Until recently there seemed to be things I thought were accepted as somewhat of a “truth”. However, a recent trip to Steamboat Gulch sledding hill outside Idaho City has me questioning this. The event had me wondering about my own sanity but also whether or not I should reach out to leading climatologists, scientists or activists. You know those smart people. Folks like Greta Thunberg and the like that have all the answers. I was truly that disturbed by the whole experience.
First I should explain a little background so you can understand where I am coming from. I lived in Sturgis, Michigan between my fifth grade year and until half way through my junior year of high school. These were my formidable sledding years. Our house was on the corner of Cottage Street and S. Nottawa St across from Holy Angels Catholic Church and School. Just down S Nottawa St was Oaklawn Terrace Park. From my memory and perspective as a young man, Michigan had legendary winters. If you like snow, it is definitely one of the states to live in. Getting acclimated to the climate takes time but there is an upside. I distinctly remember playing in the snow in shorts and winter coat when the temp reached the 30’s because that “felt” warm.
Now Oaklawn Park was my brother and my self-prolcaimed domain. The park is split by a few drives. The portion sort of in the middle from our house had a huge U-shaped pit. The deepest portion of it was near Nottawa St with a steep decline to the bottom from the road. On the southern corner of the pit was a section known as Dead Man’s Hill. The entire portion of the hill had a brief drop with a flat area wide enough for one person to walk followed by another drop. Dead Man’s Hill had the most pronounced flat area and pitch. This was the site of many epic launches. The western portion had a long incline from the bottom of the pit toward houses. This was perfect for gentle long sledding. Kids would sled down these hills from all sides which created somewhat of an obstacle course.
As kids, my brother and I reigned supreme on the hills because we were armed, I mean equipped, with our Dad’s Flexible Flyer sled. He still has it today in fact. If you are not familiar with this little dandy piece of equipment allow me to indulge you. The Flexible Flyer is an elegant combination of steel and wood with movable runners controlled by a forward steering bar that could be controlled by your feet or hands. When you moved the steering bar it would flex the runners one side to the other causing the sled to turn while in motion. This made it a perfect choice for avoiding others. In addition, if you used a bar of soap and ran it down the runners you could increase its speed downhill.
Considering the construction of the Flexible Flyer there was no padding or added comfort. You either went down head first holding onto the steering bar or attempted a sit with feet firmly planted on the bar and rope in hand. Flights down Dead Man’s Hill were always best head first. I honestly don’t ever remember making it down all the way sitting. The reason was simple, once you hit that flat spot you didn’t touch the ground again for some time having been launched airborne. Keeping your seat was near impossible, something about the effects of weight and gravity over distance. While in the moment, lessons of Sir Isaac Newton were far from your mind and cursing like a sailor seemed more appropriate as you waited for a reunion with the Earth again. Sledding as a kid at Oaklawn Park was the highlight of winter as a kid. I remember the fun we had and never walking away hurt or even sore the next day. Keeping this in mind, on the news I saw a story about some folks in Idaho City stepping up to keep the tradition of sledding at Steamboat Gulch alive with quick work applying for the correct permits. I looked over at my wife and could tell she thought the same thing as me. We should go. The Treasure Valley, where we live, is basically a high desert. We are surrounded by mountains and we only get an average of 12” of precipitation on the valley floor each year. Sledding is hard to do with a dusting of snow that melts away quickly.
On New Year’s Day, we made the trip up with our daughter to Steamboat Gulch. We were glad it wasn’t overly packed, paid our parking fee and quickly found a place to park. We got out our plastic sleds and made our way through the parking lot to the sledding hills. Several groups of parents and kids had small campfires going and were trying to warm up as we ascended. The similar sounds of laughter and the familiarity of memories crept into our adult heads. We found one section of hill that had fewer sledders and decided that was where we would sled for the day. We didn’t suspect anything was wrong or amiss.
My wife and daughter went down first with ease and relative comfort. I joined in on a few easy runs some of which wound through the woods making for a cool experience. The hours went by climbing the hill, waiting our turns, taking pictures and having a good time. Toward the end of the day, I made one more run. As I mentioned earlier, we had plastic sleds. So unlike the old Flexible Flyer there is no steering. The evening had started to cool things down a bit and some ruts had definitely begun to set where earlier the snow was a bit more pliable. As I started my run after waiting for the inner-tuber to clear out of the way nothing seemed off. Then as if possessed my sled begins to steer somewhat to the right. At the pitch of the hill and the speed of which I was already moving I could tell I was headed right for a mound of snow that an Olympic snowboarder could get some decent air with. As the sled hit the mound, I instinctively laid out in the sled to avoid impaction of my tailbone. If I had many fillings they might have been loosened by the impact.
Now as I was sort of snapping back into reality, I don’t know if it was the bank of other fathers standing 30 yards away yelling and applauding at my wipe out. If it was the 30 something mother who ran over saying, “Oh my gosh, are you okay?” Or if a 44 year old 200 plus pound man just did something really stupid. But the defensive, obviously in denial, thought was, “when did snow get so hard?” The fifth grade me would have walked away from this unphased and racing back up the hill. The nearly fifty year old me was pretty sure the next morning I was going to be sore and maybe bruised.
So, does anyone have Greta Thunberg’s email address, cause I have a question about the effects of climate change on snowflakes?
- L. Yarbrough, Bucks & Beers
