“Hey man, can you take a look at this photo and tell me what you think?”
Jim pointed me toward his laptop. It was a pretty good shot. A little soft maybe, kinda harsh mid-day light, not the best action. I had several friends who were professional photographers, so I was pretty used to seeing amazing shots—photos way better than mine. And while this one wasn’t amazing by any stretch, it was clearly taken by someone who wanted to get better. I gave him a short critique and he went back to his computer.
A few months later Jim waved me over to his computer, pointed to the screen, and asked “what do you think?”
This time it was an amazing photo. It was tack sharp and technically perfect, but it was more than that. It was one of those photos that makes you forget that you’re looking at a photo. It was the kind of picture that makes you feel the cold spray of powder on your face as you take it in. It was the kind of photo I wanted to take.
He asked for a critique, but I couldn’t give him one. How do you critique something that’s better than anything you’ve ever done? It didn’t take long before Jim landed his first feature article, and then his first cover. Pretty soon the unassuming guy I had met at my friend’s house party was widely known as one of the best adventure photographers in the country.
Jim is the kind of person I wish I was. Not because he’s an amazing photographer or a damn good skier or one of the most motivated people I’ve ever met. Not even because he travels the world getting into incredible adventures with world-class athletes. It’s because Jim is one of those rare people who makes you feel better about yourself just for having been around him. His attitude just rubs off on you, and you can’t help but get stoked.
When I first started backcountry skiing after switching over from snowboarding at resorts, I was a complete gaper. My first two seasons consisted of little more than Mill D laps. Jim was the first person to invite me out for something bigger. He took me down the Heart of Darkness, he showed me how to find the entrance to the Hallway Couloir, and he brought me along on my first 10,000-foot day of touring. They were eye-opening experiences that really showed me both the potential of my backyard Wasatch Range and my own potential as a skier.
My girlfriend and I once showed up at Jim’s door for a last-minute party with beer and brats in hand, happy to hang out with some friends. It turned out that as a result of my phone acting up I had received the invite text one day late, so “party at our place tomorrow” actually meant tonight, and when we came “tomorrow” we were a day late. Jim was understandably confused when he opened the door to see us. He was also in the middle of a long editing session for a magazine submission. But neither his confusion, his busy schedule, or the fact that he was only partially dressed kept him from inviting us in for a drink. We walked in the door feeling like complete idiots, and we left an hour later stoked to head into the mountains and get after it.
Jen and I were on a week-long desert road trip when we heard about Jim’s accident in South America. From that moment on we were checking our phones at every available signal for an update on his condition. At Creeksgiving dinner, his recovery was the main topic of discussion among our group of friends. Since returning home, we’ve been excited at every bit of good news—the successful surgery, feeling pins and needles in his legs, and eventually wiggling his toes. While Cody Townsend’s ski line is winning the internet, updates on Jim are the only thing in my Facebook feed that I care about. I can’t wait for the day in the hopefully not-too-distant future when Jim is back in Salt Lake City, heading up the skin track in the pre-dawn chill of a deep powder day. But in the meantime, here are a few photos of the man behind the camera…
