USASJ Story Project 8-Dec-13 MIKE HOLLAND

Mike Holland catching big air in summer of ’83.

MIKE HOLLAND
Age 51
Ford Sayre Ski Club
Norwich, VT

In about 1981, Matt Petri, Hans Copeland and I drove to Thunder Bay, Ontario for some training on Big Thunder’s intimidating K90 and K120 hills. Routinely, we switched on the hotel television each morning. Before programming started, the local channel displayed current weather conditions: Temperature -35° (every day for a week!) I remember thinking, “OMG, why does anyone live here?” Thunder Bay residents explain that 30 below is quite common

.
Big Thunder, as it was called.  Most mornings you throw
a cup of coffee in the air and it would vaporize before it
hit the ground.

Roughly 4 years later (and then with the U.S. Team) I was back in Thunder Bay for some K120 training. This time it was a balmy -22°. After lunch we were back on top of the big hill preparing for our first afternoon jump. Typically, Scott Smith forged the way. He had a reputation of setting tracks whenever there was a need. On this particular afternoon, however, Scott hung back waiting for someone else to take the lead. Nobody volunteered. After a few minutes I heard Scott grumble, “I’m not going first. I set tracks this morning.” Rick Mewborn responded, “I’m not setting, I went first yesterday.” The squabbling continued for several more minutes as we jumped and jogged in place trying to stay warm. Shivering, I announced, “I’m going” as I dropped my skis in the start and hastily attached my bindings.
Little did I realize that during our lunch break a side breeze had filled the inrun tracks with fine, and very slow snow crystals. A wall along the steep portion of the inrun prevented these sharp, grabby crystals from entering the tracks. Unfortunately, the wall ends in the begging of the radius (red arrow). When I reached this point it felt as if I hit a trip wire. No chance. At 60 mph I flew onto my chest as I yelled “NO!!!!!!” as I approached the take-off.

The kill zone.

Fortunately, it had snowed 18 inches two days earlier and nobody had packed the knoll. POOF, powder flew up in all directions as I landed in a heap. Somehow, I stopped sliding at about 70 meters, just out of sight from the guys still at the top of the jump. As I untangled myself and stood I remember thinking, “what’s broken?” I moved each leg, arm and my neck waiting for the pain. Nothing. While it was -22° I was no longer cold. In fact, I was sweating from the adrenaline rush. From the coaches stand I heard “Are you OK?” I replied, “I guess I am” as I walked to the stairs on the side of the landing hill.

When I reached the knoll, I noticed Smitty, Rick and the other jumpers walking down the inrun steps.