Sledding: It's all downhill from here

An unusual little book came across my desk the other day. Unusual in the fact that although it's brand new, it purposely was designed to look old, with a simulated worn binding and cover, and yellowed pages.

It's an odd marketing technique, but it worked because it made me look inside. Nostalgia apparently was the ploy, but I'd have inspected it anyway because of its title: "The Sled Book: Notes Concerning Winter's Favorite Pastime."

Finally, a sports book I can relate to. It's written by Colorado sled maker Brice Hoskin, so it's purely self-serving, but it contains plenty of colorful trivia, like the history of the legendary Flexible Flyer and which movies contain sledding scenes.

It may be a stretch to call sledding winter's favorite pastime these days, but it certainly was the winter sport of choice in northern Minnesota during my prime sledding years in the 1960s. We lived on a hill with a wide-open pasture that sloped down to a swampy area. It was the perfect sledding hill.

Sledding was a weekend staple. From December to mid-March we wiled away our spare time traipsing up and down that hill. Toboggans and snow saucers were our favorites because the traditional Flexible Flyer, with its slatted seat and metal runners, never worked well in our deep snow.

We sledded backwards, forwards, lying down and standing up. To this day I can still remember how the fresh snow would bite into your cheeks after a wipeout. And with dare-devil brothers taking the lead, there were plenty of wipeouts.

It was important to steer clear of the barbed-wire fences. Those who didn't paid the price with nasty scars.

There's a chapter in the sledding book called The Virtues and Benefits of Sledding Etiquette, in which the author notes that "Sledding hills are managed chaos. Well, maybe just chaos." One of the non-negotiable rules, Hoskin said, is to avoid all other people when you're sledding downhill, "even if it means rolling off your sled and sending it into the woods." My brothers never heeded that rule.

After two or three hours, when our pant legs were crusted in ice and we couldn't feel our faces anymore, we'd trudge indoors where Mom would make us hot chocolate from scratch and "real" popcorn with actual butter. I know it sounds like something out of "Leave It To Beaver," but it was an idyllic, carefree time in my life and I loved it.

When I had kids of my own, I carried on the sledding tradition. When we lived within Whitefish city limits, Riverside Park and a real steep slope off Park Avenue were our favorite spots. The Park Avenue site has since been developed with houses.

Then we moved west of Whitefish, where our house abutted the Stillwater State Forest and all of its glorious trails and slopes. By then, inflatable sleds, reminiscent of inner tubes, were in vogue and I personally liked the extra padding more than the speed they provided. Keep in mind that I've deviated my tailbone twice in my life from sledding mishaps.

By the time we moved closer to Whitefish five years ago, our daughters had moved on to other pastimes and sledding was history. I kind of miss it.

In these days of alleged global warming, it's not easy to be a sledder, but do. Hoskin's book contains a snippet about "No-Snow Sledding."

"Why let the lack of snow keep you from sledding? It can be truly delightful to rocket down a slope in the middle of summer," the author imparts.

He suggests using blocks of ice on grassy slopes, a sport that entertained the crowd at a Hintze cousin's graduation party in Idaho one year. Grandma Eva was the hit of the party as she straddled an ice block, splaying her feet and hands and hamming it up for the crowd.

Hoskin also suggests sledding on cardboard boxes on hot, dry days. Not sure about that one.

If we don't get some snow soon, I could be talked into getting some ice blocks. I just need to make sure my brothers aren't around.

Features editor Lynnette Hintze may be reached at 758-4421 or by e-mail at lhintze@dailyinterlake.com