How Ian McIntosh’s Injury and Divorce Changed him for the Better

Nothing like organic berries. Same goes for organic skiing. Ian McIntosh photo. 

“To succeed as a pro skier, you can’t be self-motivated,” Ian Macintosh says. “You have to let go of the ego; in this industry, there’s only group success, and if you focus on the individual, you’ll be alienated.”

Mac’s no fool when it comes to the ski industry, and he’ll be the first to tell you he’s gone through his fair share of trial and error in his professional approach. About a month ago, in TGR’s pitch black theater room, only our faces illuminated by my glowing laptop, I caught up with the veteran pro skier to probe into how his life’s recently done a 180.

April 2011 changed Mac. He separated from his wife (via phone, just, you know, to add a little salt to the wound), and broke his femur three days later. Mac chides his ego for both: he wanted people to think he had it all with a beautiful spouse, and when the marriage ended, he sent it hard down a spine in Alaska to prove his worth, the result being one bummer of a spill. He hadn’t slept in days and his game was off.

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Tomahawking until what felt like no end, Mac felt his femur snap. He tensed his quad as he rag-dolled down the face to keep his leg together as much as possible, but it was a lost cause. Mac’s leg was done.

The word "shitty" barely describes the months proceeding. He’d gone from the highest of highs to the lowest of lows, and though he winces remembering the physical and emotional agony, he wouldn’t press rewind on any of it; the broken heart and the broken leg catalyzed his change in mindset, a mindset that is pride-free and, according to two of his friends-cum-coworkers, a helluva lot more mature.

“In the darkest hours, you learn who you really are,” Mac says, “But you have to dig deep, get healthy, and get back out there.” Mac crutched over to the gym for six months, and in these hours his richest self-reflection happened. He asked himself the gritty questions we all avoid. He used his injury to grow.

Who needs a heli to summit Canada's Mount Lefroy when you've got...two feet. Ian McIntosh photo.  

Mac doesn’t deny he was effing pissed, but he flipped the bird at toxic negative energy. His healing depended on getting out of the funk, and when he began chipping away at his ego, he started to have all sorts of 'aha moments.'

First, he shook up his approach to skiing. He’s gone back to how it was when he entered the backcountry at age eight; he’s saying no to helicopters, and yes to feet. If you salivate over heli-skiing, you probably want to smack Mac across the head about now, but hear him out.

Having long since proved his radness, Mac doesn’t need to rake in line after line. He says, “Three lines on foot are as impactful as thirty by heli,” and continues, “and helicopters are numbing; one minute you’re sipping coffee, and the next your standing on top of the gnar.”

 "When you have to dig out your tent, hike, and then shred, being a professional skier's no longer like a weird video game...It's real life." Ian McIntosh photo. 

Mac didn’t feel good about how factory-like skiing was becoming—he felt disconnected. Stagnant, he turned to Jeremy Jones. Jones is the frontrunner for the foot-powered movement—he hikes lines people think are unhikeable—and Mac needed to pick his brains about how he too could get that more soulful experience.

Jones told Mac to give up the heli, saying you just can’t do both. Going foot-powered needs commitment; when you’re juggling the two, foot-powered approaches tend to get thrown on the back burner. Jones convinced Mac to trust in his feet, and to let go.

“Never say never, but I’ll never use a heli to film skiing again,” Mac told me. Throwing himself down mountains like a Huck Doll has lost its sex appeal, and instead of tallying up sick lines, Mac now challenges himself to see just where exactly he can hike. He’ll spot a line and think, “How can I get there on my own two feet?” He’s living by the Deeper, Further, Higher model.

While you're midway through your dreams, Mac's midway up a mountain, skis on back. Ian McIntosh photo. 

“It’s scary to think about doing the whole season on foot…It’s a big commitment, and while the heli feels safe, the foot’s unknown,” says Mac. He went on to assure that if you’re fit, reaching peaks by foot, as he did in Tight Loose, isn’t all that hard (with an emphasis on the “all”). Like grinding it on the StairMaster or eating your sprouts, it’s a mental game. The bonus: You can go places helis can’t.

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For this reason alone, Mac’s willing to commit five weeks to ski just one run. Mac says, “Living and surviving in the elements is much richer than buzzing in and out.” He continues, “Dedicating a chunk of your life to something creates incomparable memories, memories you’ll never get in a single day in a chopper where everything blends together.”

Skiing's what got Mac to India, but the culture drew him in most. Ian McIntosh photo. 

Shooting in India and Greece for Tight Loose proved Mac’s a changed man. Formerly, he’d have stuck to Alaska or BC where he’s guaranteed killer lines, but now he’s in it for more than just the vertical—Mac’s found a whole new appreciation for cultural experiences. I about passed out when he said that in India and Greece, skiing became secondary. He says, “I don’t need to experience more of the best, I need to experience more of the world.” He did what he had to do for the shoot, and then happily put his skis away and set off to explore. He’d have never done this when he was younger.

Mac’s energy is enlivening. Mentally, he’s in his prime. I wanted to raise my hands in emoji-fashion when he said the sky’s the limit, but I held back. The dark room was awkward enough. For the sake of surprise, he’s not spilling the beans on his upcoming trips, but one thing’s for sure: they’re unprecedented. 

Here’s to a pro skier who’d rather wake at 3 (in the AM…), foot-it to the top of a peak to watch the sun rise with his mates, and then send it back to base for breakfast. Here’s to a pro who’s earning his turns. 

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stash member Hannah Clayton