Clayton Cash hopped off the Aerial Tram, got a waffle at Corbet's Cabin, and looked on as people slid into Corbet's Couloir, the famed chute with a wickedly steep entrance at Jackson Hole, Wyoming.
He’d already skied the line and planned to do it again before meeting his friends. It was his first run that day. “I didn't think anything would go wrong. And it went very wrong,” laughed Cash, a diehard skier who lives in Utah but regularly makes the trip up to Wyoming.
He dropped in and, at the exact moment where you’d need to execute a hard right turn, double-ejected from his skis. He whizzed down the chute. By Cash’s estimate, the slide lasted a minute and seven seconds. Thankfully, he was okay, if covered in snow. “Just my ego was bruised,” said Cash.
In another part of the world, Cash’s dad was watching.
Jackson Hole installed a webcam trained on Corbet’s earlier this season. It documents the bails and victories the Couloir produces, transforming the geographic formation into a global spectator sport.
So, before he went for it, Cash FaceTimed his dad, who was already a fan of the cam, telling him to tune in. Then came the epic fall. “My dad actually took the video off of the camera and gave it to me because he wanted to save that for later, because he just thought it was so funny,” said Cash.
Later, Cash uploaded that clip to Instagram, where it went viral, tallying almost one million views.
His fall was far from the only eye-grabbing moment captured by the cam. At least two Instagram pages have also cropped up, chronicling the action, “slams,” and “carnage.” Each of their videos has drawn a few thousand eyeballs apiece. One content creator made a compilation, adding text blurbs to each skier’s and snowboarder’s journey downhill.
Ask anyone with a ski-heavy algorithm: if it wasn’t already, Corbet’s is everywhere.
Professional skier or not, Corbet’s Couloir will probably give you butterflies. From the top, you’re given a few choices. The most common option, a steep, curved entrance called the goat path, ranges from smooth to sketchy, depending on the conditions. From there, the ante climbs higher, encompassing everything from straight lines to sheer cliff drops. Either way, you’re liable to go head over heels.
In a land of jagged peaks like Jackson Hole, the line may not be the ultimate test piece. But it is well-trafficked, highly visible, and the host of the high-flying Kings & Queens of Corbet’s competition. Duly, skiers around the world wonder if they could add the Corbet's feather to their beanie. Few runs have the same mythos.
With the webcam, Jackson Hole wanted to provide a real-time window into that raw power, said the resort’s brand director, Henrik Lampert. This applies to Jackson locals or someone sitting at a desk in New York or San Francisco, he continued, explaining that it’s a way “to keep the sense of possibility and adventure alive with people wherever they are.”
The idea proved successful. Lampert said he’s heard stories of people keeping the livestream open in the corner of their computers all day. Around the town of Jackson, the stream appears in restaurants and bars, offering a reprieve for idle eyes. Web traffic to the livestream page on Jackson Hole’s website jumped.
“From all the feedback that we've had, people are really feeling positive about the addition of the camera,” said Lampert.
Plenty of that buzz involves laugh-inducing bails—skiers, you know, love a good tumble. Lampert noted that Jackson Hole doesn’t celebrate the crashes, though. He said, instead, that the cam is “about showcasing the reality of the mountain—the skill really—the preparation and the respect that it requires.”
To Lampert’s point, take one stormy day in early January, archived on YouTube. Yes, plenty of people go for a ride. At the same time, the nearly eight-hour stream shows skiers flawlessly sliding downhill. It’s not all rag dolls into the abyss. In Jackson Hole, the reality is that a solid chunk of the skiing population rips. Hard.
Thanks to the cam, “I've seen a couple backflips into Corbet’s, just from random people that you probably never would have seen,” said Veronica Paulsen, a local professional skier.
Beaming those moments around the world could add some pressure, though, even for Paulsen. She’s competed in, won, and announced for Kings & Queens. She’s also the first woman to land a backflip into Corbet’s. Given her accolades, she wonders if viewers might expect a big run if they spot her on the cam, even though she sometimes takes a more casual approach. Then, there’s the whole crashing thing.
“If I fall on it, I don't want that to go viral, and people to be like, ‘Oh look, the Queen of Corbet’s fell down Corbet’s,’” she laughed, also joking about donning an all-black kit to go incognito. “It definitely puts me more on my A game.”
The cam might even birth a new superstition. A few skiers, Paulsen said, waved to the livestream, dropped in, and wiped out this winter. The superstition, if it solidifies, is obvious: get in, get your business done, and get out—the waves can wait for after you’re down in one piece.
Lampert conceded that the cam may have an intimidation factor. But he also thinks that for a lot of people, it’s motivation. Corbet’s has long been a place to prove what you’re made of, whether that’s to yourself, the people standing on the cornice alongside you, or onlookers aboard the Aerial Tram.
Now, the potential audience is even bigger.
“It adds this element of showing your friends back home what you did,” said Paulsen of the cam. “On the other side, you get to laugh at it a bit if you biff it, which is all in good fun. You know, we've all fallen down Corbet’s before.”
In snow sports, webcams are nothing new, but for the most part, they’re informational rather than entertaining, providing skiers a broad look at the snow conditions.
The Corbet’s cam shakes up that status quo and opens the possibility of similar livestreams. There is a certain thrill in watching regular people—not only pros—tackle headlining runs.
For now, though, Lampert couldn’t say whether Jackson Hole planned to install another line-specific cam, even as the resort's team is having conversations about how to ensure Jackson Hole stays top of mind.
Cash, the skier with the viral video, thought there was promise to the idea beyond Wyoming. He suggested a livestream covering Park City’s terrain park jump line, where, on an average day, everyone from groms to local stars throw down.
“I think if every resort did something like this, it could grow skiing more and get more people interested, and it might be a reason for somebody to go to the resort,” Cash said.
Following his big splash online, he made a point to share another video. Instead of a crash, it showed Cash making his way into Corbet’s—without losing his skis, that is.
The adventure was a long time coming. Cash said he’s consistently visited Jackson Hole for the past ten years, but always found the iconic line closed. Finally, this season, he successfully took the plunge, working his way through the rutted-out entrance.
“I did it. I've done it, I've eaten it, and I think it's great,” said Cash. “I thought it was so much fun.”
For him, Corbet’s Couloir lived up to its stature, delivering highs and lows in equal measure. And somewhere, hundreds of miles away, perhaps an office worker was following along as they procrastinated, determining if they had the guts to try it too.
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