The lure of Tuckerman Ravine is as strong as ever

Tuckerman Ravine has launched hundreds of thousands of stories. (Andy Gagne Photography)

If the choice was mine, I’d write about New Hampshire’s Mount Washington every spring. The Northeast’s tallest peak holds an unquestioned moth-to-the-light attraction for me. I’ve hiked the Rockpile, I’ve biked it, and I’ve skied it. I simply never tire of this hulking granite knob.

Of course, the star of the show is Tuckerman Ravine, though my friend David Goodman, author of “Best Backcountry Skiing in the Northeast: 50 Classic Ski & Snowboard Tours in New England and New York,” is quick to remind me that Mount Washington and the Presidential Range is a veritable bounty of spectacular backcountry destinations.

“I usually take multiple spring ski trips to Mount Washington each year, but not necessarily Tucks,” said Goodman, a Vermont resident. “I like exploring the other wilderness ravines — Great Gulf, Ammonoosuc, Oakes Gulf, King Ravine, Gulf of Slides, to name a few that I write about in ‘Best Backcountry Skiing in the Northeast.’ There’s so much to explore that I haven’t yet skied. I like to venture into new frontiers.

“These places don’t have the crowds of Tucks but they do have thrilling descents in a spectacular high-alpine landscape,” he said. “For me, a great day of spring skiing rates right up there with an epic powder day. Goggle tan beats frostbite every time.”

Yet even a backcountry aficionado like Goodman acknowledges that Tuckerman Ravine on the southeastern flank of Mount Washington “is the Mecca of spring skiing, a place where we go to celebrate sliding on snow in all its forms.”

“It’s the home of some of the steepest established ski and snowboard routes in the country,” he said. “Tucks is where skiing legends have been made, broken, and made up. It’s a proving ground or a playground, depending on your abilities. 

“I love Tucks for its epic ski routes but also for the community,” said Goodman. “It’s a social place, where you go to cheer on strangers as they test their limits.”

Part of the reason Tuckerman Ravine shines brightest during the spring is the enormous amount of snow that gathers over the winter months in this giant pocket, like Old Man Winter’s own catcher’s mitt. A massive glacial cirque, at 4,430 feet above sea level and roughly 800 feet of sheer vertical, Tuckerman is the unrivaled “Holy Grail” of New England spring skiing, and a true rite of passage for any East Coast ripper. 

Starting in March, and picking up momentum through April, Tuckerman calls its siren’s song to hundreds, if not thousands, of adventure enthusiasts looking to extend their ski season. Thrill-seekers bring skis, poles, boots, snowboards, food, flasks, even the occasional keg of beer to the ravine floor and Lunch Rocks before tackling the last uphill grunt to Tuckerman’s Lip.

“Tucks has an amazing pitch, and offers a wide variety of lines,” said Chris Gibson, a New Jersey native now living on Boston’s North Shore. “But in the end, it really is just a day of hiking with a massive three-minute adrenaline rush.”

Skiing any of the 10 major routes that line Tuckerman’s major bowl and the seven routes along neighboring Hillman’s Highway — many featuring pitches between 40 and 55 degrees — can be a heart-pounding experience. 

“Spring skiers in the bowl generally talk of the soft ‘corn’ snow, but the conditions vary wildly and change every hour,” said Bruce Hardy, a ski patroller from Wildcat Mountain, which looks out at Tuckerman from across Pinkham Notch. “It helps to think about that before you pick your route. I’d been in the bowl many times before as a hiker, and it’s always breathtaking, like a half-empty stadium looming in front of you.”

The sheer pitch that Tuckerman presents skiers and snowboarders is the very reason why winter is a far more perilous time to visit. 

“If you’re skiing steep terrain such as in Tuckerman Ravine and the Presidential Range, avalanche hazard is at its highest midwinter,” said Goodman, adding that anyone making the trek before March should “take any avalanche education course, check the avalanche forecast, and carry an avy shovel, beacon and probe.

“Spring is the ‘second season’ for skiers” at Tuckerman, he said. “Sunshine makes perfect corn snow, turning the snowpack into nice, wet ball bearings that makes for hero snow.”

Though the avalanche hazard doesn’t magically disappear when the calendar ticks over to March 1, it “steadily diminishes as the snowpack consolidates,” said Goodman. He recommends that visitors still bring backcountry and avalanche gear, sunscreen and plenty of water.

“A trip to ski Tuckerman Ravine is a pilgrimage,” he said. “You’re paying homage at a shrine of spring skiing, supplicating yourself before the mountain gods. Show proper respect to the deities and you will be rewarded with a thrilling descent. 

“Get cocky, and you may be unceremoniously humbled, rag-dolling down the Bowl,” said Goodman. “I’ve done both. Trust me — arriving at the bottom while standing on your skis is the preferred way down.”

Oddly enough, Tuckerman Ravine, best known for its abundant snowpack, is actually named for a dedicated scientist who made his name studying all things green. Edward Tuckerman was a botanist who studied alpine flora in the early 1800s. 

“The ravine is basically a sheer rock cliff,” said Lafe Low, a self-describe “Raviniac” from Massachusetts. “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.”

According to New England Ski Museum director Jeffrey Leich, the first person to ski on Mount Washington was a Dr. Wiskott from Germany in 1899. The first person to ski Tuckerman is believed to be John S. Apperson of New York, an accomplished climber, skier and environmentalist from the Adirondack Mountains who visited the ravine in April 1914. Apperson’s descent was the start of something big.

Still, no one went bigger at Tuckerman than Anton “Toni” Matt some 25 years later. In fact, it’s difficult to figure out exactly what was going through Matt’s mind on April 16, 1939, as he veered toward the edge of Tuckerman’s gaping granite maw.

The 19-year-old Austrian, who came to the States just five months earlier to teach at Hannes Schneider’s ski school at Cranmore Mountain, was the third competitor in the third running of the American Inferno race. He launched into the 4.2-mile course from the summit of Mount Washington’s 6,288-foot peak, where winds were gusting at 60 miles an hour, and visibility was sketchy at best. 

“Going over the Lip is a terrifying experience, especially for the first time,” Matt told Skiing magazine in 1964. “Remember, I had schussed from the very top of the mountain, which is at least a thousand feet higher than the Lip, and then made only one turn into the Headwall.

“I was coming into the sudden drop-off at 40, 45 miles an hour,” he said. “That’s not at all like coming in from a dead standstill. It’s more like jumping into a 600-foot deep hole from a speeding car.”

Matt soared over the Lip, and pointed his skis directly downhill, hitting an estimated top speed in excess of 80 miles an hour.

“I had figured on making at least two or three turns while going over the Lip, which, even at slow speeds, feels like going down an elevator shaft,” he told Skiing. “When I got to the top of the Headwall I was moving much faster than I had expected. I knew the Lip was fast and treacherous, and if I made a false move I would take a terrible fall. I figured it would be safer actually to run straight than to turn. So on the spur of the moment, I decided to go all out — to schuss the Headwall.”

Matt’s audacious line was as “extreme” as any run by modern-day daredevils Scot Schmidt, Glen Plake or the late Shane McConkey. He completed the Inferno in just under 6½ minutes, nearly a full minute faster than the second-place finisher, Olympian Dick Durrance.

“Toni Matt’s run on the Headwall is still the talk of skiers whenever racing is discussed,” wrote Joe Dodge in the March 1951 issue of Ski magazine. “He took the Headwall practically straight, with hardly a check at the Lip of the Ravine. Everyone could hear his skis chatter on the ice on the floor of the Ravine before he shot over the Little Headwall and down onto the Sherburne Trail.”

After his mind-boggling schuss, Matt shrugged off the performance, saying he was fortunate to “be 19, stupid, and have strong legs.” Dodge, a Mount Washington legend in his own right, predicted in 1951 that more Infernos would be held, but the race never returned. 

“Anyone skiing over the Lip has to have thought about what that must feel like to straight-line over and just keep going, especially on 1939 gear,” said Hardy. “I’ve always assumed he didn’t know what was in front of him, and once the bottom dropped out, it was just time to tuck and go. That takes some super-human cojones.”

Despite the termination of the American Inferno, skiers and snowboarders continue to make the trek back to Tuckerman every year as predictably as the migrating waterfowl along the Atlantic Flyway.

“I think most extreme skiers find themselves in Matt’s boots eventually, just to a smaller degree,” said Peter Tamposi, a New Hampshire lawyer and longtime Tuckerman addict. “Word is Matt didn’t exactly plan his epic run as it went, but he brilliantly improvised on the fly and let them ride. That’s the hallmark of extreme skiing — try to make it look like you planned it that way, and keep smiling.”

That, of course, is part of the draw. This enormous amphitheater commands respect, and a certain level of awe.

“I have probably skied 50, 60 runs in total in the Ravine, and each one is different and exciting,” said Vaughn Harring of Massachusetts, a Wildcat regular who first skied Tuckerman in the 1980s while attending St. Lawrence University in upstate New York. “I’ve skied through fog, wind, snow and sun, and in fresh powder, bulletproof ice and old, heavy corn snow. I look forward to the trip each year to recharge my psyche.

“If you can sit at the top of Left Gully and look out over the valley and up to the peak and say that your problems, issues or concerns are bigger than anything you see, than you need to adjust your settings,” said Harring.

That’s a rare occurrence at Tuckerman Ravine. Few people come away from this stunning granite expanse unchanged. Most take away memories that will last a lifetime. 

“I remember my first time skiing over the Lip — I was in my 20s, on telemark skis with leather boots,” said Goodman, now 61. “I had heard about how steep it was and was nervous. I wasn’t planning to ski over the Lip, but a guy we met over breakfast at Pinkham Notch said he was planning to ski it and invited us to come along.

“When we reached the Bowl it was enveloped in thick pea soup fog,” he said. “That was perfect — I couldn’t really see how steep it was. All I could do was focus on what I could see, which was about 10 feet in front of me.”

Goodman’s girlfriend and her brother, Bill, were in front, and quickly vanished into the fog, “so I assumed it wasn’t that bad if they hadn’t stopped,” he said. “I made a few jump turns and suddenly there was a long drop between when I started my turn and when I landed.”

“I froze, leaning up against the wall,” said Goodman. “Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Bill lose an edge and take the Headwall in one spectacular sliding fall, vanishing into the mist part way down. I willed myself to continue, skis flying, heart pounding, lungs heaving, and finally arcing big turns on the lower Headwall.

“Each of us was having his or her own little epic, finding a way to break through fear and ski,” he said. “It was a great feeling when we all regrouped at the bottom, laughing hard and sharing tall tales of what happened.”

Like many adventures, the more spine-tingling the experience, the better the tales afterward. Tuckerman Ravine has launched hundreds of thousands of those stories. And will continue to do so, starting anew with this spring.

For more details on Tuckerman Ravine, visit the U.S. Forest Service website at tuckerman.org. ′