Every four years when the Winter Olympics make their appearance, the Lake Placid bobsled course return to mind. Although built for the 1932 Winter Olympics, the birth of the modern sliding sport goes back to the mid-1870s in St. Moritz, Switzerland.
It wasn’t long after that bobsledding spread to Ilion, a village on the Mohawk River in Herkimer County, NY. Blessed with steep hills and wintry weather made the introduction of bobsledding into the local scene a natural fit. In the mid-1880s, Ilionites were so active in bobsledding that they founded the “Ilion Coasting Club.”
“One of the greatest thrills in Ilion during the old-time winters,” mused a reporter for The Ilion Sentinel in 1950, “were the bobsled races down West Hill.” By today’s standards, the sleds of yesteryear were primitive machines. Called “double rippers,” they amounted to a pair of two-bladed runners, connected by a board. A rope-and-pulley system, attached to the front set of runners, provided a means of piloting for drivers.
Simplistic in form and function, the sleds were not constructed in a haphazard, slapdash manner. Instead, bringing the machines to life was “a calculated engineering project,” noted The Utica Observer-Dispatch, “figuring weight distribution, steering mechanism, and the quality of steel for the runners.”
Riders sat on a plank two-inch thick and thirteen to eighteen feet long. Affixed along the top of the sides of the plank were two parallel ropes for passengers to grasp. What amounted to running boards also ran on both sides of the plank. Protruding out a few inches, they provided footrests.
Seated in front was the driver, charged with keeping the downhill plunge straight and safely negotiating the turns. Meanwhile, in the rear was the brakeman, an individual who had to be particularly aware of when and how much pressure to apply in slowing the sled’s velocity going into turns, while at the same time not diminishing forward momentum any more than necessary.
While not part of any one team, “starters” were ready at the top of the hill to assist the heavily laden sleds in making it up to and then over the crest of the hill.
From an aesthetic standpoint, some sleds glammed it up with padded leather seats and nickel-plated metal parts. Most displayed a pennant on a small pole, prominently affixed near the front end and proclaiming the name of their cherished chariot. Among these christenings were appellations such as Red Cloud, Tallyho, Comet, and Nightmare.
Unlike the sleek bobsleds of today, the nineteenth century models look a bit ungainly and rather top-heavy, with often upwards of twelve to sixteen riders crammed along onto the sled. However, in terms of generating speed, what these early sleds lacked in aerodynamics was compensated for by the excessive weight which they carried — the greater the weight, the faster they would go.
For Olympic competition, a bobsled with a four-man crew cannot exceed 1,369 pounds. In a vintage picture, one Ilion sled is seen with sixteen riders perched on its plank.
The individual in front was the driver, and the crew were called “bobbers,” due to the back-and-forth motion sometimes required to move the sled forward off the starting line and heading down the hill. At an average of 150 pounds per rider, that would mean 2,400 pounds of human ballast gathering momentum down the hill!
Given that the gold standard for rapid transit in the 1880s was a train, one who witnessed the sledding, a John Hutchins, understandably described a vehicle’s descent as being at “railroad speed.” Hats flying off riders at various intervals during the downward plunge were judged as a good indicator of a sled’s velocity.
From among several suitable inclines in Ilion, the slope chosen for the bobsled run was West or Second Street hill, a grade which provided a steep descent two-tenths of a mile long. To prime the run, ruts were made in the road’s snow-covered surface, and then water was sprayed over the snow to provide a slick, frozen track.
At the corners of two cross streets — Second and Otsego and Otsego and Main — snow piles were banked and curved to allow the fast-moving sleds to turn ninety-degrees and switch from one street and direction to another.
(While shutting the hill down would constitute a major inconvenience today, around the turn of the century few people lived in the West Hill area.)
Guards with lanterns were strategically placed on the corners of the four roadways — John, West, Morgan, and Otsego — crossed by the sleds coming off the hill. The established procedure called for a guard at the top of the hill to wave his lantern once a sled was ready to go. When he received return waves from each of the corner watchmen, indicating that all was clear, the hilltop sentinel would release a sled.
Since these intersecting roads were open during coasting hours, the precaution of stationing watchmen was necessary to protect cross traffic and pedestrians from collisions with the hurtling sleds. In some spots, burning torches blazed away. In others, strings of colored lanterns contributed a cheerful glow. A set of three electric lights along Second Street advertised the cutting-edge technology of the Ilion Light Company.
From various locations around town, the sight of all the illumination, enhanced by the backdrop of snowbanks and darkened sky, made for a spectacular, surreal, and stimulating scene. Add in the lively sounds of an occasional brass band that showed up to play, and the whole scene had the appearance of a winter carnival.
Crowds reaching into the thousands often lined the course, cheering and clapping with enthusiasm as the sleds came swooshing past. Among those gathered together on one wintry night were “the greybeard grandfather and his ancient spouse, the portly businessman and his smiling wife, the robust fellow and his bright-eyed ladylove, fun-loving boys and rollicking schoolgirls.”
On some nights, 40 to 50 sleds made multiple runs down the icy hill. If all went well, the sleds dropped rapidly downhill, passing through the three intersections. Given that the last roadway — Otsego Street — was a T-junction, successfully negotiating a left turn was a must. To help reduce the speed of hurtling bobs, cinders were spread on the roadway between the last two intersections.
For those riders who leaned left and successfully rode along its banked curve, Main Street was the next turn two blocks ahead. There another snow barrier awaited them at the intersection of Main and Otsego Streets, redirecting the sleds eastward as the bobbers leaned to the right. Some eventually reached Hoefler Avenue.
For successful sledders, completing the entire course meant a ride of over a mile! Based on the clocking of one run they could average about 60 miles an hour.
Given the speeds generated, concerns about safety were justifiable, for spills accompanied the thrills on a regular basis. Spin-outs were possible at any time on the icy run. Sleds were known to tip over, dumping their riders over the slope, with some continuing their downhill journey in all sorts of contorted positions other than seated on the sled.
The bobs were also known to veer off course and head into the crowds of spectators lining route. These unexpected intrusions sent people scattering in all directions. Where turns were necessary, especially the one from Second onto Otsego Street, crashes sometimes happened. In these instances, the sled became airborne. Riders could potentially wind up in a snowbank or the cabbage patch that lays beyond.
Injuries in the form of bumps, bruises, and concussions were an accepted part of engaging in the sport, a price that the youthful riders were willing to pay. Sometimes the mishaps were of a more serious nature. During the winter season of 1982-83, a popular sledder named Russ Clark was hurt, severely injuring his leg.
But the early years of the sledding frenzy fortunately passed without a major mishap. Bumps and bruises occurred, but they were a small price to pay such exhilarating entertainment.
By far the most lamentable incident occurred on Saturday night, February 16, 1884. Even before the racing started, the signs of potential disaster were ominous, as a late winter thaw and freeze had made the hill treacherous.
When a sled named “West Shore” had almost reached the bottom of the hill when its inexperienced driver lost control. At the point where the sled reached a maximum speed estimated in excess of sixty miles per hour, the bob careened out of control and ran into the stone coping of a bridge coming to rest against a telephone pole. The sled broke up on impact, and its riders, numbering about a dozen, were flung in all directions.
All were shaken and many bruised, but otherwise the majority sustained no serious injuries. John Holzer, aged nineteen, was picked up insensible, having sustained internal injuries which proved fatal.
In the aftermath of the mishap, interest in the sport began to wane. A brief revival occurred in the 1920s, but the introduction of automobiles coupled with the expansion
of settlement up onto the West Hill plateau, made occasionally shutting down and icing the slope impractical.
“The fairyland created by colored lights, torches flaming to mark the course, the swing of the signalman’s lantern, and enchanted crowds still remain in nostalgic memory” was the idyllic setting recalled in Ilion’s 1952 centennial booklet.
This essay was drawn from Our Town—Ilion, New York: A Selective Look at 300 Years of History (Vol. III), published in 2024.
Illustrations, from above: Team USA bobsled on a wall, Shauna Rohbock (pilot) and Valerie Fleming (brakes) during their 2006 silver run on Cesana Pariol, Italy; 1932 US Olympic Bobsled Team (Lake Placid Olympic Museum);The Red Cloud bobsled in Ilion NY (Ilion Library); and looking downhill on Second Street, ca 1913.
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