A Last Night on The Jump

The wooden boards were weathered and smooth, but whether that was because of the thousands of jumpers who had stomped their grooved skis on the boards or because of the hundreds of Outing Clubbers who had lugged up sleeping bags and pads for an illicit night out, we weren't sure.

Hundreds? Yes. Although there are no records, no logbooks, sleeping on top of the ski jump is probably as old a tradition as ski jumping at Dartmouth. But the overnight tradition ended several days after the last jumping competition, as the jump was about to be torn down.

So there we were, sneaking our way through the metal gate on this last night in March. It wasn't even locked. We were all set to make camp on the platform up top only there was no top. Heather leaned up against the take-off ramp and peered straight down 150 feet. Earlier that day a construction crew had removed it, I-beams and all. The only flat space left was a six-by-eight-foot warm-up platform below the top of the slope. There was just enough room for the two sleeping bags.

We were soon grateful for the unexpected disappearance of our intended campsite;as we rolled out our bags it began to snow, and we were sheltered. We sang—old John Prine songs, some Paul Simon, Harry Belafonte's "Day-O." It was a fine spot for a slumber party.

In the morning everything was white and hushed. Dean took a photo of Heather perched precariously at the edge where the platform used to be, and we shussed down the jump on our butts. The next day the small platform was gone; five days later, nothing was left but melting snow and bulldozer tracks.

HEATHER KILLEBREW '89 AND DEAN ENGLE '91

Engle up on top.