March 13, 2010
The birth of extreme skiing
Tuckerman Ravine is an unparalleled experience
by Brion O'Connor/
Skiers pose at Wildcat Range, with Tuckerman Ravine in the background. (photo: Brooks Dodge)
If you pay homage at the altar of alpine skiing, like many of us in New England do, then there can only be one thing that comes to mind at the mention of “the Holy Grail.” Tuckerman Ravine, on the eastern shoulder of New Hampshire’s Mount Washington, is the end-all and be-all of Northeast spring skiing. An epic and awe-inspiring place, it is often discussed in hushed, even reverent tones, despite the excitement it engenders. Tuckerman, says Tim Holland of New Hampshire, “has been imprinted in my mind so indelibly that whenever the White Mountains are mentioned, I can hear her calling for me to come back.”
Somewhat ironically, the ravine was named for a botanist — Edward Tuckerman — who studied alpine plants and lichen here in the mid-1800s. Today, however, the enormous granite bowl is best known — at least in skiing circles — for its enduring snowpack and scintillating springtime routes.
“I have a Bradford Washburn print of Tuckerman Ravine hanging in my office, right in front of me at eye level,” says Lafe Low, a self-described “Raviniac” from Massachusetts. “It sort of keeps me sane on crazy days. Funny that the prospect of hauling 60 pounds of ski gear to the roof of New England, then skiing a 50-degree, rock-lined chute, sort of keeps me sane.”
Of course, that’s part of the off-kilter attraction that Tuckerman presents. Skiing any of the 10 major routes that line the ravine, all of which feature pitches between 40 and 55 degrees, is a heart-pounding challenge. Yes, it can be a terrible, foreboding place for the uninitiated and unprepared. Every year, rangers with the U.S. Forest Service respond to dozens of search and rescue incidents resulting from poor planning, improper skills and equipment, or good old-fashioned bad judgment. But, as the old adage holds, “If it were easy, everybody would be doing it.”
The three-mile hike along Tuckerman Ravine Trail, winding along the Cutler River, through the lower forest and eventually past the Hermit Lake shelters, isn’t all that daunting, though the world’s most fickle weather patterns can make any outing uncomfortable. Which is exactly why Low is lugging 60 pounds — he knows and respects the inherent risks, and he arrives prepared.
In fact, Low can expect company, as the Tuckerman crowd tends to come in droves. The parade starts in March but really hits its stride in April and May. Upward of 2,000 adventure-seekers annually will haul skis, poles, boots, snowboards, food, flasks, even the occasional keg of beer to the ravine floor and Lunch Rocks before tackling the last vertical grunt to Tuckerman’s lip.
“Tucks has an amazing pitch and offers a wide variety of lines, but in the end it really is just a day of hiking with a massive three-minute adrenaline rush,” says Chris Gibson, a New Jersey native who has tackled Tuckerman a half-dozen times.
Sometimes, though, you have to wait for your rush. “My favorite memory has to be when, about 150 yards above the squeeze in Left Gully, a friend and I were met with a cloud that was so thick you could almost hear it as it poured down from the ridge,” says Holland. “We were about 10 feet apart, and we could not see each other, or the rocks. You could barely see your hand stretched out in front of your face. I thought that we might be in for a long slow and very careful climb down.”
“We waited it out for about a half-hour and were reluctantly getting ready to start down when, just as fast as it poured in, the cloud started to lift. We had a great day, and conditions were excellent in spite of a light rain that never stopped.”
There are thousands and thousands of stories like Holland’s, which befits this broad, glacial cirque that first drew skiers to its steep walls a century ago. According to Jeffrey Leich, director of the New England Ski Museum, the first person to ski on Mount Washington was a Dr. Wiskott from Breslau, Germany, in 1899. The first person to ski Tuckerman, however, is believed to be John S. Apperson of Schenectady, N.Y., a well-known climber, skier, and environmentalist in the Adirondack Mountains who visited the ravine in April 1914. Apperson’s foray clearly was the start of something big.
In the Northeast, it’s a commonly accepted notion that Tuckerman is the birthplace of “extreme” skiing, long before that overused and overwrought term became a clichéd staple of our sporting vernacular. If you want to pinpoint the racing heyday at Tuckerman, it would have to be the 1930s, when ski pioneers already were looking to extend their season. The first descent over the lip was made on April 11, 1931, by John Carleton and Charley Proctor, a pair of Olympic skiers from Dartmouth (followed a week later by a group from Harvard, naturally). Shortly afterward, members of the venerable Ski Club Hochgebirge (a German expression for “high mountain”) developed a daring summit-to-base race that they dubbed the American Inferno (named, not surprisingly, after a race in Switzerland). Skiing legends such as Dick Durrance and Brooks Dodge made their name, in part, in these hell-bent-for-leather competitions. A 19-year-old Austrian ski instructor, however, submitted the most memorable performance.
Toni Matt’s outrageous-if-accidental schuss over Tuckerman’s headwall during the 1939 edition of the Inferno is one of the most enduring parables ever produced in the Mount Washington Valley. Apparently Matt hadn’t planned to go straight over the top, but poor visibility threw a monkey wrench into his pre-race strategy. Matt’s time for the eight-mile race was 6 minutes, 29.4 seconds, halving the existing record. He was quoted later as saying he felt lucky to be “19, stupid, and have strong legs.” It’s been calculated that his top speed was 85 mph, on circa 1939 gear, no less.
“Considering the equipment they used, it was almost suicidal to go over the lip,” said local author Nicholas Howe in E.M. Swift’s superb 2004 Sports Illustrated article on Tuckerman. “You were lucky to survive. You had to be either really brave, really good or really stupid. From the top it looks as if you’re stepping off the roof of a house.”
Today, the skiing and riding at “Tuck’s” is purely recreational, though no less extreme. In fact, there isn’t much about the 6,288-foot Mount Washington that isn’t over the top. It’s situated at the confluence of three major weather systems, and the resulting clash can result in bitter cold temperatures, snowfalls of more than 20 feet a year, and winds exceeding 200 mph. Perched less than a half-mile beneath The Rockpile’s bald summit, Tuckerman Ravine acts as a giant granite catcher’s mitt, collecting the snow blowing off the cone and upper snowfields and from other Presidential Range peaks. The snow starts falling with a purpose during autumn, and by January the ravine’s snowpack can exceed depths of 100 feet. In late winter and early spring, the avalanche danger here can be severe. Skiers and hikers alike are encouraged to heed the avalanche warnings posted by the U.S. Forest Service rangers at the Appalachian Mountain Club visitors center at Pinkham Notch and at the Hermit Lake shelter (the warnings are also posted on the Internet).
The avalanche warnings reveal the Jekyll & Hyde nature of Tuckerman’s stunning amphitheater; jaw-dropping beauty masking a sinister underside. Close to 140 people have perished on Mount Washington, and more than 30 of those lost their lives in the ravine (at least six to avalanche). Accidents happen, and even the best plans can go horribly awry due to changes in weather and conditions. In addition to late-winter avalanche threats, springtime ice and rock falls are not uncommon. Plus, the very pitch that makes Tuckerman so tantalizing can send skiers and riders hurtling head over heels.
“Tuckerman’s was the most terrifying fall I ever had skiing,” says David Gillis of Massachusetts, managing a broad grin at the recollection. “If fact, I wasn’t skiing at all. I was trying to put on my skis when I slipped.”
Gibson, like many Tuckerman veterans, has a similar tale: “I was with a buddy once who caught an edge on his third turn at the top and went all the way down the thing face first. I really thought that guy was toast, but he turned out to be fine.”
Long slides are the reality of a 50-degree slope and a surface with all the traction of an oil slick. Still, even those who have had the misfortune of taking a ravine ride on their backside know that mishaps often make for the best stories. No one visits Tuckerman with the intent of falling or getting hurt. But knowing and appreciating the ravine’s checkered history serves as a cautionary tale. Accepting its risks opens the door to its unique rewards. For a skier standing at Lunch Rocks, looking up at the ravine’s gaping maw, the 800 feet of vertical seems full of possibilities.
“The Left Gully is my favorite ski run in New England,” says Low. “It is deceptively steep, even near the bottom. It’s best when there’s snow all the way up and over the top. You can hike up over and sit, reflecting on the snow swirling around the summit cone.
“Those first few turns dropping in at the top of the Left Gully are like flying,” he says. “You drop down over the bumps and ridges about 10 or 15 feet with each turn. You’re really kind of screwed if you fall up there; you will slide the whole way down. So, don’t fall.”
At its best, Tuckerman also can provide the glue that bonds generations of skiers and riders. Among the hundreds of visitors each spring, there invariably will be mothers and fathers bringing their own children to sample New England skiing in the raw.
“My high point was taking my son Nick up there for the first time,” says Tuckerman fan Peter Tamposi of Nashua, N.H. “He was 11 at the time. The hike to the bowl was strenuous, with a heavy pack that didn’t quite fit him. He rallied in the bowl, but the slog up the Left Gully found him post-holing, slowing and eventually crying.
“We finally put on our skis and I headed down first. The snow was sweet mashed potatoes, which he’d never really skied,” Tamposi says. “I stopped with trepidation to watch my man-cub. His first turn was hesitant but he quickly fell into that old ‘Oh yeah, it’s just skiing’ routine we’ve all discovered. I could see the fear fade with each jump turn he made. With each cheer from the onlookers a great smile spread on his face. He came bounding in next to me near the bottom, caught his breath and asked with a devilish grin, ‘Another run?’ ”
Nick Tamposi’s simple request perfectly illustrates why so many visitors to Tuckerman, from throughout the Northeast, New York, New Jersey and Canada, are not newcomers, but old hands making a return trek.
“I have been to the ravine nearly every spring since college,” says Low, who graduated from Keene State College in 1984. “To call it a ‘rite of passage’ seems trite — it’s more like a religious experience. It’s always bittersweet, though, because I know that while this is some of the coolest skiing I’ll do this season, it also marks the final chapter of any ski season.
“The ravine is basically a sheer rock cliff. It’s worth seeing the ravine in the summer. It will make you wonder how anyone ever thought it would be a good idea to ski up there. But it is. It’s a great idea.”
For more details on Tuckerman Ravine, visit the U.S. Forest Service website at tuckerman.org, or Dave McGrath ‘s excellent, all-encompassing Time for Tuckerman (timefortuckerman.com).
