Togo: The True Hero of the 1925 Serum Run That History Almost Forgot

Togo was born in 1913 to a breeder named Leonhard Seppala. From the start, he was considered a runt—small, sickly, and seemingly unsuitable for sled work. Seppala gave him away twice, but both times Togo escaped and found his way back. Eventually, Seppala relented and allowed the persistent pup to join his team.

What Togo lacked in size, he made up for in heart, intelligence, and an almost supernatural sense of navigation. By the time of the serum run, the 12-year-old dog had already covered thousands of miles across Alaska and was considered Seppala's most trusted lead dog.

When the call came that Nome needed diphtheria antitoxin, Seppala and Togo were tasked with the most dangerous and longest leg of the relay: a 264-mile round trip across the frozen Norton Sound. The temperature had dropped to minus 40 degrees Fahrenheit, with wind chills approaching minus 85 degrees. Visibility was near zero.

The Norton Sound crossing was the most treacherous part of the journey. The ice was unstable, with open leads of water and pressure ridges that could swallow a team whole. Other mushers had refused to attempt the crossing, preferring the longer but safer inland route. Seppala trusted Togo to find the way.

As Seppala and his team ventured onto the frozen sound, conditions deteriorated rapidly. The wind picked up to gale force, creating a complete whiteout. Seppala could no longer see his dogs, let alone navigate. He gave Togo his head, trusting the dog's instincts completely.

Togo guided the team through the howling darkness, somehow sensing solid ice from dangerous thin patches. At one point, the ice beneath them began to crack. Togo immediately changed course, leading the team to safer ground. Later, they encountered an open lead of water that hadn't been there hours before. Togo found a way around it, adding miles to their journey but keeping the team alive.

When they reached the other side, the serum was transferred to the next team. But Seppala's journey wasn't over. He and Togo still had to return across the same deadly sound, facing the same conditions, with an exhausted team.

The return crossing was even more harrowing. The ice had shifted, and the leads had widened. At one point, Seppala realized with horror that they were on an ice floe that had broken free and was floating out to sea. Togo worked tirelessly to find a point where the floe came close enough to the shore ice for them to jump across. The gap was several feet wide, with churning dark water below.

Togo leaped first, the towline in his teeth, then pulled with all his might to bring the sled and the other dogs across. The effort was tremendous, and lesser dogs would have given up. But Togo hauled them to safety, then collapsed in exhaustion.

In total, Togo covered 264 miles of the most dangerous terrain in the relay—nearly half of the entire distance. Balto's team, by contrast, ran 55 miles on relatively flat ground to complete the final leg into Nome. Yet it was Balto who received the hero's welcome, the ticker-tape parade in New York City, and the bronze statue in Central Park.

Seppala was deeply hurt by this injustice. He spent years trying to correct the historical record, always insisting that Togo was the true hero of the serum run. "Togo was the best dog that ever traveled the Alaska trail," he said. "I never had a better dog nor do I ever expect to have one."

After the serum run, Togo was retired to a kennel in Poland Spring, Maine, where he lived out his remaining years in comfort. He sired many puppies, passing on his remarkable genes to future generations of sled dogs. When he died in 1929 at the age of 16, his body was preserved and is now displayed at the Iditarod Trail Sled Dog Race Museum in Wasilla, Alaska.

In 2019, nearly a century after the serum run, Disney released "Togo," a film starring Willem Dafoe as Leonhard Seppala. The movie finally told Togo's story to a worldwide audience, giving the remarkable dog the recognition he had always deserved.

Today, Togo's descendants continue to run the Iditarod, the annual 1,000-mile sled dog race that commemorates the serum run. His spirit lives on in every Siberian Husky that takes to the trail, proving that true heroism isn't about fame or recognition—it's about heart, determination, and an unbreakable bond between dog and human.

Togo's story reminds us that history doesn't always remember the right heroes. Sometimes, the one who did the most gets the least credit. But those who knew the truth—Seppala most of all—never forgot who the real hero was. And now, neither will we.