Harkin Banks
12-29-2009, 11:57 PM
As an addendum to my earlier Matt story of his famed run in ’39 (by Joe Dodge), I thought I’d post another from a few years later. Interesting pieces of the puzzle not found in his first recounting, and a nice piece to share for my 700th post!
I Dared the Headwall
By Toni Matt - as told to Bruce Sherman
Skiing Magazine April, 1964 -Vol. 16, No. 6
Back in November, 1938, Harvey Gibson, who owned Cranmore Mountain at that time, brought me to America to teach in Hannes Schneider’s ski school. Actually, Hannes was still being held by the Nazis when I arrived, but he came over four months later.
I had my 19th birthday coming over on the boat, and of course that winter I started racing in this country. I won every downhill I entered during the 1938-39 season, and I even won a few slaloms, too. I never practiced that event, though. I just wanted to go fast.
I won the downhill at the Harriman Cup, then I won the National Downhill Championship at Mt. Hood and then came back east again in the spring. That’s when they held the Inferno Race at Tuckerman’s Ravine.
Everybody in those days was over-awed by the mere fact that the Ravine existed and that you could ski it if you had the nerve. And, of course, even today you can’t ski over the lip at the headwall of the Ravine until late in the year, as lots of snow is needed to cover the cliffs.
I had never seen Tuckerman’s Ravine until the weekend before the race was finally held. I think it was the first weekend of April. The weather was clear when we started up from Pinkham Notch, but when we got to the bottom of the Ravine itself the weather started to sock-in as it so often does up there. We couldn’t even see to the lip of the huge bowl. The race was cancelled because of poor visibility, so we went back down to the valley until the following weekend. When we all started the long climb back up again the weather was clear. It had snowed the night before and conditions were excellent.
The course started right on top – right smack at the summit of Mt. Washington, the east’s highest peak. We actually started on one of the terraces of the old hotel up there, went down through the snow fields on the east side of the cone, then curved to the right, over to the headwall. One gate had been set on top of the headwall to guide us, because if we went too far right or left we would have skied into dangerous crevasses or deadly rocks. That was the only gate on the whole 4.2-mile course.
From the summit’s snowfields, the course extended down the headwall to the floor of the ravine, then down the little headwall and along the Sherburne Trail, which winds through forests, to Joe Dodge’s place at Pinkham Notch.
I had never skied down the headwall nor had I ever been above its rim. I had only skied the Sherburne Trail once on that one weekend before. The day of the race we climbed up over the lip of the headwall, onto the snowfields on the cone-shaped summit. Naturally, there was deep snow and no tracks. We tried to make tracks to follow when speeding down, but we actually didn’t know exactly where we would be going on the way down.
I had number four, and Dick Durrance – we were always the two biggest competitors – had number three. We knew that number one wouldn’t make a straight track and neither would number two, because we knew the temperament of those two racers. Dick, I’m sure, figured that if he had to go ahead of me, I would benefit by following his track, so he fiddled around with his bindings and when his turn came he said he wasn’t ready. Walter Prager, who was the starter and the course setter, looked at me. I was ready to go and he said, “Well, why don’t you go?” I said, “Why should I go? It’s not my turn. It’s his turn.” Instead of letting the minute go and making Durrance run last, he talked me into starting first.
When I left the starting gate I didn’t have any idea that I would dare schuss the headwall. The decision was made on the spur of the moment. Not having ever run the upper part of the mountain before, I had no idea how much speed I would build up or whether I could stand the strain. 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. Then I planned to schuss straight from as high up under the lip as possible. I knew the winner of the race would be the one who shot from the highest point, the runout below the headwall was quite flat. I would need all the speed I could get to carry me across the flat, into the little headwall.
During the race, 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.
End of part one.
I Dared the Headwall
By Toni Matt - as told to Bruce Sherman
Skiing Magazine April, 1964 -Vol. 16, No. 6
Back in November, 1938, Harvey Gibson, who owned Cranmore Mountain at that time, brought me to America to teach in Hannes Schneider’s ski school. Actually, Hannes was still being held by the Nazis when I arrived, but he came over four months later.
I had my 19th birthday coming over on the boat, and of course that winter I started racing in this country. I won every downhill I entered during the 1938-39 season, and I even won a few slaloms, too. I never practiced that event, though. I just wanted to go fast.
I won the downhill at the Harriman Cup, then I won the National Downhill Championship at Mt. Hood and then came back east again in the spring. That’s when they held the Inferno Race at Tuckerman’s Ravine.
Everybody in those days was over-awed by the mere fact that the Ravine existed and that you could ski it if you had the nerve. And, of course, even today you can’t ski over the lip at the headwall of the Ravine until late in the year, as lots of snow is needed to cover the cliffs.
I had never seen Tuckerman’s Ravine until the weekend before the race was finally held. I think it was the first weekend of April. The weather was clear when we started up from Pinkham Notch, but when we got to the bottom of the Ravine itself the weather started to sock-in as it so often does up there. We couldn’t even see to the lip of the huge bowl. The race was cancelled because of poor visibility, so we went back down to the valley until the following weekend. When we all started the long climb back up again the weather was clear. It had snowed the night before and conditions were excellent.
The course started right on top – right smack at the summit of Mt. Washington, the east’s highest peak. We actually started on one of the terraces of the old hotel up there, went down through the snow fields on the east side of the cone, then curved to the right, over to the headwall. One gate had been set on top of the headwall to guide us, because if we went too far right or left we would have skied into dangerous crevasses or deadly rocks. That was the only gate on the whole 4.2-mile course.
From the summit’s snowfields, the course extended down the headwall to the floor of the ravine, then down the little headwall and along the Sherburne Trail, which winds through forests, to Joe Dodge’s place at Pinkham Notch.
I had never skied down the headwall nor had I ever been above its rim. I had only skied the Sherburne Trail once on that one weekend before. The day of the race we climbed up over the lip of the headwall, onto the snowfields on the cone-shaped summit. Naturally, there was deep snow and no tracks. We tried to make tracks to follow when speeding down, but we actually didn’t know exactly where we would be going on the way down.
I had number four, and Dick Durrance – we were always the two biggest competitors – had number three. We knew that number one wouldn’t make a straight track and neither would number two, because we knew the temperament of those two racers. Dick, I’m sure, figured that if he had to go ahead of me, I would benefit by following his track, so he fiddled around with his bindings and when his turn came he said he wasn’t ready. Walter Prager, who was the starter and the course setter, looked at me. I was ready to go and he said, “Well, why don’t you go?” I said, “Why should I go? It’s not my turn. It’s his turn.” Instead of letting the minute go and making Durrance run last, he talked me into starting first.
When I left the starting gate I didn’t have any idea that I would dare schuss the headwall. The decision was made on the spur of the moment. Not having ever run the upper part of the mountain before, I had no idea how much speed I would build up or whether I could stand the strain. 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. Then I planned to schuss straight from as high up under the lip as possible. I knew the winner of the race would be the one who shot from the highest point, the runout below the headwall was quite flat. I would need all the speed I could get to carry me across the flat, into the little headwall.
During the race, 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.
End of part one.