We’ve been talking about snow—this may yet be a good year for it—and some snowbound California history, as in the Donner Party. We head up the road this week to combine those two topics again, history and snow—toPlumas-Eureka State Park near Graeagle in Plumas County, home to the annual Historic Longboard Revival Race Series.
The sponsoring Plumas Ski Club descends in spirit from the “right honorable 1861 Onion Valley ‘Snowshoe’ Club.” If you seek outdoor adventures of a more pedestrian kind, come as an observer. Skiing on longboards is, shall we say, pioneering.
Picture it: Contestants, male, female, young, and not-so-young, deck themselves out in 19th-century winter attire, including bulky fur coats and billowing woolens. They strap themselves onto very long wooden skis or “longboards” with nothing more than leather strips to hold boots to the boards. Then the daredevils lunge straight downhill. Going straight is essential, because these long, skinny skis—sometimes 15 feet or longer—do not turn.
Success is all in the dope, longboarders say, “dope” being the 1850s term for secret-recipe homemade ski wax. If you don’t have your own dope, you can get some at the race.
But after achieving lightning speed—Cornish Bob, a famous longboard champion, once flew down the slopes at 88 miles per hour!—you do have to stop. That means almost sitting on your ski pole, which—when there’s plenty of powder—creates an impressive “rooster tail” of flying snow out behind. (Fellas, if you aren’t careful applying the brake, you’ll soon appreciate the nickname “soprano stick.” Women rarely complain.) Complicating competition still further is the alcohol, a central concern since the races began. Imbibing is almost mandatory, in keeping with tradition; safety helmets and goggles, however, are not allowed.
Skiing was introduced as winter transportation in remote northern Sierra Nevada mining camps in 1853. Ski racing as sport came in 1861, with the first organized downhill races held at Onion Valley, between Quincy and La Porte. Members of the local ski club and the officiating E Clampus Vitus chapter here will tell you that this is where competitive downhill skiing started in the western hemisphere. They also say local mining buckets, which otherwise carried gold quartz to the stamp mills below, served as the world’s first ski lift , when miners grabbed on going uphill.
These days, you walk up the hill—little more than a bunny hill—carrying your skis, and then shove off when the gong sounds, the gong being a suspended saw blade. Count yourself a champ if you stay upright and achieve even half the speed of Cornish Bob! Thankfully, even losers can win: There is always a prize for the most spectacular crash. Back in the day, champions got up to $1,000 in prize money, which even in the high-inflation economy of the gold rush was a whole lot of money. Today you’ll get about 50 bucks in gold, a slap on the back, and maybe a pull off someone’s flask. Races are scheduled this year (2019) on one Sunday in each winter month: January 20, February 17, and March 17.
Whether you go or not, remember, in these difficult times, to embrace the high moral standards of those first, brave, long-ago longboard racers: No spittin’, and no cheatin’
