoods would soon be sorely tested.<\/p>\n\n

The first leg<\/a> of the relay kicked off on the evening of January 27, with musher William \u201cWild Bill\u201d Shannon<\/a> and his nine-dog crew picking up the antitoxin from the train station in Nenana. On January 28, with multiple children dead and dozens more ill, Seppala and Togo left Nome and headed toward Nulato. Over the next three days, the serum changed hands multiple times, with teams of mushers and dogs navigating increasingly perilous conditions.<\/p>\n

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Seppala embracing Togo in 1925<\/p>\n

Bettmann via Getty Images<\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

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Seppala in 1916<\/p>\n

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

\u201cThe weather was getting bad,\u201d says Bob Thomas, co-author with his wife, Pam Thomas, of the 2015 book Leonhard Seppala: The Siberian Dog and the Golden Age of Sled Dog Racing, 1908-1941<\/em><\/a>. \u201cUp there, if you don\u2019t know what you\u2019re doing, you\u2019re going to die quick.\u201d<\/p>\n

As one of the worst blizzards in decades buried Alaska in snow, officials ordered additional relay teams to ensure safe delivery of the antitoxin. Unfortunately, they had no way of conveying the updated plan to Seppala, who was already en route. All they could do was send a sled-dog team led by musher Henry Ivanoff<\/a> to intercept him before he reached Nulato. Traveling in whiteout conditions on January 31, Ivanoff and Seppala almost missed each other. Intent on reaching Nulato as soon as possible, Seppala only stopped when Ivanoff, who\u2019d picked up the antitoxin in Shaktoolik earlier that day, yelled, \u201cThe serum! The serum! I have it here!\u201d After another handoff, Seppala turned around with the serum and raced back toward Nome.<\/p>\n

Togo tirelessly led his pack most of the way, pushing the other dogs to ignore powerful headwinds, deep snow, uphill climbs and gelid temperatures. When the team reached Norton Sound<\/a>, an ice-choked inlet along the Alaska coastline, Seppala faced a difficult decision<\/a>. If he crossed the bay, he could trim 42 miles from the trip. But the wind had shifted and was blowing the icepack out toward the Bering Sea, opening gaping holes that were nearly impossible to see in the near-perpetual darkness.<\/p>\n

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Seppala with three of his sled dogs in 1927<\/p>\n

Public domain via Wikimedia Commons<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n<\/figcaption><\/figure>\n

A good lead dog can sense these crevasses and turn the team to avoid them. Seppala decided to cross Norton Sound with Togo on the lookout for bad ice. \u201cWhen Seppala got to the bay, he unhooked Togo and let him pick his way across,\u201d Thomas says. \u201cThere were a couple of spots that were marginal, so Togo took them around, and the rest of the team just followed him. That saved a lot of time.\u201d<\/p>\n

At one point, Seppala found himself trapped on the ice, unable to jump to safety on the nearest ice floe. As the Salisburys write in The Cruelest Miles<\/em>, the musher \u201ctied a long towline to Togo\u2019s harness, picked him up and hurled him across the open channel. \u2026 Once on the other side, Togo dug his nails into the floe and lurched toward shore.\u201d When the line snapped, the dog dove into freezing water to retrieve it, successfully bridging the gap between the two ice floes and pulling the rest of his team to safety.<\/p>\n

Originally, Seppala was supposed to carry the serum all the way to Nome. Under the new plan, however, he was able to pass it along to a new driver early on the morning of February 1. Thanks to Togo, Seppala had safely traveled 261 miles, including 135 miles with the medicine\u2014more than two and a half times the distance covered by any of the other drivers.<\/p>\n

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Leonhard Seppala with his dog team<\/p>\n

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