In January 1925, diphtheria broke out in Nome, and the nearest serum sat 674 miles away in Nenana. Twenty mushers and their dog teams ran it west in relay — 127 hours through interior cold that fell below minus forty. Leonhard Seppala and his lead dog Togo drove the longest and most dangerous leg, roughly 260 miles including a shortcut across the shifting sea ice of Norton Sound; Gunnar Kaasen and Balto brought the serum the final 55 miles into town through an eighty-mile-an-hour blizzard, arriving at 5:30 on the morning of February 2. The epidemic was stopped. The Great Race of Mercy made national heroes of the mushers and both dogs — and Alaskans will tell you Togo’s run was the harder one.
The rush itself broke every rule of gold country. In the summer of 1899, gold turned up in the black sand of Nome’s own beach — and a beach below the tide line could not be staked as a claim. The ground was free to anyone with a shovel, a pan, and a strong back. Word reached Seattle, and steamers unloaded tens of thousands of stampeders onto the sand. The 1900 census counted 12,488 people, with summer estimates running far higher — for a moment, Nome was the largest city in Alaska. Tents, saloons, and false-front stores ran for miles along the shore.
Why People Visit Nome Alaska
Nome combines gold-rush history, sled-dog tradition, Bering Strait geography, and open tundra in a way no other town can. Visitors come for race week in March, for the beach where the last great American gold rush ended, for muskox and wildflowers in the long summer light, for the aurora, and for the plain fact that the road runs out here. Remote, resilient, unforgettable.
