Startrails over Mount Baker © Jay Goodrich

The sky is deep blue. Stars still lingering to the west. Bitter cold. Tires crunch as they roll to a stop in the parking lot. The tailpipe smoke quickly evaporates in the still, cold air. Doors open and close. Skis hit the ground. The ripping of skins, clicking of boot buckles, flicking of binding locks, exhale, it’s cold and you’re off. Pole, slide, step, pole, slide, step. Up through the trees. Towards the higher ridge tops. The wind starts to move the air ever so slightly. One thousand vertical, half way there. Still dark, but clear for once.

Skinning near Mount Shuksan © Jay Goodrich

Warming. Time to shed a layer. Heart pounding. Snow deepening. Pole, slide, step. Higher still. Sixteen hundred. Seventeen hundred. The volcanos have the faintest glow of light. A tinge of pink. Colder. Windier. Trees, gone. Lines in the snow from the wind. Deep snow. Four feet. Almost there. You look back. Your partner is right with you. Both amped. Both swarming with adrenaline. A glimmer in the eye, sparkle in the tooth. Grinning ear to ear. This is GOING TO BE GOOD.

Snow on Baker © Jay Goodrich

You look down below the crest. Forty five degrees of pure white. Untouched. The sun is starting to warm. The air moves in its warm convection. Ice crystals hit your face. Pulling skins. Locking bindings. Zipping packs. Gloves on. Boots buckled. Hat on. Pants zipped. Goggles out. Transceivers checked. Heart elevating. Moving. Ready? Who? “You or me?” You. Inhale. Deep. Eyes? Check. One last re-check. Pack on. Buckled. Ready? Yep. Drop? Dropping.

Turn one. Ski cut. Stable. Turn back up hill. “Got you rings out.”

Turn two. One more cut with a hard push. Nothing moves. ? Dropping.

Turn three. Picking up speed. Feeling the snow flow. Soft. Stable. Cold. The sun peeks out. Turning everything orange. Two hundred feet.

Powder Skiing at Sunrise © Jay Goodrich

Turn four. Speed increasing. Feeling more. Snow moving. Speed. Marker passed. White carpet out in front.

Turn five.” Oh, the red button there kid, don’t ever, ever touch the red button!” Too late, Pressed. HOLD ON. Brain fifty, one hundred, one fifty feet back. G forces kicking in. YES! Metallica on…

Turn six. Brain catching up. Holy shit you’re flying. Driving a wake. “Chewie make the jump to lightspeed.” Afterburner on. Breathe. Hold. Drive. Speed. Faster. Faster. Adrenaline ON. Exhale.

High Speed Powder Skiing at Sunrise © Jay Goodrich

Turn seven. A wake bigger than Pipeline on Oahu. Breathe. Exhale. Faster. Faster. Faster.

Turn eight. Hitting the runout. Damn. Deceleration. In…Goose, “I can’t reach the ejection handle.”

Turn nine. Ripcord pulled. Ejection. One last high speed sweeping arc to the finish. Safety. You look back. The mark is laid. Sloughs litter the face. Movement everywhere. Snow still falling out of the air. Two thousand vertical in two seconds. Inhale. Catch your breath. Look up, poles straight up. Off the wind you hear, “DROPPING.” You relive the line again. Skis hit the ground. The ripping of skins, clicking of boot buckles, flicking of binding locks…again.

Tracks © Jay Goodrich

We Are Never Alone, Moab, UT © Jay Goodrich

I stand in the middle of a valley surrounded by rock formations. I can not see any of them yet, but I know they are there. It is so dark that I can not even tell if there are any clouds lingering to add to the drama of photography this morning. Red earth all over my shoes, my clothes. It is in my hair, my nose, my ears, and even my eyes. It was a little windy yesterday. I look to where I think the horizon is but I see nothing but a big black void. There is not a soul around, it is completely silent. I am for once, early. I head to the back of my truck to grab my backpack and my tripod. The rear bumper is covered in a layer of red powder about an eighth of an inch thick. I write “wash me” in it. As I open the door the dust stirs into little tornados before it falls back to the earth. My pack and tripod have traces of the deep maroon powder all over them as well. I stumbled upon this place yesterday afternoon.

I am a bit tired. I spent the evening shooting star trails only to realize that morning was going to come way too soon. There is a crispness in the air, it tingles as it enters my nose. It reminds me of that sound you hear when a person bites into the perfect fall apple. A little pop, followed by a sweet aroma; I can just taste the explosion of flavor. Vapor crystals leave my nostrils and mouth and scatter as far as I can see. I hope that my mission is going to yield imagery that ties over my soul for awhile – this is my last day here.

I pull the Petzl lamp out of my pack and wrap it around my head. I turn it on, throw the pack onto my back, adjust the straps and buckles, sling the tripod onto my shoulder with one hand, and close the truck door with the other. More dust scatters. I start to walk into the belly of monuments and darkness. I am now the only light source.

As I stumble to my location, a calm comes before me. It was like I donned that old comfortable shoe that was completely molded to the contours of my sole. I began to run on auto pilot. The light was starting to fill the sky. At least, enough that I could see those rock formations. They were looking a little pink. This place is so magical. I knew that would change as the sun began its race to the other side of the planet. It always starts as pink, or tan, something very subtle and muted, pastel. And depending on the atmosphere, the day could become, gold, yellow, orange, red, crimson, maroon, or any variant there of, a perfect contrast to that deep blue fall desert sky. The formations – sharp and jagged to smooth and bulbous. Why this place over any other? The mountains are my home, but this place speaks to me like no other.

As the sun begins to come up there is a slight breeze. It is the souls of those rock formations coming alive, they are looking for warmth as am I. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end, like it does when I feel the gentle kiss of my wife. My pupils dilate. I feel the eye muscles tighten. The sun is showing her face ever so slightly. The warmth begins to bathe me and all of my surroundings. The crystals from my breath fall away closer to their origin. I quickly realize It is going to be a golden rise. Everything is covered in hues of yellow and orange. I look through my viewfinder one last time. God I love this place. And click.

The Vail Valley, Colorado, © Jay Goodrich

I took my dog for a walk tonight, as I do almost every night, on a trail that we’ve walked probably a hundred times. Tonight was different. There was a crispness to the air. Winter was on its way. The grasses were tall. Dry. Sidney closed his eyes as his face pushed them out of his way. He was a big dog. 100 pounds. A malamute and as ornery as they get. He was not one to mess with. I was safe no matter what, even if that bear was back. We walked for miles and miles. Up over the rock outcropping. Into the forest. Douglas fir and Colorado Blue Spruce surrounded us. Many turning brown from the beetles. We ducked through their branches. We crossed the streams that were now slivers of water. All of last year’s snow gone. Evaporated in the dry mountain air.

The flowers were dry and gone too. Not even a lone soldier at this point. The aspens were beginning to change. I love this time of year. It is a point where color finally returns to the valley. Every thing cooked from the long, hot, dry, summer. Soon though. Soon I would be in splendor. With camera in hand at every dog walking, on every hike. I would get up before the sun and sleep well after its journey through the sky. Work? Funny.

Farther and Farther up. We see an elk. Just a cow. Higher still. The cars and the houses are beginning to shrink. Tinier and tinier. Sidney’s heart keeps pulling me. His life is about the tow. I oblige. Less work higher up. The valley is beginning to unfold before us. The sky speckled with soft puffy clouds. The remainder of the heat of the day. They too will dissipate as the sun folds once again. We reach the out cropping. An overhanging piece of sandstone, deep maroon in color. Lime green lichen clinging to it. I sit and over look the valley before me. Sid lays by my side, paw extended. The hand grasp to the chest. Nothing beats a little attention in the late afternoon. The sun is approaching the horizon warming our faces. A breeze send chills down the spine. Goosebumps all over. The clouds are beginning to change–white, to yellow. Sid sniffs the air. Unseen creatures. I am safe.

The surrounding peaks turn golden with intermittent shadows. If only had a…The sun heads for other worlds. The sky now yellow and then the catapult. Hyperdrive to orange, pink, red, purple, blue, grey, then back to white as the sun leaves us for another day. I revel in it. The last light. We sit. It’s almost dark. We watch the cars turn their lights on well below us. The grasses drift ever so softly in the breeze. There’s a crinkle and a cracking as they touch each other. Soon there will be snow. Soon it will be different. Now the air begins to cool as the light drifts away. I stand. Scan the valley on more time. Sid’s bright blue eyes gaze up. Not a blink in sight. I look down. As if he read my mind. Up. We start to walk back home. Ah, the valley.

The Oz Couloir, Chugach, AK

As the blades of the heli chopped hard at the air to move the machine off the ground, the wash churned up crystals of ice that scoured every inch of my exposed face. I had to watch. I was excited to watch. This machine defied all the laws. I looked to my friend Chris, he was staring as I was. I caught a wink from him out of the corner of my eye. I couldn’t believe that I was here, for the eighth time in my life. That was the fastest it ever took me to get into these massive peaks. We hung on to a rocky outcrop that was as fine as a razor’s edge. HUGE drops to either side, eminent death.

I was quivering with excitement and fear. I knew what was ahead and was not totally sure if this dream was one I wanted to live down. Would reality kick me in the face like the rotor wash and send me cowering home? I clicked into my skis and stared down into the steepest line I have ever seen in my life. 3500 vertical feet of sustained 60 degrees in what looked like a band-aid strip of snow between monstrous cliffs to either side. I was off of my rocker. So were all of my friends. We even asked for this shit. Feared absolutely nothing last night while pumping the alcohol through our veins. Are you kidding? My stupid right leg began to shake. In the climbing world they call it “sewing machine leg” because you are so scared that something, some part of your body, has to release a bit of the tension, and it is usually your leg bouncing like a sewing machine.

The snow was the coldest I have ever seen. Three feet of untouched. If the beast didn’t let go and bury me under the “Alaskan Slough”. The Alaskan Slough is the equivalent of an avalanche anywhere else in the world. My eyes dilated. My heart was racing. I could hear my pulse. So could my friends. Our guide called out. “Jay, your first.” I looked up with blank stare. I was shaking my head on the inside in disbelief. I guess I asked for a little taste of OZ. Although, those monkeys were a little frightening. “It’s okay, ski that way until something gets in your way, then turn.” Stupid French girl, in that stupid 80’s movie. “5….4….3”, Al-Z shouts, “Stay out of the gutter.” Great, the avalanche rides the gutter. 60 degrees, 60 degrees, 60 degrees. Oh my god, is this truly what I wanted out of life. Hands shaking, both legs going, no way. I can’t do this. “2”. The radio blasts, “Al-Z are you sure you want them dropping into that? That thing is a slough monster”. Stay out of the gutter.” Pupils are so dilated they are going to burst. “1”. “Jay, DROP!”.

Fear pumped adrenaline, adrenaline brought excitement, a super deep breath, and all at once a calm came over me, I felt like I was home again.…“DROPPING”.