CARLOS RUIZ SWITCH 50 OR DIE TRYING

Nearly every skate photo I’ve ever shot has a backstory tied to some bond—tight homies, road dogs, late-night bar philosophers. At the very least, they were somebody I kinda knew. Back then, the skate world still felt like a small-town freakshow—tight-knit and full of beautiful lunatics. Everyone was connected by two degrees and a shared allergy to authority. But things were starting to change. Fast.

Enter Carlos Ruiz.

To this day, I don’t know him. Never met him before. Haven’t seen him since. He was a ghost in my lens. I got a call from a filmer buddy who said, “Yo, I got this kid that wants to switch 50-50 a hubba. Meet us at this school.”

That was the whole pitch.

I hung up thinking, Who the hell switch 50s a twenty-stair hubba?! Especially someone I’ve never even heard of? Seemed like suicide with a skateboard.

I pull up to the spot—high school campus, sun bleached and half asleep. There he is: Carlos. Quiet, polite. Not a peep of bravado. He warmed up with a few flatground ollies and some labored flip tricks at the top of the stairs. Nothing fancy. Nothing that said “Hey, I’m about to commit switch-stance murder on this ledge.”

Then he just starts going for it.

No buildup. No ramp-up. Just straight into the meat grinder. The first few tries? Pure chaos. Like someone threw a housecat down a marble slide. Arms flailing, barely escaping death, over and over. It was nerve-racking, watching this kid throw his spine into the abyss with each attempt.

We hit that critical moment—every skater knows it—where you’re at the cliff’s edge of “one more try” before the body says no more. Then he bolts back up the stairs, and we all feel it. This is the one.

And it was.

Boom. Locked. Rolled. Landed. Clean as Sunday morning. Cameras snapped, jaws dropped. He walked over, we shook hands. Seemed like a good dude. And then he vanished—just like that. Gone from my life as fast as he entered.

Never saw him again.

But the photo remains—proof that for one brief moment, a complete stranger walked into frame, defied physics, and etched his name on a rail most wouldn’t even look at twice.

God bless you, Carlos Ruiz. Wherever the hell you are.

• 10 mil (0.25 mm) thick
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