Jumping the Guru: Jack Jumping in Charlotte
by Leath Tonino
1/28/2010

The sun sets orange behind bare, dark trees. Before you, the road is a vague white thing, bending away. You’re coming over the flat, heading into Mt. Philo’s steepest pitch, the wind on your teeth. Why is the wind on your teeth? Because you’re smiling. You have been since the summit, and you will be when you reach the bottom… probably on the drive home as well.

This is not sledding, and this is certainly not snow shoeing. This is jack jumping, that homespun, winter pastime of farm kids, hippies or self-employed dudes in their twenties (depending what decade in Vermont history you’re looking at). It’s a sport like no other: attach a plywood seat on a short post to an alpine ski, then let gravity do the rest, that is, until you reach the hill’s end, hoof the contraption over your shoulder, and hike back up for another run. More than hearty fun though, jack jumping is a thread running through our state’s history. It’s a tradition, passed down from one generation to the next. As local doctor/jumper Lee Weisman points out, it’s one other thing as well: “a gas.”

Dr. Weisman is a prime example of the way that jack jumping propagates itself via the simple mechanism of joy. Lee first caught the bug back in the ‘70s from a metal worker in Huntington who had learned from loggers who had probably learned from bona fide old timers (Jack jumping’s “mythic origins” go back to the turn of the century and skis made from barrel staves.)

Being the good link in the chain that he is, Lee facilitated my first jack jumping experience - a five second run down the snowy fringe of his driveway. A day later I was up at Sugarbush with my friend Craig Bunten, the joy unfolding for both of us there between the blue sky and corduroy hard pack. That winter we rode at Sugarbush regularly on our own homemade JayJay and when we were up for the hike, we headed to Lincoln Gap for arguably the state’s most epic run. Jack jumping is also allowed at Jay Peak and Bolton Valley, and one day a year Mt. Snow hosts a dual slalom race.

But come spring, no hill had hosted as many turns as good ol’ Mt. Philo. As Craig says, “Mt. Philo is a geologic gift to the Town of Charlotte.”

Some days I worry about our society. I worry that we’ve lost the ability to speak about our local landscape with the reverence it deserves, that we forget to accept “the gifts.”
Today I’m not worrying though. Today I’ve been jack jumping up on Mt. Philo. My friends and I hiked it three times, and I watched the sun glow orange between the cracks in the trees. Mt. Philo is our local teacher, our guru and our guide. It’s the site of our rituals, where the old ways are passed on to those youths eager for the knowledge. With jack jumpers slung over our shoulders, we pilgrimage to its holy summit again and again. Run after run. Winter after winter.

Leath Tonino was raised in Charlotte, graduated from CVU in 2003 and Colorado College in 2008. He spends his time wandering around the United States looking for interesting things to write about… like jack jumping.