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| . The Soaring Eagle of the Sierras © 2005 Ron Watters (To reproduce this article, see permissions) . This article is free to read. Recently, Amazon.com and one or more other sites have been selling my articles without my permission! Don't be ripped off. You can enjoy them here for no cost. “His appearance was graceful, swaying his balance pole to one side and the other in the manner that soaring eagle dips its wings.” __________
It is early winter, 1855. In The prospects are even bleaker for the settlers living on the east slope of the Sierras in It is all because of the Sierras' snow. It grows to extraordinary depths, far beyond the experience and imagination of anyone who had come to The smart ones have boarded up their cabins, braced ceiling rafters, and have gotten out before winter. They knew that snow would bring travel to a virtual standstill. Those who wait too long to get out will end up wallowing in snow, and if they manage to make it back to the valley alive--and with all their toes and fingers intact--they'll have plenty of harrowing tales of survival to tell. About the only ones who travel in the Sierras on purpose in the winter are the mail contractors. That's their job. In the summer, it's challenging work, but, in the winter, it's downright backbreaking. To get through, they've attempted different routes through the mountains and experimented with various traveling methods. One mail contractor even resorted to using wooden mauls, beating and packing the snow, so his pack animals would have something firm to walk on. This they did mile after mile. When they got to That's the way things stood in 1855. Mail service over the Sierras in the winter was simply uncertain. Things, indeed, looked bleak. Then, a strapping young Norwegian immigrant appeared on the scene. Within a short time, this young, blond Norseman would be celebrated throughout the Sierras -- and become one of the most famous cross-country skiers of all time. His reputation and legend would grow by leaps, and, in time, the facts and fiction of his life would become so intermixed that it would become difficult, if not impossible, by modern historians to separate the two. This much we do know: his name was John A. Thompson. To the admiring residents of the Sierras, however, he was known simply as Snowshoe Thompson. * * *
John Thompson immigrated with his family from This area of high peaks and preternaturally abundant snow is sometimes referred to as the Lost Sierra for its long-gone boom towns. But it abounds with much more than mining history. This is also a place where skiing history was made. Indeed, it is hallowed ground, for the Lost Sierra is the cradle of skiing in Here skis first made their appearance in great enough numbers to establish a toe hold in the Thompson played an important role in the popularization of skiing in the Sierras. While he probably wasn't the first, he was certainly among the earliest skiers and quickly became the most well known. His deeds and exploits were so widely reported that, in essence, he became the sport's poster child. Television producers, had there been television in those days, would have loved him. He would have also caught the eyes of the ladies--what few of them were around. He was, to use a more contemporary term, something of a hottie. That, according to Dan DeQuille of the Territorial Enterprise who interviewed Thompson. (DeQuille, incidently, gave a young Samuel Clemens--Mark Twain--his first newspaper job, and certainly must have had a talent for sizing up one's character.) John Thompson, DeQuille wrote, was a "man of splendid physique. His features were large, but regular and handsome. He had the blond hair and beard, and fair skin and blue eyes of his Scandinavian ancestors." The striking, blue-eyed Thompson had dabbled at mining in The mail route referred to in the Thompson got the job. His first run would be in early January, and for it, he planned to use skis, a method of winter travel he had learned as a boy in Relying on his boyhood memory, Thompson constructed his first set of Norwegian skates out of a freshly cut--and very green--oak plank. As you can imagine, they were monstrosities. According to De Quille, Thompson weighed them when he got to Placeville and they tipped the scales at 25 pounds. He eventually got the weight down on subsequent pairs, but, even so, the skis of the 1800's were still formidable in size. In a newspaper article some years later, Thompson described the dimensions of his skis: 9 feet long, 4 inches wide at the tip and narrowing to 3 1/2 inches. Thickness: 1 1/2 inches. Since Norwegian skates were still relatively unknown, and still unproven, there were lots of doubters in Thompson, however, had hedged his bets and had practiced with his skis in the high country above Then there was silence. A short while later, he was back. Jaws dropped open. Friends shouted hurrahs. He had done it! And far faster than anyone imagined. When he later arrived at The Sacramento Union announced that first famous trip: "Mr. John A. Thompson left The following month, the * * *
His pack, weighing from 60 to 80 pounds, included mail, newspapers, periodicals, ore samples, and medicines. UPS and FedEx can't claim any originality when it comes to express service plans. Thompson long beat them to it, instituting 2-day and 3-day service. He could run the 90-mile Not all of the distance was done on skis. The snow line varied depending on the month and severity of the winter. Skis, however, were needed in 1856 and were what got him swiftly across the high, snowbound portion of the route. He was back at it the following winter. The * * *
Amazingly, Snowshoe Thompson carried little in the way of bedding and clothing with him. His weighty skis and pack--and moderate Sierra winter temperatures--might have had something to do with it. Still, it's remarkable that his only indulgence to comfort was a wide rimmed hat and Mackinaw. He kept warm during the day by the exercise of skiing. At nights, he built a large fire, lay on a bed of pine boughs and used his mail sack for a pillow. He would stretch "himself upon this fragrant couch," wrote Hubert Howe Bancroft, a west coast historian, "and with his feet to the blaze and his face to the stars slept soundly and safely." Meals on the trail consisted of dried beef and sausage, crackers and biscuits. He didn't know about waxing. And when freshly fallen snow would warm, it would stick to his skis in great clumps. When that happened, he'd stop and wait for evening when the snow pack would glaze over and he could glide once again without the encumbrance of wet, sticky snow. To propel himself forward on the flat and to climb hills, he used one long pole. Two poles came much later. The pole, sometimes called a "balancing pole," was also used to assist him on downhill runs. Apparently, Thompson was a master in its use. "He flew down the mountainside," Dan DeQuille wrote, describing his graceful manner. "He did not ride astride his pole or drag it to one side as was the practice of other snow-shoers, but held it horizontally before him after the manner of tightrope walker. His appearance was graceful, swaying his balance pole to one side and the other in the manner that soaring eagle dips its wings." * * *
Snowshoe Thompson--the man who could ski like a soaring eagle--was also known for his generosity and for his willingness to come to the aid of others. An incident early in his second year of carrying mail over the Sierras helped establish that reputation. On The story doesn't end there. In order to save the man's life, Sisson's gangrenous legs would have to be amputated, but the doctor treating him was unwilling to undertake the operation without an anesthetic. Thompson, who must have been thoroughly knackered after the rescue, volunteered to make another trip. He again put on his skis and made the 90 mile trek to "Most remarkable man I ever knew, that Snowshoe Thompson," said Postmaster S. A. Kinsey. "He must be made of iron. Besides, he never thinks of himself, but he'd give his last breath for anyone else - even a total stranger." He might have been a bit too generous. Despite the incredible physical effort he put into providing reliable mail service, he was never ever fully compensated for his work. With the support of friends, he petitioned the Life went on. De Quille describes Thompson at the age of 49 appearing in the prime of his life. "His eyes was bright as that of a hawk, his cheeks were ruddy, his frame muscular. His face had the look of repose, and he had that calmness of manner, which are the result of perfect self reliance." He was still skiing, De Quille wrote. He would load a quarter beef on his back and ski up a steep canyon to supply miners working at the Pittsburg Mine, 20 miles south of Thompson's ranch. It seemed that even in middle age, the robust Snowshoe Thompson had many more years of skiing the mountains, but it was not to be. Shortly after the De Quille interview Thompson suddenly fell ill with a liver ailment. It was spring time, and the barley on his ranch needed to be planted. Thompson struggled out to his field. Bending over to sow the seeds was too painful, so he mounted a horse and spread the seed from bucket held out in front of him. Afterwards, unable to raise his 6 foot frame, the ever moving Norwegian was confined to his bed. Two days later he died. He was buried beside his son in "To ordinary men there is something terrible in the wild winter storms that often sweep through the Sierras," wrote De Quille. But not to Snowshoe Thompson. The mountains were his sanctuary, and storms were just another part of its raw beauty. On his skis, he could freely move across the snow covered landscape. The feeling of freedom must have been never more real to Thompson than when gliding downhill, holding his balance pole out in front of him, dipping it one direction and then the other, his wide-brimmed hat flapping in the wind and the Sierras spread out in front of him. At times like that, he must have felt like a soaring eagle. END Top of Page |
Snowshoe Thompson.
Photo Courtesy of the
El Dorado Country Museum (Placerville, California)