Winter was always a magical time of the year, a dazzling break from the stark reality of everyday life in the valley. The Silver Valley, as the mining area in northern Idaho is called, where I was raised, was quite a desolate landscape. It has undergone a wonderful renewal after the smelters closed. However, while I was growing up, the hills that ringed the valley were devoid of trees and most vegetation as a result of the acrid smoked belched out 24/7 from the lead and zinc smelters in the valley. The river ran a murky white, filled with the poisonous tailings that the mines and smelters indiscriminately dumped into them.
Entertainment to the valley often came in simple but novel ways. Summer activities differed markedly from winter activities Every summer the local communities came together and held “The Lead Creek Derby”. What an apropos name, named after the look of the river for which the competition was named. One afternoon, in the middle of the summer, during the annual valley summer festival, folks from the valley gathered along the bank of the South Fork of the Coeur d’Alene river. From their river side perches the folks watched a giant air filled ball, maybe 6 feet in diameter, float from the town of Wallace to the last bridge crossing the river at the equally small town of Kellogg. The ball had no chance of sinking as the river ran like thin gray pudding from the waste that was in it. Bets would be placed before the float began its sluicing down steam. A dollar ‘donation’ was all that was needed to have a guess entered into the competition. The trick was to guess how long the ball would take to make its journey. The person placing the lucky bet would win what would be considered in the valley a king’s ransom in cash – maybe $500.00. Oh, what I could have done with that kind of money back then.
But winter, what a welcome relief. The whole valley seemed cleaner, renewed in some way. The hills were often covered with feet of perfectly white snow. In contrast to the main valley that ran the length of The Silver Valley, the area harbored smaller, protected valleys, or draws, as they were known by the locals. There, trees and vegetation would abound. During the winter months the trees in those draws were often heavily laden, branches bending downward with the weight of the pure white powder. Little Pine Creek draw, at the mouth of which the Ross family house stood, was one such paradise.
Winter provided a whole new set of activities that could occupy the free time of the kids of the valley. Few kids actually skied, most couldn’t afford the skies, the transportation to the ski slopes nor the lift tickets to get you to the top of the ski runs. Only the city kids from Kellogg or Wallace managed to acquire skis. The majority of us valley dwellers centered our winter activities around sledding on all sorts of contraptions. Some of ‘sleds’ might actually look like those one would find in the Sears Christmas catalog. Most, however, were home-made gadgets that bore little resemblance to an actual sled, large unfolded cardboard boxes, pieces of aluminum advertised as ‘space saucers’, and occasionally a multi-person toboggan would come on the scene. The main criteria for a good sledding device was that it would allow the rider, or riders, to go careening down the side of the hill at breakneck speed with the objective of seeing which sled and rider could travel the furthest on any one try – distance sledding if such a competition were to be named.
Now, a favorite sledding device, when sledding in groups was desired, was the hood off the engine compartment of an old car. They acted much like a toboggan but with little or no ability to steer them in any way. Early models of Plymouth cars had excellent hoods as they had a perfectly designed snub nose. The car hood would be turned over and as many as a dozen kids would pilein it a one time, and head off down the hill never really knowing where the ride would end. I think the local record was 14 riders. Now that was the starting number, rarely did 14 make it to the bottom of the hill inside the hood. When the car hood came to rest at the bottom of the sled run, one could often look back up the hill and see bodies scattered along the whole of the course.
The Ross hill was the local favorite sledding venue. The sled run would start high up on the side of the hill behind the Ross house. The upper portions of the sled run were the remnants of an old logging trail that we used to skid trees down as we harvested them to fuel the remodeling of our house. The upper portion of the sled run was notorious for gaining speed, at times uncontrollable speed. About half way down the side of the hill the sled rider would approach what locals called ‘the bench’. The bench was a broad flat meadow in the summer but a welcome respite for the sled riders to get back in to some semblance of control before flying off the edge of the bench for the final run down into the yard of the Ross’s house. The lower half of the sled run was known for two innocuous looking features, but woe to the unwary sled rider that did not heed the warnings of the locals about these hidden traps. First, the sled run made a long gentle seemingly innocent dog leg curve to the left continuing down the hill and into the Ross yard. However, if the curve was not negotiated with expertise, taking in to account the speed developed on the upper half of the run, sled and rider would end up in Little Pine Creek which lay as a trap for the unsuspecting, and the joys of sled riding would be cut short by soaking wet cloths. In addition to this dangerous curve, hidden under the innocent covering of snow on the sled run, lay two gentle, but at times fatal, rolling – I guess the best description would be – rolling bumps. In nearly every case as one negotiated these ‘bumps’ you would always ‘catch a little air’. However, if speed was ones only intention from the upper part of the run, then ‘catch a lot of air’ was the consequence of the bumps. When one is in the air, all control is lost, and frequently the rider would simply fly over the low raised barriers on either side of the run – and welcome to Little Pine Creek. As one undoubtedly has ascertained, Little Pine Creek was the common denominator for the unskilled sled rider.
With expertise and aplomb, the sled ride, however, might not end in the Ross yard. The gate at the far end of the yard would be routinely be fixed open and the lucky riders could continue through the gate, into the field that lay in front of the Ross house. If enough speed had been gained on the upper reaches of the run the rider could continue out the far end of the field onto an ice slickened side road of Pinehurst – Maple Street. Maple Street was a notorious street in town for Hookey Bobbing. More will be discussed in a later missive about the joys ‘Hookey Bobbing – the bane of all parents and the boon to the local dentists.
By avoiding on-coming cars and with a little luck the rider could continue to the intersection of the side street with the main road running up the valley in which Pinehurst lay – nearly a mile from the start of the run. It was truly only the adventuresome and those with nerves of steel that would allow such speed to be attained on the upper reaches of the sled run that would allow them to continue the full length of the unofficial course. Those that made it to the end would gain ownership of bragging rights that would clearly last through winter and well into the next spring.
Sledding days – most frequently Saturdays 0 would start in a very prescripted way. About midmorning, kids from all over the neighborhood began heading for Ross hill, sleds in toe. On top of the sleds would be piled pieces of wood stolen from their father’s precious winter wood supply or old car tires that, when finally light, would burn for most of the day. Essential to a good sledding experience was a warm fire around which to stand, thaw out, and of course, talk, let’s say brag, tell stories and re-live winters past and sled runs and speeds that had been written into the unofficial Silver Valley records books. The fire would always be positioned on ‘the bench’. The bench was the ideal spot for rest and recuperation as it was about half way back up the hill to the top of the run.
The contestants all had similar dress. Most sported hand knit snow caps, mittens or gloves, the latter of which were uniformly inadequate at keeping your hands warm. Hand-me-down coats under which one could find home knit sweaters that somehow were just slightly too short to reach the wearers waist, jeans with long underwear hidden beneath and finally, black rubber overshoes often completed the ‘sledding look’. You remember overshoes. Rubber boots that were worn over shoes. Ones pants would be tucked inside the overshoe to keep the snow from flying up your pant legs. The one unfortunate design flaw of rubber overshoes was that the buckles that secured them closed would more frequently than not become frozen over the course of the day. This made them nearly impossible to get off without a period of thawing in the utility room once you ventured inside your house.
Skimming just inches above the cold frozen snow, cold air and powdered snow blowing into your face and eyes, occasionally blinding driver, the snot in your nose freezing as you hurtled down the side of the steep sled run could be exhilarating and at times terrifying. Invariably snow would find its way down the neck of your coat if it was not closed tightly adding to the ‘thrill’ of the run.
Competitors could ride as singles or doubles. Single person sledding allowed a bit better control over the sled thus making it more likely you would avoid a dip in the creek. However, control came at the cost of slightly slower speeds and distances – speed and distance, after all, were the two real goals of sledding. For the adventuresome, double person sledding was undertaken. One competitor would lie on top of another on the same sled. Double teams were often made up of family siblings. With every bump the bottom sledder would have the wind knocked out of him and simultaneouly be crushed by the top rider. It only made sense, then, that often an older larger brother would be the bottom sledder, and the slightly thinner brother or sister would be the top sledder making up the family duo.
As the day wore on, the drudgery of pulling a sled clear back up to the top of the sled run became too much of a task for many sledders, and the riders began looking for a exciting diversion from the typical sled riding. Almost in an organic way, the sledders would start looking for the infamous car hood. It seemed that one would have found its way to Ross Hill sometime earlier in the morning with the arrival of the competitors. Car hood sledding would not start at the top of the run where the sled riders would begin, but because the logging path was just wide enough for a conventional sled a separate launch point would be chosen. The car hood sledders would frequently launch from the bench. There were two distinct advantages of launching from the bench. One, it made it unnecessary to haul the sledding device way back up the hill but returning the car hood to the bench did take a team effort and a long rope. Also, it was important not to go down the same run as the sleds as this would destroy the immaculately groomed sled run. The car hood sledders would launch from a position significantly to the left of the sled run, thus making sled riders happy and well as decreasing the likelihood of ending up in the creek.
Car hood sledding was not without its perils however. The inability to steer the car hood would occasionally end the riders into the side of one of the many outbuildings around the Ross House. Not infrequently, because of the total lack of control of the car hood, the riders would find themselves, soon after starting their ride, turned 180 degrees and heading backwards down the slope, a precarious direction at best. But one of the most concerning features of car hood sledding was inability to hold on to anything to keep you inside the hood on your ride down the down the hill side, except perhaps, the poor soul who was sitting beside you.
Remember the two “rolling bumps” that featured prominently at the beginning of this story. Well, they were there, awaiting the unsuspecting car hood sledders as well, just as they had lain in wait for the intrepid snow sledders. The consequence of hitting the ‘bumps’ in a car hood at just the wrong angle or just the wrong speed could be just as disastrous as on a snow sled, but in very different ways, as my twin brother Scott was to experience one winter afternoon.
The day started much the same as past sledding days. A fire had been lit and sledders has made their way up and down the hill multiple times experiencing the joys of speed and comradery. The afternoon was wearing on, sledders were becoming weary of the treck to the top of the sled run. “We found one, we found one” rang out, and joy of joys, the sledders had found a perfect car hood. In fact, it was actually a car hood that the Ross’s kept stored behind the wood shed for times just like this. A crew of sledders had attached a length of rope to the front of the hood and had labored to drag it up to the edge of the bench. Hands were warmed, spirits were high, and nerves were steeled as often happens when a bunch of boys are gathered. It was time to choose positions in the car hood. A chorus of voices started the chant, “put the twins in the front, put the twins in front”. Oh my god, we thought, as Scott and I looked at each other, in the front again! If they only knew how terrifying it was to sit in the front positions of the car hood. For some odd reason some actually felt that these were positons of honor. However, with the passage of time, I just wonder if this was not some ‘pay-back’ for sins we had committed over the prior year.
Well, there we were, Scott and I crammed into the pointed upturned nose of that old Plymouth car hood. Behind us, 3, and then another 4 sledders piled in. I remember Jimmy Wilbur and at least one more Wilbur brother, the 3 Hei brothers, our older brother Mike was there someplace as well. Of course, before we were really ready, a couple by-standers gave us a hearty push and we were off. Down the hill we went completely out of control and for some reason it seemed, faster than on prior occasions. Almost in unison Scott and I said, “sh**, we are going to fast”, we were speeding toward the bumps at incredible speed. We hit the bumps, and yes, we caught air, we caught a lot of air. Catching air was not something one wanted to do in a car hood. The car hood went up, up, up. A few of the riders were ejected immediately. This left extra room to flop around loosely in the partially emptied sled. Unfortunately, as we came back down, Scotts left arm came down ahead of the car hood and found an unwelcome place underneath the hood. We continued down the hill, Scotts arm under the hood being rotating as we went.
At the bottom of the hill we both climbed out of the car hood and, Scott holding his arm against his body went straight in to the house and right upstairs to our bedroom. I followed after him. I helped him get out of his sledding cloths and when we got to his shirt his elbow was so swollen that we couldn’t get his shirt off. Crying, he kept saying, “don’t tell mom, don’t tell dad”, but I think we both knew they would both find out sooner or later and something needed to be done right away.
Dad was just arriving home from work, so I went downstairs and told mom that I thought dad should look at Scott’s arm. My dad was never one to show much emotion or compassion, but when he walked into our bedroom very little was said. He had seen plenty of broken bones on the farm or as a shift foreman at the smelter. He simply took Scott into his arms and said, “well we better go to the hospital and see what we can do about this”. Enough said, off we went, and for the next 8 weeks Scott sported a cast that as a badge of honor. Unfortunately, the elbow that was broken was in his writing arm so I ended up taken notes in class and helping him with his homework.
I can say, the story of his injury became a bit of a legend, remember by everyone as other brave souls ventured down the hillside in a car hood, always be reminded how it all could end.
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