Thrill of victory forgotten

Jumping unlikely to take off again

It lasts barely five seconds. It's one of the most iconic and spectacular images in the history of televised athletics. And it has maligned the perception of an entire sport.

When a little-known Yugoslavian skier lost his balance and flailed wildly off the platform at the 1970 World Cup Ski Jumping Championships, ABC immortalized the moment in the signature opening of its "Wide World of Sports" program. Vinko Bogataj walked away from the horrific accident with only a concussion, but when endless airings of his infamous crash became synonymous with the words "agony of defeat," so, too, did ski jumping.

"Think of how many adults who have kids now grew up watching that," said John Fulton, who has coached ski jumping at Concord (N.H.) High School for 20 years. "And you have the answer why people don't understand our sport from a safety perspective."

Norm LeBlanc, who has held various ski coaching positions for 40 years at Plymouth Regional High School, takes the argument one step further.

"Probably the No. 1 thing that killed ski jumping was that 'agony of defeat' footage," LeBlanc said. "There were ski jumps all over New England. As soon as that clip became popular, liability insurance shot through the roof. Communities found it hard to afford to keep the jumps open."

Almost every northern state from the Midwest to New England had high school ski jumping, and in the Northeast it thrived. But one by one, those programs were phased out or unceremoniously dropped, so that by the mid-1980s, New Hampshire was the lone state to sanction the sport.

For the past 25 years, the close-knit Granite State jumping community has fought a tenacious but lonely battle to keep interscholastic ski jumping alive. But an uncertain economic climate, coupled with dwindling student participation, has even the most ardent supporters wondering if this unique badge of being the last state standing is beginning to look more like an emblem for an endangered species.

"New Hampshire is a skiing state," said Fulton, who began jumping at age 5 at Ford Sayre Ski Club in Hanover. "We keep doing the best we can. We keep encouraging. But unfortunately, I see a slow decline. Eventually - and I hope the day never comes when you have to write this - we are going to lose our sport."

Three or four generations ago, ski jumping was so much a part of the lives of teenagers in northern New England that it was more popular than even football and basketball. In 1913, New Hampshire hosted the very first collegiate jumping competition, between Dartmouth College and McGill University. By 1937, the Granite State was home to the country's tallest ski jump, a fearsome, now-defunct, 198-foot tower in Berlin that was home to the United States jumping nationals four times between 1940 and 1972.

LeBlanc recalls that even teams in the southern part of the state, like his high school in Manchester, had the use of a small community ski jump into the 1960s. Fulton also jumped in high school, then excelled as team captain at the University of New Hampshire in the late 1970s (back before helmets became mandatory). Upon graduation, he stayed on to coach the UNH jumping squad, but his tenure only lasted a single season.

In 1980 - two months after the wildly popular Lake Placid Winter Olympics - the ski rules committee of the NCAA voted, 5-0, to eliminate jumping. Although strong as a spectator sport, there were issues with expenses, liability, and a lack of qualified athletes. The most promising jumpers were bypassing college programs, opting to head straight for the US national team. A trickle-down effect adversely affected high school jumping, because these teams were no longer relevant as feeder programs for something bigger and better.

"These kids jump all through high school, they spend four years at it, and it seems as if there's nothing left for them [upon entering college]," said Fulton.

To a certain extent, ski jumping has gone back to its roots as a club-based sport, with about eight organizations maintaining jumps across New England for skiers of all ages, and there are at least four private prep school teams. But New Hampshire's public schools have been hit the hardest, with only 65 student-athletes now active statewide (14 girls and 51 boys). A few years ago, there were a dozen jumping squads. Last year there were nine. This season only seven remain: Concord, Hanover, Hopkinton, John Stark, Kennett, Plymouth, and Sunapee.

Kearsarge Regional High School, for example, dropped out because it fielded a one-man team and the student graduated. Conversely, Nashua High School South had willing jumpers, but their coach had work commitments that kept him on the road, and the program expired when no one came forward to replace him. "Jumping coaches are few and far between," said Fulton.

Dan LeBlanc is Norm's son, and as one of the younger coaches on the circuit, he's attempting to infuse new blood into the statewide program. Dan was named jumps coach at Plymouth four years ago (Norm, technically retired, still shows up and volunteers), and even though Plymouth is one of the few schools with a jump, he still has to actively recruit a team.

"Jumping is the kind of thing that adventurous, athletic kids do naturally, but you still have to beat the bushes," Dan LeBlanc said. While an earlier generation of jump coaches might have bemoaned the advent of snowboarding, he embraces it, because kids who gain experience as youngsters snowboarding at terrain parks can be converted into ski jumpers. "I think the 'big air stud' has helped us," he said.

High school jumpers begin slowly, on small hills. A 10-meter jump is a good starting point, but the better athletes will eventually launch off the 38-meter hill, the maximum on the New Hampshire circuit (for perspective, World Cup and Olympic jumpers typically use 90- and 120-meter jumps). "Sometimes you encourage them, sometimes you pull the reins in," said Fulton.

With budgets wearing thin, jumping teams try to keep expenses to a bare minimum so their programs won't get axed. This means sharing practice hills, using secondhand equipment, and coaches, parents, and athletes paying out of pocket for things that schools used to fund.

"I don't have the money for a new piece of wax," Fulton said. "A lot of the equipment we are using is hand-me-down."

Sometimes, Fulton will acquire donated jumping suits from elite skiers, and when his students see the name of a famous World Cup jumper stitched on the back, they get excited over the brush with greatness, like a baseball player might if he got to compete in a star player's uniform.

For the short term, New Hampshire ski jumping is focused on the Feb. 13 state tourney at Proctor Academy in Andover, where perennial powerhouse Hanover will attempt to defend its championship. The long-term outlook is more uncertain.

"It really all depends on people being dedicated to making it thrive," said Dan LeBlanc. "Success is about being ambassadors for the sport. Someday, we're going to have to pick up that mantle if we want it to stay alive."

The coaches clearly get this concept, but do students ever consider ski jumping's fragile future?

"More often than you might think," said Concord jumping team captain Parker Finch, a 16-year-old junior. "We feel fortunate. It's definitely a special feeling, because you're part of a unique community. There are some really close bonds."