Unable to resist a trip to the Great White North to experience the annual riot of fall colors endemic thereupon, my old cronies and myself were somewhat disappointed to find the vegetation in a pronounced and prolonged state of “greenness” brought about by the heavy summer rains and unseasonably warm late summer temperatures.

 

Undaunted, we motored through the pristine pines to Copper Peak, the largest “ski flying” hill currently standing in the world, which stands brooding on a granite and hematite hillside just east of the Wisconsin border on the sunny shores of Lake Superior, the area some call the “Finnish-American Riviera”.  Contrasting “ski flying” with “ski jumping” is like making the comparison between driving in the Indianapolis 500 and driving to the Quick-Bite for a gallon of milk.

 

And they are planning to fly there again, less than two years from now.

 

The jump, called “the slide” reaches a full 24 stories into the air, allowing those who climb to the heights to see Canada, most of Lake Superior, Michigan and Wisconsin, if they dare to open their eyes.  I know this structure well, because I worked as a volunteer on two of the major meets held there in the 1970’s.

 

You get to know it well because the snow is put on it by hand, since there is no machine yet invented that can do the job.  Just a long line of unfortunates bearing bushel baskets full of snow, which they dump into a large metal tank bearing two idiots with shovels that is winched slowly up the expanse all the way to the top.  And the slide creaks and moans and sways in the wind, all the more so the closer you get to the top.

 

We knew all that, my friend Joe and me, but we went up anyway, three weeks ago.  The narrow passageways were crowded, as many had come expecting to see colors other than green.  More than one newcomer wore a similar shade of green once he or she discovered just what it was like up on top, but that has always been part of the fun.

 

Lost another hat up there this year, due to the howling wind from the Big Lake, but this time it sailed off and landed in the parking lot.  Came down not far from where we left the car, 24 stories below where we stood and watched it go.  In the winter, it can pull the stocking cap right off of you, which is why savvy worker bees carry two or three.

 

Funny, though, after all these years we were glad to board the tiny tin-cup elevator that takes you up and down from the 18th story before you make your final ascent on the steel mesh stairs on foot.  With all the swaying and praying in the press of “newbies” up there, we old fellows were just as glad to get down to earth and recover my lucky Irish hat (purchased at the Guinness brewery in Dublin some years back).

 

But the best news is that they will be flying again from the big hill, in the summer of 2017.  That is just what I said, but we have seen the evidence.  These days, ski flying hills use lengths of nylon matting to cover the landing slope, with refrigeration lines built into the slide to create the downhill surface.  The matting is on display in the gift shop at the foot of the hill, along with the plans for the renovation.  There are already several such hills in Europe and out west in this country, so it apparently can be done.

 

But looking at the jagged rocks on both sides of the landing hill, you just have to wonder.  Not that a couple of inches of snow would save you any better if the wind carried you off course, but  at least it looks softer in the winter.

 

July, 2017.  This I have to see.