The Monte Toboggan Ride in 1909

Since the 1850s, the Monte toboggan ride down towards Funchal city centre has been one of Madeira's favourite tourist attractions.

Today's Monte toboggan sled ride is a poor imitation of the original rides that were offered in the early twentieth century. Then, visitors to the island truly did experience an exhilarating ride full of excitement and risk.

Perhaps the advent of the motor car is responsible. Or, maybe the grasping tendrils of commercialism is to blame. Whatever the reason, nowadays, the journey down the steep slopes in a flimsy wicker basket just does not seem such a adventure.

Many are of the opinion that the present day incarnation is nothing more than a ill-disguised tourist trap. See our tourist guide to the Monte Toboggan Ride for details things to beware of.

But, for now, sit back and imagine yourself visiting Madeira a century ago.

The expectation of undertaking a mode of transport that you have never before witnessed fills you with anticipation and, maybe, just more than a hint of trepidation.

Seating yourself down you smooth your clothing; dignity must be maintain at all times. Surely, the locals must know how to handle this primitive form of locomotion. Surely, they must . . .

Where to find the carro sled? Amid the clouds

The running "carro" is essentially a mountaineer. Once down upon the small plain beneath, it only remains sufficiently long to permit its owner breathing space ere he bears it upwards again.

Consequently, when in search of one, it is necessary to climb a thousand feet or so to find the first. And these are comparative lowlanders. There are others stationed at an altitude of two thousand feet, and others higher yet.

One will find these latter waiting amidst the leafage of the oak, the cool scents of the pinewoods, and where the ground nearby is littered profusely with clumps of the arum lily.

Venturing forth

In midwinter one may experience the need of an overcoat at the starting point, and grow warmer by the value of a shirt with each five hundred yards of the descent.

At the first glimpse the running "carro" is safely anchored at the side of the steep road. When it has been hauled out into the centre where the pebbles are smoothest, one may take one's place amidst the red cushions of the broad armchair on runners, for that is what it most resembles. Once seated, the possibilities of the thing beneath commence to be realised.

Two men at the back are holding it in place by means of ropes. It would seem to be straining at the leash almost like a living creature, longing to dash down the slippery path that sinks downwards in smooth, rounded steps of grey stone. A moment later it has its way. The men spring on the small platform at the back, there is a preliminary rattle on the part of the sledge, and the descent has commenced.

Of the various roads that which leads from the Monte Church this is the most picturesque.

A quick descent

After a hurried clattering through trees and by the side of violet-grown banks one speeds in between twin grey walls, with the blue of the ocean, the dark vessels upon it, at the back of the white town far below.

Then the path has swerved a little; the distant view is shut off now by the walls on either hand. But never was there more generous compensation. Clumps of Bougainvillea, broad sheets of Bignonia, the great white trumpets of the Datura - and then one gives it up! One can no longer take heed of individual blossoms.

The "carro" is falling like a stone through a veritable cascade of colour that smothers the grey wall of its background. All this to the sound of rushing waters.

By the side of the road is a narrow stream that, foaming and white, leaps downwards in its rocky channel. The descent has developed into an exhilarating race between the "carro" and the tumbling waters.

One has obtained another view of the town below: it is nearer now, and less defined in its entirety.

Then the tops of the walls on either hand sink down to a lower level. There are plantations upon the other side - pink-stemmed sugar cane, and the broad leaves of the banana poised above the yellow bunches of the fruit - but the glimpse is but a momentary one. There is something, too, beyond all this to think over now.

Point of no return to the finish

A short way ahead is an abrupt turn in the track; the grey stone wall would seem to shut it in almost at right angles. As the sledge approaches the spot the rapid padding of feet and the panting of men sounds from the back; The conductors have leaped from their places, and are racing alongside, guide-ropes in hand, to steer their charge safely round the angle.

There is a grinding skid, and a lurch; the front slews round, swerves, then points straight ahead again. It is as though the thing had shaken itself, and now, refreshed, plunges eagerly upon a fresh downward stretch.

Once launched in full career, one had thought that nothing short of a calamity could stay the progress of the "carro" until its arrival at level ground. The test comes sooner than one had expected.

On rounding a second corner, a train of mules blocks the road, as the animals toil slowly upwards. There is more grinding and lurching; then the sledge, stayed abruptly by some incomprehensible engineering feat, is at rest, while the hoofs of the mules patter by.

Then on once again, past kite-flying urchins, and women's heads protruding in curiosity from the windows, until the outskirts of the town itself are reached.

A little later the panting conductors, hat in hand, are awaiting the customary tip above the legal fare. The experience is worth the douceur.

The ultimate journey

But the chief of all "carro" runs is that of the Caminho do Meio, the summit of which exceeds the Monte Church in altitude - a road of which the majority of casual tourists know nothing. There are grades here with a vengeance, and steeps that put the others to shame.

It is the Brooklands of the "carro" world, with its spots where the men pull back as though they were fighting with a bolting horse, and wrench clods of earth from the banks, and fling them beneath the too willing runners, calling hoarse words of caution to each other the while.

Here after a time comes the smell of burning, and from each heated runner trains a light coil of smoke.

The clatter and grinding is deafening. But, though one may emerge at the bottom with a singing in the ears, it matters little, for one has descended the Caminho do Meio, the run of the island.

But, at what cost?

There are careful folk who complain that the two or three shillings [note: 2 shillings in 1909 equates to about £8.50 or €9.30 today] charged is too much for those few minutes of exhilaration. But they have only seen one half of the picture. In the other the guide is toiling up the steep slopes. step by step, with the "carro" itself poised heavily on his shoulders.

The sequel to each five minutes of gliding is a half-hour of heavy labour.

None who have watched this return to the heights will question again the justice of the legal fare.

The strenuous life of the running "carro" man cannot well fail to be a short one - and not necessarily merry at that.