Ice Island

( 22 )

Overview

What begins as a training run with sled dogs turns into a race against time for Tatum and her new friend, a Siberian Yupik boy named Cole. When a freak blizzard hits this remote island off the coast of Alaska, the duo seeks shelter overnight in a dilapidated hunting cabin. Their harrowing ordeal goes from bad to worse when wind-driven snow forces them to risk an alternate route. Stranded in the untamed wilderness, they must rely on each other—as well as their faithful huskies—to survive sub-zero temperatures and ...
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Ice Island

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Overview

What begins as a training run with sled dogs turns into a race against time for Tatum and her new friend, a Siberian Yupik boy named Cole. When a freak blizzard hits this remote island off the coast of Alaska, the duo seeks shelter overnight in a dilapidated hunting cabin. Their harrowing ordeal goes from bad to worse when wind-driven snow forces them to risk an alternate route. Stranded in the untamed wilderness, they must rely on each other—as well as their faithful huskies—to survive sub-zero temperatures and bone-numbing exhaustion. Worse still, their food supply is dangerously low. The most daunting decision comes when the strongest dog runs away. One person must go for help, while one must stay behind. Either way, they'll both be alone in the wild for an uncertain amount of time.
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Editorial Reviews

From the Publisher
"Riveting and atmospheric, this is a tale of teenage Tatum, who becomes lost and separated from her friend on an Alaskan island with only a team of dogs, a few supplies and her instincts to keep her alive . . . Told in fast-paced third-person, this survival adventure creates an almost otherworldly experience within a treacherous and bracingly beautiful landscape."
- Kirkus Reviews

"Mesmerizing and intense . . . It is a mark of good storytelling that the reader feels both the quiet solitude of vast expanses of snow and the thrilling fear that Tatum and Cole may not make it home again. This adventure will be a hit with both middle grade girls and boys."
- BookPage.com

School Library Journal
Gr 4–7—The legendary Iditarod serves as both starting point and backbone for this adventure-survival tale. Tatum's family recently moved to Alaska, where her father grew up mushing. The 13-year-old longs to run the Iditarod with him when she's old enough. In the meantime, she hangs out with mushers and learns about the sport and rules for survival in the unforgiving terrain. Tatum strikes up a friendship with Cole, a native Siberian Yupik boy, who is also interested in the sport. The teens take their dog teams out for a run, which goes terribly wrong when a sudden blizzard strands them in the wilderness with little food or supplies. When Cole's sled is damaged and half of their dogs can no longer pull, the teens make the tough choice to separate: Tatum and a team of dogs set off to seek help. Character development is slight, and the narrative initially feels bogged down by many (albeit interesting) facts about the Iditarod; however, some readers may find that a plus. The pace doesn't pick up until Tatum and Cole's peril begins. Shahan knows her territory well and vividly describes the landscape's stark beauty and Tatum's sense of isolation. Heroic dogs, danger, and an accessible writing style add cross-gender appeal.—M. Kozikowski, Sachem Public Library, Holbrook, NY
Kirkus Reviews
Riveting and atmospheric, this is a tale of teenage Tatum, who becomes lost and separated from her friend on an Alaskan island with only a team of dogs, a few supplies and her instincts to keep her alive. Thirteen-year-old Tatum's dream is to run the Iditarod. She and her mother travel from Nome, Alaska, to a remote, frozen island for her mother's job. There, Tatum meets Cole, a boy who shares her obsession with dog mushing. One morning, they head out with two dog teams for a practice run with Tatum's beloved husky, Bandit, leading her sled. In vivid, crisp prose, the story accelerates as they veer off course and are enveloped in a blinding storm. Cole and Tatum rely on their training and resourcefulness as they face hunger and below-freezing temperatures. One particularly hair-raising event finds them on a frozen river surrounded by cracking ice. Tatum must eventually leave Cole behind and venture on for help alone. With time running out, Tatum has only her courage and her loving trust of the dogs to keep her from succumbing to the harsh elements and her fear. Told a fast-paced third-person, this survival adventure creates an almost otherworldly experience within a treacherous and bracingly beautiful landscape. As a race for survival, this is also an exhilarating sprint through the pages. (author's note, glossary) (Adventure. 9-13)
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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780307929549
  • Publisher: Random House Children's Books
  • Publication date: 1/8/2013
  • Pages: 176
  • Sales rank: 500,746
  • Age range: 9 - 12 Years
  • Product dimensions: 5.20 (w) x 7.60 (h) x 0.60 (d)

Meet the Author

Travel writer SHERRY SHAHAN (Frozen Stiff) not only talks the talk but walks the walk. She has written many magazine and newspaper articles based on dozens of press trips to the 49th state. Her details of the unforgiving environment and its challenges are both authentic and startling. She has also authored the photo-illustrated Dashing Through The Snow: The Story of the Jr. Iditarod.
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Read an Excerpt

1

The siren blasted three times.

It didn't startle Tatum.

She'd been expecting it.

She peeked out from under her blankets. The clock read 3:46 a.m. She glanced across the tiny bedroom at her mom. Should she wake her? No. She knew what her mom would say. You're not going out in the middle of the night, Tatum. Now go back to sleep.

Her dad? That would be a different story. But he was on the North Slope of Prudhoe Bay inspecting pipelines for leaks. Winter was the only time the ground was hard enough to support heavy equipment. Her dad worked four on and one off--meaning he worked four weeks straight, then had a week off.

Tatum slipped out of bed and punched the stopwatch function on her Timex, a gift from her parents on her thirteenth birthday. Snow pants, boots, parka, gloves. Forty-three seconds. A musher had to be ready faster than that, she knew. Even with his fused ankle, her dad had it down to fifteen seconds.

Keep practicing, she told herself.

She tucked the blanket snugly around her pillow. It didn't look like a real person--more like an oversized teddy bear. It might fool her mom, if she didn't turn on the light.

Tatum eased out the door and crept down the back stairs. She hated sneaking around like this. But what choice did she have? The siren meant a musher was on the final stretch before town. She hoped it would be her friend Beryl.

Outside, a ribbon of light flashed over the office of the town's newspaper, the Nome Nugget: minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit, without the windchill factor. Tatum tightened the hood of her parka, passing souvenir shops and old-style saloons on the plank sidewalk. Her feet ached with bone-numbing cold. She stomped them to get warm. Stars dabbed the frozen sky.

The famous wooden arch stretched over Front Street: end of iditarod sled dog race. Tying a mob of dogs together? Getting them to go in the same direction for a thousand miles? In the dead of winter? Everything that could go wrong usually did, and then some.

Someday I'll be out there running alongside Dad, Tatum thought. As soon as we're settled in one place, we'll start gathering dogs for two teams.

Her dad talked about getting rescue dogs from a shelter. "They don't have to be fast," he said. "Just strong, good-natured, healthy--and most important of all, able to laugh at my jokes."

Once, she'd told him that dog mushing felt like flying without wings. He'd smiled, hugging her. "That's how it's supposed to feel." She missed him even more at times like this.

Tatum wrapped her arms around herself, half frozen, and shuffled toward a bulky snowsuit leaning against the wooden arch. She recognized this year's champion, J.M., a young-looking giant. He'd crossed the finish line two days ago, winning in nine days, sixteen hours.

She thought it was amazing that he came out at any hour, day or night, to congratulate the teams as they finished. She knew he had to be utterly spent.

"A bit late to be out here, isn't it, missy?" J.M. asked, his fingers wrapped around a fat mug.

"I heard the siren," Tatum said. She caught a whiff of chicken soup. "I'm hoping it's Beryl."

"According to the last report, Beryl has passed through White Mountain," J.M. said. "I'm betting it's that rookie from Montana, Mack Gyldendal. He'll be one to watch in a few years."

Tatum had read about Mack. He'd turned eighteen the day before signing up for the race, and had driven by himself to Alaska in an old pickup. His dogs rode in a camperlike shell clamped onto the truck bed.

"Beryl should be close to Safety by now," J.M. put in.

Tatum sure hoped so.

Her dad had given her a guide that showed each checkpoint and the number of miles in between. Safety was the last checkpoint before Nome. Just a roadhouse stuck on a sea cliff. Sometimes tired dogs used to resting at the more than two dozen checkpoints between Anchorage and Nome refused to go through Safety without stopping. They just lay down.

Tatum couldn't imagine how terrible it would be for an exhausted musher who had already gone a thousand miles to watch himself slip in the standings that close to the finish line.

Tatum kept her feet moving, trying to jump-start her internal heater, thinking about last summer. Her dad had helped her get a job at a temporary camp set up on a glacier outside Juneau. She'd spent a month there working for Beryl. Tourists were flown to the top of the glacier, where they paid big bucks for sled dog rides.

Beryl had taught Tatum the most efficient way to harness the dogs, and how to make sure their booties were snug. "Not too tight," Beryl was quick to remind her. Tatum had fed and watered the dogs too.

At night Beryl worked over a small loom, sharing stories of her life in Alaska. She sold her handmade scarves to visitors. Larger pieces, like shawls and ceremonial capes, were commissioned by a gallery in Anchorage. Still, she had to scrimp to afford the Iditarod. The entry fee alone was four thousand dollars. That didn't include the cost of flying food and supplies to checkpoints before the race.

Tatum had listened, curled up with a mug of cocoa. Sometimes, in the middle of a story, Beryl would look up and ask, "Is haw the command for turning right or left?" Or, "What's a gangline?" After a while, Tatum got used to the pop quizzes.

Beryl was one tough woman. She spent winters alone in a log cabin without electricity or plumbing. "No running water," as Tatum's dad liked to say, "unless you run to get it."

Tatum thought Beryl's dogs were the smartest dogs in the world. Especially Bandit, the lead dog, Tatum's favorite. It takes a smart dog to understand a musher when he's shouting from the back of a sled. When business was slow, Beryl let Tatum take a team out by herself. Bandit always wagged her tail for Tatum, even when she messed up.

Beryl will be pushing hard to finish the last stretch, Tatum thought. She'd already handled everything the race had thrown at her; otherwise she wouldn't have made it this far. Lots of mushers just gave up.

Tatum turned when a checker and other race officials came out of the Sleeping Dog Café, hunched against the numbing cold. One was on a two-way radio, talking to an official out on the trail. A vet trailed behind them, looking like he hadn't slept in a month.

"Manor had to scratch," one official said. "Broke through overflow water on Norton Sound. Water soaked clean through his boots--froze solid on his feet."

"Glass slippers." J.M. shook his head. "The fool should've stopped to put on dry boots."

Tatum shivered from more than the cold.

"You know how it is," another official put in. "It's dark and forty below. You wait till the next checkpoint to sort it out."

"Then it's too late," J.M. added.

"A volunteer had to cut his boots off with an ax. Lucky he didn't lose any toes."

Tatum heard a team of dogs before they swung around the corner. "Beryl?" she asked, her hopes up.

"Nope, it's Mack," J.M. said.

She watched Mack jog in the snow next to the sled, keeping one hand on the driving bar. She tried not to show her disappointment. But she'd been hoping Beryl would finish in the top twenty--and pick up a few sponsors. A year's worth of free dog food would really help out.

Mack struggled to keep his sled going straight. The hood on his parka wasn't pulled all the way up. He swiped at icicles hanging from the hood's fur ruff.

Tatum counted eight dogs trotting in front, tails curled over backs. Two barked from inside the sled.

Most mushers started the race with sixteen dogs in harness--twice as many as they needed to cover a thousand miles. She doubted people outside Alaska thought much about it, but mushing wasn't like football or soccer. If a dog got sick or hurt and was taken out of the race, a musher couldn't substitute another player from the bench.

One of her Iditarod videos showed half a dozen dropped dogs corralled at a checkpoint. A vet took care of them until a volunteer pilot showed up. She'd laughed, watching the dogs sit patiently inside a bush plane. It was as if they flew all the time.

Mack must have dropped five or six dogs along the way, she thought. About average. Most mushers finished with between eight and twelve.

Mack shouted his bib number to an official and staggered under the famous burled arch.

J.M. slapped his shoulder, passing off the mug of soup. "Welcome to the club."

"Thanks, man," Mack said hoarsely.

Tatum congratulated him too.

"Eighteenth," an official said. "Nice job."

Mack nodded.

Tatum moved from foot to foot, watching the official jot down the time in, number of dogs in harness, and other stats. Mack scribbled his signature without taking off his gloves. Only one reporter came out for a picture.

Tatum didn't think it was right. Two days ago, when the first siren had blasted, the street had been jammed with fans and TV news crews, all cheering for J.M.

Now she watched Mack hug his dogs. "Good job, fella. How're you doing, girl?" He had a gash across his forehead, probably a run-in with a tree.

"Have you seen Beryl?" she asked.

Mack shook his head. "I've been running alone." He dug a bag from his sled and tossed out chunks of meat. The dogs inside the sled scrambled out to eat the frozen snack. Reflector tape on their harnesses winked in the dim streetlight.

"Two tired dogs is all," he told the vet.

The vet nodded, checking the dropped dogs first.

Tatum looked down the long, dark street. Her friend should have passed through Safety by now. It was only twenty miles away.

Only?

Yeah, right.

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4.5
( 22 )
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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 22 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 12, 2013

    Misstybreez

    I do exseped you. Then changed her name to dawnheart

    1 out of 1 people found this review helpful.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted January 6, 2014

    JOIN SILVER CLAN

    Go to death fighters. More imfo there.

    Silverstar

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 4, 2013

    Firekit

    Can I join? I am 5 moons old.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2013

    Inkkit

    A white she kit with silver-blue splotches and blue eyes pads in. There is a slight limp in her walk. "Im inkkit" the 4 moon old kit squeaks."may i join?"

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 25, 2013

    Icecloud

    I am a pure white she-cat with ice blue eyes. May I join?

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 25, 2013

    I want to rp a kit

    I want to rp olivekit

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 18, 2013

    Shy Kit

    He shivers in the bush he was hiding in

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 2, 2013

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 1, 2013

    Hi Wolkit Dawnkit and Shadekit...

    From Icekit

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 27, 2013

    Dawnkit

    Sits next to sparklingstream

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 24, 2013

    DarkWolf

    Darkwolf nodded.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 23, 2013

    Hellfire & Hailstorm

    The two padded in, one as ginger as fire with black paws and tail tip, her muzzle was the same midnight black. The other, a silver with white up to her knees and a white blaze on her chest. <p> "I am Hellfire and i will serve as a warrior." The flame one mewed. <p> "Hm, Hailstorm, but don't expect a soft gental she! I am not as elegent as my pelt." The silver one growled. "Warrior! Anything less will not be tolerated with!"

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 25, 2013

    Nightstorm

    Purrs a thanks to snowstorm and meows "hello" to the entire clan

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  • Anonymous

    Posted July 1, 2013

    Mistyfur

    Thanks for telling me.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 16, 2013

    Frostkit

    Walks in may i join?

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 8, 2013

    Skykit

    Can I please join? My mother was killed by foxes. Can you please give me milk? A tiny black kit asks.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted June 11, 2013

    Snowstar

    AHHHG MORE WIFI PROBS!!!! Lionkit from this day forth untill you earn your warrior name you are now Lionpaw. Springstream is your mentor.

    Was this review helpful? Yes  No   Report this review
  • Anonymous

    Posted May 8, 2013

    COME JOIN BLUECLAN

    At "blue clan" all results

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 4, 2013

    Another kit (( jk ))

    Can i join ~skylily

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  • Anonymous

    Posted May 8, 2013

    F

    The queen staggers to her paws and limps away into the snow.

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