Ask mushers competing in the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race why the number of teams is so small this year and you’ll hear the same thing over and over.
“I think the cost is really, really tough,” said 2023 champion Ryan Redington.
“Mushing is expensive,” said seven-time finisher Jessie Holmes. “It’s amazing there’s 33 of us that can afford to be here.”
“I just gets really spendy,” said veteran Matthew Failor.
Yes, sled dog racing is pricey. This year only 33 teams are making the Iditarod work. That number is tied with a record low set in 2023. It’s a fraction of the record-high of 96 teams in 2008. And, it’s fewer teams than competed in the very first Iditarod, back in 1973, when 34 mushers dashed to Nome.
Failor said there’s a long list of expenses involved in sled dog racing. He’s competed in every Iditarod since 2012, a year with double the number of mushers as today.
“Straw is a big expense. You usually have a bale per dog. Dog booties,” he said. “Each dog booty is $1.15 a piece, or $1.10 a piece, depending on where you go, and we use hundreds per week, maybe thousands.”
The laundry list of expenses keeps going: there’s veterinary care, dog food, equipment, fuel and a $4,000 Iditarod registration fee. At the same time, sponsors have become harder to get, said Gabe Dunham, who finished her first Iditarod last year.
“In the '90s, it seemed like they were relatively lucrative," she said. "And now you can go to all these places and, you know, they might give you a couple hundred dollars — which is super beneficial, every dollar counts — but it's not the big money that it used to be, or the big corporate sponsors.”
The Iditarod race organization has felt the strain, too, losing big name sponsors in recent years, like Alaska Airlines, Coca-Cola, Anchorage Chrysler Dodge Jeep Ram Center and ExxonMobil.
Some mushers, including Jeff King, have tour businesses that help fund their kennels.
King is not racing this year’s Iditarod, but he has raced it almost every year since the early ‘90s and he’s won it four times. He also thinks finances are a huge contributor to this year’s small field, and said prices have skyrocketed since he started mushing.
“I now pay $82 a bag for 40 pounds of dog food. I remember when it was under $20, and I can't seem to get into the vet for less than 1,000 bucks,” he said. “[Those] strike me by far [as] the monumental cost that influence people's ability to pull it off.”
He thinks participation will eventually grow, but doesn’t think it’ll be anytime soon.
Iditarod’s race director Mark Nordman noted that a group of longtime racers have recently retired from the sport, like four-time champion Martin Buser and fan-favorite Aliy Zirkle. But he also thinks finances are a barrier, and said race officials are working to raise the amount of money teams win.
“It just keeps getting more and more expensive for people to own a dog team. It’s very expensive,” Nordman said. “We, as an organization, are always saying we have to raise the purse so they can continue to go forward with their passion.”
Officials haven’t yet announced the total prize purse for this year, but said it’ll be at least $550,000, the same as last year. The amount mushers win depends on the number of finishers, and how they place in the race. Last year, Dallas Seavey won his sixth Iditarod and a check for $55,900. In 2016, his check was for $75,000, plus he won a new pickup truck.
Nordman said he’d like to see more competitors, but doesn’t think the race will balloon up to the 80-plus mushers it used to see. But, he said, he’s not particularly worried about the numbers.
“Fifty for me is nice logistically. I think we're fine. I really do,” he said.
Among the mushers noticeably absent are Seavey, the reigning champion, 2019 champion Pete Kaiser and 2018 champion Joar Leifseth Ulsom, as well as frequent top contenders like Jessie Royer and Richie Diehl.
In a video posted to his website, Kaiser said poor snow conditions and high temperatures in Bethel led to him not racing the Iditarod for the first time in 15 years. He said he couldn’t get the training miles on his team. He considered signing up late, but snow conditions in the area never improved.
“Was hoping for some better training conditions and better weather to come along,” Kaiser said. “December and January, we really just kept waiting and nothing changed.”
Those poor conditions postponed or canceled some sled dog races this year. It’s not motivating for young mushers, Redington said.
“It’s definitely tough for someone to get into the sport and to stay into it. And it is a sport where, if you have a year like this, with races being canceled, it is tough to want to keep adding money and keep with it,” Redington said.
But, mushers said, the small field isn’t a sign the sport is dying. There has been growing interest in smaller races across the state, especially in the Yukon-Kuskokwim Delta.
Also, this year’s 16 Iditarod rookies is a promising sign, said veteran Travis Beals.
“That's huge. Sports alive,” he said at the race’s ceremonial start Saturday.
One of those rookies is Emily Ford, who’s originally from Minnesota. For her, she said, it’s not about the number of teams, but more about support from communities along the trail.
“You look around and we have all these fans and they're the ones who breathe life into us as mushers, to allow us to do this,” she said. “Even if there were two mushers going, if there were a million people that showed up, it would still make Iditarod worth it.”
By Wednesday afternoon, Ford and her 14 dogs were out on the Iditarod trail, about a quarter of the way into the 1,128-mile competition, running solidly in the middle of the pack. At the front were Holmes, Michelle Phillips, Matt Hall, Mille Porsild and Paige Drobny.
