Photo Essay

Giving a Huck

A huck differs from any other form of gravity-defying travel. A flawless Hugo Harrison stomp in the middle of an Alaskan line or a Bobby Brown’ed switch double 1440 over a 120-foot tabletop are by no means hucks. A huck is more of an emotional relationship with gravity. Whether it’s a Seth Morrison hate huck that utilizes a hundred-foot backflip to tamp down some skin crawling inner demons, or a Julian Carr meditative method to zen out upside down off a 200-foot Wasatch wall, the huck is more a therapist couch in the air than a performance piece on snow. It is a middle finger to the law, a spiritual connection to the earth, wind and fire inside, a prayer to the gods all wrapped up in a few seconds of flight. A huck is huck for huck’s sake.

The first time I found that aerial therapist couch was off an iconic rock in Squaw Valley, CA called Adrenaline Rock. It was a 50-foot-to-dead-flat testing piece for every hormonally charged teenager and wannabe pro skier. The icons of Squallywood hucking—Shane McConkey, the Gaffney brothers, John Tremann, Jeffrey Taggart Holmes, Jeff Engerbretson, Jeff McKittrick, all the Jeffs—had jumped it. They howled with laughter as they hot-tubbed into the landing and made it look like nothing could be more fun. Without their lead, the overhanging granite behemoth would’ve seemed impossible to me…

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