| Karl Andresen
A Pioneer
For All Seasons
This Citizen Has The Spirit By David E. Weiss The voice on the other end of the phone line was distinctive and by now familiar – no one else had an accent quite like that. There will be no attempt here to duplicate that sound; the printed word can't possibly do justice to the dulcet
Norse tones which said, "There will be just a few housewives like yourself."
 The recipient of this persuasive call was a 43-year-old mother and first-year skier who had never entered any kind of race or competitive event in her life; but in a few hours, having been sweet-talked by a convincing ski zealot; she would be
skiing in the initial Eau Claire Fridtjof Nansen Cross Country Ski Race. Never mind that a female visitor, whose abilities vastly exceeded those of the "few housewives" present, finished far ahead of the local women.
The man with the Norwegian inflection may have been guilty of a slight error of omission, but on that February day in 1974, he gave birth to one of Wisconsin's oldest ski races. Well, it has been said it is easier to forgive a few transgressions
if the transgressor is interesting. And on that premise alone, Karl Andresen is easily absolved.
The previous winter, skiing in the first American Birkebeiner Cross Country Ski Race, Karl Andresen had become one of the founders of America's most famous marathon skiing event. Presently, he is the oldest of only six people remaining from the first Birkie who have covered the distance each year for the past 27 years in the annual contest. But
a description of Andresen relating only to skiing and the Birkebeiner would deny savoring the full spectrum of the person.
This true Renaissance man was born in Oslo, Norway, and was raised in Drammen. Arriving in the U.S. in 1947 as a 23-year-old Iowa college student, he had $15 in his pocket, a small suitcase with one change of clothes, and the garb on his back. But the young immigrant, who would eventually locate in Eau Claire, Wis., owned talents unseen by
superficial observation. Honored university professor, family man, skier, canoe and kayak paddler, sculler, college soccer coach, runner, storyteller, hiker, human rights champion – these are only some of his activities over the years. It is not the purpose of this article to detail his accomplishments; simply told, he has achieved much – except for one thing. After all this time, he has not gained a pound of weight on his slim 5'8" frame.
Personifying warmth and humor, Andresen is entertaining – and sometimes unpredictable. Underscoring those qualities, there was a time when it seemed as if his wit had exceeded the limit. One late afternoon, he and this writer had driven to an unfamiliar river in northern Wisconsin to practice for a canoe race. The sun was setting as we concluded our workout, car-topped our craft, and hungrily looked for a place to eat. Sweaty, disheveled, wet and wild-eyed, we
entered a roadhouse at the edge of some woods in the descending dusk. As the solitary bartender nervously eyed us, Andresen demanded, "Quick, a hot beef for my partner and me! We have just escaped from the penitentiary and the dogs are following us!"
Wondering if I would be staring into the barrel of a loaded gun, I was relieved when the proprietor eventually saw the humor of my buddy's remarks and served us our hot sandwiches. Another time, while canoeing a race in eastern
Wisconsin, we had been told the finish was at "the bridge." As a bridge finally came into view, another canoe was dead-even with Andresen's canoe, matching stroke for stroke. A frenzied bit of paddling followed, only to find that the race did not end at that particular span and the competition was still at our side.
Over the next four miles, three more bridges appeared, and at each an all-out battle with the same opponents resulted at
the assumed end of the race. After the fourth bridge, the true finale was spotted: a dock about 100 yards downstream. One more time Andresen and his tired partner gave their all and, completely spent, crossed the finish line practically in tandem with their tenacious adversaries. A friend shouted to us from shore, "You won by a foot!"
From the stem of our canoe a unique voice intoned, "It was unnecessary to expend so much energy. We still had 11 inches to spare!"
But genuine character has substance which transcends fun and games. When Andresen was a university political science professor, he was once asked to introduce the late George Lincoln Rockwell, the American Nazi Party leader, at a university forum. Repugnant memories were still vivid for Andresen during World War II, he had been marched down the street, an enemy gun at his back, in his hometown in Nazi-occupied Norway. He despised the Nazi ideology, but his
courageous advocacy for freedom was epitomized when he introduced Rockwell saying, "The true test of freedom (of speech) is to be willing not to silence ideas we abhor." That inspiring deed attracted acclaim from across the nation.
For skiers, the first snowfall brings wonder and excitement. Years ago, Andresen wondered why his beloved pastime of cross country skiing had not caught on in the Midwest. In the winter of 1973-'74, he began to remedy that problem by
organizing a cross country ski club, composed of a few children and two or three adults, who skied in self-made tracks. The club gradually grew in size and presently the Eau Claire Ski Striders boasts a membership of over 300 people from west-central Wisconsin and the region.
Because of Andresen's initiative, in the 1970's the Eau Claire County Parks and Forest Department developed some
wooded trails east of town. After further efforts from Ski Strider members and county personnel, the site is now one of the finest cross country skiing areas in the Midwest. And when the snow arrives, the founder and past-president of the club is seen almost daily on the county ski trails of Tower Ridge where he trains for another Birkie.
The Birkebeiner has become a focal point of his life. He and his wife, Helen, own three time share units at Telemark
during Birkebeiner week. That week is a time of joy, anticipation, and togetherness – a community kind of thing – in spite of some sleep-deprivation for Andresen. Family and friends, a tad more caring than usual, surround him as he awaits his yearly test.
Last year, a few hours after the race's start, rising temperatures disintegrated the initially firm course, and for a
75-year-old who skis entirely classical style, this spelled trouble. To make things worse, several thousand skiers had preceded him over the route, obliterating the parallel tracks. After almost seven hours and hurting all over, he was in ice water over his boots as he attempted to cross the slush on the lake near the finish. As always, summoning every ounce of remaining energy, he willed his depleted body across the lake to the finish line where a crowd greeted the exhausted
founder. A radio microphone was thrust near his chin and a reporter asked, "How was it out there?"
Undaunted and irrepressible, the oldest Birkie founder's reply beamed over the airwaves, "A piece of cake!"
Some day the inevitable will occur, and Karl Andresen will no longer ski the Birkebeiner. When that time comes, whoever is in charge of the race will hopefully retire the honored No.1 bib he has occasionally worn. But for now, the
steadfast founder plans to make February's millennium event his 28th consecutive Birkie.
There will be upwards of seven thousand skiers joining him in this quest for the Holy Grail of American cross country skiing, which has now become part of the nation's, as well as Wisconsin's, winter heritage. Three weeks before he skis the 51 kilometers from the Cable airport to Hayward, Karl Andresen will turn 76. And speaking of heritage, 76 is especially symbolic for a spirited citizen.
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