BERT HINKLEYAndover Outing Clubbert@webskis.com 
Bert Hinkley with Clyde and Sugar circa 1986.KIDS LEARNING TO LOVE SKIING1986, winter, and the Hinkley family was tucked into a one-room, octagon log cabin with no electricity in Cornish, NH. That winter I worked our 35 acres, logging the family wood lot with Sugar and Clyde, a pair of draft horses. Dani was overseeing nutrition programs in day care centers for the Upper Connecticut Valley region near Hanover, and Erin and Jed were exploring the world around them. Often, in the late afternoon, as the shadows of the NH woodland stretched long across the snow, I would come down out of the woods and put the horses and tools in the barn early enough so I could stoke the fire in the stove in the cabin before Dani got home with the kids. Erin, age 7, and Jed, age 5 would scramble out of the car as Dani arrived home from work. She would head into the cabin and the kids and I would grab their old second hand ski boots, snow pants, mittens and hats and with skis over their shoulders we would walk in the growing dark to the log landing along the narrow driveway. With snow shovel in hand we would sculpt the snow banks lining the driveway cutting a slot in the uphill side and creating a ramp on the downhill side. Next we would pack out an in-run and do the same on the “landing hill”, a short slope that ended in a wall of young pine trees. Then it was time for night time ski jumping!Both kids would sidestep up the in-run, and when I gave the signal that the hill was clear, one would carefully assume a snow plow position on the in-run and then start down in a low tuck. The white snow provided enough contrast with the dark forest to see, sort of, the slot in the snow bank. A little speeding kid would drop through the slot, shoot across the drive way and launch off the ramp on the downhill side toward the line of trees. Upon landing, a quick right turn and hockey stop was executed to avoid colliding with a pine tree. Then the other would follow. Falls were common and so were shouts, smiles, and laughter. After an hour or so of this “jump practice” we would trudge back to the cabin in complete dark. The kitchen window glowed with the light from the gas lamps and Dani would have some hot soup and bread ready. We did not have spectators, distance markers or judges. No fancy jumps skis or jump suits, but we did create some special memories. When I wrote this, I asked Jed if he remembered these days, and what it meant to him? He remembered living in that cabin and the nights of "jump practice." He replied that It taught him that you don't need much in life to be happy, that there was nothing better than being outside in the woods in the winter, and that ski jumping was fun.... I think these are lessons that we all need to remember every now and again.
FUN WITH Dad- Bert, Erin, and Jed (2002 Nordic combined Olympian and current USANS Sport Development Director) enjoy the woods in winter.
The team in Breitenburg, Germany, before the 2015 Summer Grand Prix competitions.
ADAM LOOMIS
Flying Eagles Ski Club, Eau Claire, WI
skiloomis@gmail.com
Bagless in Breitenburg
The more I think back to last year’s Summer Grand Prix trip, the more amazed I am that we were able to make it work out.
Before the Grand Prix competition began we spent a few days training in Breitenburg, Germany. Flying over, 3 out of our 4 ski bags didn't arrive in Munich with our flight. Not for the first time, we filled missing bag claims and continued on our way, reasonably confident that the airlines would have get them on another flight into Munich and then quickly deliver them to our hotel door.
Long story short, we spent two weeks in Europe this trip, and our skis never made it, despite our persistent efforts to communicate with the airlines and the delivery company. After a few days they let us know that in fact, the delivery company doesn't deliver beyond 100km. Ok, we said, send them to the airport hotel in Munich, and one of our coaches would be willing to pick them up. Somehow this message couldn't get through to the right person either, and about a week after our arrival, our skis were back on a plane – but heading back to Salt Lake City.
This story isn’t about (unexceptional) airline failings but rather the fact that we all made it work fairly well. Some of us had new jump skis waiting for us in Breitenburg, thanks to a new measurement protocol that effectively made everyone a bit shorter. We also had some extra bindings; I had heel blocks in my duffel, but my spare toe pieces were in my ski bag. Two out of three binding parts was a good start and I was able to borrow toe pieces: first from the local club in Breitenburg, then from the Chinese women's jumping team, and then from our Czech wax-tech who came over to watch in Oberwiesenthal, GER.
We put together enough poles for everyone to use from any team that could spare a pair for the Americans. The last thing we all needed was rollerskis. Again, we were lucky, in that a company supplies rollerskis for all the racers in order to keep things fair, and the organizers gave us a few old pairs to use for training and warm-up. For the second week, our rep from One Way sent over a pole tube with our coach DJ, who joined us late. We're incredibly lucky to have someone that lives in Park City, and is willing to send out brand new poles for each of us on a moment’s notice.
We’ve tried to repay our debts to the seven different nations who helped us out, but in small communities, everyone lends a hand, and no one keeps score. If I've learned one thing, it's that there is always a way to make things work out. Also, if your bags don’t show, you might want to wait for them yourself, even if it means an extra night at a nearby hotel. That’s what we did this year, when all 12 of our bags spent a few extra hours in Amsterdam.
Adam racing in Oberweisenthal, GER Summer Grand Prix, with borrowed poles and the rollerskis provided by the organizers. Romina Eggert photo.
PICTURE OF GRACE. Eldridge laying on 'em back days of Nipper and Dummer and the like.ELDRIDGE FRENCHMinneapolis Ski Clubeldridgefrench@gmail.com Old ski jumpers are friends for life! I can remember the days in Minneapolis when I would wake up and my mom would ask how many for breakfast? My answer was always the same. Count the bodies sleeping on the floor in the family room. Sometimes five, sometimes ten. The Jacobson twins, Nipper and Dummer, Dave Hicks, Jack Everson, Inge Lundering were among the regulars. Thanks to facebook we are able to still keep in touch and share old jumping stories. Our love for golf will never replace the memories of Ski jumping and the friendships we developed way back when! Windy, Nip, Jay, etc. see you all on the first tee! Best, Eldridge French Post script to my story: Nipper stopped by to visit my folks on the way to his new teaching job and stayed three years! A great ride!
Ski jumping, facebook and golf- the ties that first set and then bind. Eldridge's ski jumping buddies now keep their feet planted, shoulder width... on the golf course. Nipper Jacobson, Greg Windsperger, and Jerry Martin. An all-star foursome.
Mark Breen just outside the Zakopane, Poland jump stadium in March of 1986.MARK BREENLake PlacidSalisbury Winter Sports Associationmbreen12@gmail.com A highlight of my brief career was to qualify for a trip to West Germany and the Blackforest Springertournee in March of 1986. I packed up on my first ever European trip and boarded a plane with fellow Springertournee competitors David Williams from Colorado, Dan Matoon and, I believe, Yan Sandman, from Central Division, and the infamous Matt Petri of Massachusetts. During the 1984 Winter Olympics Matt Petri had become a bit of a human interest story after a horrendous crash during training in which his aluminum Adidas binding tore through, and shattered, his arm. The horrific scars left as a reminder proved to be no deterrent and Matt kept competing to, if memory serves me, eventually qualify again for the 1988 Olympics. As luck would have it, and to my great surprise, our trip would also be taking us behind the Iron Curtain to a competition in Zakopane Poland. I knew this would be a unique experience as this was still a time of suspicion and mistrust between the Soviet East and American West. Before leaving I paid attention to the U.S. Ski team members who traveled regularly behind the Iron Curtain and often spoke of the depressed and impoverished way of life that many who lived there experienced at that time. Two things I noted was how often I would hear complaints of the food they would be exposed to in the Soviet block, and how you shouldn't exchange too much U.S. Currency for souvenirs cause they wouldn't let you exchange the money back nor take their currency back to the West. This stuck in my head and I was determined to buy as many groceries as I could in the west to take with me to the east if I was allowed. Landing in Switzerland we drove to Neustadt West Germany for our first competition and then on to Schonwald, which was just around the corner, for the second and final competition of the Springertournee. From there we drove across Austria and stopped in Vienna prior to out border crossing into Czechoslovakia. Time to get nutritious tasty food for my time in Poland. Off to the store I went where I bought an athlete's diet of Coca Cola, chips, and what was essentially a giant pound cake. After a thorough going over by Czech border guards with the first AK style rifles I had ever seen we were on the road across Czechoslovakia to Poland. After dark I was woken up by my coach who told me to look out the car window. It turned out we were traveling next to a rail bed and a train full of flatbed cars carrying Soviet Tanks was passing us heading west as we were going east. Very intimidating seeing what seemed like hundreds of enemy tanks on the way to free Europe's borders. Pulling up to our hotel in Zakopane I saw a horse drawn cart with truck tires drive by, an immediate reminder of the different world I was in. Having only settled into my room for about ten minutes my roommate, and coach, told me he was going out to have a look around. No sooner did he leave than there was a knock on my door. I answered it thinking the coach had forgot his key but standing in front of me were two thin mustachioed, Adidas track suit wearing, cigarette smoking dudes who greeted me with the words "you need money!" Sixteen years old at the time I was a bit freaked. I said "no I don't need money." They said "no", "we change money for you." With that they just walked in the room and shut the door behind them. They made it clear that if I wanted to exchange money it was better to do it with them as they would give me a much better exchange rate than a local bank. Turns out there was an active black market for U.S. currency to a degree that these men made it their business to know when Americans came to town. I reluctantly agreed and ended up changing about 80 bucks into Polish currency. I was relieved when they left cause while they got what they came for it was clear to me they were not quite happy with the amount. That and the stereotypical track suits and smokes were a bit much for me. With that I ate pound cake and soda for three days cause I wasn't enamored with the fare. I didn't jump Zakopane's very nice low flying 90 meter hill very well but I was able to buy lots of bootlegged cassette tapes with my Polish money and I was thankful to get out of there when I did cause a month later I noticed from TV news accounts that Zakopane got a little radiation from the Chernobyl meltdown that occurred a few weeks later.
Hill in Neustadt West Germany in 1986... big then, even bigger now.
Mark Breen in Lake Placid in 1984.
WALT CHERRYMunising, MI/St Paul Ski Clubwbcherry56@gmail.comSo, it's early March, 1958. Iron Mountain is hosting the National Ski Jumping Championships. "Mighty Pine Mountain" where a year or so earlier I'd watched a meet where Esco Mommo of Finland demonstrated the latest in jumping evolution where the arms were held at the sides in what was called the "flying fish style". On the same weekend I climbed to the top of the slide and tentatively decided I'd probably retire from jumping before I'd attempt a Hari Kari ride down this monster. But here I was, with my ski gear- under less than ideal circumstances: I'd never skied a 90m before though i'd skied the Ishpeming 70m the last two years: I started college- engineering at Mich Tech this year- skiing weekends only; class requirements didn't allow me to travel to Iron Mountain until the morning of the tournament- so I got to the hill after the hill was closed for practice. And so, the die was set- my first jump on the monster was to be the 1st competitive ride in the National Championships, before a crowd of 15,000 people.Huh! . .. . . no pressure. . . no nerves!. . huh! . . . but, I did it. . competitive skills were set aside- this was survival- so, the cables were tightened a couple twists and the mindset was to not let the 60+mph speed and big air pressure flip me over backwards- and by damn I did it!! . .(Gene Kotlarek, Ken Lahner, Jon St Andre and Butch Wedin topped our Junior Class) Another adventure came five years later. I'd graduated college, was conscripted into the Army and along with three others (Bob Keck, Pete Langlois and Len Meyer) were touring competitions readying for the '64 Olympic tryouts. I of the four, was the Nordic Combined representative. Prior to the Westby 90m meet I'd shuffled off to Crested Butte for a x-country/jumping NC meet (on a 40m jumping hill). With some "wouldn't-you-know-it" scheduling, Lyle Swenson"s brother raced me from the airport to the Westby jump just as training was closed. Some fast talking and some Coon Valley empathy allowed Walt, if he really, really hustled his bustle, to dash up the slide- on the QT- to sneak in one ride. Tah dah!. . hustle, hustle. . civy clothes fly, slip into the suit 'n boots, unwrap the skis and away we go. .up the steps.. no pressure of course. . a little sweat'll loosen you up. . get to the top. . hmmmm. . which start?.. what-the-hell, it's just a feeler jump- to the top!. . huff!!. . puff!!. . I'm good. . . got the flag- I'm off!! . ."oh my!! now this is some speed" . chest stayin' down, press into it, and POP-IT!! . . INSTANTLY!!!!! it's apparent we overlooked something. . . What you say? . . well I just came from a 40m hill. . . my cables were so loose I could almost slide 'em off and onto my heel with the front throws clamped 'n down! So, this 90 did a number to my skis- they came up and kissed my shoulders- w/ a combination of reflex and shock,I pushed into those tips and for a few milliseconds enjoyed the most exhilarating sensation- the feeling of hitting a soft snowbank and I was soaring upwards, complete w/ a little belly tickle. . . . .and then I panicked- too much!! too strange!!- arms out!. . reverse thrusters(?) !! . wounded duck feel. . Holy crap I'm down this hill. . land skis. . land hands. . butt. . safe to the outrun. . cut 'em around. . just stand there amazed- what did I just do?? (I'm told I was 300'+) I've forgotten so many experiences as the years go by- and that's a bunch 'a years: I got my first competition card in 1952 in my hometown of Munising, MI- I competed every year, including 5 yrs in college, 2 yrs in the military and 30 yrs with the St Paul Ski Club- that should count to 41 years an active competitor. I jumped in the west: including Squaw Valley, Leavenworth, Steamboat, Winter Park. some of the Eastern hills including Lake Placid and Laconia, and most of the Midwest/Central Hills; skied two NCAA Nat'ls, attended two Winter Olympic Games and got to be an official trial rider at the '64 Innsbruck Games I realized early that I wasn't going to be a top-dog competitor but enjoyed working at it because I knew that while I was active and loved the sport, I could contribute much more than I'd take. (I continue to be interested in jumping's evolution and news).
STILL SEARCHING FOR MISS SEAWAY- Don West, Dale Severson, and Walt Cherryat the 2012 Masters National Championships in St Paul.
Carl in the early days in Caribou ME... no suit, no gloves, no helmet, no problem.CARL SODERBERGCaribou, MEcarl@soderbergconstruction.com We have a strong history of Nordic skiing here in northern Maine driven a lot by the Scandinavians that settled here (New Sweden, Stockholm, Westmanland etc.). My grandfather came over from Sweden as a little boy and my mother was from Stockholm but worked at a resort in the mountains of northern Sweden. I jumped in high school here in Caribou in the 1970’s at that time there were jumps in all of the surrounding towns (Fort Kent, Fort Fairfield, Mars Hill, Caribou) and we would travel and compete at other jumps as far away as Gould Academy. Our jump in Caribou was a tower jump as was Fort Kent’s. Fort Fairfield and Mars hill were built into the hill. They are all gone now. I am attaching a couple photos, The one from the 30’s (that jump was gone before I can remember) shows how big a crowd they attracted here in Caribou at the events. The other one is a picture of me in my hand knit hat and jeans... not impressive looking but I was so lucky to have been able to experience the sport (I was hooked from the first jump/crash). Larry Stone and Don West (they were so good to me!!) helped me get set up and jump on the 50 (?) at Lake Placid and the big jump at Gunstock back around year 2000. I visited Holmenkollen in 1973 while visiting family with my mother and was fortunate enough to go back in 2011 for the World Championships. 
Photo of the jump in Caribou ME from the 1930's... big crowds... big trestle!
