OCTOBER 05: Destination Chad's
The Grizzly Gulch gaps are being swarmed by thirsty thrill-seekers
Crows pick at a thin layer of red ice. The landing zone is covered with tracks left from helicopter skids. Before Tanner Hall and photographer Brent Benson can even begin building up Pyramid gap, they have a mess to clean. Two weeks earlier, a skier tried a 180 his first time off the jump in Utah’s Grizzly Gulch and clipped the landing. His pole went directly into his face. “There was a hole in the snow filled with blood,” says Hall, who was nearby when it happened, “and it was all from this kid’s face.”
The hapless skier, airlifted out with multiple shattered bones, illustrates a frightening—albeit dynamic—trend in the Utah gap scene. No longer are these renowned features being built and hit only by experienced pros and photographers. Pyramid and Chad’s gaps have become tourist attractions unto themselves, drawing dozens of skiers aspiring to be the next dishwasher-turned-pro.
“I wanted to jump Chad’s gap again more than anything,” says 16-year-old Salt Lake snowboarder Patrick Romero, who first hit the 120-footer— and came up short—at 15. “I ate, breathed, and drank Chad’s gap. I will clear it this season, I’m already counting down the days with a quiver of tricks I’m gonna do over it.”
Romero echoes the evolving fascination people have developed for the gap craze, a trend catapulted forward by images of Sage Cattabriga-Alosa and Chris and Matt Collins flying over these massive features. Intent on hitting Chad’s, Montana State student Patrick Owen met three friends from the East Coast in Utah during a massive storm last January. “I’ve just looked up to Sage and the Collins’ ever since I was old enough to understand Alta and its backcountry,” explains the 19-year-old Connecticut native.
“We just went for it,” adds Eric Newman, one of Owen’s companions that day. “Just seeing all these pros and film crews we idolize made us pumped to hit it. I guess the bigger the consequence, the bigger appeal.”
While Newman and Owens epitomize the creative energy Grizzly Gulch has helped inject into skiing, they also highlight a scary flipside—an influx of inexperienced skiers who don’t realize the necessary time and skill that go into building and finally hitting the jumps. “The tricks that get thrown over these gaps get all the glory, but just building these things is an underappreciated art,” says Daniel Dean, a Salt Lake local who has hit two gaps in Grizzly Gulch. On average, it takes six to 10 skiers anywhere from two to five days to properly construct Chad’s. Owen and his friends spent about three hours forming the jump and smoothing the in-run, even after they were told by Chris Collins and Sage to spend three days. “We really had no idea what we were doing,” admits Owen. Remarkably, Owen cleared it three of four attempts, while Newman came up short his only try.
In addition to the talent and time required, the weather and snow conditions are just as vital. Fortunately for Owen’s crew, Alta received 40 inches before his attempt. But even Utah isn’t always that good. “Some kids think they’re always landing in five feet of powder,” Benson says. “But they’re wrong—just ask Tanner.” (Hall broke his ankle coming up short on Chad’s in March).
Most of the skiers embracing Utah’s newest fad aren’t there to watch. Much like bagging peaks or poaching O.B. lines, the gaps have become a box on many skiers’ winter checklist—only they’re more accessible than a remote slope in Alaska. “I hit them for the same reason I do anything burly on skis,” says Dean “It's just so goddamn fun.”