A nightmare doesn’t even begin to describe what Chauncy and Kelli Johnson faced on Christmas Eve 2010 when they decided to do a couple of runs at their local mountain in Casper, Wyo., with daughters Elise, 5, and Camilla, 3.
While Kelli’s parents watched their 4-month-old baby, Logan, back at the lodge, Chauncy, an expert snowboarder, took Camilla to the bunny hill, while Kelli, an adept skier, went with Elise on an expert run.
As Kelli stopped to fix Elise’s ski, a snowboarder estimated to be traveling 50 to 60 mph slammed into them from behind.
Elise was thrown 50 feet, broke her neck, and died. The snowboarder, Craig Shirley, was hurled 40 feet and died of blunt force trauma. Kelli suffered a traumatic brain injury so severe that doctors weren’t sure she would wake up — and if she did, whether she would be able to walk.
“She still doesn’t remember the moment of impact, which is actually a blessing,” Chauncy, now 46, says, tearing up at the memory. “I also feel fortunate not to have witnessed it, because the aftermath was so traumatic.”
As Kelli was transferred to a hospital specializing in brain injuries, Chauncy arranged Elise’s funeral, made decisions about her burial, and figured out how to care for their infant — all while not knowing whether Kelli would survive.
“She had amnesia and couldn’t remember Ellie was dead,” Chauncy says of visiting his wife in the early days after the incident.
Kelli, now 46, was placed in an induced coma for three weeks and later moved to a hospital that specialized in traumatic brain injuries. There, she had to relearn how to walk and swallow.
She returned home after three months, but the grief that followed nearly broke their family — until they found a new purpose.
“I started drinking. I didn’t know how to process all of this,” Chauncy says. “I was ready to give up on a belief in God. There were moments where all I could do was breathe.”
Eventually, he stopped drinking and leaned into his faith again. “I realized with some good friends, Kelli and some great support, that that wasn’t gonna be a productive way to move my way through this,” he says.
In the aftermath of losing his daughter, Chauncy began thinking about how to make the mountain safer, even if only to feel secure enough to return.
By 2016, he felt strong enough to act on that idea and reached out to the National Ski Areas Association about collaborating on a safety program.
“They could easily have said, ‘Look, that’s not good PR,’” he recalls, “but they welcomed us with open arms.”
In 2023, the Johnsons launched their nonprofit, the Snow Angel Foundation. They partner with resorts to speak with youth groups, race clubs, ski patrollers, and others about Elise’s story and the need for better safety practices on slopes around the country, where an average of 40 people still die annually.
Their public service announcements, now on more than three dozen mountains, are often recognized by the slogan: “She was 5. You were doing 50.” Another message is “Ski and Ride RAD” — ready to stop, be alert, and distance yourself. The organization hopes to expand its reach through lift-line videos and additional education.
“We do our best to leave people inspired and not feeling sad,” Chauncy says of sharing their story.
He adds, “We’re really the first people that have lost a family member on the slopes, come back in and said, ‘We need to be more open about our conversations about safety on the mountain, and we need to provide people with better tools to understand how to mitigate risk better.’”
He also emphasizes that they don’t harbor ill will toward the snowboarder.
About a year after his daughter was killed, Chauncy decided to get back on his board.
“It was one of the scariest experiences of my life,” he says. As he carved through eight inches of fresh powder, he remembered how alive it made him feel. Kelli soon followed, and their four children — including daughters Reese, 11, and Leilani, 9, born after Elise’s death — now ski with them regularly.
“We want our kids to know that when tough things happen, you can face those fears,” Chauncy says.
He looks forward to the day when stories like theirs are rare.
“We’ve got a long way to go. But I’m willing to do anything to make skiing better,” he says. “There’s that piece of my heart that’s never going to heal. And that’s okay too. We know we’re on the right path.”
