I recalled a moment the other day while reading this thread. Not fear, but a different emotion. One more akin to despair, when you realize that you've blown it and have accepted the loss, so there is nothing to fear. It was about twenty some odd years ago, so my memory of the geography could be a little off, but to set the scene, I'll try and describe the terrain as best I can.
It was on Mt. Washington BC (Vancouver Island), at the top of the hill, viewers right going up the lift, but on the back side, there is or at least there used to be a roped off cliff (there used to be a smaller cliff roped off on the other side too, but I'm talking about the bigger one). About a good stones throw from the lift, there was a spot where a few folks would find a way down. There was plenty of room to make a few jump turns or bicycle turns, and of course once scouted out, you could also skip the turns and treat it as a private downhill course (but with no lift back up ). Closer to the lift there was another very narrow passage with no room to turn, you had to thread the needle at stupid fast speed, and then veer (skier's) left near the bottom of the steep pitch to join up with the less intense line mentioned above. Just before these two lines met up there was a third line that you could turn back down on (or maybe it was just after the two lines met up and before a second veering to the left), but this line had a clump of brush/short trees in the way. Well, short was what was left sticking up out of the 20-30 feet of snow on the ground). I went down these lines often enough to figure out that if I saved up just enough speed from the first steep pitch by making clean turns, but not too much speed so a little speed had to be ditched on the turns, it was possible to run up a bit of higher ground on the right side of the trail and use it as a ramp to clear the clump of brush. The only problem was that once clear of the brush, you had to stick the landing and make a quick left, or you would be in trees too thick to pass through. Hence why you had to kill some speed, but not too much. You had to decide on the fly if you had done it right or if your were either carrying too much speed or not enough. If so it was a left turn, but if you had just enough speed your were good to go straight down and use that rise on the right side as a ramp to jump the brush. It was a little tricky 'cause not only did you have to judge your speed, you could only go so far right without being off the run and in the trees, more right= more altitude to compensate for slow speed, but also closer to the edge, and you had to turn back to the left before taking off.
I recall one time misjudging my speed. I thought I had enough speed when I decided to go for it, but when I got to the jump point I realized I didn't have quite enough momentum; I guess the snow was a littler softer on the run-up to my "ramp" in the afternoon than it had been in the morning. It was too late to stop. I did all I could to make my skis clear the brush, but they caught on something and I flipped, hitting the landing somewhat upside down. I realized all was lost when my skis didn't clear the brush, and though I knew I would struggle to the bitter end, I really believed my goose was cooked.
My previous despair was matched by my joy when I discovered a short time later that the slow snow had slowed my rag-dolling down enough, and I miraculously missed the larger trees with the smaller brush acting as B-netting. I escaped with only minor bruises and only having gone about 15 feet into the trees beyond the landing area, after falling through some 30 feet feet of the wet heavy deep snow. I find it ironic that the same snow effect that ruined my jump saved my bacon.