Mt. Moosilauke (1930) - Down Mountain Race
". . . To Glencliff Cabin, by train. Was it Friday afternoon or Saturday after morning classes? I seem to recall taking the train north, then hiking a couple of miles and catching another train south to Glencliff or Warren. Up early in bitter cold to get a fire started. Climbing the Glencliff Trail on skis, with sealskins on the bottom. Across the wind-blown, hard packed snow to the top and a breather in the winter cabin. Back down on skis on the narrow, steep hiking trail. Do any other fools ever do it now? Put both poles together and grasp them in both hands, using them on one side as a brake and third contact for balance. Which one of us loses a ski, which goes off into the woods, not findable in the twilight? Or up to Glencliff and down the Carriage Road, then back cross-country to the cabin.
My first Down-Mountain Race was in 1930, as a determined but highly unaccomplished ski team hopeful. Actually called the Winter Sports Team, with snowshoers, speed and figure skaters. The morning two to three hour climb on skins. Cramming into the winter cabin to get warm. Then getting frigid again crossing the ridge to the start. About at the intersection of the Glencliff Trail?
Herm Sander wins Class A for ski team members in 10:23, with runner-up Bob Baumrucker a minute and a half behind. Compare that to the hundredths of a second between ski racers today. Maury Whittinghill takes Class B for non ski teamers in 13:02. Herm even beats a visiting Swiss named Reuge and the legendary Charlie Proctor. I finish a respectable third in Class B.
I don't know about the others but my Carriage Road style, then and later, is frequent resort to the snow-plow, with stem turns skidding around the hairpin turns, often crouching down to hold my balance by dragging the inside hand along the snow on the inside of the turn. Getting by with only two or three falls assures an acceptable time. Legs get SO tired after the first mile or so. No conditioning even remotely resembling what came later. Vigorous poling on the flat before that murderous steep, sharp turn just before the finish, on weary, weary legs. . . ."
From Marvin Chandler D'32.
