The Sierra's First Extreme Skier

by Ellen Hopkins

Snowshoe Thompson was a skiing superman, maintaining a blistering pace through 10-foot snowdrifts with a 100-pound pack or jumping 100 feet on his 25-pound boards.

Today's skiers enjoy lightweight, responsive skis, made of wood, fiberglass, titanium and carbon, with a bit of Kevlar thrown in. But consider the first skis in the Sierra—almost 10 feet long and made of inch-and-a-half-thick green oak, weighing close to 25 pounds each. They appeared in the Lake Tahoe region in the early 1850s, and one of the first to use them was John "Snowshoe" Thompson.

When Thompson was ten, his family emigrated from Norway, where "Norwegian snowshoes" (skis) were common. But in the United States, they were exceedingly rare.

Thompson rode the rush to California gold, touching down in 1851. The 24-yearold worked the foothill placers, settling on Putah Creek, near Placerville. Like many forty-niners, he eventually turned to farming and cutting wood, and may have been satisfi ed with that if he had not, in 1855, seen an ad in the Sacramento Union. The announcement read: "People Lost to the World; Uncle Sam Needs a Mail Carrier."

The 90-mile mail route from Placerville to Mormon Station (later Genoa) was daunting enough in summer, but a winter traverse could be deadly. One mail carrier tried using wooden mauls to beat down the heavy snow, which grew deeper and deeper the higher he went. By the time he reached the other side, he and his pack animals chose retirement. Another mailman attempted the crossing on webs (which resembled modern snowshoes). His journey took 8 days, one way, and left him "badly frozen."

Thompson, however, was intrigued. He recalled the long boards used in Norway to glide across snow-covered ground. T From green oak planks, he carved a pair of skis and a single long pole, which he used for both balance and braking. After dozens of practice runs, Thompson applied for the mail carrier position.

On his first trip, he carried almost 80 pounds of letters and packages. He left Placerville on January 3, 1855 and, as townsfolk wagered on his success, maneuvered the route in just 3 days. The return trip took only 2, and those 5 days proved what Snowshoe Thompson already knew—skis were a viable means of winter transportation.

Snowshoe used no compass, relying on learned landmarks by day and stars by night. Yes, he often skied through the night, preferring hard-packed snow to sun-softened. He carried no gun, no blanket and little food. All would only add to his overstuffed rucksack, which often weighed close to 100 pounds. He wore a Mackinaw jacket for warmth and a widebrimmed hat to shade his face.

News-starved settlers stared, delighted, as the handsome mailman came speeding down the steep slopes. Territorial Enterprise publisher Dan DeQuille described the sight: "He fl ew down the mountainside. He did not ride astride his pole or drag it to one side as was the practice of other snowshoers, but held it horizontally before him, after the manner of a tightrope walker. His appearance was graceful, swaying his balance pole to one side and the other in the manner that a soaring eagle dips its wings."

At least twice a month for twenty years, Snowshoe Thompson made the trip over the Sierra (using horse-drawn sleighs and coaches over no-snow locations). He learned to survive the most extreme weather, resorting, during the worst blizzards, to lighting dead trees on fi re to keep from freezing to death. Besides mail, he hauled books, tools, clothing and medicine. He took the type and newsprint for the Territorial Enterprise to Virginia City, and brought the fi rst Comstock ore samples back to California for assay. His skiing prowess became the stuff of legends. Thompson's downhill speeds were estimated at close to 60 miles per hour. He was also an incredible ski jumper. Several of his jumps went well over 100 feet, with the longest credited at 180 feet. That, in the early 1870s, on 25- pound oak boards!

Before his own death from appendicitis in 1876, Thompson rescued many stranded Sierra travelers, several of whom faced certain demise. Imagine how they must have felt, looking across the white wilderness to see the Sierra's very fi rst ski patrolman, gracefully telemarking his way through the powder.