The farm was twelve miles east of Napoleon, a mostly easy drive. All but the last 1.5 miles of road was well maintained. Highway 34 between Napoleon and Gackle was cleared usually within a day of a snowstorm. The county road intersecting with 34 and the road to the farm was open within another several days. The problem was that last mile and a half: The two-rut prairie road would drift shut with hard packed snow and could be impassible for weeks. Sometimes when they were running out of food or coal, the parents would worry and dad would take the Case tractor and try to break a path through the snow.
Al and Ronny didn’t concern themselves with being snowed in. The brothers had plenty to do and were good at amusing themselves. They walked to school anyway and could follow a path that was mostly swept clean of snow by the blizzard wind. And both knew, the same weather that isolated the farm behind the blocked road often created awesome sledding conditions.
South, across a rambling wetland stood the farm where cousin Allen lived. Typically, prairie lakes grew and shrank, dependent as they were on snow runoff. In high precipitation years, it was a real lake with a reedy shoreline and large, open patches of water. With little snow pack, it became a mucky swamp dotted with only a few water holes large enough for a duck to attempt a landing.
At the lake’s west end, a gentle slope descended from the shoulder of a higher plain. It wasn’t much, but add snowfall and a 40 mile per hour wind blowing for a day or two and the structure changed. Now, rather than a short prairie hillside, it had character. Now it had cliffs, drop offs, and cornices. Al and cousin Allen found the sled jump years before and had ridden it often. A rider sledding down the hill could become airborne more than once if it was done at the right speed and angle.
The North Dakota winter of 1948-1949 was one of the snowiest in memory. A series of storms dumped ever more snow onto the prairies, feeding the perfect sled jump.
On a cold, crisp, sunny day in January 1949, Al and six year old Ronny stood at the top of this hillside. Al placed the well-used Flexible Flyer sled he had been carrying on the snow, sliding it back and forth a few times. And don’t think for a moment that Ronny wasn’t simultaneously scared and excited as he looked at the waiting sled and the long way down on the brilliantly white untouched snow. With a little luck I can make it all the way onto the lake, he thought and barely noticed a parallel thought underneath, I’m too young to die!
He lay down on the sled and put his hands on the wooden cross-piece, pulling it each way, testing the steering. He wiggled his body to get comfortable and balance his weight on the sled.
“OK,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re ready? Now hold on tight.” Al slid the Ronny laden sled back and forth several times and then gave it a mighty shove.
The first thing Ronny hadn’t anticipated was the layer of fresh light snow that sprayed up as he flew through it, blasting his face and burrowing deep within his brown coat. He had no idea where he was or what was coming towards him at supersonic speed. He heeded his brother’s words and held on as tightly as he could.
Al was on all fours after pushing the sled. What he saw was a moving cloud of snow scurrying down the hill toward the drop off. For a brief moment, the cloud dissipated and he saw the Flexible Flyer and its cargo reaching for an orbit. Instead, it touched down in another massive cloud of snow, traveling even faster than before. The runners left the snow several times in the next three seconds and Al thought of a rodeo rider on a wild bull.
This is like riding a wild bull, thought Ronnie. And he held on.
Al stood up, his eyes fixed on the moving snow cloud. He’s going to get killed! He held his breath as he watched Ronny headed directly for a snowed-over rock pile at the edge of the lake. A loud scraping sound and he saw the sled cart-wheeling off to the right as a brown bullet shot through the air for a perfect landing on the lake’s ice and skidded to a stop.
With a half crying, half laughing “WHEEEE!,” Ronny struggled to his feet. Al raced down through the knee deep snow to grab the sled and help his brother back up the hill.
Taking his turn, Al carefully steered away from the pile of stones that had launched his brother into free flight. A second run and he aimed closer to the rock pile, but still with room to spare. That was enough.
A shivering walk later and back at home, they were crawling out of their wet clothing. Mother looked at Al, “I hope you weren’t down at the sled jump. Ronny’s much too young for that.”
9 January 2013
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