"I'd Schuss the Headwall Again!"
The first man to ever schuss Mt. Washington's terrifying Headwall recalls his dramatic run 21 years later. What's more, he set a course record in his daring bid for fame
Ninety miles an hour on skis! That's the speed I attained in schussing the Tuckerman Ravine Headwall on Mt. Washington, New Hampshire, on April 16, 1939. It was in the American Inferno downhill race, when I was only nineteen. I was the first racer to ski straight down the Headwall - a 1000-foot bowl with a 60-degree angle - and I'll never forget it.
Since then, hundreds of people - many of whom aren't skiers - have asked me for more details of that big schuss. Let's start at the foot of Mt. Washington and work up so that I can tell you what really happened.
Excitement was in the air that cold April morning. The field consisted of about 20 Class A and Open racers who had been invited to compete by the sponsoring Eastern Slopes Ski Club. Snow conditions along most of the course were the best in years, especially in Tuckerman Ravine.
I arose far before dawn that day to give my boards a final check-up. I'd waxed my skis well the previous night, using a thin layer of blue wax, which was ironed on and covered by red wax for speed.
My skis were seven-foot, three inch streamliners, while I wore single-lace boots. I brought both the skis and boots with me from Austria when I came over to teach in Hannes Schneider's ski school at North Conway, New Hampshire. Those hickories proved an ideal choice, for they were very sturdy, holding the course well.
We racers started the long climb to the summit early (Mt. Washington has no uphill lifts) - soon after sunrise, in fact, since the race was to begin at noon. And we had to allow for at least an hour or two to rest our legs and have a light snack for energy.
Naturally, I was excited, a little tense. Mount Washington seemed gigantic in the faint light, even though I was used to the Alps. I had looked forward to competing in the Inferno because I'd heard so much about it. And I had just returned from the West, where I raced for a month. Therefore, I was in excellent shape. The only thing that bothered me was the fact that I had never skied the entire course before.
Would it be dangerous? Could I ski the four miles without a fall? How would I fare against more experienced skiers? These and many other questions filled my mind as we started the long climb.
And what about the terrifying Tuckerman Ravine Headwall? I'd been told it was as steep as the side of a house!
Using seal skins for the trek, I pushed upward, the exercise helping to loosen my muscles and relax me mentally. We climbed the two-mile Sherburne Trail, which I had skied once before. In spite of the abundance of snow, the trail had suddenly become very icy and filled with grooves. I tried to figure out which groove to stay in, also memorizing the trail, one section of which has a wicked double-S turn. Miss that and you're sure to plunge into the tall timber! I realized even then that this race is a tough one - perhaps the roughest I'd ever attempted.
At the top of the Sherburne Trail, I took a short breather, then went on to the Little Headwall. Now came an unforgettable sight.
There it was - straight ahead - Tuckerman Ravine and the famed Headwall. My first glimpse left me breathless, believe me. That Headwall was awesome, looming up and up against the flying clouds. Actually, it looked worse from the bottom than it did from the top. I couldn't make up my mind which way to ski it, so I decided to see how I felt on the run down to the Ravine and then make the decision.
The Ravine floor presented a problem, as well. It was very bumpy - like a huge washboard. Hit that at high speed and your legs might sprawl in several directions. But there was no turning back; all the competitors were climbing grimly and slowly up the side of the Headwall, carrying their skis at this point.
At the top of the Ravine I peeked down over the Lip. That Headwall was really steep. Obviously, it could prove to be the key to the entire race - something like the most dangerous jump at the Grand National Steeplechase. A big lump popped up in my throat then, but I had to keep going up before I could come down.
The remainder of the climb was comparatively easy. We zig-zagged across the snow fields, reaching the weather station at the summit of the great mountain, where hot broth and tea was ready for us. Camaraderie among ski racers is wonderful. We needed it that day. Everyone was nervous - underneath, at least.
Was I nervous, too? Boy, was I scared! As I've already said, I had never skied over the Headwall. And I was still not sure which way I'd take it. The more I thought about it, the more I shivered. That wait before the race seemed like the longest and coldest I'd ever experienced. We were all on edge, jittery, chattering like school girls, waiting for the starter to send us away at one-minute intervals. I guess we felt like troops about to be sent into combat.
I had drawn the numeral 4. Dick Durrance, the great Dartmouth star and past winner of the Inferno, wore number 3, but that didn't help me any. You see, I had planned on running in his straight tracks from the summit to the Headwall because the first two entrants wouldn't schuss the snowfields. However, Dick said he wasn't ready, so I had to start ahead of him.
Finally, the starter placed his glove on my shoulder, counting, "Four, three, two, one - go!" And I shoved off in a swirl of powder, still nervous, still uncertain about that unknown quality - the Headwall.
Before the start, I had figured on schussing the Cone and turning in at the control gate above the Headwall. I'd even contemplated taking two or three turns on the Headwall, then schussing along the Ravine floor and over the Little Headwall to the Sherburne Trail, staying on the inside of all the turns on the trail.
You'd be surprised how plans change suddenly during an actual race, though. I didn't make too much speed across the snowfields because there was no track to stay in, yet I reached the crest of the Headwall quickly. I didn't check there, either, just swinging enough to make the left turn that brings you in to the Headwall.
At this point, I felt fine. No more nerves. I was anticipating that run down the Headwall. I knew the drop over the Lip was sharp and quick - and I was ready.
You may wonder if I had a split-second reaction when I started over the Lip. Yes, my reaction was that I was going too fast to turn - that turning at such speed wouldn't slow me down, anyway. So I decided right then and there to let 'em run - and I pointed my skis straight down, close together.
Snow conditions on the Headwall were very good. Winds had packed the snow in hard and smooth; there were very few bumps until you hit the floor. I didn't notice any exposed rocks - guess I was too busy.
I was over the Lip like a diver leaving a springboard. The wind stung my face. This was it! I could feel a great emotional strain; I could feel my heart beat off the seconds as I tried to maintain my balance and stay on my skis. A fall might be disastrous here, for you could tumble to the very Ravine floor before stopping!
As my speed increased, my senses became almost numb. Down, down I roared in a semi-crouch, my knees pumping to absorb the shock.
I didn't even think while I ran the Headwall - just did everything instictively. My weight was forward every moment in the true "vorlage" style employed by the Austrians then.
I wasn't frightened during the Headwall run. I had no time for that. I just kept my skis headed straight down, knowing that this was my supreme test in racing.
Wham! I had reached the Ravine floor, zipping across those bumps as though being pushed by an unseen force. Once I was across the floor, I could feel my knees shaking for the first time.
I didn't think I had the race won then. I never even gave it a thought at that spot. I was thinking of what lay ahead of me - and how my legs would hold up. Schussing the Headwall turned them into rubber. But I kept going, even managing to regain enough strength to schuss at the Little Headwall - a breeze compared to the big one.
At the top of the Sherburne Trail, I was still traveling at full speed. The trail was very icy and fast and I was beginning to tire. Fortunately, I was familiar with this section of the course. Even so, I nearly hit a tree on the last of the three S-turns. I took the inside groove but couldn't hold it. This dragged me way down. Summoning all my waning energy, I was able to check just in time to avoid a big tree. Back in the right form, I put my skis together again, hoping to hold the course. At the top of the Sherburne Trail, I was still traveling at full speed. The trail was very icy and fast and I was beginning to tire. Fortunately, I was familiar with this section of the course. Even so, I nearly hit a tree on the last of the three S-turns. I took the inside groove but couldn't hold it. This dragged me way down. Summoning all my waning energy, I was able to check just in time to avoid a big tree. Back in the right form, I put my skis together again, hoping to hold the course.
The top of the Sherburne Trail was easy, giving me a chance to rest a little. However, the lower stretches were rugged. I was tired but I tried to make time all the way. That puts a strain on any racer.
That finish gate was a wonderful sight. Then I was amazed to learn I had covered the course in six minutes and 29 seconds - a new Inferno record.
Later, I was told that Dick Durrance held the previous record of 12 minutes. Prior to that, skiers averaged 20 minutes to cover the four miles that drop 4000 vertical feet to Pinkham Notch.
Well, my record still stands. I've never managed to ski in Tuckerman Ravine since then, either. As for recreational skiers trying to schuss the Headwall, I don't think that anyone should do it. A 90-mile an hour speed is only for top racers, who are in the peak of condition.
Schussing the Headwall was my greatest thrill in American skiing - and it helped me make my name in this country. Now, due to racing injuries, my skiing is limited to a little weekend sport. But I'll never forget that run - the first sight of the Headwall - the speed I made. Through the years, I've skied it over and over - mentally, of course. And if I were nineteen again, I'd do it exactly the same way. I'd run the Headwall straight!