When I heard that Mammoth Mountain Ski Resort was just as good if not better than Squaw Valley I would shake my head and laugh at the person. Nothing could be as good as my home mountain. No chair could have access to runs as steep as KT-22. No mountain could possibly have terrain as diverse and spread out as my NorCal location.




Well I learned a lot during my first ever trip to Mammoth Mountain, and not just about which ski area had better terrain, lifts and setup. No, this first ever touchdown on Southeastern Sierra snow was about something much more than the triviality of judging the fallibility of one resort compared to another. This was about the preciousness of life. This was about experiencing the raw power of Mother Nature and re-acquainting with how important it is to enjoy every last moment we are blessed to be alive.




We never know when Gaia will take us back into the fold. We are simply human beings, and although we can study about fumaroles and volcanic activity, we can be experts at interpreting logarithms linked with snow mass movement, we can practice techniques to avoid being swept away by powers greater than ourselves . . . but we cannot truly predict when and where. Not for certain. This is what makes backcountry exploration that much more harrowing and intimidating to me. If snow wants to fall - it will. If fumes from the belly of this great wondrous planet want to rise and carve shapes into the snow - they will.




On our first Gondola ride up the mountain we found out why there were news trucks and hubbub in the parking lot of the main lodge. Throughout the day we would in fact ride many Gondolas with different locals all expressing the same lament for the loss of some beautiful and well-loved people. Ski patrollers James Juarez and Scott McAndrews as well as snow expert Walt Rosenthal were killed on Thursday when a cavern of poisonous gases was created under the heavy snowfall by a fumarole.

It felt very odd to be so excited and eager to see what this terrific mountain had to offer my snowboarding skills, but at the same time sensing the overall drab cloud that hung over the area because of the passing of the local loved ones.




As I researched into each of these amazing outdoor enthusiasts, I found it oddly coincidental that Juarez had been promoted to shooter this year and was responsible for, among other duties, keeping Hemlock Ridge safe for riders like myself. My friend who I was riding with knew the mountain well and took me over to Hemlock Ridge right away. As soon as we had hiked to the top, ten minutes of heart-thumping work, I strapped into my Fatbob snowboard and stood on top of the cornice. Surrounding me were the Minarets and other incredibly majestic white peaks and blue skies. I raised my arms above my head and cried to the heavens above - an involuntary salute to those fallen comrades of Mammoth Mountain. I cherished this moment of my life so much it is hard to describe. Juarez must have stood where I had, thought about this love of snow carving and smiled.




Launching into the snow below I was shocked to find it so fluffy and forgiving. Many other parts of the mountain were crusty and hard packed from the wind and sun. Not so over here. Not at Hemlock Ridge, the place that Juarez kept safe for riders like me. My appreciation came flying out of my body as I blasted hard slicing turns in the thick powder, sending vast sprays of white in either direction as I descended.




This experience at Mammoth over the last few days was one I will never forget. The mountain is truly a comparably fun place to snowboard as my beloved Squaw Valley. But more importantly it is now a symbol for why I do these things that I love to do. I know the risks. I know how precious each moment must be taken, in honor of those who passed onto to the next realm. Each year I will return to Hemlock Ridge, ride out that sketchy cat track, launch off those funky rollers, unstrap my bindings, hike up to the top, strap back in, and then close my eyes, raise my arms and cry out! When I do, those fallen warriors of the snow will hear my call from another realm in another existence, they will pause for a moment, searching the sky, and then continue on to do the things that they love to do.




ER Harris