Nothing but smiles for Max Martin after summiting Ferry Peak, south of Jackson, WY, with Luke Torrito and Veronica Paulsen in 2020. Photo: Luke Toritto
Every ski town has its local hero. For the town of Jackson, WY, that person was skier Max Martin.
Max Martin passed away on January 18, 2026, while skiing in Hakuba, Japan. He was 32 and was about to celebrate his 33rd birthday on this trip. As a pillar of Jackson, his death is a devastating loss. He was a fixture at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort and ever-present throughout this tight-knit community as an athlete, business owner, husband, brother, dog dad, and all-around amazing person.
I first met Max in 2017. We connected at a Teton Gravity Research premiere, when my friends wanted me to meet their fitness coach who they couldn’t stop raving about. In the thick of the crowd, I met Max, who greeted me with a big smile and his signature warmth. Weeks later, one of those friends showed me a video of him skiing (he hadn’t even mentioned that he was a professional skier) to which I replied, “holy shit!”
Max really let his skiing do the talking.
Max Martin on No Name Cliffs in Jackson, WY. This wasn’t planned, I just happened to reach the top of the Powder 8’s bootpack right as Max was about to drop. With fresh overnight, a stable snowpack, and bluebird skies, it was a textbook day in the resort-accessed backcountry. Photo: Stephen Shelesky
Born and raised in Jackson, Max thrived in the mountains. His name frequently graced the sports section of the Jackson Hole News and Guide for his racing accolades. His talent only grew, eventually landing him a spot on the Plymouth State University ski race team, where he competed in the Division 1 circuit for four years. On top of racing, Max earned a B.S. in Exercise and Sport Science and sought to blend his passion for skiing with personal training to help others achieve their goals. Following college, Max returned to Jackson and shifted his focus entirely to big mountain terrain, while becoming an athlete for Jackson Hole Mountain Resort.
His skiing was beautiful, powerful and precise. On corduroy, he could arc a GS turn like he was flying through a race course. In powder, he was weightless, bouncing from one rock drop to the next, always seeking a creative line. On big mountain lines, he charged, straightling through chutes, or soaring over rocky cliff bands. He didn’t hold back from bold airs and was adept at popping up from big slams, a testament to how hard he worked in the gym. He had tricks, too. Floaty 360s. Smooth backflips. Double backflips, too. His passion was evident in his edits, and he exuded joy. His big smile underneath his mustache, caked with ice, was his trademark look.
Beyond his incredible athleticism, what always left the greatest impression on me was his character. We’d often bump into each other in the lift line at JHMR, and he always had time to say hello and ask me about my day. Looking back through my DMs with him, there are applause and party emojis he sent me for various photography achievements I shared on social media.
Max just loved hyping up the people around him—whether he knew you well or just barely.
You can see this in Home Away from Home, where a good chunk of the film is focused on being with his friends. When his pal Veronica Paulsen was chasing her goal of stomping a double backflip at the Kings and Queens of Corbets competition, he was there at the finish line, ready to give her the biggest hug. Max lived his life eager to uplift everyone around him. These acts of kindness were a constant for him, as he was a force of positivity.
It was a reminder that no matter how successful we become, these gestures—whether big or small—are what leave the greatest impact.
The last time I saw Max, my partner, Luke, and I ran into him at the rock climbing gym in Driggs, ID. We were back to visit the Tetons after moving to the Northeast. Max and Luke caught up, and Luke told him that we’d moved to New England for our next chapter in life. We had gotten used to the teasing that would sometimes ensue, as some folks were unable to fathom leaving the Tetons. Instead, Max did the opposite. He was thrilled. He congratulated Luke with a big smile and said, “If you can carve a turn, every day is a powder day,” and he wished us well.
Thanks for always looking on the bright side, Max. I will miss running into you in the chair lift line and seeing that big smile. To Eliza, Max’s family, and the Jackson Hole community, we’re all thinking about you.
Wherever you are, Max, I know it’s a powder day.