Hi, I'm Amber.
I Jumped Anyway
Out of planes, off cliffs, and into a life I almost missed.
(This page shares my story, including the loss of my husband. Please read gently.)
I'm an Alaska girl at heart. I grew up with big mountains, cold water, and the kind of wild that gets into your bones and never leaves. I've been in Florida for 32 years, and Sarasota has been home for about 15. I'm a mom to grown kids who make me proud every day. I've built businesses from nothing, and I've never been good at sitting still.
My story didn't start easy. I grew up in abuse, and later I survived domestic violence in my second marriage. For most of my life, "survivor" was the whole word for me. It meant keep going, keep everyone okay, and don't feel too much. I was really good at surviving. I just wasn't living.
Then, after all of that, I met Erik. He was nothing like what came before. He showed me what love is supposed to feel like: safe, steady, and kind. We built a wildlife removal business together from the ground up and ran it side by side for nine years. We raced sailboats together, and some of my happiest memories are on the water with him, soaking wet and laughing. We had a dream to sell the business and the house and live aboard a boat full time. Sun & Snow was supposed to be part of that life.
In January 2026, Erik died by suicide.
Everything stopped. I sold the business, sat in a quiet house, and tried to remember how to breathe. I'd survived hard things before, but this time I made a different choice. I didn't want to just survive again. I wanted to live. I just didn't know how yet.
So I jumped.
Erik and I, happiest on the water.
Learning to Live
On my 45th birthday, I went skydiving for the first time. Two months after the hardest day of my life, I stepped out of an airplane, and for a few minutes the grief couldn't catch me. It was the first spark of the old me I'd felt in a long time.
In June I went to Moab with a list of things that scared me. I did a tandem BASE jump. I swung off a canyon rope swing, rode whitewater, and held on for dear life through extreme 4x4. I came home sunburned, bruised, and gloriously obliterated. For the first time in months, I felt fully alive.
In July I stood on a cliff over Lake Superior and jumped. That same month I went back up in the plane, and this time I started training for my skydiving license. Every jump teaches me the same lesson: I have more time than I think when I slow down and breathe. I'm not trying to be perfect. I'm trying to be 1% better than yesterday.
In September I hiked for six hours in Colorado and found a heart carved in the rock. I sat down beside it by myself, and I made a decision. I would rather sit in the beautiful, romantic places alone than not go at all. I've also come to believe that love isn't one soulmate and done. Love multiplies. So I'll keep saving the seat next to me. Someday I believe I'll have an adventure partner again, someone to love and be loved by, who wants to chase the view with me. Until then, Erik is with me on every one of these trips.
What Sun & Snow Is Now
My faith has carried me through all of it. God kept putting people in my path right when I needed them: friends who showed up, a church family who held me up, and strangers on trips who became friends by the end of the day. I've learned that joy and grief can sit at the same table. Being brave doesn't mean you aren't scared. It means you're scared and you go anyway.
Travel didn't fix my grief. It gave me somewhere to put it. It put me back around people, and it reminded me that my story isn't over.
So now I plan trips for people who want to feel alive again, or maybe for the first time. Adventure by day, a beautiful place to rest at night, and someone who has thought through every detail so you can just show up and live. Some of my travelers want a glacier or a canyon. Some want a quiet beach and a table full of people who understand. Some are traveling solo for the first time and need to know that's allowed. Either way, I'll walk it with you.
You're Allowed to Live Big
Whatever you've come through, you're allowed to live big on the other side of it.
We can do hard things. She jumped anyway. You can too.
If you're struggling, you're not alone. In the U.S., call or text 988 to reach the Suicide & Crisis Lifeline.