BTS: A Story About This Image

Ryan Hawks passed away a decade ago but this photo lives on

[12 years ago I stood in Frank Shine’s shadow as he snapped this picture of Ryan Hawks. 10 years ago Ryan passed away. Five years ago Frank asked a few of us to write our memories of this exact moment down for Blizzard Skis to remember Ryan Hawks. That blog post has since gone down. The Flyin Ryan Foundation—a non-profit endeavor inspired by the life of Ryan Hawks—referenced the image’s backstory HERE. Thinking of Ryan today, I wanted to share my first-person account of the moment Frank snapped Ryan crossing ‘em up above Laguna del Inca, the image that became a poignant reminder of Ryan’s spirit.]

I wasn’t in Portillo to ski in front of a camera like Ryan Hawks was there to do. I was there to watch, to soak it in, to experience Chilean ski culture and to write about all of it. As a writer, I was a fly on the wall on this trip. My job, essentially, was to experience the behind-the-scenes of this Portillo trip and to watch Ryan Hawks in action.

Watching this image play out in real life is something I’ll never forget. It’s one of my most cherished ski memories.

We woke up on the morning this photo was taken hungover from a late night in Portillo’s dicso. We were also pretty sore because we hiked the renowned Super C the day prior. The disco session was an impromptu celebration after ticking off the classic couloir.

Most of us woke up banged up to cloudless blue skies over the Andes. The conditions weren’t great, the snow was firm and coverage was thin. While we all woke up with headaches, Hawks woke up ill. He had a 104-degree temp, chills and shivers. If you ever met Ryan Hawks you know: he wasn’t one to complain or exaggerate things. It was clear he wasn’t feeling well. But, true to form, he rallied. He was not going to miss experiencing Portillo, he was not going to miss out on an opportunity to shoot with a professional photographer and he was not going to miss the chance to soak it all up.

After breakfast we headed out with a rough plan. Frank Shine, the photographer who brought us all down to Chile and who snapped this particular photo of “Flyin Ryan,” is a staple in Portillo. He’s been going down every year for more than a decade. He has his places and knows the nooks and crannies around Portillo’s endless sidecountry.

We slid up to this zone with a disclaimer from Frank: “Here’s a rock we hit when conditions are good. I just wanted you guys to see the feature for future trips down here.”

There was no intention of hitting the rock on this trip. But, immediately, Ryan’s eyes lit up. The sick, glassy look in his eyes instantly vanished as we were talking about the feature and how to frame it. He saw the potential straight away.

As a fly on the wall, I was looking at this rock as a 12-footer, taking it against the fall line. Ryan, however, saw it as a 30-footer, taking it from the top and boosting off the nose of the prominent rock. He even wanted to build a lip on the takeoff so he wouldn’t have to billygoat it. I was blown away by his creativity and his confidence regarding something that looked really intense to me. The firm snow, punchy landings, peppery runout 20 meters below the transition combined to make hitting this rock a no-fall zone. To Hawks, it looked artsy and creative.

He was standing up on top of the feature, throwing rocks down into the landing zone trying to communicate the trajectory with Frank Shine before shooting the photo. Normally, we throw snowballs but there was not any snow to waste because of the thin conditions. It was an air he had to stick because of the rocks below the transition and it was an air bigger than anything I’ve ever done (still). But, Hawks had this quiet confidence about it. There was not much back and forth between he and our crew. There wasn’t any, “What do you think?” No hesitation.

It was more like: “Here’s what I want to do, how does it look, what will work for the photograph, how big should I take it?” It was pro.

We built a little kicker on top of the air, and Hawks sidestepped up to get speed for the in run. The entire time Hawks was talking to me—teaching me about skiing, passing on advice about his mindset before an air, imparting wisdom about being quiet and calm in the air and popping at the takeoff so you’re in control rather than getting bucked.

I still would love to do what Hawks could do on skis, but I can’t and a lot of that is because of the mental strength he had in the mountains. He walked me through his process and talked about how “speed is your friend with airs like this.”

Then, he counted himself in. “Dropping in 3…2…1…Dropping!”

He slid in pretty hot and absolutely sent it. Taking the air deep, Hawks boosted 50 feet to firm, hard chalky snow. He put it to the bolts; cleanly stomping the landing. It was a quintessential Hawks stomp, though, because there wasn’t even really a sound when he landed. There was no thud or bomb hole. Instead, he found the perfect tranny, put the massive air to his feet and landed with grace. Then, he proceeded to arc a high-speed GS turn around the sharp rocks below. He slid to a hockey stop hooting and hollering. It was incredible!

Quickly, he stepped out of his bindings, shouldered his skis and started kicking a bootpack into the snow, climbing back up to the feature to hit it again.

He did this over and over.

Every time his hits got bigger and bigger. Each rep got more stylish and comfortable.

There is much more story and deeper layers to this photo, though. This image and its backstory have depth—like Ryan. I cherish this photograph and have it framed in my home. I cherish the memory of this day.

I also hold tight to the trips we took through British Columbia together, I remember sharing stories about falling in love—Hawks with Angel, me with Brie. I feel lucky that I was able to experience this photograph firsthand, and that I was able to join Hawks on a few unforgettable trips around the world.

Sending love today, 10 years later.