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Thursday, December 6, 2018
USANS STORY PROJECT 6-DEC 2018- SCOTT NICHOLS
USANS STORY PROJECT 5-DEC 2018- ERIC HAGFORS
THE SAME ONLY DIFFERENT- Eric Hagfors back at the St Paul hill- back in the air!- after an 8 year hiatus.
ERIC HAGFORS
ehagfors@gmail.com
January 29th, 2016- The Master
Making the drive to the St. Paul Ski Club, the butterflies arose as if on cue. Vespers of a past life flickered in the background: the tan interior of a Grand Cherokee, the foamy aroma of a Descente jump suit, a passenger...
It was like pulling up in a halfway broken time machine. Many people appeared unchanged in a decade: identical hat, jacket, and humor. Others had produced offspring and were now inhabiting an entirely different universe. The place itself seemed immune to age. What a wonderful family to come home to. They seemed pleased by my attendance.
In honesty I was half terrified. This dream, this thing in my life removed and re-realized, was now culminating. There had been work, sacrifice, pain, joy... I had rebuilt my life and my way of thinking. For this, right now. What now, what after?
Belief prevailed. Autopilot flicked on and ritual heightened to spiritual. I trudged up the trestle, thinking of my friend Dave, all my friends, the passage of time and the sting of regret.
All at once, there I was. Back up top. I poked at my ipod, took a deep breath and let go.
NOTE- To see a really cool video of Eric's jump (and tribute to Dave Edlund)- click on image below or this link- https://youtu.be/OgnzHg5JAkQ
USANS STORY PROJECT 4-DEC 2018- SHAWN COSTELLO
 An old postcard recalls the Big Nansen ski jump. Shawn Costello recounts the last competition on the hill - which he oversaw- in 1985. SHAWN COSTELLO Berlin, NH Scostello@berlincity.com BIG NANSEN 1985- THE DAY SKI JUMPING DIED I felt very lucky growing up in a "skiing" family, from my earliest memories, winter meant skiing. As soon as I was old enough I became a member of the Junior Nansen Ski Club just like my older brother and entered the world of ski competition. The JNSC encouraged all the major forms of skiing Alpine, Cross Country and Jumping. Most of the young skiers entered all three events. A broad education for sure. As the competitors grew up, many found that they enjoyed or fared better in one of the forms of competition better than the others, basically Alpine vs Nordic. Some would continue in all the events right into high school, because that's what they always did, I was one of those guys. I was not a star but I enjoyed being part of the team. When I graduated from high school I hung up my jumping skis and began a period of recreational skiing. I never left the Nansen Ski Club or the Nansen Ski Jump. I became ever more involved in the mechanics of ski jumping. I got to work with some amazing characters at the ski jump, as I am sure this was true in all the clubs that put on large competitions. Like many club members I got to do just about every job that "needed" to be done, another broad education. During this time I actually stopped skiing for a while but every year I was back on the hill getting the jump ready to do its thing. As the years passed I noticed that the number of club members also known as "workers" was getting smaller each year. This was at a time when getting the jump ready was becoming more mechanized. Where at one time close to 100 people with wicker baskets would snow the chute, the baskets gave way to 55 gallon drums of snow winched up to the top and the snow was placed where needed. Snow making was tried but the early technology was not up to the needs of a ski jump. In the end a sled that held 6 yards of snow was filled hoisted onto the jump and then winched to the spot where it was needed and repeat, the chute could be snowed in one day. The machines made up for the lack of manpower and the event lived on. The local chamber of commerce saw the draw of the ski jump and formed an area wide competition known as "Winterfest'" It had jumping, alpine, cross country, biathlon, snowmobile and ice sculpture competitions, it was initially well received and had a carnival atmosphere. During this time the small dedicated crew had the jump ready for competition on the day it was needed, besides the Ski Club, the State of NH, the City of Berlin and several businesses supplied equipment and man power. Then came 1985, I agreed again to help get the jump ready, many of the businesses and other critical helpers would do their part on jump day. I went up to the jump to see what was needed and found that a large section of the deck had not weathered the off season very well. The deck needed to be repaired before snow came either from the sky or the sled. I looked around and it happened that day, I was alone- no more "characters" were left I was a crew of one, and running out of time. I went down to the Chamber of Commerce office and said I have to hire a crew to fix the deck and snow it, thankfully the director agreed. I called the New Hampshire Employment Security office and asked if they could find 10 people with some carpentry skills and they said yes. I said send them up to the jump tomorrow morning. They showed up and while happy to get some work, they liked that they were working on the "jump." In time the deck was repaired and I kept some of the crew to snow the chute, they got it done. It seemed to me that I was seeing "The Day Ski Jumping Died." The members had died, aged, moved away, lost interest or started to spend the winter in sunny climes. I made it through, there were only 10 jumpers and to their credit they each made 5 jumps to give the crowd a show. It had an effect on me and after the event was done and all the borrowed or rented equipment was returned I drove down the access road locked the gate and drove away not return to the site for 5 years and then another 15 years after that. Well, I got a call one day "Hey the state wants to do something with the jump, can you come to a meeting?"......Next thing I know the ski jump means something again, the old girl will feel skis on her deck at least one more time. All of those terrible feelings of "The Day Ski Jumping Died" have faded away and there I was the smiling guy congratulating Sara Hendrickson on her history making jump. Now instead of avoiding "Big Nansen" I cannot wait for the next competition! NOTE- Check out the Red Bull video of Sarah's leap off Big Nansen... with a cameo by Shawn Costello! Click on image below or link is- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nIH01DgMOnI  YouTube video recounts Sarah Hendrickson's jump off of Old Nansen in 2017... the first jump on the hill since 1985.  Historic marker at the base of the jump give some history. |
USANS STORY PROJECT 3-DEC 2018- JAMIE SCHOLL
Captain Grant Scholl, USAFA Sky Diving Team and C17 Pilot (bottom row far right)
JAMIE SCHOLL
Winter Park Nordic Team (we miss you)
jamie@schollassociates.com
Flying is more than a sport and more than a job; flying is pure passion and desire, which fill a lifetime.
WWII Aviator
Captain Grant, USAFA Sky Diving and C17
Wasn’t it just yesterday? I still see it so clearly: my twelve-year-old son Grant, sitting on the start bar of the K90 at Steamboat Springs, alone on the hill, focused on the tracks, waiting for my clear signal from the judge’s stand. It was Saturday afternoon after the 1995 Winter Carnival junior competition was complete. The Winter Park Jumping Team had gone home. Grant wanted to stay so he could ski the K90 for the first time.
Grant had just become comfortable skiing the K60. The K90 was his Goliath to conquer. With such a tenacious attitude, I didn’t want to disappoint him, but the hill was not open for training. The day before, the Ski Patrol was training for their night of flames performance and in the process traversed the in-run of the K90 leaving a large horizontal rut about ¾ of the way down the in-run. I asked Todd Wilson if Grant could ski the K90 if I fixed the rut. Todd reluctantly agreed, so we spent an hour raking and packing it out. Grant and I both knew this might be his only chance to ski the K90 and he wanted to meet this challenge and conquer it.
Before his slow ride up the lift by himself, my instructions to him were simple: (1) don’t put on your skis until you have committed yourself to go; (2) when you get on the start bar there is no turning back; and, (3) when I drop my hand push off the bar…no hesitation. We both knew this was this one of the greatest challenges of his young life and he would be all by himself at the start. The mental fortitude to fly was something he would have to find on his own at the top. I told him one last thing, “Remember son, when you put on your helmet you become invincible and when you put on your goggles you are indestructible!” A turn of phrase I used as encouragement for him since he was little.
Young Grant in Steamboat in 1995... ready for his first ride on a K90... just waiting for dad to give the green light.
When I saw Grant was ready I dropped my hand, and off he went exactly as instructed. He pushed off the bar and settled in to his very solid in-run position. As I watched him descend, time stopped and my vision tunneled as he hit the “fixed rut” and his left ski came out of the track about to take out his right ski. I had a slow-motion vision of Wide World of Sports’ agony of defeat. For Grant, it was no big deal, just a bump in the road to success. While maintaining his in-run position, he calmly lifted his left ski and put it back in the track with enough time to make an impressive jump of about 45 meters. My body-systems resuscitated. I was able to take a deep breath and feel the pride and relief as I saw him ski out the flight of a lifetime.
I share this story not because Grant became a noteworthy ski jumper but because his attitude, resilience and strength anchored him to face larger opportunities and challenges. As his father, I know Grant’s grit and courage came from facing Goliaths and his time as a ski jumper helped to shape this determination.
Grant jumped competitively for one more year before his interest turned to ball sports. Out of High School he was recruited to play football for the Air Force Academy where he graduated in 2007. He then went on to flight school for two years where he became Captain of a Globemaster III, the billion-dollar C17 cargo jet. He flew missions all over the world, many of which he cannot speak about. He then returned to the Academy to fly the jump-plane for the Wings of Blue sky diving team where he also mentored Cadets on the fortitude to fly. Along the way he logged over 100 sky dives. Like the WWII Aviator, Grant agrees that, “Flying is pure passion and desire, which fill a lifetime.”
Grant is now a Major in the Air Force and a father of four little wannabe flyers. I am obviously a proud Dad and now Gramps. I can’t emphasize enough the significance the sport of ski jumping can have on a young person. Sports develop a person in powerful ways. A sport like ski jumping is truly unique in the way it refines one’s ability to overcome any obstacle in life.
The greater the obstacle, the more glory in overcoming it.
Molière
United States Air Force Academy Wings of Blue Sky Diving Team.
USANS STORY PROJECT 2-DEC 2018- SUSAN MORGAN
 OCT 2018, LAKE PLACID, NY- DENNIS MORGAN complets the a full circle that started with his mother and grandparents in the early 1980's. SUSAN MORGAN susanmorganpt@gmail.com Remembering Lake Placid Embracing winter was a must if you grew up just outside Rochester, NY where lake effect snow was the norm. As a young girl, I learned to cross country ski with my parents. A typical family vacation over February break was a trip to cross country ski in the Adirondacks. Some of my most vivid memories of these ski vacations are of visiting Lake Placid with my parents after the 1980 Winter Olympics. I remember how excited the town was about the Miracle on Ice when the USA Men’s Hockey team upset Russia to advance to the gold medal game. I remember skiing the cross country trails at Mt. Van Hoevenberg and thinking how cool am I skiing on the same trails as Olympians. I remember riding in a 4 person bobsled with my dad, a driver and a brakeman. I remember visiting the Olympic ski jumping complex. I remembering riding the elevator up the 120 and the elevator operator telling us, “these ski jumpers don’t have both oars in the water.” I remember watching a ski jumping competition in Lake Placid in the winter. I remember thinking how crazy the ski jumpers were, but yet how cool it was that they could fly. I remember visiting Lake Placid one summer with my parents and boyfriend, Dennis. This was the first time Dennis had watched ski jumping live and the first time any of us had seen summer jumping. Fast forward to January 2001, Dennis and I have now been married for several years and have a 2 year old son. We have just moved to North Conway, NH from Cleveland, OH to live in a ski town. I remember reading the local paper and learning that Kennett High School has a ski jumping team! I remember thinking high school ski jumping really? Yes, but only in NH. I remember every winter bundling up the family and heading out to the ski jumps on the Kanc for the 1 home ski jump meet Kennett would host each winter. I remember thinking wow what a cool high school sport. I remember our son, Dennis III (D3 as we call him) talking about ski jumping for Kennett when he got old enough. I remember D3 as a 14 year old freshman taking his first jump at Proctor Academy. He never even had ski jumping skis on until the night of his first meet. I remember his Coach, Chip Henry, telling me not to worry, he will be fine! I remember D3 and his Kennett teammate, Sean competing in their first non-high school ski jumping meet. I remember D3’s first jump off the Lebanon 50. I remember long drives from North Conway to Lake Placid for D3 to train. I remember D3 calling to tell us he jumped the 90 in Lake Placid. I remember Junior Nationals at Norge. I remember D3’s first jumps in Park City as a freshman at the University of Utah. I remember Junior Nationals in Alaska. But it is my most recent ski jumping memory that brings this story full circle. I remember my parents, D3’s grandparents watching him jump the 90 in Lake Placid at Flaming Leaves this fall. This was the 1st time they had seen their grandson jump a 90 and how special was it that it happened in Lake Placid! I guess the elevator operator would say that D3 does not have both oars in the water!  Kennett (NH) High School ski jumping coach Chip Henry holds the hardware while the team celebrates its NH (National) High School title in February 2017. Dennis finished 3rd to help secure the victory for Kennett. |
USANS STORY PROJECT 1-DEC 2018- ALANA MAKI-FOUST
ANOTHER MAGICAL NIGHT- Moonlit practice at the jumps in Cameron, WI.
ALANA MAKI-FOUST
Cameron Ski Club
cameronskijumping@gmail.com
It’s Tuesday evening in mid-January. Kids are fed, grandma and grandpa are on the way. It’s about five degrees outside but no wind so we will have ski practice in Cameron, WI. Thankfully, it hasn’t snowed so our “10 meter” hill is ready to go. I round up my layers and the hot chocolate because the kids will want it tonight. Me and the hubby take off to the hill which is a 1 minute drive from our house. We arrive and get the propane heater started. Our “clubhouse” will only heat to about 40 degrees tonight but it’s better than 5. We plug in our light, take the fence off the landing, plug in the hot water, and the skiers start to arrive.
The kids take a run around the parking lot of the old elementary school, which is icy. We do some stretches and practice some in-run positions. The kids get “suited up”…well only about half of them have suits but we will get there. The first jumpers climb the snow pile made by the village loader with stairs up the side, carved and maintained by our ski parents. Right now the track is in great condition and the hill is fast so the best jumpers will fly up to 22 feet. We use feet because it sounds better that 7 meters. Despite the cold, most of the kids go down and up and down and up, barely taking a break. They work on in-run positions, timing, and telemarks. Some of them just work on balance and standing up. There is a line of skiers at the top of our ski jump for an hour and fifteen minutes. Parents stand to the side of the hill, some help at the bottom taking off bindings. One person helps at the top, putting on bindings. I stand to the side, coaching and helping as needed.
Before I know it, it is time to wrap it up. Some kids have gotten more than 10 jumps. There was a crash or two. Some kids rode the “practice hill” (the hill to the side with no bump) all night. Everyone had fun. A dedicated parent rakes the landing and puts up the fence. We pack up, turn off the light and the heater. I get in my van. Like the kids, I am not cold because I have been running here and there all evening. I breathe. That was the most fun I have had since last practice. This is what I was meant to do. I play my part in keeping the sport alive and I enjoy it immensely.
A STRONG SENSE OF CONNECTION- Alana and fellow Cameron coaches and jumpers.
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 Nansenâ€. 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 barâ€.
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.â€
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 Nansenâ€. 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 barâ€.
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.â€
USANS STORY PROJECT 30-DEC 2017- COOPER DODDS
CURATOR'S NOTE- Cooper's great story below is a beautiful testament to the love of the sport and the lengths we will go to pursue it. To see a great video of Cooper's Nansen moment, CLICK HERE (trust me, you really want to see this).
Cooper and father, Tom, work to fashion a start bar at the top of the long abandoned Nansen ski jump in Berlin, NH last year.
COOPER DODDS
Ford Sayre Ski Club
cooper.h.dodds@gmail.com
Big Nansen
Growing up in New Hampshire, the Nansen jump in Berlin was one of those renowned hills that I had heard about but never dreamed of skiing. The jump, always referred to as ‘Big Nansen’, shuttered its trestle 15 years before I donned my first pair of skis. Mid-winter 2017 while skiing in Salisbury, CT, I got wind that Red Bull was restoring the legendary tower to allow World Champion Sarah Hendrickson to take one promotional jump. After that, the hill would become an historic site. I reached out to those involved to see if I could forejump, but I was politely told they didn’t want anyone else skiing the hill, so I left it there.
Until a month later, when I woke up to a friendly tip in my email: “... the Nansen jump is taking place tomorrow.†The next morning, accompanied by my friend/ filmmaker Joey, I left Brooklyn for my hometown of Hanover. That night, we watched footage of Sarah’s jump from earlier in the day and saw some potential challenges. The weather had been difficult to say the least, and the snow coverage was very spotty. Red Bull had provided a custom start platform for the event only; we knew we’d have to make our own. On top of all this we still didn’t know if the hill would be destroyed or locked upon arrival.
Sunday morning, Joey, my father and I loaded up the truck with our ‘start bar’ (a 12 foot ladder), our platform (plywood boards), and a few rakes and wound our way north to Berlin. Seeing the tower from the highway there’s no doubt how Nansen got its nickname. It wasn’t locked, but when we pulled up to the landing hill, we discovered that it had in fact been destroyed. A Snow Cat had slid down the hill, digging down to dirt in spots and leaving a huge seam that ran down the middle. After hiking to the top we discovered that the in-run didn’t look much better. I could tell my dad didn’t think the jump would happen, but I remained hopeful as we grabbed some rakes and got to work on the hill. We tidied and smoothed all day in the frigid cold, and with about an hour of daylight left, made the decision to give it a go. We hustled to install the platform, set our start bar, and suited up for the attempt.
With the sun slipping fast, my father stayed up top with me to stabilize the ladder, and Joey perched on the roof of the decrepit judges’ stand to watch the wind and flag me. A handful of local snowboarders excitedly watched from the knoll. Delicately balanced on the platform, with the whole tower swaying in the wind, I pushed my fear to the back of my awareness, got my skis on, and slowly slid onto the ladder, sitting myself between two rungs in the middle of the thin track. One last moment of gathering focus, then I received the flag from Joey and pushed off. No turning back now.
I had planned to have a safe jump without full effort, but my body had a different plan. I hit the 15 foot high takeoff well and knew right away I was heading to the bottom. My vision planed out to the parking lot - where a few curious spectators had pulled off the highway to watch - as the world slowed around me and I lost myself in that marvelous feeling of freedom and weightlessness. I jolted back to reality when I landed right on top of a large divot we had failed to flatten, but I landed, I survived (save for some bruised heels), and skied into the outrun yelling, overcome with joy. But perhaps even more joyous was being able to share this experience with my father on his 60th birthday, more than 30 years after he had skied the hill himself.
Here’s to hoping that others will get to ski this beautiful monster. Will Big Nansen work its way into an East coast 4 hills tour? I sure hope so. I’m certainly grateful that I seized the opportunity, and toed the line of legality and safety, to poach a jump on this legend. The things we do for the thrill of flight.
NANSEN ON ARRIVAL- things looked a little rough.
Bluebird day... and big tower.
Cooper and father, Tom, work to fashion a start bar at the top of the long abandoned Nansen ski jump in Berlin, NH last year.
COOPER DODDS
Ford Sayre Ski Club
cooper.h.dodds@gmail.com
Big Nansen
Growing up in New Hampshire, the Nansen jump in Berlin was one of those renowned hills that I had heard about but never dreamed of skiing. The jump, always referred to as ‘Big Nansen’, shuttered its trestle 15 years before I donned my first pair of skis. Mid-winter 2017 while skiing in Salisbury, CT, I got wind that Red Bull was restoring the legendary tower to allow World Champion Sarah Hendrickson to take one promotional jump. After that, the hill would become an historic site. I reached out to those involved to see if I could forejump, but I was politely told they didn’t want anyone else skiing the hill, so I left it there.
Until a month later, when I woke up to a friendly tip in my email: “... the Nansen jump is taking place tomorrow.†The next morning, accompanied by my friend/ filmmaker Joey, I left Brooklyn for my hometown of Hanover. That night, we watched footage of Sarah’s jump from earlier in the day and saw some potential challenges. The weather had been difficult to say the least, and the snow coverage was very spotty. Red Bull had provided a custom start platform for the event only; we knew we’d have to make our own. On top of all this we still didn’t know if the hill would be destroyed or locked upon arrival.
Sunday morning, Joey, my father and I loaded up the truck with our ‘start bar’ (a 12 foot ladder), our platform (plywood boards), and a few rakes and wound our way north to Berlin. Seeing the tower from the highway there’s no doubt how Nansen got its nickname. It wasn’t locked, but when we pulled up to the landing hill, we discovered that it had in fact been destroyed. A Snow Cat had slid down the hill, digging down to dirt in spots and leaving a huge seam that ran down the middle. After hiking to the top we discovered that the in-run didn’t look much better. I could tell my dad didn’t think the jump would happen, but I remained hopeful as we grabbed some rakes and got to work on the hill. We tidied and smoothed all day in the frigid cold, and with about an hour of daylight left, made the decision to give it a go. We hustled to install the platform, set our start bar, and suited up for the attempt.
With the sun slipping fast, my father stayed up top with me to stabilize the ladder, and Joey perched on the roof of the decrepit judges’ stand to watch the wind and flag me. A handful of local snowboarders excitedly watched from the knoll. Delicately balanced on the platform, with the whole tower swaying in the wind, I pushed my fear to the back of my awareness, got my skis on, and slowly slid onto the ladder, sitting myself between two rungs in the middle of the thin track. One last moment of gathering focus, then I received the flag from Joey and pushed off. No turning back now.
I had planned to have a safe jump without full effort, but my body had a different plan. I hit the 15 foot high takeoff well and knew right away I was heading to the bottom. My vision planed out to the parking lot - where a few curious spectators had pulled off the highway to watch - as the world slowed around me and I lost myself in that marvelous feeling of freedom and weightlessness. I jolted back to reality when I landed right on top of a large divot we had failed to flatten, but I landed, I survived (save for some bruised heels), and skied into the outrun yelling, overcome with joy. But perhaps even more joyous was being able to share this experience with my father on his 60th birthday, more than 30 years after he had skied the hill himself.
Here’s to hoping that others will get to ski this beautiful monster. Will Big Nansen work its way into an East coast 4 hills tour? I sure hope so. I’m certainly grateful that I seized the opportunity, and toed the line of legality and safety, to poach a jump on this legend. The things we do for the thrill of flight.
NANSEN ON ARRIVAL- things looked a little rough.
Bluebird day... and big tower.
USANS STORY PROJECT 29-DEC 2017- MATT COOK
CURATOR'S NOTE- Great message here- it ain't over until YOU say it's over. Thanks for the inspiration, Matt.
LASTING BONDS- Billy Demong (L) and Jed Hinkley (R) with author, Matt Cook, on a Utah camping trip in the early '00's.
MATT COOK
Lake Placid Ski Club
matthewbryantcook@gmail.com
I feel like this story just happened yesterday. It was May of the year 2000, and I was 23 years old. I had just graduated with a degree in biology, and I wanted one thing…. to start ski jumping competitively again. I didn’t want a job, I didn’t mind being single, and I had no interest in listening to friends and family who told me my plan wasn’t going to come true. It had been over six years since I had taken any jumps. I quit ski jumping my sophomore year of high school because, to be frank, I wasn’t very good. I will never forget calling Larry Stone that spring of 2000 and timidly asking him if I could join his Lake Placid program. He said yes. I remember meeting him and his full-time athletes at the massive OTC gym for the first time. I was so much older than all those spry young athletes, and I didn’t even own any gear. I think I just walked into that concrete locker room at the jumps and pulled some dusty boards off the rack and left an IOU.
Larry suggested we start on the K48… I was so nervous we started on the K18. Now that I think about this story for the first time in almost 20 years, I remember wanting to take a landing hill ride down that 18 meter jump just to be safe. I crashed. My very first landing hill ride my skis got tangled in some chicken wire on the knoll, and I fell forward, sprawled out on the verge of sliding into the pit of harsh reality. I could feel the EMT Debbie and all tourists in the old base lodge staring at me. I brushed myself off and did my landing hill rides.
After a few mildly embarrassing sessions down there we made our way up to the K48. I survived. By mid-summer I found myself on top of the K90, nervous as hell but not willing to back down. That very first jump I’ll never forget seeing Billy Demong and Casey Colby down on the coach’s stand cheering me on, and I survived. Throughout the year, I lost some weight and got thru all those plyometric and weight lifting workouts. In November of 2000 I packed up my rusty red Nissan pick-up truck and moved to Steamboat because that was the place to be I guess. Todd Wilson and the gang accepted me with open arms. I think I was the only ski jumper in the US who didn’t have a V. I was old school. I remember Bob Averill on top of the ski jump whispering under his breath at me during a competition, “Cook where the hell is your V…?!†That was a long winter of endless training sessions, but I loved it, and I soaked it up. In February, coach Chris Gilbertson told me it was time to ski the big hill. I was attempting the first big hill of my life at the age of 24, and yet again, somehow I survived, loved it, went back up.
After competing in regional competitions all winter, I had a strong result in National Championships in March finishing 7th or 8th despite having the slowest skis in the competition by far (which Jed Hinkley can confirm because we skied the whole race together. I would pass him on the up-hills, gap him, and then he would zoom by me on the downhills!). That May, Billy Demong called me to say that the US coaches wanted to talk… they told me I had made the US Nordic Combined Ski Team. That phone call was awesome! That very month I packed up what belongings I had in Colorado and made the next move to Park City. I skied for the US for two years on the World Cup B Circuit. Somehow I learned the V in Europe days before an event, and translated that into multiple top 10 finishes that year on the B Cup.
There is a strong place for ski jumping/ Nordic combined in my heart and a long and rich history of the sport in the US. Despite a busy work schedule and a family at home these days, I continue to follow the sport and think back with excitement to the dreams it fostered for me. Somehow, I was able to start from scratch at the age of 23 and work my way up to finishing in the top ten on what is now the Continental Cup Circuit. I say this to make the point that your career is not over if you don’t make the National Team as a teenager, and there are multiple paths within the sport. A positive attitude and good work ethic will go a long way. I survived, preserved, and even coached for a few years, and now I cherish those memories.
Matt Cook with Carl Van Loan on the World Cup B tour in Taivalkoski, FIN.
Carl Van Loan, US Nordic combined coach Bard Elden and Matt at World Cup B in Klingenthal, GER.
Matt Cook in action back in the day.
LASTING BONDS- Billy Demong (L) and Jed Hinkley (R) with author, Matt Cook, on a Utah camping trip in the early '00's.
MATT COOK
Lake Placid Ski Club
matthewbryantcook@gmail.com
I feel like this story just happened yesterday. It was May of the year 2000, and I was 23 years old. I had just graduated with a degree in biology, and I wanted one thing…. to start ski jumping competitively again. I didn’t want a job, I didn’t mind being single, and I had no interest in listening to friends and family who told me my plan wasn’t going to come true. It had been over six years since I had taken any jumps. I quit ski jumping my sophomore year of high school because, to be frank, I wasn’t very good. I will never forget calling Larry Stone that spring of 2000 and timidly asking him if I could join his Lake Placid program. He said yes. I remember meeting him and his full-time athletes at the massive OTC gym for the first time. I was so much older than all those spry young athletes, and I didn’t even own any gear. I think I just walked into that concrete locker room at the jumps and pulled some dusty boards off the rack and left an IOU.
Larry suggested we start on the K48… I was so nervous we started on the K18. Now that I think about this story for the first time in almost 20 years, I remember wanting to take a landing hill ride down that 18 meter jump just to be safe. I crashed. My very first landing hill ride my skis got tangled in some chicken wire on the knoll, and I fell forward, sprawled out on the verge of sliding into the pit of harsh reality. I could feel the EMT Debbie and all tourists in the old base lodge staring at me. I brushed myself off and did my landing hill rides.
After a few mildly embarrassing sessions down there we made our way up to the K48. I survived. By mid-summer I found myself on top of the K90, nervous as hell but not willing to back down. That very first jump I’ll never forget seeing Billy Demong and Casey Colby down on the coach’s stand cheering me on, and I survived. Throughout the year, I lost some weight and got thru all those plyometric and weight lifting workouts. In November of 2000 I packed up my rusty red Nissan pick-up truck and moved to Steamboat because that was the place to be I guess. Todd Wilson and the gang accepted me with open arms. I think I was the only ski jumper in the US who didn’t have a V. I was old school. I remember Bob Averill on top of the ski jump whispering under his breath at me during a competition, “Cook where the hell is your V…?!†That was a long winter of endless training sessions, but I loved it, and I soaked it up. In February, coach Chris Gilbertson told me it was time to ski the big hill. I was attempting the first big hill of my life at the age of 24, and yet again, somehow I survived, loved it, went back up.
After competing in regional competitions all winter, I had a strong result in National Championships in March finishing 7th or 8th despite having the slowest skis in the competition by far (which Jed Hinkley can confirm because we skied the whole race together. I would pass him on the up-hills, gap him, and then he would zoom by me on the downhills!). That May, Billy Demong called me to say that the US coaches wanted to talk… they told me I had made the US Nordic Combined Ski Team. That phone call was awesome! That very month I packed up what belongings I had in Colorado and made the next move to Park City. I skied for the US for two years on the World Cup B Circuit. Somehow I learned the V in Europe days before an event, and translated that into multiple top 10 finishes that year on the B Cup.
There is a strong place for ski jumping/ Nordic combined in my heart and a long and rich history of the sport in the US. Despite a busy work schedule and a family at home these days, I continue to follow the sport and think back with excitement to the dreams it fostered for me. Somehow, I was able to start from scratch at the age of 23 and work my way up to finishing in the top ten on what is now the Continental Cup Circuit. I say this to make the point that your career is not over if you don’t make the National Team as a teenager, and there are multiple paths within the sport. A positive attitude and good work ethic will go a long way. I survived, preserved, and even coached for a few years, and now I cherish those memories.
Matt Cook with Carl Van Loan on the World Cup B tour in Taivalkoski, FIN.
Carl Van Loan, US Nordic combined coach Bard Elden and Matt at World Cup B in Klingenthal, GER.
Matt Cook in action back in the day.
USANS STORY PROJECT 28-DEC 2017- MIKE HOLLAND
THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING BIG. January 1981... taking to the road in the green Ford LTD with Matt Petri and Hans Copeland (above).
MIKE HOLLAND
Ford Sayre Ski Club
mike@LendingCapital.com
The enormous, gas guzzling, green Ford LTD floated down the road, its couch-like bench seats ideal for road trips. It was winter break after my first semester at the University of Vermont. Matt Petri, Hans Copeland and I settled into the LTD embarking on a 4,600 mile journey. Our goal was to improve as ski jumpers by training on a variety of hills.
While we were excited to jump on Olympic size 90 & 120m hills in Thunder Bay and Steamboat Springs, I was apprehensive being in close quarters with Hans and Matt. They were older, handsome, outgoing and knew each other well as classmates at St. Lawrence University. I felt socially awkward and had been spending most of my time with other engineering students who were more comfortable alone in the back of the library with a pile of text books. Nonetheless, off we went.
After a few painfully cold days of jumping in Thunder Bay were heading West on I-80 through Nebraska en route to Steamboat. Staying awake while driving in Nebraska is difficult. The flat highway stretches endlessly in a straight line toward the horizon passing nothing but cow fields. I drove, Hans slept on the back seat and Matt complained about the smell of the cows. The smell was so disgusting, I wondered how anyone could live there. Investigating the stench more fully, Matt rolled down the passenger window announcing that the smell was coming from the INSIDE of the car. I pulled over and Petri jumped out. Looking across the seat, the engineer in me was puzzled by heatwaves rising and distorting the view of Matt in the snowbank. It was then I realized that while reading road maps the night before, someone had neglected to turn off our spotlight. It had burned through the front of a wool sweater leaving a black hole that continued 7 inches down through the foam of the front seat.
This trip was the beginning of my more extensive travel in efforts to make the U.S. Ski Team. The combination of shared athletic goals and a litany of scary, funny, sad and happy experiences with fellow jumpers built bonds that last a lifetime. Our close friendships, unusual experiences and our struggle to master a difficult sport were cathartic.
As I improved and was named to the U.S. Ski Team, I recall Rex Bell commenting that he noticed such a transformation in me. While I still felt like the same person that piled into the LTD with Matt and Hans, socializing became easier. Our sport turned a quiet, reserved, socially awkward engineering student into a more outgoing, confident father, entrepreneur and coach.
This month marks my 9th year coaching young kids in Hanover, NH in the Ski Jumping club where Jeff Hastings introduced me to the sport 46 years ago. I’ve seen the same transformation in the young athletes I coach – the very reason I find coaching so fulfilling. I see their personalities transform as they confront their fears and master a scary, unnatural sport. I know first-hand that the confidence that young ski jumpers develop benefits them in countless ways throughout their entire lives.
What started with a cross country road trip in January 1981 may well have culminated (JUST 4 YEARS LATER!) in the moment captured above when Mike Holland set a world distance record of 186m in March 1985 in Planica, Yugoslavia. To see ABC coverage of this moment, click here.
USANS STORY PROJECT 27-DEC 2017- DOUG DION
CURATOR'S NOTE- The Dion family from Lebanon, NH was legend in ski jumping circles back in the day. A couple of newspaper clippings, one from the late 1940's, give some great insight into the early Dion days.
FROM THE SUMMER of '52: The caption in the local paper reads: SKIS AND SWIM SUITS MIX JUST FINE, as far as the skiing Dions of Lebanon are concerned. Above they are shown just before leaving Lebanon this noon for Lake Placid, NY, where they will compete in an invitational ski jump on the Fourth. Crushed ice will perform the seeming miracle of shifting midsummer to winter at the jump area. The Dions, five of them are, left to right: Roger, 12, Dougie, 9, Bernard, 11, Ray and Ernie. Roger and Dougie are Ernie's sons and Bernard is Ray's offspring. All of the- of both generations- are star jumpers.
DOUG DION
Lebanon Outing Club
djdion882002@yahoo.com
Here’s memory to share. Not sure if the pictures are usable since there are from a newspaper printed in 1952 when I was 10 years old. We were headed to a summer jumping meet on crushed ice long before they had even thought of the plastic surfaces used today. In the pictures are my Dad Ernie, Uncle Ray (Bernard's Dad), and Brother Roger, Cousin Bernard and me. We were headed for either Laconia NH or Lake Placid, NY for a summer 4th of July tournament, because they were the only 2 places that had summer tournaments. In today's world they would probably think we were crazy to be jumping on crushed ice, especially since the jumpers for the most part helped cover the hill for a couple of hours before they jumped on it. Time was always of the essence because of how fast the ice melted and how long it took to cover the hill, which is why they only put on as much as was necessary. The in-run had barely enough crushed ice to have a set of tracks on it and not melt before the last guy jumped, the landing was not very wide and had enough to land on for a couple of hours and only to where the outrun began... which had hay on it. So, beside trying to jump as far as we could, the goal was to land on the ice, don't fall and when you got to the outrun you wanted to be prepared to slow down in a hurry cause hay wasn't near as fast as ice...
Don't let the picture be misleading, we jumped with ski pants and sweat shirts, not swim suits because if you did fall, the ice and/or hay would be uncomfortable to say the least. We never thought of it as being dangerous, and I can't ever remember anyone getting hurt, it was just a lot of fun.
Another picture that might bring a smile to your face (see below). It was taken next to a jump carved out of the woods on the Meriden Road close to Kimball Union Academy. I really don’t know how far we went but by the height of the take-off behind me in the picture it looks like we had fun. How far we went was related to how far up the hill you wanted to climb, how high in the air you dared to go and how close to the bottom you wanted to land. Oh yeah, and we usually skied until the sun went down and couldn’t see the landing anymore. Through it all we never feared because we always knew Dad wouldn’t let us do more than he thought we could handle. As for me personally, my incentive was to try to keep up with brother and cousin. After all, I was way over 4 years old, been practicing walking for over 3 years, and all I had to do was follow deep tracts strait down the hill, and stay on my feet until I stopped. Easy! Right?
FOUR YEARS EARLIER (1948?)... the caption reads: Tiny five-year-old Douglas Dion of Lebanon is perhaps the youngest jumper in the nation. About a month ago, the lad, who has been skiing since he was a year-and-a-half old, took his first leap off the Kimball Union academy jump, a 25-meter hill in Meriden, and has been hitting the take-off ever since just as unconcerned as a veteran jumper. His eight year old brother, Roger, (inset) has been working out on the 35-meter Storrs Hill jump and is entered in this event in the Class C competitions at the Lebanon Outing club's 25th annual winter carnival to be held January 31 and February 1.
FROM THE SUMMER of '52: The caption in the local paper reads: SKIS AND SWIM SUITS MIX JUST FINE, as far as the skiing Dions of Lebanon are concerned. Above they are shown just before leaving Lebanon this noon for Lake Placid, NY, where they will compete in an invitational ski jump on the Fourth. Crushed ice will perform the seeming miracle of shifting midsummer to winter at the jump area. The Dions, five of them are, left to right: Roger, 12, Dougie, 9, Bernard, 11, Ray and Ernie. Roger and Dougie are Ernie's sons and Bernard is Ray's offspring. All of the- of both generations- are star jumpers.
DOUG DION
Lebanon Outing Club
djdion882002@yahoo.com
Here’s memory to share. Not sure if the pictures are usable since there are from a newspaper printed in 1952 when I was 10 years old. We were headed to a summer jumping meet on crushed ice long before they had even thought of the plastic surfaces used today. In the pictures are my Dad Ernie, Uncle Ray (Bernard's Dad), and Brother Roger, Cousin Bernard and me. We were headed for either Laconia NH or Lake Placid, NY for a summer 4th of July tournament, because they were the only 2 places that had summer tournaments. In today's world they would probably think we were crazy to be jumping on crushed ice, especially since the jumpers for the most part helped cover the hill for a couple of hours before they jumped on it. Time was always of the essence because of how fast the ice melted and how long it took to cover the hill, which is why they only put on as much as was necessary. The in-run had barely enough crushed ice to have a set of tracks on it and not melt before the last guy jumped, the landing was not very wide and had enough to land on for a couple of hours and only to where the outrun began... which had hay on it. So, beside trying to jump as far as we could, the goal was to land on the ice, don't fall and when you got to the outrun you wanted to be prepared to slow down in a hurry cause hay wasn't near as fast as ice...
Don't let the picture be misleading, we jumped with ski pants and sweat shirts, not swim suits because if you did fall, the ice and/or hay would be uncomfortable to say the least. We never thought of it as being dangerous, and I can't ever remember anyone getting hurt, it was just a lot of fun.
Another picture that might bring a smile to your face (see below). It was taken next to a jump carved out of the woods on the Meriden Road close to Kimball Union Academy. I really don’t know how far we went but by the height of the take-off behind me in the picture it looks like we had fun. How far we went was related to how far up the hill you wanted to climb, how high in the air you dared to go and how close to the bottom you wanted to land. Oh yeah, and we usually skied until the sun went down and couldn’t see the landing anymore. Through it all we never feared because we always knew Dad wouldn’t let us do more than he thought we could handle. As for me personally, my incentive was to try to keep up with brother and cousin. After all, I was way over 4 years old, been practicing walking for over 3 years, and all I had to do was follow deep tracts strait down the hill, and stay on my feet until I stopped. Easy! Right?
FOUR YEARS EARLIER (1948?)... the caption reads: Tiny five-year-old Douglas Dion of Lebanon is perhaps the youngest jumper in the nation. About a month ago, the lad, who has been skiing since he was a year-and-a-half old, took his first leap off the Kimball Union academy jump, a 25-meter hill in Meriden, and has been hitting the take-off ever since just as unconcerned as a veteran jumper. His eight year old brother, Roger, (inset) has been working out on the 35-meter Storrs Hill jump and is entered in this event in the Class C competitions at the Lebanon Outing club's 25th annual winter carnival to be held January 31 and February 1.
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