Another one reaches the end of the trail

Is there anything more classically Alaskan than a guy entering a sled dog race in order to win enough money to buy some yellow machinery for his gold mine? That almost sounds like the beginning to a bad movie, but there is a man who really did that.
Perhaps like most people we only remember his name and maybe one of those pictures of him in his parka, the hood thrown back and a big smile on his face. And it seemed for Dick Wilmarth that was the way he preferred it.
He took his chances out on the edge, what one Alaska sourdough called a perimeter man, someone who lives in the fringe of society choosing to avoid the fuss and fury of the center, preferring instead a small gold camp or the wilds of rivers, mountains and tundra where he turned enough of a living to keep going, underwent difficulties that would have discouraged if not killed mortal men and he did it with an outward nonchalance and a smile.
He lived so far out on the the edge that if it hadn't been for the Iditarod most of us would never have heard the name Dick Wilmarth.
Then again, if we hadn't heard of Dick Wilmarth, we might never have heard of the Iditarod.
The way the story goes, during that first race, a group of the leaders gathered in a tent on the Yukon River somewhere. The location changes with the telling. But most agree the leaders were talking about quitting. They did say, however, it had to be unanimous. That was about the time Dick stuck his head into the tent and asked what was going on. Someone explained it to him. His only response was, "Well, I'm going to Nome," and off he went, dragging the rest of them behind him to finish the race, proving it was possible and leaving them to get ready for next year.
Some of the people in that tent went on to run the race several more times. There was at least one future winner involved. But Dick never raced again.
He had won the money to buy his yellow machinery and for him that was what it was about. How many bush people do you know? Have you ever noticed if you ask them what they do for fun you get a blank stare? That's because in the Bush you always have to be on your toes, always aware and there is always something that needs doing. What others see as drudgery, the perimeter people find satisfying, even pleasurable, but it's never about having fun. Not too long ago I was talking with one of the winners from the old days. He was complaining that some guy in the Iditarod had scratched saying it just wasn't fun. This guy said it was never fun, it was diffiult. But, pleasureable, nonetheless? I asked. He smiled.
And that was my guess about how Dick Wilmarth viewed the Iditarod, a means to an end. Other people wanted to race. He wanted a bulldozer. That fit into his life better than an annual dog race.
So after the race he went back to his perimeter and the life he had chosen and lived for the next 45 years, much like the life of someone like him might have lived a hundred years earlier, only without television. We are left to imagine the hardships, the joys, the satisfaction and yes, maybe even the fun that life gave him.
Sadly he may have been one of the last true Alaska perimeter men and whether we knew him personally or not, it's like the mountains around us that most of us will never climb but we are glad they're there. So too do we like the idea it's still possible to live on the Alaska perimeter as evidenced by people like Dick Wilmarth. But last week we lost one of those mountains and he has left a hole in our lives if we are willing to admit it.
It wasn't just in the Iditarod that he led the way.

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