I settled on Corbet’s Couloir as the inspiration for my pseudonym figuring conquering fear should be the foundation of my character as a writer.

I had been one of the fastest skiers in the Springfield, Illinois ski club, which isn’t saying much. We were all flatlanders for one thing. And as flatlanders there was no way we could compare ourselves to the skiers out West who had been on skis since they were knee high. While even so, there were a lot of flat landers in our ski club whose technique would put mine to shame.

But one thing I had going for me is I kept myself in excellent physical condition. So I was stronger than most of the other guys. My second asset was my strong desire to pit myself against the most difficult runs I could find. So when I heard that Big Al’s in Taos New Mexico was reputed to be one of the most challenging slopes in the country, I told myself, “Yeah, I have to do that one. Just to see if I can survive it from the top to the bottom without falling on my butt. And when I heard that Telluride was even tougher than Taos, I just had to put Taos next on my list.

Telluride has an expert run called the Toilet bowl. Which its survivors must have felt like they were being flushed down a toilet long before they hit bottom. So after surviving the Toilet Bowl without falling down I had to up my game a notch. Being as strong as I was I was able to ski from the top to the bottom without stopping. Which sounds impressive. Unless someone had taken movies of me doing it.

But the real prize would be Corbet’s Couloir at Jackson Hole. For anyone of us to attempt it would be courting suicide.

Going down the Toilet Bowl non stop or Al’s Run was one thing. Not to mention lesser known expert runs such as Mach 1 at Breckinridge. They were steep and they had a lot of big moguls. Moguls are huge bumps formed in the snow that are oftentimes as large as cars. But for me, they were targets that I could attack. While steep still means there’s a slope that one can conquer if one has the strength and just enough technique to get the job done.

Springfield’s ski club’s best skiers included Hugh Bass, Dan Corr, Marv Widdick, Dave Moose and myself with an honorable mention going to Dale Eggiman. Dan had the best technique. Especially in powder. Which I wasn’t very good at doing. While Hugh Bass’s technique was nearly as good as Dan’s. And although Marv Widdick’s style wasn’t nearly as fluid, he could do just about anything on skis. While Marvin enjoyed seeking out the greatest challenges he could find. Out of all of us, the best was Dave Moose. He was fast, very coordinated and the youngest in our group.

But the real wild man of the group was Dale, who was a coal miner and a farmer. By the time he was on his second year on skis, Dale could keep up with the rest of us. And while we were all country boys, Dale was the real cowboy in our group. He was young, strong, absolutely fearless, and he didn’t care one iota what anyone thought of him. His form was atrocious. Even worse than mine. Arms flailing Dale saw speed as the only thing worth pursuing. While appearing he could go down in a heartbeat.

I have to admit to being more than being just a bit of a showoff.

Which Huge Bass planned one week we were all in Aspen and I kept mocking the expert runs at Buttermilk. Hugh was our trip chairman. And being the outstanding salesman that he was he was able to convince 88 of our ski club members into signing onto the trip he was leading in Aspen. So one night while a group of us were drinking in one of the condos we had rented, I kept mouthing off how I could ski anyone of Buttermilk’s expert slopes from top to bottom without stopping. Hugh was quick to bet me a case of beer that I couldn’t. And being one who wanted to keep his image high with the ladies, I was equally quick to accept Hugh’s challenge.

Hugh was counting on me skiing down Buttermilk full bore to impress the ladies. And that I’d ski so fast that I’d either fall on my ass or exhaust myself before I hit bottom. What Hugh never anticipated was my consulting one of the lawyers in our group before the big party started the next day.

Buttermilk has a total vertical drop of just 2000 feet. Which is a lot more than one would think. But for those of you who don’t know what a vertical drop is, just imagine a right angled triangle. The hypotenuse of the triangle is the ski run I’d be going down. While the vertical crop is the number of feet on the side facing the hypotenuse. So the skier is actually skiing a distance of well over a mile on a 25 degree slope. But compared to the other three mountains at Aspen, Buttermilk’s not all that imposing. The Aspen Highlands has a vertical drop of 3800 feet while Snowmass’s vertical drop is something like 3600.

I’ve gotta ski something like a mile and a half without stopping on a run which is called a black diamond or expert.

But I’ve got that uppity Hugh Bass right where I want him. My lawyer friend had warned me: “Hugh knows you are an egomaniac, Jack so he’s counting on you skiing as fast as you can to impress all the ladies in the club. So just go as slow as you can, and I will be helping you drink that free case of beer Hugh’s going to give you.”

There must have been over forty people in our club on that so called expert run that day. But I surprised all of them by skiing all the way down Buttermilk at a speed that was barely over five miles an hour.

By now I was totally obsessed with Corbet’s Couloir.

Hugh Bass would be there to watch me do it. And so would Marv Widdick and Dave Moose. I had been planning on the attempt for two years.

By now all of us were skiing on 190 centimeter skis. We had all started out using 180 cm skis but as our skill levels increased we were now skiing 190’s or even 200’s. I had a pair of 203 cm Rossignol GS skis which were great for cruising down a mountain at very high speed. The Rossinol’s were smooth as silk and easy to ski on once you got used to their length. But I preferred a 190 cm slalom ski due to its sports car like fast turning ability. But the slaloms could get right out from unless you were constantly alert. They were quirky, but terrific as an all around ski. But quirkiness was the last thing I needed for Corbet’s Couloir.

So I bought a pair of 180 cm Olins to so with my Rossignol 203’w and my Olin 190 slalom skis. The model I chose was a soft ski that had been expressly designed for mogul skiing. You couldn’t win any races with them and they were next to useless in icy conditions because they were engineered to do only one thing well. Which was to handle moguls while protecting skiers from all the jumping around he would be doing.

I would practice doing jumps up to six feet high or so until I could do them without falling down.

But Corbet’s Couloir was a much jump than six feet. Corbet’s Couloir starts off with a fifteen to twenty foot jump into a pit that is enclosed by three steep walls of snow.

Skiing down Corbet’s Couloir is a terrifying experience unless you have grown up on skis since you were about three. There are two mountains at Jackson Hole. One of them is equally suited for beginning and intermediate skiers although it also has black (expert) runs as well. The mountain is serviced by numerous chairlifts. The second mountain is widely regarded as an expert’s mountain. There’s only one way up the mountain, and that’s by a tram which can hold around fifteen skiers or so. There’s a warning sign where one gets on the tram that clearly states that there are no beginners or intermediate runs. This mountain has a vertical drop of over 4100 feet which is the highest vertical drop in the United States.

I got on the tram with Hugh Bass. But I didn’t dare tell Hugh that I intended to actually ski down Corbet’s Couloir. Because if I told Hugh I planned on doing Corbet, and I chickened out at the last moment, I would lose too much face. And not only with Hugh but with the entire Springfield ski club.

At 4100 vertical feet as one gets off the tram at Corbet’s Couloir, it’s a lot like suddenly landing on the moon.

Which I really didn’t know was an apt comparison considering I had never gone to the moon. But the top of Corbet’s Couloir is over two miles above sea level and it’s cold up there. As soon as we got off the tram we encountered a ferocious wind with a lot of snow swirling around. Visibility was practically non existent. Stopping at the top of the mountain for a chat in which we could discuss our plans was not an option.

We found ourselves in what might seem to be a blizzard, but it wasn’t. But it felt as if we had been put in a milk shake blender and we just had to get off the top of that mountain before we were pulverized by the elements.

Other than a lot of snow the only thing I could see was down. Hugh and I had been planning on only watching skiers plummeting down Corbet’s Couloir. So I figured Hugh would be skiing right behind me. And then I saw a sign that was barely visible. I followed the arrow on that sign pointing the way down to Corbett’s Couloir.

By the time I skied down to the couloir, it was no longer snowing and the visibility had cleared. But there was no Hugh Bass behind me. So obviously Hugh had taken a wrong turn and would have to miss the grand event that could very well lead to my demise.

Corbett’s Couloir in some ways is like a glass having three and a half sides. As I peered down into the abyss, I could see a snow filled cliff on my immediate left. While directly across from me was another perpendicular wall of snow. While I stood at the very edge of another vertical wall. There were ten perhaps another dozen skiers near me, all of them taking turns jumping into the abyss. I could forget the whole thing and just ski off to my right. Which would take me down a black run which would lead to still another black run and ultimately to the bottom of the mountain. But I had been waiting for this moment for two years.

I watched each skier jump into Corbet’s. None of them landed upright. While I a Midwesterner and a flat lander didn’t even belong on the same mountain as the skiers near me.

I’d say the bottom of the pit was no more than twenty feet across. There was a rock down in the middle of the pit where the snow had been scraped off. If I jumped into the pit I’d either land on top of the rock which would splinter my skis and most likely break my legs or I could land just past the rock. But if by some miracle I could land past the rock without falling down, there was that solid vertical wall right in front of me. To avoid smashing into it I’d have to make a sudden forty-five degree turn into a narrow steep mogul filled trail. But I knew there was no way I could make the turn. Because I was not even close to being good enough to do it.

Suddenly I came up with an idea that would allow me to ski down Corbett’s Couloir without seriously injuring myself even if it meant that I would be cheating the mountain.

Like I said, Corbet’s Couloir reminded me a lot of being a glass. But jumping down into the bottom of the glass would be suicidal. But I sure as hell could ski across the left side of the glass and simply fall down into the bottom of the abyss. There was a narrow ledge of snow to my left. The ledge started off being about 18 inches wide. But it narrowed down to a few inches after the first seven or eight feet. Which was just enough to get me just past the rock at the bottom of the pit.

I had my camera with me which I gave to one of the skiers and asked him to meet me at the bottom of Corbet’s. And then I jumped onto the ledge and skied it with my right shoulder wedged against the wall of snow. As my shoulder dug into the snow, my skis lost their adhesion after a few feet, and I went down scraping the cliff wall of snow with my shoulder. I landed on my side. Or was it on my back? Couldn’t tell except I was down but not for the count. I managed to get my boots to clamp into my skis, stood up and skied the rest of the way down Corbet’s. It was a narrow steep trail with a lot of moguls I had to ski over. But it was doable and i never fell again.

When I encountered Hugh and the rest of the ski club later that afternoon and told everyone that I had skied down Corbet’s Couloir I expected that no one would believe me. But no one questioned my achievement. Because everyone knew I was just crazy enough to do it.

Two days later, I went back up the mountain on the tram and skied down to Corbet’s. Dave Moose had just skied down Corbett’s Couloir. I saw Marvin Widdick poised on the edge of the cliff watching a large ball of snow bouncing across the mogul filled run at the bottom of the couloir. “Who’s that?” I asked Marvin.

“That’s Lisa. She sure isn’t looking good but she’s somehow managed to do it.”

“She’s just a beginner, Marvin. Not even an intermediate. And there’s nothing but black runs on this mountain except for Corbett’s and a couple of others which are double black or yellow runs. She doesn’t belong on this mountain.”

“She’s got guts Jack. I think she will do anything to impress us guys.”

Although Lisa somehow managed to survive the couloir, for the first time, I saw Marvin falter. I watched him stand at the top of the precipice starring out at the abyss. But he just couldn’t do it. Finally I told him, “Don’t try it Marvin. Your feet look like they are frozen in place. You will hurt yourself. I’ve never seen you being unwilling to do a ski run before. No matter how difficult. You are just having a bad day.”

Dave Moose, LIsa, and I bought out Jackson hole Air Force tee shirts later that night. We were the first Springfield Ski Club members to take to the air at the infamous Corbet’s Couloir. Although we cheated.

Over thirty years later I shot this video in Farmersville with some old friends including Dave Moose. This video, “a Casket Party for my Fortieth Birthday”, shows Dave and I in our younger days when we hitting the ski slopes at Jackson hole and Aspen.

After skiing Corbet’s Couloir, I’ve written and published six books as Jack Corbett which you can visit here.