Jumping From the Montlake Bridge

 

1975 – SMA – 179771

Sometime around the 3^rd or 4^th grade I made one of my life’s ambitions to jump off the Montlake Bridge.  I would walk out to the middle of the span and pull myself up on the railing far enough so that I could look straight down and revel in the butterflies that rose in my stomach, the patterns on the water, the toy boats passing below, the sound of the car tires rolling over the metal deck grating.  It seemed impossibly high but doable.  I may have been dumb and reckless, but I knew that swimming would be involved and since that was something I didn’t know how to do I got signed up to take lessons at the YMCA in downtown Seattle. 

Kids were swimming in the Montlake Cut as soon as it opened in 1916 and when the Montlake Bridge was opened in 1925 I’m certain that there were young dare devils who were taking that plunge.  Think about it.  Just north of the Cut the University of Washington housed a large population of young, testosterone-infused young men with little experience in sound critical thinking but the burning desire to stand out or at least fit in.  A bridge 50 feet high?  Water 30 feet deep?  Sidewalk?  Low railing?  Maybe alcohol?  Hell yeah!  College boys must have been lining up for that one.

Growing up in Montlake I heard that college students jumped from the bridge but I had never witnessed it nor talked to anyone who had actually seen it.  None of my friends had made the claim to have jumped yet I viewed it as my personal right-of-passage.  As grade school transitioned to junior high and then to high school my desire to jump didn’t abate but my decision-making skills associated with gravity influenced activities changed, largely due to some failed experiments, but that is  a whole ‘nuther story.   

I was in this for the long haul and I set my mind to practicing the skills required to safely enter the water from that height but it was a struggle because, for me, anything over 12 feet didn’t feel good and 12 feet done badly was really unpleasant.  I worked on my swan dives, jackknives, can openers and death-dives.  I was determined to do it in style or not at all.  I wasn’t going to look like a tool box thrown from the bridge, I was going to do this with class and become a part of the Montlake heritage.  People would say: “Were you there when Jon Dawkins dove off the bridge”?   I just needed to develop my craft. 

By the time I was in high school I had found very few places where there were gradations between 12 feet and 50 feet to safely conduct personal craft-enhancing experiments of that nature and none were conveniently located.  I had heard of a place called “Surprise Lake” near Milton Washington.  The resort called “High Dive” was out in the sticks at that time and a classic rural lake resort venue.  It featured a trapeze and a diving tower with platforms every 11 feet that capped at the critical ~50-ish foot mark. 

I convinced my friend, Mel Kossen, that this was something that we needed to do and he was game.  We made a good team because I was fearful and he was not.  He was confident in his ability to figure it out as he went along while I was good at figuring it out beforehand in order to avoid the unexpected.  Surprise Lake was a strategic piece that we both agreed on.  Mel had access to his family’s Chevy station wagon so we went to the gas station to fuel up and grab a paper road map that would show us the way.  With that we were off to our training site.

As outsiders we had to first navigate the Pierce County/Tacoma/Puyallup social structure.  Recall that in the ‘60’s the hierarchy of the pack and territorial imperative was determined by physicality and not fire arms.   Mel was big and imposing and even more so when he was stripped to the waist and stalking the grounds with his tire iron.  Not saying that the locals didn’t want drama, but the sight of Mel with a weapon was enough to temper their aggression and enable us to enter the next phase of our training.

As the afternoon progressed, we worked on building our skills and spent little time on the lower levels.  I found that entering the water from the 22 foot level hurt unless I did everything right so I worked on that until I could do it without pain.  Mel was a level above me, and while his entry didn’t look good his pain threshold was higher.  By the time I felt ready to progress to 33 feet Mel was flirting with 55 feet.  His comfort with 44 feet had earned him cred with the Surprise Lake locals so we were no longer being subjected to their jeers.  We weren’t being accepted or welcomed but somewhere in between that felt like we wouldn’t have to fight our way out.

When I was standing on the 33 foot platform Mel was at the top ready to go.  He was about to replicate the drop from the top of the Montlake Bridge.  He looked down and asked me if I wanted to go.  I didn’t, so he stepped off into space.  It was a long drop.  He entered the water awkwardly with the sort of splash that signified pain.  Mel being Mel he just surfaced, smiled and swam over to mingle with his new friends.   

I was impressed that he had done it but not impressed with how it must have felt.  When I stepped off at 33 feet I impacted the water with enough force that it convinced me that 22 more feet was a non-starter.  It hurt and I was done.  I knew at that moment in time that I would never fulfill my 3^rd grade goal of jumping from the Montlake Bridge unless pursued by aliens or some gun-wielding psycho where jumping was my only hope of survival. 

Today, in my 7^th decade, I drive over and paddle under the Montlake Bridge regularly.  I always appreciate the history, architecture, ingenuity and engineering that combined to create such a beautiful and functional structure.   

Sometimes I see young kids hanging on the rail looking down and I wonder about their dreams.  Are they plotting their next move and will they, ultimately, go through with it?   Or will they consider, train and end up walking away, like me,  with warm memories but no regrets.