So begins the opening narration of the ski film Daydreams. Shot and edited during the winter and spring of 1974-75 by Tahoe native, Craig Beck, the epic film remains the last un-forked pea on the plate of American ski film making. Highlight's include Greg Beck's (Craig's younger brother) 100-foot-plus jump off the Palisades and Dave Burnham's monstrous 80-foot flip into the wild blue yonder.

The film's symphonic segments caught atop Squaw's Palisades are so moving, and such a rarity of inspiration, the film should be shown to every fifth grade classroom in America to describe to children the meaning of freedom.


Air it Out
"When in doubt, air it out" became the Palisades mantra via the film. And the Palisades geography became internationally entrenched by Warren Miller during the 1980s when he filmed Scot Schmidt, Tom Day, Kevin Andrews, Robbie Huntoon, Jim Zellers, and other freakhuckers uncorking rowdy lines and epic airs down Palisades' skyscraper-like cliffs and difficult lines. It was not uncommon for these adventurers, off camera, and even on poor-visibility days, to drop big airs into the Chimney Sweep and other gnarly centerlines.

In the heavy snow year of 1983, while filming for Miller, 21-year-old Scot Schmidt took a leap down an eighty-foot corridor of rock known today as Schmidt-iots. "There was a lot of snow and the conditions were premium," recalls Schmidt who now resides in Santa Cruz. "I'd been jumping a lot of stuff all day and was getting pretty comfortable. I started looking for a new line."

What he picked was a plunge never done before from the 9,000-foot band of cliffs. Schmidt shot down straight onto two pads or little ramps of snow that allowed him to launch out of the chute and into the side hill compression below.

"Looking back, it's considered kind of small by today's standards," says Schmidt. "But back in 1983 it opened some eyes."

The Palisades
The Palisades have always opened up people's eyes. If there is a predominant geological statement to Palisades Tahoe that immediately captures the eye, it's the Palisades above the Siberia Chair lift.

These upper rock cliffs of over 9,000 feet elevation loom over Squaw's upper mountain like a monstrous sentinel. Besides being the site of the start of the 1960 men's Olympic Downhill, the Palisades remain a strategic location for a Western Union and an FAA vortex system. A two-bedroom house full of communications equipment and a neighboring building full of weather technology is still maintained on top.

Lowell Northrup built the Siberian chair for the Olympics. Dick Reuter, former Palisades Tahoe Mountain Manager, recalled: "At the same time Lowell blasted a tunnel through solid granite from the Siberian ridge up to the top, he blasted the top of Squaw Peak off and leveled it out. Then he blasted enough rock out to sink a small building into the mountain. It was a huge excavation and quite remarkable at the time. The tunnel's damn big and up to eight feet high in some places. It must stretch a quarter mile."

From time to time the ski patrol still utilizes the tunnel when the weather turns really bad. It gives them the patrol access snow safety routes. "Before the detachable quad was installed in 1985 the tunnel was used all the time," recalled Steve Lamb, a Palisades Tahoe senior patrol supervisor. "From the top it has the finest views of Lake Tahoe and the spine of the Sierra Nevada. No other resort in North America has such challenging terrain."

The Palisades are BIG. Their gargantuan geography makes first-time visitors feel as though they're looking through the wrong end of a telescope. The terrain remains a monument to free skiing, adrenaline junkies attracted to the area's hair raising chutes, intense steeps, and tough rock faces, some the size of small office buildings.

Dropping into some of the Palisade chutes is as abrupt as dropping a quarter into a pay phone. Straight-lining the steeps and plunges is a high-burner and sweat maker. Lose it in process and the rest of the ride is like being in a wave tank in physics class. You end up feeling like the Tin Man after a good thrashing by the flying monkeys.

The Palisades are such a perfect testing ground for advanced pin wheelers that they almost seem synthetic. In fact, the flat top of the once pointed peak provides a formation that allows wind to form large cornices above the chutes. When their edges are shoveled off, the cornices form eye-popping steep entrances on which a skier can maintain snow contact. Hucksters benefit from the plateau to skate and pick up speed before airing it out. And aside from its geography, the aging structures up top are the perfect place to empty nervous bladders and shelter skiers before dropping in.

Final Words on the Big Jump
"That big jump is still something that blows me away," admitted Craig Beck years later. "Greg's jump was truly incredible. We measured it and it was over 150 feet. He hit it just right and did a perfect landing, but the jump still knocked him out cold.

"There were no ski patrolmen around. I carried him down the mountain, placed him in my van and drove to the hospital in Truckee. While we were waiting for a doctor in some ER room, Greg woke up and seemed okay. We then split out the back door before the doctor came in and we had to pay for something. We needed the money for more film!"

Editor's Observation: "Far better to dare mighty things..." This Palisades story by Fro fits nicely with the LOST LEGEND #9 in the Tahoe Tales archive.