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Traversing the Alaska wilderness, Dick Griffith revealed its possibilities to future generations of adventurers

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Traversing the Alaska wilderness, Dick Griffith revealed its possibilities to future generations of adventurers


Dick Griffith, pictured at his Hillside home in Anchorage on July 22, 2008. (Bob Hallinen / ADN archive)

Roman Dial’s first encounter with Dick Griffith at the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic pretty much encapsulated the spirit of the man Dial called the “grandfather of modern Alaskan adventure.”

Griffith invited the 21-year-old Dial, who was traveling without a tent, to bunk with him while rain fell in Hope at the onset of the inaugural race. And then the white-haired Griffith proceeded to beat virtually the entire field of racers — most of whom were 30 years his junior — to the finish line in Homer.

Griffith, who died earlier this month at age 98, was a prodigious adventurer with a sharp wit who fostered a growing community of fellow explorers who shared his yearning for the Alaska outdoors.

Dial was one of the many acolytes who took Griffith’s outdoors ethos and applied it to his own adventures across the state.

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“Someone once told me once that the outdoor adventure scene is like this big tapestry that we all add on to,” Dial said. “And where somebody else is sort of woven in something, we pick up and kind of riff on that. And he added a really big band to that tapestry, and then the rest of us are just sort of picking up where he left off.”

On that first meeting at the race in 1982, Dial and the other Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic competitors got a sense of Griffith’s humor as well. In a story that is now Alaska outdoors lore, Griffith pulled a surprise move at the race’s first river crossing, grabbing an inflatable vinyl raft out of his pack and leaving the field in his rear view.

“You young guys may be fast, but you eat too much and don’t know nothin’,” Dial recalls Griffith quipping as he pushed off.

“Old age and treachery beats youth and skill every time.”

Kathy Sarns and Dick Griffith cross a river in Wrangell-St. Elias National Park during an Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic race. (Photo provided by Kathy Sarns)

In those years, Griffith may have been known for his old age as much as anything. But it didn’t take long for the 50-something racing against a much younger crowd to make a mark.

Kathy Sarns was a teenager when she first met Griffith in the early 1980s, and the topic of the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic came up.

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“He says, ‘You want to do that race? I think a girl could do that race,’ ” Sarns recalls. “And I’m thinking, ‘Who is this old guy?’ And then he says, ‘If you want to do the race, give me a call. I’ll take you.’ ”

Sarns took up Griffith on the offer and in 1984, she and her friend Diane Catsam became the first women to complete the race.

Dick Griffith leads Diane Catsam and Kathy Sarns through a portion of the Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic from Hope to Homer. (Photo provided by Kathy Sarns)

Sarns said the adventures “fed his soul,” and were infectious for those who watched Griffith and joined him along the way.

“He motivated and inspired so many people by what he was doing,” Sarns said. “It’s like, well if he can do that, then I guess I could do this.”

By the time Dial and Sarns had met Griffith, he had already established a resume for exploring that was likely unmatched in the state.

In the late 1950s, Griffith walked 500 miles from Kaktovik to Anaktuvuk Pass, passing through the Brooks Range. Later he went from Kaktovik to Kotzebue in what is believed to be the first documented traverse of the range.

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In total, Griffith logged over 10,000 miles in the Alaska and Canadian Arctic. He raced the 210-mile Iditaski multiple times.

Starting in his 60s, Griffith made annual trips north to tackle a 4,000-mile route from Unalakleet to Hudson Bay in northeastern Canada. At age 73, he completed the journey.

“The reason he did a lot of trips by himself is because nobody could keep up,” Dial said.

Dick Griffith, then 65, skis across Big Lake to complete the 200 mile Iditaski race in 1992. Griffith, the oldest competitor in the four-discipline Iditasport competition, left the three other skiers behind him. (Jim Lavrakas / ADN archive)

Born in Colorado, Griffith grew up in rural Wyoming during the Great Depression.

The first Griffith adventure that evolved into lore was the story of how he met his wife, Isabelle.

In 1949, Griffith was plotting a trip from Green River, Wyoming, to Lee’s Ferry, Arizona — a 900-mile trip down the Green and Colorado rivers.

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Isabelle said she’d fund the trip if she could come along. She did, and the two were soon married. After a series of other river adventures, the couple moved to Alaska in 1954.

The couple had two children, son Barney and daughter Kimmer.

John Lapkass was introduced to Griffith through Barney, a friend with whom Lapkass shared outdoor adventures.

Like many, Lapkass connected with Griffith’s wry sense of humor. Griffith would write “Stolen from Dick Griffith” on all of his gear, often accompanied by his address.

In Alaska, Griffith basically pioneered rafting as a form of getting deep into the Alaska backcountry.

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Anchorage’s Luc Mehl has himself explored large swaths of the state in a packraft. An outdoors educator and author, Mehl met Griffith over the years at the barbecues he hosted leading up to the Alaska Wilderness Classic.

Although he didn’t embark on any adventures with Griffith, Mehl was amazed at how much accomplished well into his 80s.

“There are people in these sports that show the rest of us what’s possible,” Mehl said. “It would be dangerous if everybody just tried what Dick did. But there is huge value in inspiration. Just to know it’s a possibility is pretty damn special.”

Griffith continued to explore and compete. He ran his last Alaska Mountain Wilderness Classic at age 81 and continued with rafting trips through the Grand Canyon into his late 80s.

Dick Griffith was a trailblazer in the outdoors/adventure community in Alaska with his early use of rafts to reach deep into the wilderness. (Photo provided by Kathy Sarns)

John Clark’s dad worked with Griffith on Amchitka Island in the early 1960s, assisting with drilling on the Aleutian island before it was used for nuclear testing.

Clark went to high school in Anchorage and regularly joined Griffith on a weekend ski, often tackling the Arctic Valley to Indian traverse.

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Clark described the 21-mile trek through the Chugach Mountains as a “walk in the park” for Griffith, a brisk workout to keep him prepped for bigger adventures.

“I was a teenager and I liked to sleep in,” Clark said. “And he wouldn’t even ask me. He would just come knock on my door at 8 a.m. and say, ‘Get your skis.’ ”

Many of those adventures were done mostly anonymously as a course of habit with friends, some only finding out after the fact what Griffith had accomplished.

“He had the heart of an explorer,” Clark said. “Dick’s exploring 40 years ago would have been with the pure motivation of finding out if he could get from here to there.”

Griffith also was well-known for officiating marriages across the state. He married Sarns and her husband, Pat Irwin, as well as Lapkass and his wife.

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“I don’t know how it started,” Lapkass said. “We weren’t the first but it was kind of special. Everybody sort of wanted him to do the honors.”

He would celebrate the matrimonies with annual “Still Married” parties at his house on the Hillside, open to both those who remained married and even those who didn’t. He continued to officiate marriages until the last few years.

As the community of outdoor enthusiasts grew, the parties at Griffith’s weren’t only held to celebrate marriages. He regularly had big gatherings at his house on Sundays and for the holidays, bringing together his “orphans,” many of whom had no immediate family in the state.

The gatherings were a great time to bring new friends into the fold and rehash old adventures. One story — perhaps more a favorite of guests than the host — involved an instance where Griffith had a bad case of frostbite on his backside after being battered by frigid tailwinds.

“I don’t know how many Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners we had there,” Sarns said. “Always plenty of food and lots of laughter, and that’s where we’d pull out the photos of him recovering in the hospital.”

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In 2012, Alaska author Kaylene Johnson-Sullivan published “Canyons and Ice: The Wilderness Travels of Dick Griffith,” which covered his hundreds of adventures through Alaska and beyond.

The film “Canyons & Ice: The Last Run of Dick Griffith” documented his career and last trip through the Grand Canyon at age 89.

Dick Griffith, pictured in his Anchorage home. (Photo provided by John Clark)

While his achievements were documented in his later years, Lapkass said Griffith’s motivations for being in the wilderness were almost completely internal.

“He was quite an inspiration for a lot of folks,” Lapkass said. “He wasn’t looking for sponsorship, for money or big TV productions or anything. He just felt like doing it. So he did it. And that definitely impressed a lot of people. Because some folks, you know, they want to do stuff, but then they want to let everybody know that they did it.”

As his life went on, Griffith was deeply involved with the Eagle River Nature Center as a board member, trail worker and financial donor.

Perhaps Griffith’s biggest gift to the outdoors community was a dose of self-confidence, a little extra boost to reach that next peak.

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“Everybody that came near him benefited,” Sarns said. “Just because it just made you think outside the box a little more, being around him. You may push yourself maybe a little more, whether it’s an extra mile or an extra 100 miles. For some people it was just, ‘Hey maybe I can just go climb that mountain after all.’ ”





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Alaska

Bill allowing physician assistants to practice independently passes Alaska Senate

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Bill allowing physician assistants to practice independently passes Alaska Senate


JUNEAU — The Alaska Senate has passed a bill that would allow physician assistants with sufficient training to practice under an independent license, removing the state’s current requirement that they work under a formal collaborative agreement with physicians.

Supporters say the change would reduce administrative burdens that can delay and increase the cost of care. But physicians who opposed the bill argue it lowers the bar for training and could affect patient care.

Senate Bill 89, sponsored by Anchorage Democratic Sen. Löki Tobin, passed by a unanimous vote in the Senate on Wednesday, with 18 votes in favor and two members absent. The bill would allow physician assistants to apply for an independent license after completing 4,000 hours of postgraduate supervised clinical practice.

Under current law, physician assistants in Alaska must operate under a collaborative plan with physicians. These plans outline the medical services a physician assistant can provide and require oversight from doctors.

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The Alaska State Medical Board regulates physician assistants and authorizes them to provide care only within the scope of their training. Most physician assistants in Alaska work in family practice, though some are specially trained in particular fields. All care must be provided under a physician’s license through a collaborative agreement that also requires a second, alternate physician to sign off.

For some clinics, particularly in more remote areas, finding those physicians can be difficult.

Mary Swain, CEO of Cama’i Community Health Center in Bristol Bay, testified in support of the bill before the Senate Labor and Commerce Committee in March 2025. Her practice employs two physicians to maintain collaborative plans for its physician assistants. She said neither of them lived in the community, and the primary physician lived out of state.

Roughly 15% of physicians who hold collaborative agreements with Alaska-based physician assistants do not live in the state, according to Tobin. At the same time, Alaskans face some of the highest health care costs in the nation.

Jared Wallace, a physician assistant in Kenai and owner of Odyssey Family Practice, testified in support of the bill at a committee meeting in April.

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Wallace said maintaining collaborative agreements is one of the most difficult parts of running his clinic. He said he pays a collaborative physician about $2,000 per physician assistant per month, roughly $96,000 a year, simply to maintain the required agreement.

“In my experience, a collaborative plan does not improve nor ensure good patient care,” Wallace said. “Instead, it is a barrier in providing good health care in a rural community where access is limited, is a threat that delicately suspends my practice in place, and if severed, the 6,000 patients that I care for would lose access to (their) primary provider and become displaced.”

Opposition to the bill largely came from physicians, who testified that physician assistants do not receive the same depth of training as doctors.

Dr. Nicholas Cosentino, an internal medicine physician, testified in opposition to the bill last April. He said that medical school training provides crucial experience in diagnosing complex cases.

“It’s not infrequent that you get a patient that you’re not exactly sure you know what’s going on, and you have to fall back on your scientific background, the four years of medical school training, the countless hours of residency to come up with that differential, to think critically and come up with a plan for that patient,” Cosentino said. “I think the bill as stated, 4,000 hours, does not equate to that level of training.”

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The Alaska Primary Care Association said it supports the intent of the bill but argued that physician assistants should complete 10,000 hours in a collaborative practice model with a physician before practicing independently.

Other states that have moved to allow independent licensure for physician assistants have adopted a range of thresholds. North Dakota requires 4,000 hours, while Montana requires 8,000 hours. Utah requires 10,000 hours of postgraduate supervised work, while Wyoming does not set a specific statewide minimum hour requirement.

Tobin said the hour requirement chosen in the bill came from conversations with experts during the bill’s drafting.

“When we were working with stakeholders on this piece of legislation, we came to a compromise of 4,000 hours, recognizing and understanding that there was concerns, but also … understanding that it is a bit of an arbitrary choice,” she said.

The bill now heads to House committees before a potential vote on the House floor.

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Dunleavy, EPA visit UAF to discuss regulations in the arctic environment

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Dunleavy, EPA visit UAF to discuss regulations in the arctic environment


Fairbanks, Alaska (KTUU/KTVF) – On Wednesday, Gov. Mike Dunleavy, Alaska Attorney General Stephen Cox and Lee Zeldin, the administrator for the Environmental Protection Agency (EPA), spoke to press at the University of Alaska Fairbanks power plant.

During their time at the university, the federal and state leaders spoke about developing resources such as coal, oil, gas and critical minerals in the 49th state.

During his 24-hour trip to Fairbanks, Zeldin said he has spoke to business and state leaders about environmental regulations impacting operations in Alaska, saying the EPA needs to consider whether regulations are solving problems or are solutions in search of a problem.

He also discussed the concept of “cooperative federalism,” where the EPA takes its cues from state leaders to determine where regulations and help are needed.

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“We’re here at the University of Alaska’s coal plant, and the most modern coal plant in the United States of America,” Dunleavy said.

Zeldin said visiting Fairbanks in winter helps inform decisions the agency is considering.

“There are a lot of decisions right now in front of this agency that the first-hand perspective of being here on the ground helps inform our agency to make the right decision,” he said.

Zeldin also said the agency is hearing concerns from Alaska truckers about diesel exhaust rules in extreme cold.

“We then met with truckers who have been dealing with unique cold weather concerns with the implementation of EPA regulations related to diesel exhaust fluid system,” he said.

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When asked about PFAS in drinking water, Zeldin said the EPA is not rolling back the standards.

“So the PFAS standards are not being rolled back at all,” he said.

On Fairbanks air quality and PM2.5 regulations, Zeldin said the agency wants to work with the state.

“We want, at the EPA, to help the Fairbanks community be able to be in attainment on PM 2.5. We want to make it work,” he said.

Dunleavy said energy costs and heating needs remain a major factor in Interior air quality discussions.

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“People have to be able to live. They’ve got to be able to afford to live,” he said.

Zeldin said EPA is considering further changes to diesel regulations and urged Alaskans to participate in the rulemaking process.

“We need Alaskans to participate in that public comment period,” he said.

See a spelling or grammar error? Report it to web@ktuu.com

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Opinion: Life lessons learned from mushing and old-time Alaska

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Opinion: Life lessons learned from mushing and old-time Alaska


A steel arch commemorating sled dog racing was installed over Fourth Avenue in downtown Anchorage in November 2025. (Marc Lester / ADN)

This is the beginning of the Iditarod spring, signaled by the burst of sun and what used to be the long wait for dog teams to pass under the arch in Nome, the finish line a thousand miles away from Anchorage. For old-timers, it’s the story of the way Alaska used to be. What once was a 30-day wait has become about 10 days for winners to celebrate and the rest of us to shout, “Well done.”

My story is about family that welcomed immigrants from all over the world to be among the last groups of Indigenous people in the country, a life of taking good care of dog teams, and of parents who taught their children how to live in a wild, rugged frontier.

I came to be in a different age, a time of dog teams that ruled the trails to mining camps and where the salmon ran strongest — before the introduction of the snowmachine that revolutionized rural and Native Alaska.

For the Blatchford family, it is a recognition that some things will always stay the same and everything else changes. All four of my grandparents were noncitizens. My mother Lena’s parents of Elim were Alaska Natives, as was my dad Ernie’s mother, Mae, of Shishmaref. The name Blatchford comes from his father, the Englishman who was born in Cornwall and arrived in Nome during the gold rush. His brother, William, was one of the early immigrants, and by 1899 there was a creek just outside Nome named after him. He discovered gold. My grandfather, Percy, found gold, too, but it was a different kind of wealth, a finding that he had found home and never left.

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I was born in Nome, delivered by an Iñupiaq Eskimo midwife in a one-room cabin where the frozen Bering Sea met the treeless tundra’s permafrost. Dad had a dog team. I like to think that the dogs were anxious for me to be born because it was hunting time for Dad to hitch them up and mush out to where the sea mammals, snowshoe hares, ptarmigan and other game thrived in the winter. My earliest memories are of dogs; all of them working as a team to bring home the game so we could have a fine meal cooked by Lena. In the Arctic, dogs were essential for family survival. If you didn’t hunt, you didn’t eat.

There are several memories that remain strong. I suppose I can call them lessons of the Arctic.

The first is to take care of the dogs and treat them well. Dog lovers all over the world know very well that a dog, whatever the breed, is loyal and will die to protect the one who feeds and pets it. If you don’t feed a husky, it won’t pull, and it could mean a long time before the family eats. When a dog team is hungry, it will race back home to be fed a healthy meal. Mother Lena must have been a great cook because Dad said the dog team always raced back to the edge of Nome, where Lena was waiting beside the propane stove. For Mike, Tom and me, our job was to take the rifle, shotgun and .22 into the cabin to be cleaned and oiled. Once that was quickly done, we unhitched the dogs and then fed the team.

All three of us boys had special responsibilities to Tim, Buttons and Girlie. Tim, the lead dog, was brother Mike’s pet; Tom had Buttons, and I had Girlie. We made sure they were healthy and well cared for. Dad would often comment that “Papa,” our grandfather Percy, the Englishman, took good care of his dog teams, being kind to the dogs and feeding them. Dad was the oldest of a large family that lived in Teller and later Nome.

“Papa” Percy was a prospector, fox farmer and a contestant in the All-Alaska Sweepstakes, the dog team race from Nome to the mining camp of Candle, a 400-mile race. He didn’t win, but he finished well, very well. The stories of the Sweepstakes have remained with the family for over a century. At a memorial service in Palmer for “Doc” Blatchford, Aunt Marge, without a question or a prompt, said that Papa took good care of his dogs.

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Percy Blatchford was a legend in the Alaska Territory. As a teacher of Alaska newspapers, I would find headlines similar to one in the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner that blazed on the front page: “Blatchford Wins Solomon Derby.” There was even a story in The New York Times.

There’s probably no other sport in Alaska that brought Alaskans together like dog mushing. When old-timers would visit over strong coffee, dogs and dog team racing would come up. In the territory, there were few high schools and fewer gymnasiums, so the only team sport was dog mushing. It was something to talk about that was unique to Alaskans.

I used to travel in rural Alaska quite a bit. In the smaller communities, I would see the teams and would wonder how long they would power the engines that brought the mail and the foodstuffs down and up the trails. When I think of dog teaming, I think of the Iditarod and wonder, and then come to know, what the strength of the story would mean for bringing generations together from Papa Blatchford to his eldest son Ernie and to the fourth generation of Blatchfords in Alaska.

There are times when I think that old-time Alaska is gone. But then my faith and confidence in the old-time spirit are ignited when I see what others in the Lower 48 see. When I was walking in downtown Philadelphia, I looked up and saw on an ancient federal building a stamped concrete sculpture of a dog musher leaning into a blizzard. Such is the way I think of the Iditarod and the lessons I learned growing up with the dog team, preserved in my memories.

Edgar Blatchford is former mayor of Seward, Mile 0 of the Iditarod Trail.

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