USANS STORY PROJECT 31-DEC 2017- TOM DODDS

CURATOR'S NOTE-  For most of us, ski jumping is a love of flight (as Cooper captured beautifully yesterday) wrapped in family bonds (as father Tom writes poignantly, below).  I am so thankful to both of the Dodds for a) having the curiosity and fortitude to pursue the Big Nansen dream in the first place and b) sharing the adventure (from two perspectives!) with Story Project.  A great video of the entire adventure, shot and edited by Cooper's friend, wingman, and talented videographer, Joey Fishman, can be seen by clicking here.


AS DUSK FALLS- Tom and Cooper Dodds with Big Nansen, this day the tamed giant, in the background.

TOM DODDS
Ford Sayre Ski Club
thomas.m.dodds@hitchcock.org

I loved reading Cooper’s account of skiing “Big Nansen”. For me this was one in a long line of shared ski jumping experiences with my son. Herein I will try to capture some of the myriad emotions of that day from a coach/parent perspective.
 
Earlier in the winter Cooper had mentioned that there was an effort to reopen Nansen for a single jump by Sarah Hendrickson (national team member with family roots in New Hampshire). The Nansen of my youth is a fuzzy memory but I do recall the enormous trestle and its place among the more prestigious jumps in the east. Having missed the opportunity to jump the Dartmouth College jump the day it closed down in the 1980s, I figured that if he and his friends could avail themselves of this opportunity it would be a unique and memorable experience.

With the winter drawing to a close in early March, I was surprised by a message from Cooper that the exhibition jump was on and he was driving north from Brooklyn to see if he could get a jump. The energy, excitement and determination that he radiated upon his arrival in Hanover with friend Joey suddenly made this very real for me. I dealt with my nervous energy by planning and preparing. Aware of the notorious Nansen winds, I immediately checked the weather in Berlin, NH. Indeed the winds were forecast to steadily build during the day on both Saturday and Sunday.

We studied images of Sarah’s jump (which happened Saturday morning) that had already made it to the web. First came brainstorming ideas for a start, as her “start” seat lowered by cable would likely not be available to us. Joey and I cut several 2x6’s at an angle that could be attached to the deck of the trestle and provide a flat surface for Cooper to put on his skis. We figured we could string a 10 foot 4x4 between railing posts to serve as a “start bar”.
We awoke to an idyllic day for a drive and an adventure. A quick trip to the Roger Burt (Ford Sayre) jump in Hanover yielded a 10 foot 4x4, a 12 foot ladder section (in case the 4x4 was not long enough), crampons, rakes, shovel, broom and the famous Ford Sayre trackulator. Driving north I felt a blend of excited anticipation and nervous energy. I was touched to be part of this shared experience and was intent upon my support/enabling role but desperately wanted to make sure that Cooper had the space and capacity to choose NOT to jump. I feared that the presence of Joey and I as well as the slow trickle of well wishes from Eastern ski jumping comrades might make him feel pressure to jump.

Arriving to the massive tower silhouetted against the clear blue sky was exhilarating. It appeared that a sno-cat had either repeatedly slid or dropped its blade while descending the hill – leaving longitudinal gouges and mounds of snow on the landing. My immediate impression was that with our small crew the landing hill was not salvageable. I was disappointed for Cooper but somewhat relieved that the decision of whether or not to jump had been taken out of our hands. We all seemed quite content with the adventure, the planning, the companionship and now the opportunity to take in this majestic trestle. We scampered up the overgrown and collapsed landing hill steps and then worked our way up the renovated trestle. The track – a narrow strip of snow on the trestle – was breaking down but appeared skiable. Standing on the table after an hour of sightseeing, Cooper and I exchanged a look - we had worked hills together before and maybe we could pull this off??

Avoiding a handful of snowboarders who were enjoying some beers and taking a few turns, I started working my way down the landing hill. I spent the first 2 hours working down from the knoll, through the P point and toward the K point – territory that Cooper would ultimately sail over! We picked rocks and broken stumps off the hill, tried to break down the longitudinal ridges, and raked dirty ice balls into the depressed areas. With the afternoon wearing on, I got down to the lower part of the hill and realized that there was still major work to be done from above K down through the transition (and I was tiring fast!). At this point I reached the conclusion that our day was done, but Cooper convinced me to let him run the landing hill to simply see how bumpy it actually was. I worked earnestly in the transition for another 30 minutes and then gave him the okay.

With the possibility that he might actually take this jump those coach/parent emotions percolated up once again. I wanted him to know that I was confident in his ability to handle the hill while still allowing the space NOT to jump. I wanted him appropriately aware of deficiencies on the hill without allowing my anxieties to needlessly grow doubts in his mind. After 26 years of doing this dance together we are getting to be pretty good partners!

With dusk beckoning, Joey and I turned in earnest to the inrun. I tried to trackulate the disintegrating track, but my trackulator did not match the dimensions of the track, and I was making things worse. I had intended to measure the hang of the take-off but I forgot my level. We hustled our makeshift standing platform and barstart up the trestle. The 4x4 proved too short but the 12 foot ladder fit just barely. I quickly screwed the platform into the deck about where I thought Sarah had started the day before. Cooper walked up without his skis to check the start and  inrun one last time. He signaled pleasure with the way things looked but later confided that he had expected me to put the start slightly lower (I suspect he said nothing because the hour was getting late, my drill was dying, my hands were frozen and my knuckles were bleeding!).
 
I refer you to Cooper’s piece for a description of the jump. I still struggle to summarize the impetus and motivation for his doing this and my enabling it. The simple love of flying. The opportunity to take on an historic hill that he had heard about from many of us. The potential that the opportunity might never arise again. The challenge and exhilaration of taking on and moving through so many fears and unknowns. The deep unease I felt as a parent realizing that I could not control this – could not know if we could construct a safe start, could not know if the track would hold together, could not know the appropriate speed to take, could not know if the winds would gust, and, worst of all for me, could not repair the landing hill to my standards. No, I will never forget this.
 
The snowboarders erupted with Cooper’s jump and one of them posted a video of the jump on Facebook. I will leave you with one of the comments about the shared video: “You jumped for the fun man, no crowd. Heart jumping. Class above class. Congratulations. Shake your hand some time.”