The pro division takes home cash and a belt buckle. A horse named Vegas ups the odds at the 2020 competition in Heber City, UT. Photo: Colin Clancy “I felt like we were going pretty dang fast,” Jake says as he tows me back to the start. “We’ve got to kick it into gear tomorrow. We’re going wide open.” By 10 a.m. the crowd is already larger and rowdier than last night. We won’t have to wait long. We’re the very first team out of the gate, and I’m the day’s first casualty. After my big fall, the grandstands offer cheers and high fives. I take a bit of satisfaction in watching the next five competitors wipe out behind me. The course is fast—it takes a few guinea pigs like me to figure that out. “What do you think went wrong?” I ask back at the trailer. “Just a shitty skier behind you?” “I don’t know,” Jake chuckles, cracking a beer. “We just went too fast at the end, I think. I should have probably slowed down a little. I could tell you was off balance. I looked back at you right before that last jump, and then I looked back again and you were sideways in the air.” I ask if he felt the rope go slack when I let go. “Just like a fish bustin’ off the line,” he says. Despite my DQ, I’m full of adrenaline as we join the family in the crowd, free of pressure and ready to party. Jake’s three-year-old is the first to greet us. “You didn’t hold on tight!” he yells to me, an astute obser-vation if there ever was one. Jake gets a call that one of his heifers back home is in labor, but as he packs to leave, we’re already talking about next year. “We’ll have you out to practice in our pasture,” Jake says. “I can get out the Bobcat and build up some jumps.” I catch Dillon after he nails one of the fastest runs of the weekend. “That run was fast, but I think it’s actually beatable, so we’ll see,” he says, all smiles. I admire his cool. There’s big money on the line, a total event purse of $15,000 across all divisions, with $7,000 of that going to the pro division winners (45 percent to the skier, 45 percent to the rider, and 10 percent to the horse)—not to mention belt buckles. In the distance, Brian’s voice echoes over the PA, egging the crowd on. “Get that horse a’ movin’!” he yells, as another team launches out of the gate. Dillon’s run holds up—his third title in as many years com-peting. It’s his second year in a row winning with rider Clayson Hutchings and horse Wanda—their team aptly named Repeat. Walking out through the muddy mess of aluminum trail-ers, diesel pickups and neighing horses, I start my rig, already daydreaming of next February. I’ll be ready—gloves with rubber-dipped palms and a black felt Stetson with a little dirt on the brim. Skijoring 067
The Ski Journal Volume 14, Issue 1: Page 67
