Episode 12 - Snowshoe Thompson skiing in the Wild West

Skiing was a thing in the Wild West. Snowshoe Thompson, a native of Tinn in Telemark, Norway, introduced skiing to California during the now legendary Gold Rush in the 1850s as he delivered mail and supplies to the gold and silver miners in the Sierra Nevada's as a mailman for Uncle Sam. His skills and ability on a pair of skis became legendary in the Sierras, and Snowshoe became an institution of the era being the only thing connecting the miners from the outside world during wintertime. The Sierra Nevada's and Lake Tahoe in specific are now a world renounced ski area, and it all started with an immigrant from Norway: Snowshoe Thompson. 

Transcript

“Good luck Snowshoe Thompson!!”

Hey there, and welcome back to Ski Heroes! My name is Eivind, and today is Friday September 29th as I’m recording episode 12 from the Ski Lodge in Houston, TX, the skiing capital of the world. 

It’s been about a month since the last episode and I’m glad to report that I’ve been able to improve on the frequency of new episode drops a bit from what the case has been lately. Looking ahead, Halloween is about a month away and last year we had a lot of fun putting together the Halloween special. Or, fun may have to be put in quotation marks as I was honestly getting quite sick at the end of describing one crash worse than the other from the Hahnenkammrennen in Kitzbuehl. But scary it definitely was, and the response to the episode was also quite good so I’m feeling quite inspired to reproduce the success from last year with another Halloween special this year. I already have the topic ready, and I’m anxiously looking forward to starting working on the episode as I’m sure I’ll be quite disgusted at the end of working with this one too. And if I’m feeling super ambitious, I may even be able to squeeze in one more episode between now and Halloween, but we’ll see if we manage to pull that off. In either case, stay tuned! 

Another notable event that happened since last time is that I have finally booked my big ski trip for the winter. Being based in Houston, although the skiing capital of the world, it requires me to travel each time I want to ski. Each winter I therefore do a few weekend trips domestically in the US, and then I do one bigger trip. Before COVID this would typically be a week long trip, but as COVID happened and priorities shifted a bit for a lot of us I decided that life was too short to not at least to a two-week long ski trip each winter as long as health and wallet allows for it. The past two years I have therefore been doing my extended trip to the Alps, and I’m happy to report that I’ll be going back to that region for the second part of February and very beginning of March. I visited the town of Murren in Switzerland for the first time for the Telemark Only festival in 2019 I absolutely fell in love with the place. The past two winters have therefore taken me back to Murren and I’m happy to report that I this winter too will spend a week there. The other week will be spent in Lech in Austria. A much different ski town than Murren, but I have found a freeride group that I will be going with there so I’m quite excited for that. I have already ordered powder for the entire two weeks, and I intend to wash my car and do my snow dances on a regular basis until I leave. 

But enough about me, let’s move on to this episode’s Ski Hero. I randomly came across this story, and I immediately fell in love with it. This week we are headed for the American Frontier in the middle of the legendary California Gold Rush. When I heard about skiing in the Wild West I immediately had to jump on the story, and this story does not come short of any of the more famous Wild West stories from the era. 

Skiing often involves some sort of measurement, usually for either distance, speed, or time, but sometimes also weight and this story is no different. Since the small but nerdy group who follow this podcast come from pretty much all over the world I am always a bit conflicted as to which measurements to use and how often to convert between Imperial units and metric units. For this episode I decided to only use old Imperial units to give the right feel for the time and place the story is set in. So I apologize in advance for that to those of you who use the metric system, but just keep in mind that there are roughly three feet to a meter, roughly two lbs to a kilo, a yard is essentially the same as a meter, and a mile is about 1.6km. 

With that, put on your hat, cowboy boots and your revolver, get out your rye whiskey, get on your horse and let’s head for the Wild West as I give you the story of Snowshoe Thompson!

By the time of his death in 1876, there were few men in the Sierra Nevada mountain range who had not heard of him. An icon of the American West, but not for who he had killed, or which outlaw he had captured. He did not set out to become famous and his fame came undesired. A man of few words, he earned his respect through his actions, his achievements, his perseverance . His story is one of true grit, bravery, effort, and never giving in. It encapsules the spirit of the American Frontier perfectly as settlers moved West across the American continent in the mid 19th century to seek their fortune and pursue their happiness. An era that would later be called the Wild West and which produced legendary names such as Billy the Kid, Jessie James, Wild Bill Hickok, and Wyatt Earp, also produced a story about a Norwegian immigrant who moved West during the California Goldrush and who’s legend became known as Snowshoe Thompson. 

Jon Torsteinsson Rue was born in Tinn in Telemark in Norway on April 30th 1827. As we covered in episode 1, skiing was quite a popular activity in Telemark in the 1800s, both as a means of transportation and also for recreation. Little is known about how much young Jon Torsteinsson Rue skied as a child, but one thing was certain: times were tough in Norway back then. And to make matters worse, when he was two years old his father passed away. By 1837, when the boy was 10 years old, his mother saw no other option than to move him, his two siblings and herself to America to try to start a new and better life. The family made Illinois their first stop, but as the case often was with immigrants of that time they would move around several times before settling down. Indeed, they soon would move to a Norwegian immigrant community in Shelby County the state of Missouri. And in 1841 they left Missouri and moved to Iowa where they lived until 1845 when they moved back to Illinois. As Jon had moved to the New World, he also made a change to his name. An “H” had been added to his first name so it was now pronounced John. And his last name was now Thompson, American for Torsteinsson. John’s teenage years were spent on the prairie of the Great Plains of the Midwest, but he lived as though he was at the frontiersman out West already. In his spare time he would hunt deer and other prairie game, he set traps to catch quail, prairie chickens, and wild turkeys. He was a man of nature from early age, he felt at ease in the wilderness, and nature became his home.  

In 1848 gold was struck in the state of California setting off the now legendary California Gold Rush. By 1851 gold fever came to John Thompson who was now 24 years old and he decided to head West to seek his fortune. To earn his way there, Thompson drove a herd of milk-cows 2500 miles from the Midwest and all the way to California, living like a true cowboy on the way. The trip was no more to him though than it would have been to an indigenous person. He navigated by the stars, fed off the land, and used all of his skills that came so natural to him to safely land him and the herd of cows in California. He first came to the City of Hangtown, a name earned from the numerous hangings that had occurred there. The city later changed its name to Placerville, a much more pleasant name it was thought by the local church community that petitioned the change and we’ll refer to the town by its current name for the remainder of our story. By the time Thompson came to Placerville in 1851 it was the third largest city in California, much due to being at the epicenter of the ongoing Gold Rush. 

As Thompson settled into his new home, he tried his luck as a miner both at the prospects of Coon Hollow and at Kelsey’s Diggings. Life as a gold miner was a rough life, something he did not mind. But he fared poorly in finding gold, just like the vast majority of prospectors in gold rushes usually do and he soon grew tired of the mining life. With the small amount he had managed to save from mining he was able to buy a small ranch in Putah Creek in the Sacramento Valley and he moved there to try his luck as a ranchman. He worked hard on his ranch and made a modest, but consistent living off the land. But he did not feel at home in the valleys. His eyes kept looking eastward toward the mountains and the snowy peaks of the mountain range nestled between the states of California and Nevada known as the Sierra Nevada, Spanish for the Snowy Mountains. 

The 1850s must have been an amazing time to be alive in the Old West. Development was rapid, economic growth was massive, and everyone were set out to seek their fortune. Many now legendary mining camps were set up in the Sierras, but communication between the camps in the mountains and the cities in the valleys was always a challenge, especially during the winters due to the massive snowfall in the Sierras. Supplies were tough to transport, and so was the mail, causing many miners to be locked in the mountains all winter with no means of communicating with or getting supplies from the outside world until the snow melted. To be sure, the Sierras were a force to be reckoned with in the winter time. The story of the ill-fated Donner Party, a group of American pioneers who set out to cross the Sierras in the winter of 1846-47 was infamous in the region amongst settlers and natives alike. The settlers became trapped in an early season snowstorm in November of 1846. As their food supplies dwindled, the party resorted to cannibalism to survive and out of the 87 members of the original party, only 48 were still alive when the rescue crew found them in late February of 1847, almost four months after they got stuck in the snow. 

Late in the year of 1855 as the first snow had started to fall in the mountains, John Thompson was still on his ranch in Putah Creek when he read in the newspaper about the difficulty of getting mail across the summit of the Sierra Nevada’s.  Horses could not make it through the snow drifts which often could measure 50ft deep or more. And men struggled to make headway too, sinking deep into the snow when trying to walk on foot. Snowshoes were known by the Natives, consisting of a net made of leather straps, much like the design of snowshoes today, but even these became inefficient in the deep snow that could fall in the Sierras. 

As John read about the challenges experienced in crossing the Sierras, fate would have it that he was in the middle of cutting wood planks out of oak timer on his ranch. Thompson, still not even 30 years old, had not forgotten about his childhood in Telemark in Norway. And as he kept reading about the difficulties encountered in the mountains, his mind wandered back to his days in Telemark. Although it had been a while since he lived there, he had not forgotten about his roots. All of a sudden the solution to the problem seemed obvious. He would make skis out of his oak planks, much like the ones he remembered from Telemark back when he was a little boy. John made his oak skis, measuring 10 feet long and weighing 25lbs, certainly heavy and a bit clumsy, but they could also carry a man across the deep snow. John was a man standing at over 6ft tall and he weighed over 180 lbs. He was strong as a bull, and with his blond hair and crisp blue eyes he looked like a real Norseman ready to strike. As heavy as the skis were, they would pose no problem to move for a man of his physique. Regardless, he was too eager to try out the skis to waste any time trying to make a new and lighter pair of skis. So he immediately headed for Placerville, his old mining camp, to try the skis out on the snowy hills around the town. Placerville was also the principal mountain town of the Old Emigrant Road, the road which thousands of emigrants had traveled from its origin in Independence, MO to SF, CA. And this was also the road that mail from east to west was carried on. Once the mail had reached Placerville, it had to be distributed to the various settlements and mining camps around the Sierras. 
 While in Placerville, John eagerly practiced on his new skis. Initially he kept away from folks, but he quickly grew confident on them and did not fear being seen on what would be the first pair of skis ever introduced in the Old West. With a balance pole in his hand he dashed down the mountainsides at speeds thought to be fool-hardy amongst those who saw him. Some miners begged him to take his skis off as they feared he would break his neck. In fact, they didn’t know what skis were, they called them snowshoes instead as that was the only thing they could relate them to. But John just laughed at their fears. With his feet strapped to the skis and the balance pole in his hand he felt as home dashing down the side of a mountain as a bird soaring to the sky. He was ready for his next adventure. 

On January 3rd 1856 John read an advertisement in the Sacramento Union newspaper: “People lost to the world: Uncle Sam needs a mail carrier!” He immediately answered the ad and accepted the job as a mail man, delivering mail across the Sierras during winter. His first trip would be the same month, delivering mail from Placerville to Carson Valley in the Sierras, a distance of 90 miles. The previous three mailmen had fared poorly when trying to embark on this mail route. Two of them had frozen to death, and a third one was assumed killed by Natives. Odds were not in favor of John Thompson as he strapped the bags of mail and supplies to his body and set out on the journey. A large crowd formed as he set out from Placerville. “Good luck Snowshoe Thompson!” a little girl in the crowd yelled to him as he left town. And the nickname Snowshoe immediately stuck. 
 Across snowdrifts measuring 30 to 50ft of depth, Snowshoe’s skis carried him safely across the Sierra Nevada mountains, down to Carson Valley, and then all the way back to Placerville again. Having demonstrated his skis and his ability, he immediately became a necessity for the region being the first person who could now dependably connect the mining camps which were otherwise isolated during the winter with the outside world. Through him was kept up the only land communication between the Atlantic States and California during winter time. Snowshoe proceeded to make the 180 mile round trip two to four times per month for the remainder of the winter. 

At Snowshoes time, the paths and passes through the Sierra Nevada’s were little known. And a person familiar with the few paths that existed across the mountains during summertime would become lost in the midst of winter as deep snow covered any traces of the roads used for horses and wagons. But Snowshoe was not lost. By day he was guided by the trees and rocks, my night he navigated by the moon and the stars. The  nature was his compass as he safely navigated the Sierras night and day, through cold crisp nights and snowstorms alike. “I cannot be lost” he once said, and he said so in a very natural non braggadocios manner. It was simply a fact. 

He carried a minimum of food with him, usually just some beef jerky and biscuits. And to travel as light as possible, he carried 60-100 lbs of mail after all, he never brought water. Instead he drank from creeks where and when he could. And when he couldn’t, he melted snow for water to quench his thirst. He wore a floppy hat with a wide brim and a lightweight Mackinaw coat. He covered his face with charcoal to protect against the blinding glare from the snow, much like American football players do today. And he did not carry a rifle or a gun as this would add unnecessary weight to his pack. On his back he had strapped the mail bags and other supplies for the miners and settlers in the Sierra mining towns of Genoa, Virginia City, Carson Valley, and Truckee.  He also carried ore samples to have them analyzed in Sacramento for miners to understand what they had on their claim. In 1859 the mining pioneers Peter O’Reilley and Pat McLaughlin were prospecting in the Six-Mile Canyon, near the town of Virginia City when they ran into some heavy blue material which they could not understand.  Snowshoe was summoned and he carried a sample of the ore with him to Placerville where he showed it to professor W. Frank Stewart, a well known geologist and mining expert. He immediately recognized the sample as silver, and the silver ore was of the highest quality. The news broke immediately. The discovery, which came to be known as the Comstock Lode would set off the largest rush of prospectors to California since the 1849 Gold Rush. For Snowshoe, this was welcome news I suppose as it meant he would not be out of business anytime soon. His mining days were behind him and he had no interest in switching out his skis for a pick, pan, and shovel. He was now the Sierra mailman, and there was no more meaningful profession for him. Through night and day he safely navigated the Sierras on his skis. The 90 mile trip from Genoa to Placerville would usually take him about 48 hours. When he was hungry he ate, if he needed to sleep he created a provisional bed of branches under the open sky, or under a tree. He always built a campfire to keep him warm, and when he slept under a tree, he always made sure to find a leaning tree in case his camp fire lit the whole tree on fire so that he knew which direction it would fall. Were blizzard conditions severe enough to where he could not build a fire or find a place to sleep, he stayed warm through the night by dancing Norwegian folk dances. And when the sun rose the next morning, he would continue onwards on his journey. Never once did he get lost in the mountains. Never once did he lose a letter. Once he even carried a kerosene lamp to the door of an elderly lady so that she could see better during the night. He was an honest man; in fact he did all the work just about free of charge. More on that later. 

People often gathered to marvel at his skiing skills as Snowshoe came into a new town. His homemade 10ft long oak skis did not allow for much maneuvering so straight-lining became the preferred method for Snowshoe to make it down a mountain. It’s been said that he once traveled 1600 ft in just 21 seconds, recording a staggering 52 mph average while carrying a heavy mailbag on his back. As he straight-lined down the steep side of the valley, he threw the mailbag he was carrying off at the bottom once he hit the mining town, and used the momentum and speed he had gained to transport himself up on the other side of the valley. Steady as he could be, he held his balance pole in front of him and skied straight down the side of a mountain. He rarely fell, and he never hurt himself. He was the first skier in the Sierras, and he did not come second to his relatives back in Telemark in Norway when it came to skill and ability. Once while entertaining some settlers with his skiing skills he recorded a jump of 180 ft.

The fact that he didn’t carry a gun came as a surprise to many when they found out. Being a man of few enemies, Snowshoe certainly did not need one to protect himself against other humans. Through his countless trips across the Sierras he never saw a Grizzly bear once, although he regularly saw fresh tracks from them. Wildlife and animals did not scare him, with one notable exception. It was in the winter of 1857 as he was crossing the Hope Valley he all of a sudden came upon a wolfpack of six great timer wolves who were hard at work digging a carcass of some animal out of the snow. The magnificent animals stopped their business immediately as they felt Snowshoe’s presence and all of a sudden six wolves were starring him down. It was quite a sight to stumble upon for sure, and the position of the wolf as a ferocious beast in Norwegian folklore only added to the massive fear he all of a sudden felt. The wolves left the carcass they had been working on and instead slowly approached Snowshoe in a single line until they were at a distance of about 25 yards away from him. The leader of the pack then sat down at his haunches, then the next one came up and sat down besides him, then the next and so on until they were all seated in a straight line, like trained soldiers. Snowshoe was scared like he had never been scared before and he swore he could see the devil reincarnated in them. The look of them gave him cold chills, and what frightened him the most was the shear confidence they displayed. They just knew that they had him outnumbered and that they were in charge. There was nothing Snowshoe could do should they decide to attack. But he dared not show how scared he was. His whole life he had heard that wolves only attack if they sense fear and if a pray is trying to run away from them. So he stood there as calm as he could be and looked back at the wolfpack. And just as they were starring each other down, the leader of the pack threw back his head and uttered a loud and prolonged howl. And the rest of the pack echoed him back. Oooh ohhh ooooh!!! The sound echoed through the valley. It was the most terrific sound Snowshoe had ever heard, but he also thought it meant his death. Any moment now he expected the pack would make a run for him. He slowly started to move diagonally from them, never turning his back toward them. As they saw that their war cry did not scare the man or cause him to alter his course, they let him go. For some time they stayed in their position and watched him as he slowly moved away from the pack. And then when he was far enough away they returned back to their carcass. If it worked or not we will never know, but for the rest of his life Snowshoe was convinced that his show of courage was what saved his life that night. Had he tried to run away they would have attacked him immediately, he thought. 

Aside from this one time, Snowshoe was never frightened in the mountains. But many other men were. Through his 20 years as a mailman across the Sierra Nevada mountains he came across many a lost traveler. Some said they got confused after fresh snow had covered familiar trails and landmarks. Others lost their sense of direction in the deep canyons. One time Snowshoe came upon a miner who for days had tried to leave his simply constructed mining hut in Lake Valley only to end up at the same spot in the evening as he had left that very morning. Day after day he had gone out, but ended up walking in circles each time. After four days his physique was getting weaker and his mind was losing hope when Snowshoe found him. “He knew nothing about the course of the prevailing winds, about trees and rocks, or about the stars in the heavens, not to speak of the formation and configuration of the mountains” he would later recall. But fortunately for the poor miner, Snowshoe knew the mountains like the back of his own hand and he safely guided the miner out of Lake Valley and down from the mountains. 

Perhaps his most famous rescue was when he saved the life of prospector and trapper James Sissons. During a mail run through a heavy snowstorm right before Christmas in 1856 Snowshoe needed some rest and he entered what he thought was an abandoned cabin where he would halt for the evening. To his surprise, the cabin was not empty, inside was a man who called himself James Sissons, and Sissons was freezing to death. His boots were frozen to his feet. His fire was out as he had burned all of his wood and was unable to get more. He had almost run out of food and for 12 days straight he had survived on raw flour as whoever had abandoned the cabin had left some behind. He was injured and out of energy. He was suffering from gangrene on both legs, and he was planning to amputate his legs below his knees using a hatchet that was in the cabin. The pain he suffered must have been unbearable, but he never once cried or complained. He was prepared to die, but was praying to live. And just as he was about to give up hope, Snowshoe Thompson walked in to his cabin. As Snowshoe assessed the situation he quickly realized that Sissons was too large and too injured for Snowshoe to carry him on his back. The only way to rescue the man was to find some help. He first supplied Sissons with enough water for a few days and whatever little food he had left in his pack, and then he headed for Genoa. Once in town, he quickly assembled a rescue team of volunteers. They made a provisionary bed, kind of like a stretcher, to carry the man on, and set back for Sissons. By the time they got to the cabin, Sisson’s condition had worsened. They quickly loaded him up on the stretcher and carried the man back to Genoa where a doctor examined him and determined that his two gangrenous legs would have to be amputated so that he could live. But there was still a big problem, the doctor had no chloroform which is what physicians used back then to make patients unconscious before a surgery. Without the chloroform the surgery would have killed Sissons and the nearest supply was back over the mountains more than 100 miles away in Sacramento, California. Snowshoe wasted no time. He grabbed his skis and immediately set out for the mountains, crossing the Sierras in record time, made it down to Placerville and then off to Sacramento for the chloroform. Once he had obtained the chemical he went back to Placerville, strapped his skis back on, and went straight back to Genoa without stopping a single time. Both of James Sisson’s feet were amputated, but the man lived many more years thanks to Snowshoe Thompson. 

Were the rescue of James Sissons the most famous one, the most celebrated person to be rescued by Snowshoe was adventurer and multi-millionaire Elias Baldwin. Baldwin had made his fortune building hotels and theaters in San Fransisco and Los Angeles, and has also built the Santa Anita thoroughbred horseracing park. Reading about Baldwin, he kind of strikes me as a Richard Branson of the Old West. In the winter of 1859 Baldwin and two companions had set out for the mines of the Sierras to dig for gold and silver. Not so much for the money as Baldwin had plenty of it, but he wanted the mining experience and the excitement. And excitement he got, perhaps far more than he bargained for. As the party was working their way through the Sierras, snow began to fall and their trail disappeared. As the snow increased in intensity they could no longer see their own tracks behind them either.  To make matters worse, they had only packed one blanket, and as they found shelter under a tree they realized they also only had three matches. If the key to success is being prepared, they were nowhere near being able to succeed. They gathered what they could find of twigs and limbs for firewood and were eventually able to build a small fire. But the weak flame was nowhere near warm enough to keep them from freezing and the three adventurers snuggled up under their one blanket and waited to freeze to death. As the party went missing, people in nearby mining town Strawberry, CA got worried. And as their worry grew, they sent word for their friend Snowshoe Thompson to go look for them. Snowshoe swiftly grabbed his skis and headed out in the snowstorm with course for the mountain. He eventually found the missing party about 8 miles outside of Strawberry and at that time they were just about half frozen. With chattering teeth they drew straws of who would get to go first. Baldwin’s companion Howard got to go first. He put his feet on Snowshoes skis and wrapped his arms around his waist and off they went, sliding into town. Although half the trip was downhill, the other half was climbing back up, making it a 16 mile round trip. Going down to Strawberry was a quite quick affair, it took Snowshoe a while to climb back up to the provisory camp to fetch the remaining men. As the remaining two started to lose hope, Snowshoe all of a sudden greeted them with his cheery “Hello!”. And by the end of a very long night and early morning, Snowshoe had made all three round trips, rescuing all three miners. A 48 mile journey in total. Skiing back to town with each of the miners, Snowshoe certainly did not hold back and he also did not look out for corners. With his balancing pole held in front of him he straight-lined down the mountain with the passenger holding on for dare life. Baldwin would later say: “I have covered ground in many ways in my life. From an elephant’s back in India and a jinrikisha in Japan to the fastest coach and eight horses in Californina. But that ride on the back of Snowshoe’s skis was the most exciting one I ever had in my life!”. 

Despite not carrying a gun in his daily work, of course no story from the Wild West would be complete without some trigger action. As hundred of thousands of miners moved West during the gold and silver rushes in California during the mid 19 century, Native Americans were severely impact as they got displaced from the land they had inhabited for centuries. Conflicts often occurred between the settlers and the Natives, and the clash of cultures sometimes erupted in violence. In May of 1860, war broke out between the white settlers and the Paiute Tribe. and as a member of the local militia Snowshoe fought under the command of Major William Ormsby. On May 12th Ormsby’s troops including Snowshoe Thompson were attached by the Paiutes at Pyramid Lake. The Paiutes, severely outnumbering Ormsby’s men, had no trouble fighting off the settlers. Of 105 men who went to battle under Ormsby, 76 were killed and several more severely wounded. Snowshoe Thompson found himself in the thick of the fight and he was right by Major Ormsby when he fell. His own horse was shot from underneath him and he was forced to retreat on foot. He would later recall of the retreat that “I pledge you my word, that more than once did I wish all the valley was buried in snow and I was mounted on my skis”. As he ran away from the fight a horse ran after him and the frightened animal stayed close to Snowshoe as if it was seeking some sort of protection. The horse was all saddled and bridled as its owner had fallen in the fight. Thompson jumped on the horse and miraculously got away from the fight unscathed. He would never fight in another battle again. Instead he headed back to his home in the mountains and his calling of delivering mail through the Sierras in wintertime. 

Starting in 1856 and for 20 years Snowshoe Thompson delivered mail and supplies to miners and settlers in the Sierras. But change was coming. The Central Pacific Railroad was under construction and soon anyone with a few pennies to spare could buy a ticket on the train and cross the Sierras safely in almost any weather. While the railroad was being built, Snowshoe helped deliver mail from Cisco, CA to the track workers at Meadow Lake City. The seemingly magical mailman would continue to capture the attention of adults and children alike as he came into town on his skis with his balance pole in front of him and his mailbag strapped to his back. During the harsh winter of 1867 and estimated 3000 travelers and track workers were stranded all winter at Meadow Lake City. Their only means of communicating with the outside world was Snowshoe Thompson who steadfast and reliably continued to deliver their letters from home. He was not a wealthy man, but he lived a rich life. He even got married and had a single son, Arthur Thomas Thompson. And as one can expect, young Arthur learned to ski from his father as soon as he was old enough to walk. In 1868 the railroad was completed. Snowshoe kept about his business delivering mail and supplies to isolated mining camps and pioneer outposts in the hills, however; the need for his services were no longer what they once were. Perhaps it was time to finally get paid for all the hard work he had put in over all these years? The postmaster in Placerville that he had worked for all these years had never received an official approval to hire him. Thompson had taken the job on a handshake agreement, trusting that the federal government eventually would do the right thing. During the years of 1868-72 Thompson tried to get compensated and even went to the trouble of traveling to Washington DC, the young nations capitol, to petition his case for congress. With the support from the Members of the Nevada and California Legislators and a petition signed by over 1000 of his grateful friends, neighbors and postal customers, he felt had a strong case. He even felt the meeting with the congressional committee in DC went well and he was in a good mood as he traveled back to Genoa to wait for the news about their decision. Unfortunately, it would be news that never came. Despite all the support he had for his case, the Senate failed to act on the request. Without a contract he could not enforce his claim for payment. The figure he was owned was $6000 dollars, about $150k I today’s money. Snowshoe was beaten. Once the news arrived, the locals of his community instead collected money and gave to Snowshoe and his family. They knew what an indispensable role he had played in their lives. As physically strong as he was, kindness was his greatest strength. The Genoa postmaster spoke for many when he said that Snowshoe Thompson was the most remarkable man he had ever met. He must be made of iron, but he never thinks of himself. Rather, he’d give his last breath for anyone else, even a total stranger”. On May 15th 1876 Snowshoe Thompson died from appendicitis, a condition that is easily treatable today, but that was a death sentence back then. He was only 49 years old and still at the peak of his life. At the time of his passing there were many skiers in the Sierra Nevada mountains, but Snowshoe was the first. He was the true father of skiing in the Old West. He was buried in the town where he had finally settled down, Genoa, NV in the Sierra mountains he had loved so much.  To ordinary men there may be something terrible in the wild winter storms that often sweep through the Sierras, but Snowshoe was no ordinary. The louder the howling of the gale rose, the higher rose his courage. Where every other man may be lost as the storms increased in strength, Snowshoe Thompson felt at home for he was in his element. He is still home, for he rests among the snowy peaks of his beloved mountains, where the pine trees grow and the canyons are carved out by avalanches. A most fitting final resting place for Snowshoe Thompson! 

I used two primary sources for this episode, the book Snowshoe Thompson Sierra Mailman by John L. Smith, which was a part of the Fields of Silver and Gold series. And then I used an absolutely amazing newspaper article from 1886 which was printed in the Overland Monthly & Out West Magazine. I read about this article in the book about Thompson and I was amazed when I found that the University of Michigan had actually gathered all the old issues of the Overland magazine and it was available openly on the internet. Although times have definitely changed since 1886, some of the ways native Americans are described in the article did not exactly stand the test of time, it was an absolutely amazingly well written piece about Snowshoe Thompson and I would recommend you look it up if you’re interested in reading more about Snowshoe. 

In addition to my sources, I also need to give a big shoutout to Flynn for the amazing intro as she doubled for the little girl in the crowd who forever gave Snowshoe his nickname!

Throughout the story I also decided to let the story be the story and not let facts get in the way of it. As with most tales from the Old West, I’m sure the story about Snowshoe Thompson also grew taller for each time it was told. The story of him jumping 180ft, 55 meters on his heavy 10ft oak skis in the 1860s I highly doubt, but the story of it is amazing nevertheless! 

I hope you end enjoyed this episode. It was a lot of work putting it together, but I enjoyed every minute of it. What a time to be alive that must have been. And yet, I am so thankful to be alive in 2023 and not 150+ years ago. 

Reading about how Snowshoe navigated through the Sierras also brought back a memory for me. When I was in the Norwegian Army we one time had an exercise on how to navigate using a map and a compass. My engineering brain was very focused on doing this as precise and accurate as possible. But my team-mate that I was paired up with was of the Sami people which of course is the indigenous people of Norway. And he must have been much more used to being outside in nature than me, cause he would take one look at the map, look at the trees, look at the stars and find the posts each time without even taking a single look at the compass. Reading about Snowshoe navigating in a much similar way brought back a good memory from my otherwise not so fondly remembered soldier days. 

As mentioned, I’m planning to do a Halloween special again this year, and with a little bit of luck there may even be another episode released before that too, we’ll see. The fall is here, and the winter is right around the corner. Many places in the Northern hemisphere have seen the first snowfalls already. To ensure the snow keeps coming, you know what you gotta do until next time.