near the hind end as possible; but such a _skee_ is not perfect,
as it is apt to break if subjected to the strain of a “jump” or
a “hollow” in a swift run. The thickness of the _skee_ should be
about an inch or an inch and one-half in the middle, and it should
gradually grow thinner toward each end. Cut the forward end into
a point--not abruptly, but with a gradual curve, as shown in the
drawings. Pierce the middle latitudinally with a hole, about half
an inch in height and an inch or (if required) more in width; then
bend the forward pointed end by means of five sticks, placed as
the drawing indicates, and let the _skee_ remain in this position
for four or five days, until its bend has become permanent, and it
will no longer, on the removal of the sticks, resume the straight
line. Before doing this, however, it would be well to plane the
under side of the _skee_ carefully and then polish and sand-paper
it, until it is as smooth as a mirror. It is, of course, of prime
importance to diminish as much as possible the friction in running
and to make the _skee_ glide easily over the surface of the snow,
and the Norwegians use for this purpose soft-soap, which they rub
upon the under side of the _skee_, and which, I am told, has also
a tendency to make the wood tougher. In fact, too much care cannot
be exercised in this respect, as the excellence of the _skees_,
when finished, depends primarily upon the combined toughness and
lightness of the wood. Common pine will not do; for although, when
well seasoned, it is light enough, it is rarely strong enough to
bear the required strain. The tree known to Norwegians as the fir
(_Sylvestris pinus_), which has long, flexible needles, hanging
in tassels (not evenly distributed along the branch, as in the
spruce), is most commonly used, as it is tough and pitchy, but
becomes light in weight, without losing its strength, when it is
well seasoned and dried. Any other strong and straight-grained
wood might, perhaps, be used, but would, I think, be liable to the
objection of being too heavy.
[Illustration: Side and Face View of Skees, showing Cap and Knob.]
When the _skee_ has been prepared as above described, there only
remains to put a double band through the middle; the Norwegians
make it of twisted withes, and fit its size to the toe of the boot.
If the band is too wide, so as to reach up on the instep, it is
impossible to steer the _skee_, while if it is too narrow the foot
is apt to slip out. Of these two withe-bands, one should stand up
and the other lie down horizontally, so as to steady the foot and
prevent it from sliding. A little knob, just in front of the heel,
might serve a similar purpose. Leather, or any other substance
which is apt to stretch when getting wet, will not do for bands,
although undoubtedly something might be contrived which might be
even preferable to withes. I am only describing the _skees_ as they
are used in Norway--not as they might be improved in America. In
the West, I am told, a good substitute for the withe-band has been
found in a kind of leather cap resembling the toe of a boot. As I
have never myself tried this, I dare not express an opinion about
its practicability; but as it is of the utmost importance that
the runner should be able to free his foot easily, I would advise
every boy who tries this cap to make perfectly sure that it does
not prevent him from ridding himself of the _skee_ at a moment’s
notice. The chief difficulty that the beginner has to encounter is
the tendency of the _skees_ to “spread,” and the only thing for
him to do in such a case, provided he is running too fast to trust
to his ability to get them parallel again, is to jump out of the
bands and let the _skees_ go. Let him take care to throw himself
backward, breaking his fall by means of the staff, and in the soft
snow he will sustain no injury. Whenever an accident occurs in
skee-running, it can usually be traced to undue tightness of the
band, which may make it difficult to withdraw the feet instantly.
A pair of _skees_ kept at the rooms of the American Geographical
Society, New York, are provided with a safeguard against
“spreading” in the shape of a slight groove running longitudinally
along the under side of each _skee_. I have seen _skees_ provided
with two such grooves, each about an inch from the edge and meeting
near the forward point.
There has, of course, to be one _skee_ for each foot, and the
second is an exact duplicate of the first. The upper sides of both
are usually decorated, either in colors or with rude carvings; the
forward ends are usually painted for about a foot, either in black
or red.
[Illustration: Staff with a Wheel that Acts as a Brake]
Now, the reader will ask: “What advantage does this kind of
snow-shoes offer over the ordinary Indian ones, which are in common
use in the Western and Northern States?” Having tried both, I think
I may confidently answer that the _skees_ are superior, both in
speed and convenience; and, moreover, they effect a great saving
of strength. The force which, with the American snow-shoes, is
expended in lifting the feet, is with the _skees_ applied only as a
propeller, for the _skee_ glides, and is never lifted; and on level
ground the resistance of the body in motion impels the skee-runner
with each forward stride several feet beyond the length of his
step. If he is going down-hill, his effort will naturally be to
diminish rather than to increase his speed, and he carries for this
purpose a strong but light staff about six feet long, upon which
he may lean more or less heavily, and thereby retard the rapidity
of his progress. The best skee-runners, however, take great pride
in dispensing with the staff, and one often sees them in Norway
rushing down the steepest hill-sides with incredible speed, with a
whirling cloud of snow following in their track.
[Illustration: Side View, showing Foot in Position.]
Although this may be a very fine and inspiriting sight, I should
not recommend beginners to be too hasty in throwing away the staff,
as it is only by means of it that they are able to guide their
course down over the snowy slope, just as a ship is steered by its
rudder. If you wish to steer toward the right, you press your staff
down into the snow on your right side, while a similar manœuvre on
your left side will bend your course in that direction. If you wish
to test your _skees_ when they are finished, put your feet into the
bands, and let someone take hold of the two front ends and slowly
raise them while you are standing in the bands. If they bear your
weight, they are regarded as safe, and will not be likely to break
in critical moments. In conclusion, let me add that the length and
thickness of the _skees_, as here described, are not invariable,
but must vary in accordance with the size of the boy who wishes to
use them. Five feet is regarded as the minimum length, and would
suit a boy from twelve to fourteen years old, while a grown-up man
might safely make them twice that length.
[Illustration: Under Side and Cross Section of Skee, showing
Groove.]
In Norway, where the woods are pathless in winter, and where heavy
snows continually fall from the middle of October until the middle
of April, it is easily seen how essential, nay indispensable, the
_skees_ must be to hunters, trappers, and lumber-men, who have
to depend upon the forests for their livelihood. Therefore, one
of the first accomplishments which the Norwegian boy learns, as
soon as he is old enough to find his way through the parish alone,
is the use of these national snow-shoes. If he wakes up one fine
winter morning and sees the huge snow-banks blockading doors and
windows, and a white, glittering surface extending for miles as
far as his eye can reach, he gives a shout of delight, buttons his
thick woollen jacket up to his chin, pulls the fur borders of his
cap down over his ears, and then, having cleared a narrow path
between the dwelling-house and the cow-stables, makes haste to jump
into his _skees_. If it is cold (as it usually is) and the snow
accordingly dry and crisp, he knows that it will be a splendid day
for skee-running. If, on the contrary, the snow is wet and heavy,
it is apt to stick in clots to the _skees_, and then the sport is
attended with difficulties which are apt to spoil the amusement. We
will take it for granted, however, that there are no indications of
a thaw, and we will accompany the Norse boy on his excursions over
the snowy fields and through the dense pine-woods, in which he and
his father spend their days in toil, not untempered with pleasure.
“Now, quick, Ola, my lad!” cries his father to him; “fetch the axe
from the wood-shed and bring me my gun from the corner behind the
clock, and we will see what luck we have had with the fox-traps and
the snares up in the birch-glen.”
And Ola has no need of being asked twice to attend to such duties.
His mother, in the meanwhile, has put up a luncheon, consisting of
cold smoked ham and bread and butter, in a gayly painted wooden
box, which Ola slings across his shoulder, while Nils, his father,
sticks the axe into his girdle, and with his gun in one hand
and his skee-staff in the other, emerges into the bright winter
morning. They then climb up the steep snow-banks, place their
_skees_ upon the level surface, and put their feet into the bands.
Nils gives a tremendous push with his staff and away he flies down
the steep hill-side, while his little son, following close behind
him, gives an Indian war-whoop, and swings his staff about his head
to show how little he needs it. Whew, how fast he goes! How the
cold wind sings in his ears; how the snow whirls about him, filling
his eyes and ears and silvering the loose locks about his temples,
until he looks like a hoary little gnome who has just stepped out
from the mountain-side! But he is well used to snow and cold, and
he does not mind it a bit.
In a few seconds father and son have reached the bottom of the
valley, and before them is a steep incline, overgrown with leafless
birch and elder forests. It is there where they have their snares,
made of braided horse-hair; and as bait they use the red berries of
the mountain ash, of which ptarmigan and thrushes are very fond.
Now comes the test of their strength; but the snow is too deep
and loose to wade through, and to climb a declivity on _skees_ is
by no means as easy as it is to slide down a smooth hill-side.
They now have to plod along slowly, ascending in long zig-zag
lines, pausing often to rest on their staves, and to wipe the
perspiration from their foreheads. Half an hour’s climb brings them
to the trapping-grounds. But there, indeed, their efforts are well
rewarded.
“Oh, look, look, father!” cries the boy, ecstatically. “Oh, what a
lot we have caught! Why, there are three dozen birds, as sure as
there is one.”
His father smiles contentedly, but says nothing. He is too old a
trapper to give way to his delight.
“There is enough to buy you a new coat for Christmas, lad,” he
says, chuckling; “and if we make many more such hauls, we may get
enough to buy mother a silver brooch, too, to wear at church on
Sundays.”
“No, buy mother’s brooch first, father,” protests the lad, a little
hesitatingly (for it costs many boys an effort to be generous); “my
coat will come along soon enough. Although, to be sure, my old one
is pretty shabby,” he adds, with a regretful glance at his patched
sleeves.
“Well, we will see, we will see,” responds Nils, pulling off his
bear-skin mittens and gliding in among the trees in which the traps
are set. “The good Lord, who looks after the poor man as well as
the rich, may send us enough to attend to the wants of us all.”
He had opened his hunting-bag, and was loosening the snare from the
neck of a poor strangled ptarmigan, when all of a sudden he heard
a great flapping of wings, and, glancing down through the long
colonnade of frost-silvered trees, saw a bird which had been caught
by the leg, and was struggling desperately to escape from the snare.
“Poor silly thing!” he said, half-pityingly; “it is not worth a
shot. Run down and dispatch it, Ola.”
“Oh, I don’t like to kill things, father,” cried the lad, who with
a fascinated gaze was regarding the struggling ptarmigan. “When
they hang themselves I don’t mind it so much; but it seems too
wicked to wring the neck of that white, harmless bird. No, let me
cut the snare with my knife and let it go.”
“All right; do as you like, lad,” answered the father, with gruff
kindliness.
And with a delight which did his heart more honor than his head,
Ola slid away on his _skees_ toward the struggling bird, which, the
moment he touched it, hung perfectly still, with its tongue stuck
out, as if waiting for its death-blow.
“Kill me,” it seemed to say. “I am quite ready.”
But, instead of killing it, Ola took it gently in his hand, and
stroked it caressingly while cutting the snare and disentangling
its feet. How wildly its little heart beat with fright! And the
moment his hold was relaxed, down it tumbled into the snow, ran
a few steps, then took to its wings, dashed against a tree in
sheer bewilderment, and shook down a shower of fine snow on its
deliverer’s head. Ola felt quite heroic when he saw the bird’s
delight, and thought how, perhaps, next summer (when it had changed
its coat to brown) it would tell its little ones, nestling under
its wings, of its hairbreadth escape from death, and of the
kind-hearted youngster who had set it free instead of killing it.
While Ola was absorbed in these pleasant reflections, Nils, his
father, had filled his hunting-bag with game and was counting his
spoils.
“Now, quick, laddie,” he called out, cheerily. “Stir your stumps
and bring me your bag of bait. Get the snares to rights and fix the
berries, as you have seen me doing.”
Ola was very fond of this kind of work, and he pushed himself with
his staff from tree to tree, and hung the tempting red berries in
the little hoops and arches which were attached to the bark of the
trees. He was in the midst of this labor, when suddenly he heard
the report of his father’s gun, and, looking up, saw a fox making a
great leap, then plunging headlong into the snow.
“Hello, Mr. Reynard,” remarked Nils, as he slid over toward the
dead animal. “You overslept yourself this morning. You have stolen
my game so long, now, that it was time I should get even with you.
And yet, if the wind had been the other way, you would have caught
the scent of me sooner than I should have caught yours. Now, sir,
we are quits.”
“What a great, big, sleek fellow!” ejaculated Ola, stroking
the fox’s fur and opening his mouth to examine his sharp,
needle-pointed teeth.
“Yes,” replied Nils; “I have saved the rascal the trouble of
hunting until he has grown fat and secure, and fond of his ease. I
had a long score to settle with that old miscreant, who has been
robbing my snares ever since last season. His skin is worth about
three dollars.”
When the task of setting the snares in order had been completed,
father and son glided lightly away under the huge, snow-laden trees
to visit their traps, which were set further up the mountain.
The sun was just peeping above the mountain-ridge, and the trees
and the great snow-fields flashed and shone, as if oversown with
numberless diamonds. Round about were the tracks of birds and
beasts; the record of their little lives was traced there in the
soft, downy snow, and could be read by everyone who had the eyes
to read. Here were the tracks telling of the quiet pottering of
the leman and the field-mouse, going in search of their stored
provisions for breakfast, but rising to take a peep at the sun on
the way. You could trace their long, translucent tunnels under the
snow-crust, crossing each other in labyrinthine entanglements. Here
Mr. Reynard’s graceful tail had lightly brushed over the snow, as
he leaped to catch young Mrs. Partridge, who had just come out to
scratch up her breakfast of frozen huckleberries, and here Mr.
and Mrs. Squirrel (a very estimable couple) had partaken of their
frugal repast of pine-cone seeds, the remains of which were still
scattered on the snow. But far prettier were the imprints of their
tiny feet, showing how they sat on their haunches, chattering
amicably about the high cost of living, and of that grasping
monopolist, Mr. Reynard, who had it all his own way in the woods,
and had no more regard for life than a railroad president. This and
much more, which I have not the time to tell you, did Ola and his
father observe on their skee-excursion through the woods. And when,
late in the afternoon, they turned their faces homeward, they had,
besides the ptarmigan and the fox, a big capercailzie (or grouse)
cock, and two hares. The twilight was already falling, for in the
Norway winter it grows dark early in the afternoon.
“Now, let us see, lad,” said Ola’s father, regarding his son with
a strange, dubious glance, “if you have got Norse blood in your
veins. We don’t want to go home the way we came, or we should
scarcely reach the house before midnight. But if you dare risk your
neck with your father, we will take the western track down the
bare mountain-side. It takes brisk and stout legs to stand in that
track, my lad, and I won’t urge you, if you are afraid.”
“I guess I can go where you can, father,” retorted the boy,
proudly. “Anyway, my neck isn’t half so valuable as yours.”
“Spoken like a man!” said the father, in a voice of deep
satisfaction. “Now for it, lad! Make yourself ready. Strap the
hunting-bag close under your girdle, or you will lose it. Test your
staff to make sure that it will hold, for if it breaks you are
gone. Be sure you don’t take my track. You are a fine chap and a
brave one.”
Ola followed his father’s directions closely, and stood with loudly
palpitating heart ready for the start. Before him lay the long,
smooth slope of the mountain, showing only here and there soft
undulations of surface, where a log or a fence lay deeply buried
under the snow. On both sides the black pine-forest stood, tall and
grave. If he should miss his footing, or his _skees_ be crossed or
run apart, very likely he might just as well order his epitaph. If
it had not been his father who had challenged him, he would have
much preferred to take the circuitous route down into the valley.
But now he was in for it, and there was no time for retreating.
“Ready!” shouted Nils, advancing toward the edge of the slope:
“One, two, three!”
[Illustration: NORWEGIAN SKEE-RUNNERS.]
And like an arrow he shot down over the steep track, guiding
his course steadily with his staff; but it was scarcely five
seconds before he was lost to sight, looking more like a whirling
snow-drift than a man. With strained eyes and bated breath, Ola
stood looking after him. Then, nerving himself for the feat, he
glanced at his _skees_ to see that they were parallel, and glided
out over the terrible declivity. His first feeling was that he had
slid right out into the air--that he was rushing with seven-league
boots over forests and mountain-tops. For all that, he did not lose
hold of his staff, which he pressed with all his might into the
snow behind him, thus slightly retarding his furious speed. Now
the pine-trees seemed to be running past him in a mad race up the
mountain-side, and the snowy slope seemed to be rising to meet him,
or moving in billowy lines under his feet. Gradually he gathered
confidence in himself, a sort of fierce courage awoke within him,
and a wild exultation surged through his veins and swept him on.
The wind whistled about him and stung his face like whip-lashes.
Now he darted away over a snowed-up fence or wood-pile, shooting
out into the air, but always coming down firmly on his feet,
and keeping his mind on his _skees_, so as to prevent them from
diverging or crossing. He had a feeling of grandeur and triumphant
achievement which he had never experienced before. The world lay
at his feet, and he seemed to be striding over it in a march of
conquest. It was glorious! But all such sensations are unhappily
brief. Ola soon knew by his slackening speed that he had reached
the level ground; yet so great was the impetus he had received
that he flew up the opposite slope toward his father’s farm, and
only stopped some fifty feet below the barn. He then rubbed his
face and pinched his nose, just to see whether it was frozen. The
muscles in his limbs ached, and the arm which had held the staff
was so stiff and cramped that the slightest movement gave him pain.
Nevertheless, he could not make up his mind to rest; he saw the
light put in the north window to guide him, and he caught a glimpse
of a pale, anxious face behind the window-pane, and knew that it
was his mother who was waiting for him. And yet those last fifty
feet seemed miles to his tired and aching legs. When he reached the
front door, his dog Yutul jumped up on him in his joy and knocked
him flat down in the snow; and oh, what an effort it took to rise!
But no sooner had he regained his feet, than he felt a pair of arms
flung about his neck and he sank, half laughing, half crying, into
his mother’s embrace.
“Cheer up, laddie,” he heard someone saying. “Ye are a fine chap
and a brave one!”
He knew his father’s voice; but he did not look up; he was yet
child enough to feel happiest in his mother’s arms.
One of the most popular winter sports in Norway is skee-racing. A
steep hill is selected by the committee which is to have charge
of the race, and all the best skee-runners in the district enter
their names, eager to engage in the contest. The track is cleared
of all accidental obstructions, but if there happens to be a stone
or wooden fence crossing it, the snow is dug away on the lower
side of it and piled up above it. The object is to obtain what
is called a “jump.” The skee-runner, of course, coming at full
speed down the slope will slide out over this “jump,” shooting
right out into the air and coming down either on his feet or any
other convenient portion of his anatomy, as the case may be. To
keep one’s footing, and particularly to prevent the _skees_ from
becoming crossed while in the air, are the most difficult feats
connected with skee-racing; and it is no unusual thing to see even
an excellent skee-runner plunging headlong into the snow, while
his _skees_ pursue an independent race down the track and tell the
spectators of his failure. Properly speaking, a skee-race is not
a race--not a test of speed, but a test of skill; for two runners
rarely start simultaneously, as, in case one of them should fall,
the other could not possibly stop, and might not even have the
time to change his course. He would thus be in danger of running
into his competitor, and could hardly avoid maiming him seriously.
If there were several parallel tracks, at a distance of twenty to
thirty feet from each other, there would, of course, be less risk
in having the runners start together. Usually, a number fall in
the first run, and those who have not fallen then continue the
contest until one gains the palm. If, as occasionally happens, the
competition is narrowed down to two, who are about evenly matched,
a proposal to run without staves is apt to result in a decisive
victory for one or the other.
It can hardly be conceived how exciting these contests are, not
only to the skee-runners themselves, but also to the spectators,
male and female, who gather in groups along the track and cheer
their friends as they pass, waving their handkerchiefs, and
greeting with derisive cries the mishaps which are inseparable
from the sport. Prizes are offered, such as rifles, watches, fine
shooting equipments, etc., and in almost every valley in the
interior of Norway there are skee-runners who, in consequence of
this constant competition, have attained a skill which would seem
almost incredible. As there are but two things essential to a
skee-race, viz.: a hill and snow, I can see no reason why the sport
should not in time become as popular in the United States as it
is in Norway. We have snow enough, certainly, in the New England
and Western States; neither are hills rare phenomena. If I should
succeed in interesting any large number of boys in these States in
skee-running, I should feel that I had conferred a benefit upon
them, and added much to their enjoyment of winter. But before
taking leave of them, let me give them two pieces of parting
advice: 1. Be sure your staff is strong, and do not be hasty in
throwing it away. 2. Never slide down a hill on a highway, or any
hard, icy surface. It is only in the open fields and woods and in
dry snow that _skees_ are useful.
THE SKERRY OF SHRIEKS.
I.