Sick of Going Solo?

Tana Ho man has started a new adventure collective helping women nd their outdoor friends

WORDS: HEATHER HENDRICKS

SOFIA JARAMILLO

New to town and looking for some pals to shred with? Or are you a super local wanting to get out in the woods and explore more? Maybe you’re somewhere in between. ILLA is a rst-of-its-kind matching platform for connecting women in the outdoors.

ILLA was founded by Tana Ho man in February of 2022. It launched as a pilot in Jackson Hole this past summer, followed by a public beta test in Denver. As the platform continues to scale, it will be accessible throughout the country.

Tana is a hard-working super-connector and multifaceted entrepreneur. She is constantly evolving and thinks the way we connect should be too. First, she earned her chops in the outdoor industry through positions with Teton Gravity Research and Winter Park Resort in Colorado. Next, Tana founded Mountainist, a revolutionary e-commerce store for womens outdoor gear rentals. She then took all that knowledge and used it as a springboard for ILLA.

A little over a year ago, Tana joined VF Corporation, the parent company of Vans, e North Face, Smartwool, and others. She was one of two young founders selected to join the inaugural VF Venture Foundry Fellowship. is program is designed to equip next-generation outdoor entrepreneurs with the tools, resources, and guidance to build and scale their ideas.

“A few months later, I was invited to become an Entrepreneur in Residence, to take ILLA from a concept to reality, and build out the companion app MVP with investment support from VF Venture Foundry,” Tana told us.

Tana knows what it’s like to be a newcomer to intimidating sports like backcountry snowboarding, snowmobiling, and dirt biking. She knows how hard it can be to nd adventure buddies on a similar level and those willing to let you into their crew. Her experiences working and being a part of the outdoor and tech industries lit the spark for ILLA.

With partnership perks for members on the horizon, it’s a good time to get into the ILLA community. Right now, women are using the ILLA app to make plans to shred tomorrow and hit up the hot springs after. So why wait to build friendships and explore? Forget swiping for randoms: Build your own adventure instead.

Interested in checking out ILLA? Head to weareilla.com and get started.

Heather Hendricks was recently promoted to CMO of @ILLAwomen…. She thinks her new title means ‘Creator of Mountains of Opportunities’

@HeatherHendricksHH

Rhonda the Honda’s studded tires attacked the icy pavement of Teton Pass. e frosted roadway was barely visible through dumping snow. Together–man and machine–we rallied up the steep switchback turns. At that point Rhonda and the Pass had a long-running love/hate relationship. It loved her, she hated it. It was far from her rst rodeo, and she often did more with two wheels than most cars can do with four. She was my full-send 2WD bad bitch till the end (or until I could a ord an upgrade). As we climbed, the snow intensi ed. And I stomped on the gas harder.

At the top of the Pass, the parking lot was gone. Each space was covered with drifted snow. Before swimming Rhonda into the deep end, I paced out a rough spot for us. en we carefully backed in with Rhonda’s two good wheels facing outward. Wind ripped across the ridgeline and loaded the leeward aspects with snow. I fought through the storm, put my kit on, and headed out into the furious blizzard.

Back at the road an hour (and many face shots) later, I found Rhonda, and every other car in the lot, totally and utterly buried. But we had seen this before at Silverton, Kirkwood, and Wolf Creek. is dig would be no di erent. I pulled out my shovel, turned on Rhonda’s engine, and got to work. Fifteen-ish minutes later, we were in pretty good shape with a new path dug for Rhonda’s escape, visible wheels, and a defrosted interior.

Just as we were about to roll away, a stranger emerged from the whiteout and asked if I’d help dig out his friend. “Sure,” I shrugged. I followed him to the outline of an all-wheel drive, turbo-shred wagon that was hopelessly bottomed-out and buried with its ass-end facing the road. e owner of the entombed vehicle turned and looked at me. “Hey, I’m Jimmy,” he yelled through the storm. “ anks for the help!” Jimmy Chin–one of my personal heroes–extended a gloved hand. I knew that he lived in Jackson Hole, and over the years he’d passed me many times while hiking up the Glory bootpack. Usually I was heaving for breath as he and a posse of pro bros powered past in full conversation, barely breaking a sweat.

“Holy shit, that car’s fucked!” I shouted to no-one in particular.

But now here he was, stuck like the rest of us, his car buried by the same unforgiving storm. Human after all. A erce determination took hold of me. I couldn’t let him down. e guy who climbed Meru! e dude who lmed Alex Honnold making history on El Cap! Now he needed my help. I threw myself at the wheel wells and crawled into the snow-choked nook under the hood. I hammered my shovel into the loaded snow until it hit grit. ere in the dark under that car, I waged war against the Snow Gods—for Jimmy.

Twenty minutes later I was saturated with sweat and Jimmy Chin’s wagon was nally ready to roll. He thanked me with a st pound and that was that. Rhonda and I made a show of tearing out of our parking spot, both front wheels spinning and spitting up gravelly snow chunks. e ex was aggressive, and I’m sure Jimmy’s squad was either deeply impressed or emasculated.