The unthinkable happens
as the Birkie cancels By Mitch Mode 
| Jerrold Schneider, Rice Lake, at the starting area on Birkie morning.
Schneider set off on his 51K trek in a wave by himself at 8:20 a.m. After finishing his ski, Schneider was awarded the laurel wreath and commended by Cherie Morgan, executive director
of the American Birkebeiner Ski Foundation, for being the first and the last skier to complete the 2000 Birkebeiner.
Hundreds of Birkie supporters cheered his efforts. |
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When the board of directors of the Johnson Bank American Birkebeiner gathered in emergency session at 3 p.m. on the Friday before the race, the fate of the 28th American Birkebiener was still very much undecided. In spite of an unseasonable thaw, the trail
was holding up surprisingly well. Representatives of the board had snowmobiled the race course from 7:30 a.m. until nearly noon. There was not a bare spot on the trail during their inspection. There was a strong feeling in late afternoon, with the start of the race less than 18 hours away, that the race could go on as scheduled.
Under sullen February skies skiers had gathered for the race. They'd driven and flown, through rain and fog and
spring-like warmth, and now in the drawing of evening they waited the board's decision. They were not optimistic.
Less than a week earlier there seemed to be not a care in the world. A storm left up to eight inches of snow on the trail and conditions were exceptional. Skiers throughout the Midwest found local trails in superb condition on the weekend prior to the race. North to south, east to west, the snows had come, the trails were groomed and skiers were hitting their peak. It was
arguably the best weekend for skiing they had enjoyed in several seasons. Add to that the mild weather and it was a weekend to remember.
The weekend's warmth continued into Monday, a day of exceptional beauty with clear blue skies and temperatures that soared into the 50s. In downtown Hayward the streets ran with snowmelt. People on Main Street lounged in the warmth of the late February
sun. There was some concern, it is true, even early in the week. The forecast called for warm temperatures with a chance of showers midweek. But the Birkie trail was in great shape, and whoever believed the veracity of a long-range forecast? A friend of the editor of this magazine e-mailed him and stated his belief the that forecast alone guaranteed favorable weather for the weekend, given the low percentage of accuracy for the long-range forecast.
Then on Wednesday morning the temperature in Hayward rose from an overnight low in the high 20s, broke through the 32 degree barrier and started the chain of events that would lead to the canceling of the largest cross country race in North America for the first time ever. From Wednesday morning on, the temperature stayed above freezing for the rest of the week and scattered rains moved in. Nobody yet knew it, but the race was in serious trouble.
Still, the word from the course on Thursday morning was that there was enough snow. They shortened the race, with the finish set for Duffy's Field, but only to keep people off the lake. The snow in the woods, sheltered from the warmth and groomed through the season, was holding up well.
But the accumulated effect of the daytime thaw – of overnight temperatures that did not drop below freezing, and of rain and fog and wind – all was beginning to undermine the integrity of the snowpack.
Snow-melt is accelerated when it does not freeze at night; a firm base begins to soften. Given enough time, thaw becomes a voracious beast with an insatiable appetite for snow. The beast was loose in the woods of the Birkie trail. And it was hungry.
There was growing concern in the Birkie community as Thursday wore down.
On Friday morning there was a major announcement: The race was still on but shortened even more. It
would now run to the Korteloppet finish area, a duplicate of the 1998 event. Part of the reason was the deterioration of the course, specifically in the last few kilometers between Rosie's Field and Duffy's Field; part of if was the logistics of transferring finishers at Duffy's field. But a major consideration was more serious; the increasing difficulty for medical people to reach the race course. Medical teams and first
responders count heavily on snowmobiles and four-wheelers for transportation, and the softening snow was making them ineffective. Reliable access of medical teams, a necessity in any race, was becoming a problem.
If you take them at their word, and there is absolutely no reason not to, the shortened course was in race condition through Friday morning and into the early afternoon. Then the rain moved into the region and things all went to hell.
They've had an enviable record at the Birkie. Throughout the Midwest, indeed across the continent and even worldwide, marathon races have been cancelled due to bad weather. But not this race. Through temperatures both too warm and subzero, through years of abundant snow and years of drought, through the good and the bad and the average of February in Wisconsin, the Birkebeiner has run as scheduled, with
two exceptions. Nearly 20 years ago the temperature climbed into the 60s and monsoon-like rain drenched the trail and washed away any hopes of a race. The race organizers rescheduled the race for two weeks later though nobody truly believed they would get enough snow to make it happen. But they did. A freak blizzard blanketed the area with snow, moderate temperatures kept it there, and the race ran on the makeup date.
And of course two years ago, ironically the only time the race was a week earlier from the appointed date of the last Saturday of February, unseasonable thaw forced a decision to shorten the race. Other than that it's been on schedule, come hell or high water.
By Friday afternoon, the high water was back. Heavy rains and snowmelt accumulated in pools at the bottom of some downhills and in the start area. Workers carried pumps to the problem areas and put them
to work in an attempt to drain the newly formed ponds. They will, in this race, do everything humanly possible to put it on. But things were moving beyond their control.
The start and first few kilometers were a mess, with slush and standing water. Someone suggested moving the start from the airport onto the trail system at Telemark, bypassing the problem areas. The Telemark system was in the woods, sheltered from the worst. Could it provide a workable solution? But the trails
were too narrow and after some discussion the idea died. Volunteers worked feverishly on that dismal afternoon to save the original start area. It rained off and on as they labored.
In the hallways and rooms at the reopened Telemark Lodge, once again the hub to the race, the air was heavy with rumor and speculation. Skiers stood in disbelief as the rains came down and the temperature
held in the 40s. Normal prerace talk of wax and tactics was absent. All talk was about the weather. As the afternoon wore on, rumor spread that the race was in danger of being cancelled. An emergency meeting of the board was announced for 3 p.m. A final decision would be made regarding the race. The once unthinkable was becoming a possibility.
The meeting was by no means a mere formality to cancel the race. Even at that late hour there were strong
advocates for the race being held the next morning. The atmosphere was charged with emotion. Nobody involved wanted anything more than for the race to go on. In the meeting room at the Johnson Bank in downtown Hayward positions were stated and rebutted and stated again. Questions filled the air as options were debated. Would the course hold up? The elite skiers might be alright but what about the later waves,
what about the skiers in wave five and later? What was the forecast? Still rain? Could support be provided at feed stations? Could the course be groomed? Would there be a stride track? Could the race provide adequate medical assistance for those skiers who would certainly need it? And really, Could the race course hold up under another night of above freezing temperatures and rain?
Increasingly the safety concerns expressed by medical support began to carry the day. There was no way,
they felt, that they could provide timely assistance for both minor as well as major injuries. What if, someone wondered, we had a heart attack out there? What if it was life or death situation? Could we get machines and personnel in to any place on the course?
After further discussion a stalemate of sorts developed. Several people headed out to inspect the trail while the rest of the group headed back to Telemark Lodge to meet them. A final decision would be made after
the trail was checked one more time.
At 3:45 p.m. the website of the Birkie announced the race was on for 23 kilometers. Many observers were stunned, incredulous at the news. But in truth the decision was far from final. The bulletin was an ill-timed repeat of the mornings announcement, misleading at best.
Four o'clock came and went; four-thirty, five o'clock. In the world outside the lodge, skiers waited, radios
tuned to the official stations, computers turned on and checking the website, phones alive with questions, questions with no answers.
Darkness came early on that heavy, gray late afternoon. On the muddy roads that crossed the race course, cars drove cautiously on the final inspection. What that small group found late on the gloomy Friday afternoon shocked them. In the few hours since they had last visited the course, conditions had deteriorated
dramatically. Now there were bare spots, mud, ice and slush where that morning had been snow. It became apparent that the course was no longer in condition to race.
When they walked into the meeting room at Telemark, faces drawn, shaking their heads, words were not needed. The decision was finally clear. Shortly after 5:30 in the evening the official announcement came: The race was cancelled.
And so the word went out to the far-flung, to the faithful and the hopeful and the optimistic and the skeptical. There would be no race this year. The unthinkable had become reality.
The gloom of that heavily overcast night never seemed darker with those words. A year's worth of work, a season's worth of training, expectations, hope and trepidation, all dashed, all gone in the dark of Friday evening. Night settled in like a heavy, wet blanket across the northwoods.
Later in the evening fog lifted, wraithlike, from the snow, like the spirit of winter giving up the ghost.
Saturday morning dawned clear and startlingly bright. By midmorning the parking lot at OO had perhaps 75 cars; an hour later, even more. The trail was filled with skiers, many wearing their race bibs, some in shorts, some in sports bras and T-shirts – an acknowledgement of the unseasonable warmth. They skied there
because it was the last Saturday of February and the only place they cared to be was on that sinuous trail that runs from Telemark to Hayward. They skied there because it was the right thing to do, as if to do so would somehow bring closure to it all. And they skied there to see, for themselves, what the trail was like.
What they saw in certain places was a skiable trail well-covered and a joy to ski. But what they also found
was mud and dirt, rock and grass, a trail that was fine for a late-winter playful ski but a trail that was in no way suitable for a race. Skiers who had started at Telemark reported a grooming machine bogged down and ineffective in soft snow, a silent reminder to all who saw it of what could have happened should an emergency taken place during the race and aid have been required. If there was anyone on that trail who
thought the race should have been held under those conditions they were, at best, in the very small minority.
There are longtime residents of the north who say they've never seen snow disappear as fast as it did between noon on Friday and Saturday. And there are some who said that race should be moved earlier, maybe just a week. But the reality is that it was not a week that stood between having the race and not
having it; it was a mere 24 hours. In that span the heavens conspired. In that span the hopes and the dreams of everyone connected with that wonderful race were dashed. In that short span, in that critical time, the rains came and washed it all away.
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