BRATTLEBORO-On Feb. 15 and 16, the Harris Hill Ski Jump kicks off its 103rd year, with some 40 world-class athletes to compete in the U.S. Cup event and the Fred Harris Memorial Tournament.
For one special weekend each year, a hayfield at the end of Cedar Street transforms into a pop-up Olympic-style village, with thousands of onlookers gathering to witness a remarkable display of courage.
But the spectacle that awaits didn't just happen overnight. In fact, you could say it has been more than a century in the making.
The 98-meter hill, which is technically classified as a 90-meter hill, has evolved over the years alongside the sport.
When Fred Harris first constructed it in 1922, the outrun stretched just 65 meters. By the early 1980s, excavation expanded it to 80 meters, reflecting the advancements in the sport.
Completed in 2008, the most recent renovations brought the hill up to International Ski Federation standards, elevating it to a first-rate venue for competition.
In anticipation of the event, the great white wall of the hill is crisply groomed and adorned with hemlock boughs, just waiting for athletes from the U.S., Norway, Poland, and Slovenia bold enough to compete.
With the support of over 140 dedicated volunteers, many of whom return year after year, and a deeply committed Harris Hill Ski Jump Committee, keeping the tradition alive remains an incredible community effort.
From logistics to hospitality to specialized tasks like distance marking, Harris Hill shows the world what's possible when passion meets determination.
For the love of it
For those who dedicate countless hours to making this event happen, their commitment stems from a history with the sport.
For others, it's the enduring allure of Fred Harris's daring creation.
For Dana Sprague, hill historian and head of hill markers, it was both.
"I grew up on Cedar Street," said Sprague. "When I was 6 years old, I'd walk down and watch the older guys practice."
Shortly after that, at age 7, Sprague joined the junior jumping program and took flight himself.
Since then, Sprague has worn many hats, including event photographer - carefully adding to the extensive archives and capturing the magic of this event for generations to come.
"It's evolved to the point where I have a full room in my house filled with ski jump photographs and memorabilia," Sprague said.
Preserving the legacy with pride, Sprague's displays can be seen in the Zephyr window on Main Street in the weeks leading up to the event.
Sprague has since passed on the responsibility of event photographer to focus on one of the most critical roles in the competition: distance marking.
Every meter counts
Sprague found a favorite vantage point for the event at age 15, when he began marking distance. Lasering in on the exact spot where a skier's feet touch down, Sprague enjoyed calling a key component of the overall score.
Although Sprague has the final say on exactly where the landing is determined, he relies heavily on his team of 20 individuals, staggered along 60 meters of the seemingly vertical slope, to pinpoint the exact landing spot.
One such volunteer, Xaviar Duke, has been a distance marker for the last 10 years.
"Each year, I learn a finer technique," Duke said.
After orienting himself to key features in his line of sight, Duke explained how he sights in the meter mark to be relayed to the judges. With a quick eye, Duke tracks the skier from takeoff to touchdown.
"If it looks like they're going to land in your zone, I focus really intently on their feet," he said, noting that the distance is measured not by ski tips, but by boot placement.
"If they do a telemark landing, it's measured between their two feet," Duke said.
Landing with style
A clean telemark landing - one leg extended behind in a lunge stance - earns higher points from the five judges, who factor both distance and execution into an overall score out of 20 points.
"Not only do we want the telemark because it's very stylish, but it actually acts as a shock absorber," said Mark Levasseur, who grew up jumping Harris Hill and knows the sport as an athlete, a coach, and now an International Ski Federation Ski Jumping Judge.
When explaining the scoring rubric, Levasseur notes that it takes a rare type of person to
The thrill of a lifetime
High above the trees, the athletes begin their run down an 86-meter-long inrun. With a 22 cm-wide chute of hard-packed ice, there's no room for hesitation as they reach takeoff speeds of over 60 miles per hour.
The ski jumper launches forward over the knoll, extending into the customary V-shape - a defining symbol of ski jumping and an emblem of the Brattleboro Winter Carnival.
"Because of the V, you're getting more lift," Levasseur said. "You're getting clean air hitting your chest," creating a makeshift airfoil of the jumper's body.
Levasseur notes that in this moment - which captivates the full attention of the crowd as athletes are suspended in midair - judges' eyes are intently studying skiers' form.
"Skis [must be] in the right plane at the same angle. One ski up, one ski down, or any movement of your arms - we take off points for that," Levasseur said.
Head to toe, perfect form requires boldness, balance, and unwavering poise as athletes glide through the air - some for over 100 meters.
"You hear the wind get caught in their jumpsuits," said Duke, recalling the experience from his position clinging to the face of the hill. "You hear them float on top of the air."
Onlookers hold their breath until, at the height of suspense, a safe landing.
"Due to advancements in science, technology, and equipment, the sport is incredibly safe," Levasseur said.
"The speeds have dropped, and they're going further because they're getting more lift." With slower speeds, some of the risk is reduced in this gravity-defying feat.
With the number of crashes dramatically decreasing throughout the history of the sport, it seems that something other than the element of danger continues to draw a crowd year after year at Harris Hill.
What makes it human
"It celebrates the human spirit," said Duke, reflecting on what keeps him coming back each year. "I literally get to watch people from all over the world fly."
And unlike some sporting events, at the end of the heroic feat, the athletes are just another smiling face among a sea of smiles.
"They take their skis off, walk through the gate, and there you are. They're right in the crowd," Duke said. "There's not much between the competition and the spectators."
At the end of the day, the thrill is shared, felt universally by everyone who bears witness to each "flight."
From founding father Fred Harris's vision to put Brattleboro on the map as a national sporting landmark, to 103 years of relentless dedication - Harris Hill is about defying gravity together, if only for a weekend.
Todd Einig, chief of competition for the event, who has made the leap himself, reflected on what makes Harris Hill special.
"The reason why the jumpers love coming to Harris Hill is the big-event feel," Einig said.
Despite the small-town setting, Harris Hill has big-hill energy. But all that excitement doesn't come from nowhere.
Talking with one of the European athletes, he relayed his excitement for the event: "In Norway, we don't even have events with spectator crowds like this."
Einig reflected on what keeps athletes coming back to Brattleboro. "People with cowbells, making noise, cheering them on ... asking for autographs - stuff like that."
Call it camaraderie or just plain old excitement, but Harris Hill seems to have its own element of lift generated by the spirit of the event.
Throughout history - from the spectators and announcers to the judges and committee, to every last volunteer, from the gate to the top of the tower - each person plays a role in making flight possible at Harris Hill.
"It's sometimes stressful and overwhelming, but when the event comes together and everything falls into place, there's this euphoria - a sense of, 'Holy smokes, I was a part of that.'"
This News item by Devan Monette was written for The Commons.