Words: Dave Pires
Photos: Josh “ceritFAILed” Anderson
The eighth day of the Poor Boyz Jib Jam dawned with fresh snow on the ground. Thick clouds blanketed Schweitzer, and when things finally got rolling at around 2:30, another snowstorm was in full effect.
Henitiuk, Walker, Russell, Albino, Tudor, Alport, and Paco. Alone.
Pete Alport, fresh from his birthday festivities and never hesitant to get down to business, secured permission to build a bomb drop outside the Selkirk Lodge. While everyone waited for Ski Patrol to show up, Matt Walker, Mike Henitiuk, and Andrew Hathaway scoped the drop. Craig Coker and Tim Russell, the two latest arrivals, were also hanging out and ready to ski.
As gusts of wind battered the red S C H W E I T Z E R promotional letters hanging from the fence in front of the kicker, Andrew Hathaway decided to guinea the drop without a wasted word. Falling a few feet short, he piled into the lip of the transfer with an emphatic crunch, double ejecting to flat with a visible splat.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah I’m alright.”
Hathaway doesn’t look alright. He stumbles away with the hunched walk of someone trying to shake off a great deal of pain. As the recently arrived ski patrollers tie a sling around his dislocated shoulder, the sun comes out, and Hathaway hops into John Spriggs’ truck for a depressing ride to the hospital.
Matt Walker is the next skier to try the drop, and after watching Hathaway wreck himself he overshoots, backslapping to flat. Walker immediately ditches his poles and grabs his hand. Plopping into a snow bank, he ices his thumb, and ski patrol wraps their second injury of the day.
Quite possibly unaware of the carnage that just took place, Paco Garcia saunters up with a smile on his face, and watches while Alport and Mike Wilson hack at the kicker with shovels to soften it up.