An Extraordinary Mountain Man

A visit to Nevada inspired this article. A whimsical side-trip to the little village of Genoa just outside of Reno uncovered some little known facts (to me) about the Frontier Days of the old West.  The tiny village of Genoa boasts of having the oldest continuous operating saloon west of the Mississippi.  It was also a way station for the Pony Express, and  Eastern terminal for twenty years for an extraordinary mail carrier named SnowShoe Thompson.  The Western terminal being Placerville, California. He was quite a character.  Genoa still has no street lights.  His story follows:




         History reveals a strange phenomenon. When and where extraordinary people are needed, they are sure to appear. As the Wild West opened to pioneers from the East, a man named John A. Thompson made his appearance.

         Born Jon Torsteinson-Rue on April 30, 1827 in Tinn, Telemark, Norway, he immigrated to America with his mother when he was ten years old.  His mother changed their last name to Thompson, which was much easier on the American tongue.

         In 1851 Thompson, now twenty-four years old, along with his older brother, were bitten by the ”gold bug" and made the journey from Missouri to the gold fields of Placerville, California.

         In California, Thompson and his brother soon discovered that mining for gold was not for them.  They had to earn money to eat so they took on odd jobs. They decided to buy a milk cow with the idea of making cheese to sell to the miners. Though they tried their best, the enterprise failed. One day in 1855, John read an advertisement in the ‘Sacramento Union’ newspaper:

                             PEOPLE LOST TO THE WORLD
                             UNCLE SAM NEEDS CARRIER

         The U.S. Postal Department needed someone to carry mail from Placerville, California to Genoa, Utah Territory (later to be divided into the Utah and Nevada Territories)  Nobody wanted the job. Those who tried gave up because of the difficulties encountered during the extremely harsh winters in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. It took sixteen grueling days to make the round trip.  Sometimes the pack horses froze to death in the bitter cold.

         Thompson thought about it for a few weeks and determined this was just the sort of challenge his Viking spirit of adventure would enjoy. He knew he could travel over the snow on something he called “snow skates.”

         Today, these “snow skates” are known as skis. John fashioned his own skis from oak.  They were much longer, wider, and heavier than today’s sleek lightweight version.  Instead of ski poles, Thompson used a long wooden rod, holding it for balance like a high-wire artist.

         As a child, John had seen men use these “snow skates” in the rugged mountains of Norway.  He learned to ski at an early age.  But at age twenty-five, he hadn’t skied in many years.  He decided to move to Placerville, California where he could practice on his homemade skis.

         The Sierra Nevada Mountains are very high -- 6,000 to 12,000 feet -- and  extremely rugged. In a few weeks, he became expert at flying down the mountainsides. Onnlookers thought, he was a reckless fool. He could maneuver back up the slopes by zigzagging at angles to keep from sliding back down the mountain; a different method than the herringbone method of ski-walking uphill used today.

         Satisfied with his ability, he contacted both the Placerville and Genoa Postmasters and was accepted for the job of mail carrier during the winter months.  With only a verbal agreement, Thompson agreed to deliver mail at $1.00 per letter each way. He would have to collect when and if he could until Washington, D.C. could write a contract for a permanent position. Collections were sometimes difficult because many folks refused to pay, assuming the Postal Deptartment was paying him to deliver their mail.

         His first trip across the mountains was made in January, 1856. He carried two mailbags, weighing eighty pounds each, strapped across his chest and back. He wore a broad brimmed hat as a shield from the blazing sun. His face was blackened with charcoal to protect against snow blindness, and when he started the 90-mile trek someone shouted, “Good luck ‘Snowshoe’ Thompson,” a name he was known by for the rest of his life.

         Instead of the sixteen days it took other men with horses or mules, he could ski the trip, one way, in only two or three days. He never carried a blanket nor wore anything heavier than a woolen Mackinaw coat. His food supply was limited to jerky, crackers, or biscuits. Water was either scooped from mountain streams or a handful of snow melted in his mouth.

         At night he would find a sheltered area, usually next to a dead pine stump; light the stump on fire and sleep next to it until morning.

         During his time as mail carrier, he rescued lost pioneers, saved the life of a man so frostbitten that he was in the process of amputating his own legs before John found him.  He once bluffed his way through a pack of desperately hungry wolves, carried the first ore sample to be assayed for silver, leading to the founding of the Virginia City Comstock Lode, and carried medicine to isolated settlers at no charge. He never refused a request to carry the small useful articles such as needles, buttons, and other gewgaws and trinkets that people desired from the outside world. Sometimes, his willingness to help others would mean his mail sacks weighed well over a hundred pounds each.

              His mail run was usually twice a month and his arrival at Genoa was always an occasion for celebration by the whole village. John, a gifted story teller would entertain folks with news of the outside world, the latest gossip, and tall tales of his adventures. 

         Everyone knew John for his kindness. He once completed a 400-mile trek to Sacramento, California over the Sierra Nevada mountains in the deep snow season to obtain chloroform so an amputation could be performed. As the survivors of the ill-fated Donner Party attested, snows in these mountains could easily reach a depth of thirty to forty feet.

         The Genoa, Utah Territory postmaster, S. A. Kinsey once said: “Most remarkable man I ever knew, that Snowshoe Thompson.  He must be made of iron. Besides, he never thinks of himself, but he’d give his last breath for anyone else —— even a total stranger.”

         For twenty years, until he died from a mysterious stomach ailment (probably appendicitis), Snowshoe made his twice monthly trip, from the first deep snowfall until the spring melt. Washington, D.C. never did agree to a binding contract for his services. Today, there are several monuments sprinkled throughout the Sierra Nevada's, from Utah to California, commemorating his selfless life.  He was a mountain man —— a man who answered California’s motto, “BRING ME MEN TO MATCH MY MOUNTAINS.” John A. “Snowshoe” Thompson was one of those extraordinary people who seems to appear in history exactly when and where they are needed.