Behind the Cover: At 10:39 a.m., my phone dinged. It was a group text from fellow Snowboard editor Mark Clavin and an unfamiliar number. Attached were two iPhone snaps, followed by a simple message from the unknown sender: “Boat to beam.”

Truth be told, I was at home fabricating a backyard rope tow, and in my fixated state, wasn’t particularly interested in anything else. But in those two crude snapshots, I immediately saw a potential photograph, only an hour drive from my house.

Early afternoon, lying in the snow, I stared up at a blizzard-choked sky. My neck craned to meet the viewfinder of the ice-cold Pentax 6×7 in my hands, partially buried in a crater I’d dug. Shooting on film, there are no test shots, no style checks–only intense concentration on what you and the rider are trying to align. 

The scene was dead silent, except for the clanking of loose metal sheeting dangling high above—part of a 20-some-story concrete grain elevator next to us that stood in the runout–a hazard equally as sketchy as the gap-to-beam itself.

Against the whiteout sky, a baseball-capped head emerged over the roof edge of the triple-decked 1902 steamship, withered by time, and frozen in place in the icy harbor. As Sam dropped straight toward me, staring at each other, the silence was broken by the heavy slap of the Pentax’s mirror and shutter. The viewfinder went black just as the shriek of steel edges sparking through decades of rust tore past my head.

Two inches to the left, and I would’ve been headed to the ER. Two inches to the right, and the composition would’ve lost its balance. The same could be said for Sam on this beam. 

Thanks for the text, Sam—and congrats to you and the crew on the cover!