HS Sport 10.2.2004 - Aarne Kuisma has ski-jumped for 58 years

By Päivi Huotari

The temperature is at a few degrees below freezing, and there is a slight south-westerly wind. Viewed from further away, the wooden ski-jumping hill looks like it has been thrown together from suspicious-looking sticks, but after all, the hill is over forty years old.

A ski-jumper in a blue-and-white jumpsuit climbs up the hill, pauses to catch his breath, and shakes his arms and legs around to loosen them up. Then the bindings are snapped shut, and the jumper slides onto the bench. The yellow bottoms of the skis appear only for a brief moment before the man begins his slide down the hill.

During the flight, the skis look like one single piece of wood, the modern V-style of ski-jumping is not on display here. Flop! The jump, which ends in a proper telemark position, measures 43 metres, even though the back wind provided no support. The record of the K46 hill in Helsinki's Herttoniemi district would have been five metres further away.

Helsinki resident Aarne Kuisma,

67, visits the Herttoniemi hills almost every day. His club practises four times a week, but on the remaining days, the lone aficionado does maintenance work on the hills - if Helsinki has been blessed with snow and below-freezing weather, that is.

"I have taken care of these hills as a volunteer for twenty years. I do check-ups on the hills and make repairs if something has been broken. Out of all the hills of this particular size, Herttoniemi is Finland's best."

As the crow flies, the distance from the hill to downtown Helsinki is quite short. The port, the TV towers in Pasila, and the Cathedral at the Senate Square can all be viewed from the top. The sounds of the highway traffic heading east can be heard in the middle of the forest.

One needs to climb 270 steps to reach the top of the hill. The legs of an average exerciser develop lactic acid even without the weight of the 2.5-metre skis. Kuisma exhibits no shortness of breath during the climb, and the man has nothing to be ashamed about if he were to compare physiques with younger jumpers: at 167 centimetres tall, Kuisma weighs in at 63 kilograms.

Kuisma first got excited about ski-jumping

when he was a little boy. In Karelia, where he spent his childhood, small ski-jumping hills were built on almost every knoll and mound, and they were in heavy use until dusk had settled - each child jumped dozens of times each day. Kuisma's first jump with proper ski-jumping skis took place in 1946.

In the 1960s, Kuisma toured Finland, participating in national-level competitions. "I was at the bottom end of the national group. I was a complete amateur", he claims.

Kuisma has amassed a pile of medals in veterans' competitions: 18 world championships, three world championship silver medals, and ten Finnish titles on top of that. For the sake of comparison, during his career Finland's ski-jumping legend Matti Nykänen won world championship gold five times, silver once, and bronze thrice, as well as four Olympic golds and one silver.

Ski-jumping is a sport that requires

nerves of steel and plenty of courage. Kuisma says that he has never considered himself to be particularly brave.

"I am actually quite timid. Ski-jumping requires realism, you cannot go overboard. You must only jump from hills that are within the limits of your skills. There have been plenty of accidents in this sport", Kuisma muses.

A self-protection instinct has developed over the years, and Kuisma will no longer jump in all wind conditions.

"Fear does not depend on the size of the hill. Especially on small hills everything happens so fast that there is no time to think or do anything. But I have mastered a K70 hill in my day."

Kuisma has taken a bad fall only once, in Paimio in 1998. He tumbled over on the opposing hill that helps stop the jumper's slide, dislocating his right hand and sustaining nerve damage. The injury still bothers Kuisma from time to time: his fingers are stiff and sometimes the whole hand feels limp.

His entire ski-jumping career was on the line in 1987 due to a persistent joint infection, arthritis of the spine. He spent one full year off the hills, but then he began to sneak out to jump once again without his wife's knowledge.

The veteran ski-jumper is concerned

about the sport's future in Helsinki. There are few active athletes, and it is rare for a young person to choose ski-jumping over snowboarding, ice hockey or skateboarding. "It is even difficult to attract trainers, and of course mass sports receive more subsidies."

Aarne Kuisma originally moved from Punavuori to Herttoniemi for the sake of ski-jumping. Now he lives only a short walk away from the hills.

Kuisma speaks warmly about his wife Sirkka, whom he calls his coach. "You cannot jump alone, that would be a safety risk. So my wife is here at the hill with me sometimes."

During competitions, the wives of the ski-jumpers organise a buffet.

On the day of the interview, Matti Hautamäki and Janne Ahonen take a one-two victory in the world cup in Japan's Hakuba. Kuisma is reluctant to name a favourite ski-jumper, and diplomatically says that all the men on the national team are very tough.

On the other hand, the calm veteran

criticises the current "arms race" in the sport.

"Today's ski-jumping is an equipment sport. You need to buy new skis for every season", he grumbles. "It used to be so different: we jumped with woollen hats and sweaters on. The skis had wire bindings."

Kuisma's current jumping skis date back to the 1980s, a time when "skis still felt and looked like skis". The modern competitive skis bend like bows upon landing. "I would not know how to jump with skis that light."

Kuisma is happy to witness the disappearance of "batman" jumpsuits, which he considers a trick. These over-sized suits were used by slim jumpers to help them glide farther.

Ski-jumping can hardly be considered a sport for every person - the sport requires quite a few special skills.

"This gives me health. Sometimes I feel like I cannot go on any longer, but as long as I am healthy, I will keep climbing the hills."

Norwegian veteran ski-jumper Ola Lie just turned 90 years old and still jumps over 25 metres off a K40 hill. "I am just a boy, a teenager!" Kuisma laughs.

What on earth motivates someone to ski-jump

one decade after another?

"Success. You feel in control of the jump. Of course the flight time in the air."

Last fall, Kuisma tried his first ever tandem jump with a parachute and was sold on the spot. "I made my distance and speed record: I jumped from four kilometres, and the top speed was 299 kilometres per hour."

Flying creeps into his dreams from time to time. In the dreams, the master ski-jumper flies incredibly far off the end of the hill, way past the regular landing zones. And the landing is always perfect!

Helsingin Sanomat / First published in print 6.2.2004