Photo: Mike Basher
Photo: Tim Zimmerman
Mark Carter thenorthface.com
Photo: Mike Basher Photo: Corey Rich
The North Face速 Snow Report
Carter family ranch. Ten Sleep, Wyoming.
Publisher/Senior Photographer Jesse Brown Art Director Kristen Joy www.kristenjoydesign.com Advertising Sales Michael “Fudge” Bills Nic Drago Copy Editor Pamela Periconi Cover Artist Mike Parillo
www.jhsnowboardermagazine.com
Photo: Jesse Brown
Contributing Authors
Contributing Photographers
Contributing Artists
Tally Atkins Mike Basich Michael “Fudge” Bills Jacintho Bloom Mark Carter Cutter Kyle Clancy Carl Walters Dein Danielle Domsky Adam Dowell Will Eichelberger Jason Elms Wren Fialka Kimmy Fasani Jonah Fuechsel Steven Glass Jeff Hawe Bryan Iguchi
a.farm Tally Atkins Mike Basher Mike Basich Armelle Burke Chase Cleveland Kevin Cohane Jeremy Cusman Aaron Dodds Will Eichelberger Jason Elms Stan Evans Chris Figenshau Ben Girardi Jeff Hawe Ed Herbold
a.farm Steven Glass Kelly Halpin Halee Heermann Jamie Lynn Mike Parillo Ruckus
Jeremy Jones Kevin Jones Rob Kingwill Melissa Larsen Marc Loebe Jeff Moran Christina Sheperd McGuire
Willie McMillon Duane Nardi Chris O’Blenness Chris Owen Mike Parillo Sam Petri Brody Thompson Brian Upisleja Dustin Varga Nathan Venner Alex Yoder Tim Zimmerman
Michel Hendryx Seth Herr Ryan Hughes Rob Kingwill Dan Milner Duane Nardi Jeff Palmer Stephanie Peterka Chance Philly Terry Ratzlaff Angel Rodri Shin Chuck T. Morris Weintraub Alex Yoder Tim Zimmerman
Table Of Contents Features 8 Highway two-twelve An exploration of Beartooth Pass in the Northern Rockies. 14 In his Own WOrDs: Jeremy Jones Excerpts from the pages of Jeremy’s journal. 16 Captive By Nature & Machine: Swine Express Red-Flag Scenario. 18 Area-241 Turning a long-standing dream into a reality.
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24 The Ones Who Got Away The band is still a band & it’s gonna stay that way. 26 50 Feet at Fifty Why should you be impressed? 30 Stance Professional snowboarder Kimmy Fasani recounts her trip to Jackson Hole. 32 How To Be A Local Living the Sheepeater way. 36 Urban Days & NIghts The creative outlook that urban riding demands.
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38 Wall Of Righteousness It is not about making dollars, it is about making change. 40 No One Gets Out Alive Does a better life exist? 44 Joy Riding The Chinook Lives. 46 The Ten Sleep Project The hardest day of shredding is still the easiest day of work.
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52 The Beverage That Binds A look into the historical, spiritual & social side of intoxication. 54 What Is the Future of snowboarding? Our rapidly accelerating technology is driving the way we live. 56 Winter MATH Drive + Boots + Tram = Ride. 58 Nice Guy You guys should have been there — so epic.
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60 A life wasted is Not a Bad Life The top five ways to extend the longevity of your snowboarding career. 62 For the Sketch of it All a.farm’s annual dopeness. 68 One Step At A Time The boards have become lighter, the bindings have gotten lower, and the feeling is now the real deal. 70 THE EDGE No room for error. 72 Cup Of Tea With Anders Berling An interview by Brody Thompson. 74 Personal Braid It was the greatest feeling in the world. 88 11 Countries, 11 Months, Around the World & Back to Tell the story Sit back and peel open a can of real human moments.
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92 The Church Of The Blue Domers The mystery of the Blue Domer revealed. 96 Let The Good Times Roll Don’t forget to celebrate! 98 Yo Son! That Shit Was Mad Asian Recap of the annual JHSM party. 104 Fire In THe Hole Scope it, hike it, send it. All in a day’s work. 110 Reduce, Renew, Recession Challenge yourself to think differently this winter.
DIVISIONs
112 Interviews with Willie McMillon Kyle Clancy, Bryan Iguchi, Kevin Jones, Mike Parillo.
28 Behind the Artist: Kelly Halpin
122 Asymbol The new brainchild of Travis Rice & Mike Parillo.
34 Dropping Next: CAM FITZPATRICK
124 Beer & LOathing Welcome to the greatest show on Earth!
42 On The Front Line: Cover Artist Mike Parillo
126 JHSC To Sass … You’ll come for a week and stay for a month.
76 Semblance: Image Gallery
130 A Hopi Elder Speaks We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.
94 Dropping Next: Blake Paul
132 Wednesday Night Lights The AVALON7 RailBattle.
102 Behind the Artist: STEVEN GLASS
134 Legacy In this lifetime, almost everything comes full circle.
136 Thank you
Highway Two-Twelve
Words & Photos By Jeff Hawe
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We quicken the pace across the alpine plateau with the realization that the large thunderstorm we thought would pass west is actually building in size and barreling down on our location. The claps of rumbling thunder become more frequent and we strain our ears to hear noise indicating we are about to become electrified. Debating whether to drop off into a nearby bowl and wait it out in the rocks below, or keep hustling over the top of the plateau to ride our intended run down the Gardner headwall, something in our heads makes us decide to truck on … Dancing back and forth across the MontanaWyoming border is Highway 212. The highest roadway in the Northern Rockies tops out at 10,947 feet — a literal representation of the word “highway.” This road is known as the Beartooth Pass, the easiest way through the rugged Beartooth mountain range. When the road is dug out every spring, it provides a late-season playground for all snow sliders. Options for any sort of riding abound: corn snow-filled chutes wide and lazy or straight-line tight; cliff and cornice drops; multitudes of jumps (even powder from time to time), or a park with jibs and jumps. Not to mention the abundance of rocks and natural transitions to become creative with. It’s all here and waiting for any creative and motivated group to reap the goods. That’s just it, though. One must be a bit more of the adventurous mindset to have a go at exploring this pass. It is a brand of DIY (do-it-yourself) snowboarding that is maybe not as prevalent as it used to be. There are no pre-paid packages or coaches guiding you through the day. This summertime shred is about what one makes
of it, or fails to make of it. The Red Lodge Ski and Snowboard Camp is a good place to start out. Providing ticket-buying customers with two Poma lifts to ride, just be careful how you place the T-bar or you may be hitting high notes like
MJ. One lift serves the park and the other serves the steep headwall that is mandatory to access the place. After warming up the legs and acclimating the lungs to the altitude, head out into the pass and its many ridges, rolls and hidden snowfields. At this point, it’s a personal call on what to ride. There are plenty of options visible from the road, or take a hike out over the tundra. See what else is there. Maybe a jump that has never been built just waiting for the right set of eyes to discover it. Or fun lines where the only other creatures venturing into them are the resident mountain goats. Tent city. Bring it! Camping is honestly the only way to a well-rounded experience of the Beartooths. Aside
from extra-soggy boots by the third day, it is very fulfilling. Gathered around the fire at night, laughing over frosty brews and stories of the day. Cooking bacon and eggs in the morning sun, looking out upon the grand vistas offered in this range. The complete absence of cell phones, computers or any of the day-to-day distractions regularly tolerated. This location is off the grid and waiting for anyone who wants to escape to a unique shred haven. The scene here is somewhat of a throwback to the yesteryears of the sport/ life we all hold so dear. Days when doing things differently and being original was commonplace, when everyone with a board was welcomed with a smile and introduction. It may be cliché and even somewhat hokey, but “grass roots” is a good way to coin it. … Legs and lungs burning, I crest the hill and scramble over the pile of upturned boulders crowning the top, feeling exposed like a mouse in the middle of a road at rush hour. Looking back, I see Ben close on my heels and Jess not far behind with the storm racing to catch him. Still wondering if our choice to keep on pushing to our intended drop point was not an ill-fated decision. The downhill hike to the edge is a welcome relief at over 11,000 feet. Getting to the top of the chute and strapped in, ready to go, is a final feeling of comfort. Down we go, cutting back and forth across the sunscorched snow, keeping speed under control for the bottleneck in the middle of the line. Reaching the bottom of the massive headwall and safety nestled in the start of the drainage, just as the storm swoops in. As if to say, “I almost had your asses!” Now, time to start the long hike out in the falling rain left behind like a final kick from Mother Nature.
“One must be a bit more of the adventurous
mindset to have a go at exploring this pass.�
In His Own Words: Jeremy Jones
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CAPTIVE BY NATURE AND MACHINE:
SWINE EXPRESS By Jason Elms
It was roughly late April. The east slope of the Rocky Mountains was receiving a jet stream of heavy snow moisture from Mexico. Later on, we referred to it as “The Swine Express.” The snowboarding was at some of its best for 2009 — stable, deep and cold. Our adventure put us in the backcountry nearly 20 miles from the nearest dirt road. I had been to this location numerous times before and knew it well, really well. I understood the contoured lay of the land like a blind man reads braille. Setting off with the intention to snowboard only, we packed light and fast on snowmachines. The snowboarding was at an indescribable level. Then, as planned, we were en route back to the trucks when what we call a “red-flag scenario” happened. A red-flag scenario is an event that occurs that results in you doing everything you can to get home safely. I’ve only had a few of these in my 20plus years of experience and history. I stopped to communicate with my partner and he replied, “Smells like the brakes are burning.” I checked my e-brake. It was off. I looked to see that my pull starter was gone. Now, there was no turning off the machine or it would require extensive effort to restart. Somehow, my brake froze in the “on” position, mimicking the e-brake, and set fire to the machine. The swine was deep — two feet deep — and still accumulating. The dark and cold was settling in fast. No brakes, no starter, no GPS. “RED-FLAGGED.” Now, it was snowing so hard I couldn’t navigate. I wasn’t lost; I just couldn’t navigate. So much for that braille theory. My gas was running low and we needed to get warm. We started up our first fire. The machine was running as we warmed up. We set off again and the swine would still not allow us to navigate. Now in a pinch, I turned off the machine and we had to survive. In the a.m., we clutch-started the machine and got our bearings, returning home safely in less than 10 seconds. The snowboarding was so good I returned a day later for another session.
Rider: Jason Elms Photo: Jeremy Cusman
“ The swine was deep — two feet deep — and still accumulating.” Photo: Jason Elms
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Do what you like, like what you do
Jake’s In Jackson Hole 130 West Broadway | Jackson Hole, Wyoming | 307.734.0561
Life is good and Jake's in Jackson Hole are teaming up to help kids in need. To learn more please visit www.lifeisgood.com/kidsfoundation Copyright 2009 The Life is good company. All rights reserved
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By Mike Basich I think childhood dreams are a big part of everyone’s life. I have always felt that some are supposed to stay as dreams, while others become reality when the child in you is in need of expansion. The dream of building my own house with my own hands is one that has stuck with me since I was about 11 years old. It wasn’t until age 32 that I felt it was time for me to turn my long-standing dream into a reality. When I look back, I don’t think I could have done it anytime sooner — even though I had been excited about it for a long time. The desire seemed to come to me at a time in my life when I was feeling the need to expand upward while grounding my feet as well. Knowing that the mountains are where I have always felt the most alive, I ended up on a beautiful 40-acre plot of land in the Tahoe area in the middle of the wintertime. I got to see how the wind, snow and sun moved through the area, and when spring came, it was like unwrapping a Christmas present. When the snow started to melt, I was left with a ton of granite rocks. Throughout that winter, I couldn’t think about anything else besides designing my house. I had read in the past about the golden ratio and was thinking about building under that law of measurement, which led me to the idea that I needed to forget about everything that had to do with measurement and structure and figure out what shape had matter to it that felt right to me. Since this was going to be my house, I started to think about the moments in my life when I felt the most alive. It all became clear to me: standing on top of mountain peaks were those moments. Looking at all the photos I have of me atop the mountains, I have this posture of outstretched arms with my feet planted firmly on the ground. It became even clearer when I recognized this was how I felt — again, expanding upward while grounding my feet at the same time. It struck me even more when I realized this posture was something that has been drawn for centuries — the simple sketch of all the points of your body stretched out, which becomes a star, and by connecting the dots you end up with a pentagon. That became the floor plan for my house. And since it was going to be mine, I figured I’d stand in a position that felt right to me and measure it from that stance, which you can probably visualize from there. Photo: Mike Basich
The drawing where my feet were became the door; my arms reaching out became the windows to the open view. And in remembrance of my birthday, I put a piece of metal in my window in a shape that shines a star in the location of where my heart would be within my floor plan — a simple reminder of my starting point in this life. As time went by, I realized all of this comes from an instinct and if you put structure to your instinct, you will end up with the golden ratio because your body is built under this law of math. But I think there is always a place in the formation of art where each one of us gets to create who we are — the place that is so open, it really becomes the unknown until you bring yourself to life using whatever your passion may be within this space. You could say my house has become the canvas to paint the picture of who I am and who I am becoming. I am now 36 and should be totally finished with my house, which I built from the granite on my property, by the time you read this. With the 3-mile snowmobile ride in during the winter and the rough road up here in the summer, it for sure hasn’t been the easiest thing to create. But dreams don’t come easy when you want to be on the top of the mountain you are trying to conquer; otherwise, it wouldn’t have started off as a dream, right?
“You could say my house has become the canvas to paint the picture of who I am and who I am becoming.”
Photo: Mike Basich
Photo: Shin
For anyone that has ever dreamed about having his or her own piece of heaven, Mikey has created that. It may only be 40 acres, but where that boundary starts and where it ends is unknown to me. You get out there and it is open for miles and miles. Maybe you’re a snowboarder and want to drop cliffs or build jumps. Some might want to stop by after mountain biking the flume trail. Others will want to shralp around on their new snow machine. Maybe you’re more chill and just want to hang on Mikey’s deck to watch the wildlife and enjoy the views. You could be a water dog and just enjoy the creeks or the awesome lake back there. Me, I choose D, all of the above! Mikey has built an incredible home completely by hand. Now, when I say “by hand,” it goes beyond what most would consider “by hand.” When he builds a door, he dries out the wood he milled himself off his own property. The hinge and frame he welded himself. The custom handle from a deer’s antlers is stout. It swings perfectly into the rock wall surrounding it. When you approach the door at night, the light from inside his house illuminates the stars embedded in the door. This is just one example of hundreds of handmade items in Mikey’s house, each one crafted to the littlest detail. The awesome thing is how many friends have helped him. I think because people are blown away more than just by Mikey’s talent, but by his personality. He is one unique and creative individual. - Andy F.
When I first arrived at AREA-241, it was simply astounding to me. To see what Mikey had done with his bare hands in a true labor of love was so inspiring. This was not just a cabin and riding area — it was so much more. I felt a personal creative expression that is unique and full of passion. I respect Mikey for taking his life in his own direction and doing something that helps to sustain and preserve the environment. Seeing the rope tow he built was a clear indication that Mikey likes to do things his own way. The contraption was something out of a mad scientist movie — and it really worked! Forever bowing to Mr. Basich, our good friend and snowboard legend Jason Ford proclaimed, “Mikey wins!” - Rich Van Every
Photo: Mike Basich
Photo: Dan Milner Rider: Mike Basich
“The desire seemed to come to me at a time in my life when I was feeling the need to expand upward while grounding my feet as well.”
Check out Mike in his new film “Open Space,” the untold stories of Mike Basich. Available for download at www.241-usa.com
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I Can’t Hear Nothin’ It all started with a somewhat tedious name. Too many words in a band name can bore folks into not listening to you. I mean, look at And You Will Know Us By The Trail Of The Dead. I was tired of that band the first time somebody mentioned them. I digress … The Ones Who Got Away is borderline too many syllables, and maybe that’s why most of our shows were so empty. We were a good-time band with a near disdain for practicing. Truth be told, I wanted to practice often, but my boys Billy Weiss (drum punisher) and Willie McMillon (reluctant harp savant) had other things to drink, I mean do. Picture this, if you will: a hotel bar packed tight with avid bar folk. For some reason, open mic night at the Shady Lady (R.I.P.) was hitting rather hard around ’99. We decided to ride our first show’s success, which was one song played at the Cabin before Moran and O’Brien’s jam band, and drop in on the crowd at the Shady. Wearing suits and shades, we hurried through our three songs and basked in our own selves. The love affair with open mic night lasted a few weeks, with a crescendo involving an incident where Billy blew a 151-proof fireball, which accidentally landed on Willie’s back. Thanks to an aware and fire-smart audience member, third-degree burns were avoided with a “heads-up” placement of a full beer. Our vocal mics were a soundman’s nightmare. Willie sang through a harmonica mic, which had a Pignose amp as a preamp, and my mic was routed through a distortion pedal to give my weak voice more sauce. Feedback was constantly screaming through the speakers. The stage sound was always challenged, and a common saying on stage was “I can’t hear nothin’!” At our zenith, we may well have known 40 songs, with the wordier numbers requiring lyrics scribbled on scraps of paper. Willie claimed his mental hard drive was “full.” For the record, the band name never was a fishing reference. Though the whole band likes to spend time fershin’, we left the catchy ski town band names to the other groups. Although if we were a jam/wedding band, we could have learned “Brick House” and gone by the name
Saturday Night Storm. The band’s out-of-town exploits did not rival the Grateful Dead. We got as far as Spokane, a gig I flew on a plane to. Dave Smellie got us a gig in Logan, Utah, and we tanked our show at the Filling Station in Bozeman. At the Filler, we were up to a decadent 5-piece with bassist (5-string) Chris Howell and lead guitarist (Fender Super Reverb) Jeff Burke. On that particular night, we played our only back-to-back show. The night before, we joined two bands at the Moose. Then we drove to Bozeman mostly hungover and ate a bunch of pizza for dinner right before hitting the sweltering-hot stage. Yup, that one sucked, but in keeping with the low attendance we so often enjoyed, not many people saw it. Rather than chronicle every personal drama we ever created, I’ll mention the three-year tradition that was held at Jason Sutton’s place, “The Alley Pad.” Imagine a gig in what could have been a Compton crack house (no offense, Sutton). Each year on a summer night, there was (still is?) a demolition derby. The wild folks of Jackson seemed to get all amped up from drinking and watching auto accidents. Well, The Alley Pad sits across the parking lot from the rodeo grounds where the D-derby was held. We set up in Sutton’s kitchen and he cleared every piece of furniture out of his house. The only thing left in the place was the stove and a snow fence strung from a post on his porch to anchor-bolt in a stud across the living room. The fence was there to hold folks back from crushing our gear. It was a guaranteed good time for us, and say, two or three hundred people. I bet there are still a few commemorative T-shirts floating around. I wouldn’t call it a career, nor would I wax philosophical about our influence on much of anything. We have little to show for recordings either, though there’s a hacked and extended version of our song “Pedro” on “The Community Project,” and a few tracks in the Bluebird movies over the years. The few shows we play each year are fewer and farther between, but never count us out. The band is still a band and is gonna stay that way. Thank you, Good Night.
50 FEET AT FIFTY Words & Photos By Duane Nardi
I met Big Dave in the summer of 2003. He invited me wakeboarding at Jackson Lake and the friendship was formed. We have similar addictive personalities. We do things to the fullest. We’d be at Jackson Lake at first light — in October — to rip turns while the lake was glassy. The water temps would be below 50°F and air temps not far above. Fishermen in parkas would shake their heads as we rode by. It was a seamless transition to snowboard season. I had a partner in crime willing to get up before the crack of dawn, endure any snow/weather conditions, and ride all day without a complaint. Each year, I become more inspired by his drive and more annoyed by his taunts. This past winter, Dave’s riding continued to progress. He rode 80-plus days at -26-
Targhee, hiked and rode the biggest lines of his life, and flew 50 feet off of his first backcountry jump. So why do you care? 50-foot air? No rotation and no grab? With the snowboarding talent in our community at such a high level, that seems pretty commonplace. Why should you be impressed? Dave Meador is nearly twice my age. He’s 50. And he didn’t start snowboarding until he was nearly 40. Oh, and he has a defibrillator in his chest. He started dropping cliffs when he was 48. He started spinning when he was 49. And he hit his first backcountry jump when he was 50. 50 feet at fifty. I’m impressed … and you should be, too.
Kelly Halpin
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“Root ball. Wambles. Alkali.” Those are the three words Kelly gave me when I asked her to describe her art. “Those describe your art?” I asked cynically. “No, I just like those words a lot.” That’s Kelly, an up-and-coming artist from Jackson with this amazing pen-and-ink style that extracts so much detail from her subject. A longtime denizen of the valley, she’s spent about half of each year growing up here and going to school in Virginia. Sometime in her youth, during all the hours spent horseback riding, snowboarding, climbing and mountain biking, Kelly developed her prodigious artistic talents. She studied at the Art Center College of Design in L.A., majoring in filmmaking and working as a storyboard artist before moving back to Jackson full time. I remember the first time I really hung out with Kelly at a Christmas party at her house. She pulled me aside with the specific purpose of showing me some pictures of a dead moose she had taken. Whoa, right? But I’ve had the good fortune to work with Kelly over the last two years and I think I’m starting to figure her out. She can go from looking through elk bones to carve into jewelry to exclaiming “awwwww” over a pika. And I feel her artwork mimics that. She can take an object maybe typically considered morbid, or associated with death, and combine and transform it into something more lighthearted and alive and beautiful. Or to paraphrase Kelly, “Vacilitator. Ennui. Heliophobic.” In other words, I like her art a lot.
STANCE
Words By Kimmy Fasani Photo By Stan Evans
Jackson, Wyoming, has always seemed like such a mysterious place to me. I have seen breathtaking photos of the Tetons, wildlife and terrain, but never imagined I would get the opportunity to travel there for snowboarding. In February 2009, I received a phone call from the producers of “STANCE,” an allwomen’s snowboard movie, and they invited me on a film trip to Jackson. Supposedly, a big storm was moving through the area and the powder was going to be unbeatable. Immediately, I jumped on the opportunity, hopped into my car and made the 13½-hour drive from Mammoth Lakes, California, to Jackson. I was so anxious to see this beautiful, mysterious place. As I pulled into the quaint town, I was instantly filled with excitement. Since I arrived in the evening, I didn’t have a chance to see any sights; however, two days later, I woke up to the cloudy skies clearing and a dusting of fresh snow on my car. We headed out to the backcountry to a jump we had built the day before and we had amazing conditions. On the way back from this perfect riding day, I got to witness the most majestic sight of the Tetons at sunset. Along with the roadside moose, it will forever be noted in my mind. This mid-winter trip to Jackson quickly became my favorite and most memorable of the season.
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Beer Goggles
America’s Most Award-Winning Brewpub $7 Lunch Serving Food 11:30 am to 11:00 pm Happy Hours 4-6 pm 265 S. Millward (307) 739-BEER (2337) www.snakeriverbrewing.com
How To Be A Local Living the Sheepeater Way By Chris O’Blenness
The who? The Sheepeaters, or Tukudeka, a Shoshone word for “eaters of mountain sheep,” were the only native peoples we know of to have ever stayed year-round in this harsh Rocky Mountain climate, leading a hunting and gathering way of life and providing us with a framework to live by, if we want to really be a Jackson Hole local. Which I’m assuming you do, since you are reading this right now. So, without further ado, here are my rules for being a local, passed down for thousands of years by our predecessors to your ears. Follow these, and soon, you too will be a member of our exclusive locals’ club. Rule #1 - Silence is Golden. The Sheepeaters were a mysterious people, living apart from every other tribe, deep in the mountains, doing their own thing and following their own path. Sound familiar? But do you think the Sheepeaters showed up at the yearly rendezvous, the olden times’ equivalent of the V.C. or the Mangy Moose, and spouted off about how rad their last sheep hunt was, or which maiden they got back to their tipi Friday night? No. They hunted mountain sheep with clubs. You wait tables and want credit for tossing yourself into Corbet’s. Let your actions speak for you. Rule #2 - Tough It Out. Quite often, you hear various comments on the state of the winter, or the quality of someone’s living conditions, or just general complaints about life in Jackson. Really? The Sheepeaters lived in wikiups in -30 degree weather and made their clothes out of animal hides. You don’t have the latest dope gear, and your boss expects you to be at work at 8:30 on a 14-inch day, so what? It’ll snow again, and when you blow your knee out, you’ll have Patrol to help you out and won’t be hobbled for the rest of your life. Be grateful. Rule #3 - Live Off The Land. The Sheepeaters didn’t have grocery stores or restaurants. They hunted mountain sheep on remote, steep
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Photo Courtesy of JH Historical Society
When my good friend Jesse Brown asked me to contribute a few words on how to be a “local,” from the perspective of a born and raised Jackson Hole native, I wasn’t quite sure how to approach it. Do I get righteous, and start laying down impossible to attain rules for what I believe a local should be? No, because honestly, who the heck am I? I know at least 172 people who qualify as more local than me, and I would probably hear from all of them. On the other hand, I have to set some standards, because without them, every Tom, Dick and Jane from elsewhere would be laying false claim, upsetting the delicate balance between those on the inside and those on the outside, and we can’t have that. So, in my infinite wisdom, I looked for guidance from the only true locals to have ever inhabited Jackson Hole: the Sheepeaters.
hillsides and foraged for edible wild plants, hoping to make it through another harsh winter without starving. You have local businesses, restaurants and even farmers working hard every day, trying to make a living bringing the valley what it needs to survive. Support them and you support us all, and Jackson itself. Rule #4 - Take Care Of Your Tribe. Living here in the wilds of Wyoming makes for a unique sociological experiment. A certain type of tribal structure seems to appear, mimicking the ancient Sheepeater way of life. People from widely varying backgrounds unconsciously form mini tribes, living under the same roof and enjoying the same ways of making a living and pastimes, and often, providing a support network to counter life’s inevitable misfortunes. Take good care of the people around you, go to benefits for your injured friends, or help them out when they need it because you just might be that person someday soon. Rule #5 - Be Respectful. Although a nebulous term, respect is the one thing that Jackson Hole demands, and I don’t believe anyone had more respect than the Tukudeka. They lived extremely simply, worshipped the sun, and gave thanks for everything they had. You are here for a short time. Someone has paved the way for you, and many, many will follow you, hucking way, way bigger. Keeping that in mind, and acting in a humble manner, will assure your place amongst the true locals who have called this place home. Are you in?
307.734.0882 145 N. Glenwood St. Jackson, Wyoming
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Breakfast • Lunch Dinner
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Flavors from around the world including American, Asian, Indian, Thai & Latin • Organic Meats, Vegetarian, Vegan & Raw Choices • Great Sandwich, Salad & Soup Selection • Endless Gluten-free Choices Full Bar, Great Wine & Cocktails • Bakery, Smoothies, Juice & Tonic Bar, Espresso & Premium Teas
This winter enjoy our late night parties, great appetizers, apres ski specials! www.tetonlotuscafe.com
EAT FRESH • BUY LOCAL
307.733.0450 • 974 W. Broadway
NEXT NEXT DROPPING
CAM FITZPATRICK This is the third member of the Jackson Hole Ski & Snowboard Club’s (JHSC) Snowboard Team I’ve had the pleasure of introducing via the pages of “Dropping Next” … only this time, I actually like the kid. (HA! Just kidding, Rodo & Brick!!)
Words By Jeff Moran Action By Ben Girardi Portrait By Armelle Burke
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Cam Fitzpatrick is not just another young JH shredder — he is a true standout. In the six years since meeting Cam, he has become one of my great friends and one of Jackson’s most respected young riders. What sets Cam apart from the pack, aside from his smooth style and natural ability to shred literally anything in his way, is his positive attitude and strong work ethic. Cam is always the first one building the jump, the one running (not hiking) to hit it again, and the last one to huck into a bombed-out landing. This dedication to progression comes from a deep love of snowboarding to which only a few can truly relate. Cam lives snowboarding.
In his 17 years, Cam’s managed to live more of “the dream” than many seasoned pros. His competition and training schedule takes him around the country and the world, where he can be found on the leaderboard at regional and national competitions. Cam’s been a regular invitee at the last five USASA Nationals, as well as both of Snowboarder Magazine’s Launch events, which showcase the top groms from around the world in a noncompetitive, creative environment. * In addition to regular Mt. Hood summer sessions, Cam’s made his way to New Zealand to compete in the NZ Open and, most recently, spent August taming powder kickers, backcountry lines, and the Spanish language at South America Snow Sessions (SASS) in Bariloche, Argentina. It’s Cam’s ninja-like abilities, drive and endless positivity that earned him the title of JHSC’s 2009 Male Snowboarder Of The Year. And did I mention he invented his own trick called the “Flipatrick”? It wouldn’t be a true Cam Fitzpatrick “Dropping Next” if I didn’t mention this dude’s ability to make every girl within 100 miles claw for his attention. I’m not sure what his secret is, but keeping track of Cam’s girlfriends is more confusing than a Sarah Palin interview. An account of Cam’s snowboard successes wouldn’t be complete without paying tribute to his two biggest supporters, his parents Mike and Lee Fitzpatrick. I’d like to personally thank them for everything they do to make sure Cam’s able to seize each opportunity that comes his way, and for raising a truly extraordinary individual.
Cam’s Sponsors: Rossignol Snowboards, Quiksilver outerwear/ clothing/goggles, Jackson Treehouse, Bern Helmets, Avalon7 Cam’s Likes: Miller Flips, dance parties & health care reform Cam’s Dislikes: bad breath, angry wizards & girls who follow the word “fine” with “whatever” * Check out Snowboarder Magazine for coverage of The Launch events.
Urban Days and Nights By Will Eichelberger Urban riding demands a creative outlook on snowboarding. The influence of skate style has become a contributing factor to the lives of many filmers and riders. Backyards, handrails, long nights, cops and drops have all had a growing influence on this new and constantly evolving art. The days and nights spent on the streets can change any filmer or rider’s outlook on what they love to do. As a photographer, urban shoots have a heightened sense of risk and accomplishment. Often, hours are spent looking for spots, building drop-in ramps and making the obstacle rideable. It seems all this work goes into a 30-minute sesh. This narrow time window puts a new type of pressure on the whole crew and there is little room for mistakes. Dealing with all these factors also raises some legality questions. In most cases, people are not stoked about the destructive qualities, so to speak, of urban riding. Cops, security guards and random passersby are either stoked or they are on a rampant mission to stop what’s going on. In most cases, they are what we like to call Fun Nazis, simply implying that they seem to thrive off of taking the fun out of otherwise epic situations. Frequently, the tension manifests in the form of citations, arguments and possibly even brawls. Sometimes we get the upper hand in these matters. There have been episodes when cashing in a twisted version of the truth buys a crew an extra half hour or so, or when all else fails, riders and crew can resort to the pretty consistently utilized power of playing it dumb.
Photo: Jesse Brown Rider: John Makens
All the pressure and all the public interaction can make it hard to continue an urban mission. The negativity from the haters can make it tough to get a crew pumped to go out urban-style, but it seems, without fail, that every season the gods of snowboarding give the crew a prime sesh. It doesn’t happen all of the time, but when the mission is undisturbed, magical things can happen. Moments like when the crew is taken back to the mountains: no rush, no pressure, just riding. It gives everyone involved a chance to take a deep breath and really absorb what they are truly experiencing. These are the moments that keep me involved year after year, realizing that this silly little board with some straps on it has brought a group of people together. It’s really an abstract concept, but I have formed many very legitimate friendships over these cold days and nights. The crews, the whens and the wheres may change, but the essence comes from the same place: expression. The never-ending search for that time when you connect with everything and nothing, manifesting a moment and truly existing in it. The motivation for the adventures can come from the mountain being closed, to learning a new rail trick, or to realizing why you are alive — to shred, to express and to share the love of freedom.
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Photo: Will Eichelberger Rider: Mike Mahron
Wall Of Righteousness Words By Jonah Fuechsel
Illustration By Halee Heermann
As one heart and one purpose, we look for someone who might rebuild the wall of righteousness. We are searching for someone to lead by example, to do what we are all capable of doing together but won’t because of selfishness and fear. In the moment, standing up for what is right for their good and the good of their descendents. Reclaiming territory that was taken and having the integrity to hold on to what was lost. Looking for prosperity and true peace in a world that does not offer such opportunity. Instead, we live in a world that is oppressed and polluted. People destroying others’ lives for money in search of security and a feeling called happiness. Are you happy? Take a look: Are the people around you happy? Or are they hiding their insecurities in pride and a puffed-up reality to live the “American Dream”? Is this what we are all striving for? There will always be rich and poor, but what is important is how we treat each other. “Now this is the Law of the Jungle — as old and as true as the sky; And the Wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the Wolf that shall break it must die. As the creeper that girdles the tree-trunk the Law runneth forward and back — For the strength of the Pack is the Wolf, and the strength of the Wolf is the Pack.” – Rudyard Kipling’s “The Jungle Book” Today, I am making a choice to rebuild the wall of righteousness. Take a chance and join me. Start a ripple effect that will touch lives and change your own. Strengthen your pack with love and appreciation. Search your heart for the value of true worth. Break the chains of slavery that are holding you back. When you do, you will have true peace and prosperity and nothing can tear that wall down. It is not about making dollars, it is about making change. A waterfall begins with a drop of rain; together with the other drops of rain, look at the power it becomes. I believe in you and our future.
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No One Gets Out Alive The first time I left Jackson was by force. The job paid three times more than any job I’d ever had in my life, and still, the man who hired me had to fly into town to personally offer me the position just so I would have to look him in the eye when I turned it down. I was waiting tables at a Tex-Mex restaurant at the time, barely making ends meet, living in a house full of dirty boys who routinely drank themselves into a stupor and then painted Sharpie superhero masks on the faces of whoever was unlucky enough to pass out first. Every day was a new adventure. If I didn’t wake up to find that the liners in my snowboard boots had been switched, or the full kitchen trash can had been relocated to the back seat of my car, then I was getting calls about the classified ad for used exercise equipment that someone had placed in my name, or coming home from work to find my mattress soaked with water and a note on my bedside table claiming it was urine. And still, I had no desire to leave Jackson in search of a better life. Mostly because I didn’t believe one existed. I had already tried my hand at one of those so-called “real jobs,” and decided that the emotional costs of sitting in a cubicle underneath a flickering fluorescent light far outweighed the benefits of having a steady paycheck and an answer to the question, “So what do you do?” that didn’t result in the asker looking at me like I just crawled out from behind a Dumpster and hit him up for spare change. I believe my favorite phrase, “Are you kidding me?”, came from the ensuing
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Words By Melissa Larsen Photo By Jesse Brown
debate with my eventual boss over whether I would take the once-ina-lifetime opportunity he was offering, or continue to push the limits of alcohol consumption and general hedonism here in Never Never Land. Unfortunately for me, the opportunity turned out to be at one of the many late-90s Internet companies that didn’t survive the dot-com bubble burst. I barely had my car unpacked before I had to turn it around and drive it back to Jackson. Back to the same house, the same roommates and the same crap job. The second time I left Jackson was by choice. After waking up one morning with my 187 millionth hangover, an empty bank account and only vague, hazy memories of what I had done with the last few years of my life, I had what one might refer to as a panic attack, accompanied by thoughts such as: “Holy shit, I’m wasting my life! I’ve got to get out of here and do something!” You know what I’m talking about? I know you know what I’m talking about. Luckily, I’d dropped out of college to move here in the first place, so I used education as my lifeline and followed it all the way out to the East Coast. Of course, I was on a plane back to Jackson every school break with my 20day ski pass and shred gear in hand. But that’s beside the point. The point is, I was out of here, man. I got some degrees, became a boss, learned how to effectively use the word “synergy” during inter-office meetings ... I was doing something! Yeah!
Then the job went south, and I did what most displaced Jacksonites do when they run toward freedom and slam into a dead end instead: I came back home. Back to the same house, different roommates and a new variation of the same old crap job. I have since lost count of the number of times I’ve thought my life would be better if I could just get out of this place, packed up my stuff and headed out into the great beyond for real this time, only to find myself back in town less than a year later. Once I even imagined that if, instead of trying to “move,” I just put my stuff in storage and quietly took off on some nonspecific adventure somewhere far away, that maybe the gods wouldn’t notice and rally to stop my escape attempt. I had fantasies of sending letters to friends from somewhere fabulous that read: “Sell everything in the storage unit or throw it away. I’m never coming home. P.S. Carlos and I just moved into a gorgeous villa in Tuscany, darling. You’re welcome anytime.” Alas. It seems my soul is permanently chained to this small, geographic expanse of dirt, and I am starting to suspect that not only will I most likely die here, I may spend the afterlife haunting the residents of East Jackson for all of eternity as well. So be it. At least I’ll have plenty of company. You, for example. And that guy. And those people over there. Don’t pretend this is my own personal affliction, and not some sort of town-wide epidemic — a Jackson-specific psychological disorder called the-grass-is-greener-oh-wait-no-it-isn’t-itis. If I formed a support group, we’d fill up the Snow King ice rink. And, okay, maybe you wouldn’t use the word “stuck” to describe our situation. Maybe you’d choose the words, “We’re lucky to live in a place this beautiful, filled with people this awesome.” And you might be right.
But, really, that’s all semantics. Whether it’s half full or half empty, the fact remains that there’s still a glass on the table with water in it. What I want to know is, why? Many locals in Santa Cruz, California, believe there is an old Native American curse on the land that makes it so those born and raised in that town will never be able to leave it. There were powerful native tribes here before Whitey came. A similar land curse would seem like a plausible explanation for our situation, except that so many of the people who are swirling in the eddy of the Jackson valley have drifted in from somewhere else. In fact, being drawn to Jackson, almost as if by calling, is one of the commonalities that exists between many of us who have found ourselves to be eternally — and I’m going to go ahead and use the word — stuck here. There is a theory among the area’s new-age set that the Tetons and Yellowstone sit at the center of a mystical energy vortex, and that those who are seeking enlightenment are naturally drawn to this place, as energy here serves as a catalyst for spiritual clarity. This is a beautiful idea, but one that does not, perhaps, fit the profile for the vast number of us who find more happiness in a good, sarcastic shit-talking session between friends over rollies and iced glasses of whiskey than we do in, say, any practice that involves trying to find your third eye. And maybe there’s no need to go into the fourth dimension to find the reason that so many of us can’t escape this place, or at least leave it for very long. Maybe the laughter and the friendship is enough. Maybe people shine a little brighter here, or they shine the same, but in much higher numbers than they do out there, and it’s the memory of the light that keeps us coming back. I don’t know. I don’t have any answers. It’s just something I think about when I look at my car keys and imagine how good it would feel to light all my shit on fire and drive off into the sunset, but make the decision to breathe, stay put and live in the moment instead. Figured I’d share.
On The Front Line Cover Artist Mike Parillo Words By Mike Parillo
Photos By Jesse Brown
When I moved out to JH for the first time in 1996-97, it was a symbol of change for me as I transitioned into real mountains and moved into new mediums in my work. I set up a studio at our house on Hard Winter Lane, built a massive canvas from linen, and waited for the right idea to come to me so I could start working in oils for the first time. Every day, I was in awe of the beauty around me, and the obvious symbol — as cliché as it may be — was the Tetons. Nothing I had ever seen gave me the feeling that I got when I stood in front of them. And so, the piece began. I feel like I spent 3 months working and reworking the painting until it came to the point where it felt right. For me, this is a symbol of everything I love about this place — its magic and allure — and I still love to see both the painting and the real thing till this day. Its home is now in Seattle with my dear friend, Pete Saari, one of the genius founders of Mervin Mfg. It is also part of the ASYMBOL collection. 66”x78” oil on linen - February, 1997
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“Just when you thought boards couldn’t get any better. The nail truly gets punched into the coffin.”
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~Travis Rice on C2 Power Banana Camber Combo Tech, photo: Tim Zimmerman
Riding
Words By Sam Petri Photos By Alex Yoder & Kevin Cohane
A plastic pitcher of beer slops off the Chinook’s bumper as we dip through the gutter pulling out of Captain Joe’s Gas Station in Valdez, Alaska, just after 2 a.m. We forgot to get gas. We were bent and on our way home from Land Sharks, a dive bar’s dive bar, a place where they don’t care if you break glass on the floor, get in a fight, or leave with a pitcher of beer in your hand. “JUST DRIVE,” I shouted from the back seat. Or maybe I thought it. I blinked my eyes and woke up the next day in my ATCO trailer, alarm blaring. Red eyed, I opened the front door, saw the Chinook and knew we made it home safe. And that was great, because that day, we were going helicopter skiing. Two weeks before, I spotted it on the side of the Richardson Highway, near 11 mile, just outside town. Its native colors — white, tan and brown — camouflaged it among the snow and brush. Only the small, homemade “For Sale” sign in the window gave it away as I sped by doing 65. It could have been junk, but it could have been a gem, so I pumped the brakes and looped back. Staring at it alone on the side of the road, I trembled like hunters do when they spot trophy bucks in the field. It was a perfectly rusted 1977 Toyota Chinook, a rare type of 4-cylinder, 4-speed, 2WD, microtruck-motorhome equipped with a pop-top roof and kitchenette. I opened the door, turned the key and was sold on the slow cadence of the 20-R engine. I called the number on the sign and Brian, on the other end of the line, said he’d sell it for $100 before I even had the chance to make a similar low-ball offer. “Get it out of my driveway,” he said. Even better, I just happened to have one crisp c-note in my pocket that let me — I mean us — buy the Chinook. You must understand, there is a Chinook Fellowship: -44-
Alex Yoder, Eric Green, Matt Spelgatti, Kevin Cohane, all members of the Alaska Rendezvous Heli-Guides kitchen staff, and myself, “Office” Sam, take care of the little beast equally because it’s more fun that way, to own it as a crew. Once the Chinook was ours, we were cruising Thompson Pass, drinking beers, smoking joints, shredding. It was our private ski jitney, cheaper than a helicopter ride and almost as fun (nothing is more fun than helicopter skiing). Legend has it that the Chinook has passed through many of the prominent shred towns of North America. It lived in Telluride for a while, it tore up Tahoe for a minute, it wined and dined in Sun Valley, and even resided right here in Jackson, Wyoming. It has driven the Alaska-Canada Highway multiple times, but now in its wise old age, the Chinook strictly sessions the Chugach. That’s its territory. Most often, we would drive the Chinook to The Road Hit on Thompson Pass. It’s a short, steep, benchy, rather benign run that’s fun to ski if you don’t want to hike and have the luxury of lapping something out of your car. On my first trip to The Road Hit this season, I dropped a few shareholders on top of the pass so they could ski down and set out for my first descent in the Chinook. The terrain on the road is moderately steep with enough pitch to continually accelerate. There’s a hairpin turn to negotiate as well as frost heaves. The brake pressure in the ’nook is low to nonexistent, but by pumping ’em up, they seem to charge. Approaching the hairpin turn in third gear, I thought about the process of an emergency stop. Do I throw it in first? Utilize the e-brake? First, plus e-brake? Not sure. Just ride it out. Steady 45 around the hippie death turn and gently pulled into the pick-up zone. Then we all high-fived. Let’s do it again. The Chinook lives.
The wrist joint is made up of two forearm bones (radius and ulna) as well as eight separate “carpal” bones that are aligned in two distinct rows. These bones are interconnected by ligaments, which help coordinate and limit the complex motions about the wrist. Falls that occur while snowboarding frequently result in some degree of wrist hyperextension and/or rotation, which makes all of these structures vulnerable to injury. Fractures (breaks) are usually obvious with visible deformity and severe pain, but sometimes they can be subtle. For instance, the scaphoid, one of the carpal bones, can be broken and “blown off ” as a simple sprain. If left untreated, this bone’s distinct anatomy and blood supply put it at a high risk of not healing. Ligament injuries can also be obvious when they are complete. Multiple ligament injuries can even result in dislocations (complete separation of bones) with potentially devastating consequences. Single or partial ligament injuries are more common and can present with a variety of symptoms. Sensations of clicking or catching — or bones shifting with flexion, extension or rotation of the wrist — can be signs of these subtle yet significant injuries. Pain with palpation (pressure) over the soft spots on the back or side of the wrist, discomfort while pushing up out of a chair, or even pouring a cup of coffee can also indicate these problems. Some of these injuries can be seen with an X-ray, but an MRI may be necessary to confirm the diagnosis. Treatment may include immobilization (cast or splint), injections (diagnostic and therapeutic), and sometimes surgery. Surgical treatment can include arthroscopic debridement (cleaning up) or repair, screw fixation or open ligament repair/reconstruction. If pain persists despite activity modification (rest) and protection (splinting), medical evaluation should be sought. If ignored, chronic instability, incomplete bone healing or even bone death can occur. These, in turn, can lead to arthritis with pain, decreased motion and limited surgical options (salvage procedures only). Appropriate diagnosis and timely treatment can help prevent a subtle injury from becoming a significant problem.
For more information, visit the patient education section at srorthopedics.com
The Ten Sleep Project Words By Mark Carter Photos By Mike Basher
It had been seven years since I last visited Ten Sleep during the winter. Since they were having aboveaverage snowfall, I thought it would be the perfect time to head back and explore the Big Horns. I grew up riding Meadowlark, a small resort that is now closed. Originally, there was only a Poma lift, but some years back they installed a couple of chairs. The terrain is fairly steep, with tight trees and a few good cliff drops. While it breaks my heart that the local kids don’t have a place to ride anymore, it gave us the chance to have the area all to ourselves.
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Rider: Mark Carter
We loaded up the sleds and headed for Washakie County. Matt Iberlin is a local kid that grew up riding the Big Horns. I remember him as a grom stoked to pick up anything I threw his way, always smiling. Adam Dowell is the most metal guy I know. He is always up for anything and pushes the crew to progress. His riding speaks for itself. Mike Basher is a photographer/fishing buddy. When I thought of heading back to Ten Sleep, Basher was the first photog that came to mind. We’ve fished the high lakes together and I was stoked to show him the mountains in the winter.
Rider: Adam Dowell
It felt great to be back on my stomping grounds. Usually when I get up at the crack of dawn in Ten Sleep, I’m headed out to chase cattle or hunt elk. The snow held up for us, but it was still low tide and the sharks were lurking. Shuttle runs ensued, and we all got to take turns checking out the mountain and spotting some worthy features. From Dowell hucking the biggest cliffs to Iberlin styling out his nose presses, it was awesome to see the creativity. Basher killed it by capturing it all.
I had never explored the backcountry in the winter, so it was exciting to see what it had to offer. Some features popped out at me in the summer, but I had no idea of what they were like with winter on them. The snow was thin and rocky, so going big was out of the question. Time to get creative. It was tricky to find the good pockets of snow. At one point, the snow looked good until I set foot on the edge. Next thing I know, I was flying on ice down the slope at a high rate of speed, dug-in heels doing nothing. Luckily, I was able to grab a branch before tumbling into the trees. A day spent exploring got some good things in the bag. Rider: Mark Carter
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Rider: Matt Iberlin
Since the red hills behind the corrals were where I first strapped into a snowboard, I wanted to set something up there. Mid-winter on the ranch meant there was no shortage of hay bales. It was perfect: My brother, RC, and hired hand Hector were feeding right there, so I just had them set up a couple of bales to jib. Dowell and I had a blast grinding hay all day. Even my sister, Gabi, and her kids showed up to watch. Being able to shred at my home was definitely a great break from the norm. Even better was seeing my family and showing my bros the Big Horns. Snowboarding is a privilege and not a job to me. Ranching in the winter is a ton of work. Feeding, calving and keeping everything alive is more than a full-time job. The hardest day of shredding is still the easiest day of work. Ranching is in my blood and I feel that is where I belong, but snowboarding remains my calling for now.
The Beverage That Binds Intoxication, when done properly, is a spring of physical and spiritual renewal. As many know, intoxication — improperly done — is destructive. Unfortunately, many people focus on its mismanagement. My father tells me, “Any fool can recognize his mistakes; few learn from what they do right.” When we learn how and what we are doing right, our chances of forming good patterns increase exponentially. As a professional brewer, I do my community an injustice by ignoring the damage many people have done by consuming alcohol. But the benefits of this intoxicating beverage far outweigh any adverse effects. I doubt the Wright brothers would recant their development of the airplane knowing how many people would die in them. The combination of human consciousness and mind-altering, organic substances like beer may be a natural coincidence, but it suggests life has meaning beyond the sobering activities that put food on the table. Intoxication is an ancient form of entertainment that has accompanied the human race in its significant ages of spiritual and scientific discovery. Men and women, who otherwise held them fearful in sobriety, boldly spoke ideas that led to human rights and equality. Most anthropologists believe that humans gave up the hunter-gatherer lifestyle for civilizations because of the need to grow enough grain for beer production. In fact, the earliest known recipe is one for beer. It is well known that the founders of this country met over pints of brew. And the Puritans who immigrated here built two structures before they set out to build their
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By Nathan Venner Head Brewer, Altitude Chophouse and Brewery
own houses: a church and a brewery. Beer has been an important part of this world not only because of its nutritional supply, but also because of its contribution to socialization. Skeptics argue my beverage is temptation, that intoxication magically fools the whole man — mind, body and spirit. That it, like the religious poison called guilt, consumes until no love is left. I’ve been told Jesus’ water/wine miracle was because water was not safe to drink. Then Jesus should’ve made the water safe to drink (and not “oinos,” which translates into “strong drink”). In his own words, “It is not what goes into the man that defiles him, but what comes out.” Times of intoxication are often forgotten or hidden in times of self-reflection. The aces are folded and the treasure is buried. Like snowboarding, staying healthy allows for longer and more sustained enjoyment. A healthy community has a healthy need for intoxication. Beer — to single out my favorite — leads to networking within communities, fellowship around barstools and coffee tables, and the dissemination of ideas among strangers. All of these lead to the type of tolerance, understanding and conviction that binds communities. I’m not advocating that you go out and have one or two drinks; I’m advocating you have several. I don’t expect these philosophies to change lives, only a few minutes of each life. Intoxication is a human need that can be done correctly in ways that strengthen friends, families and communities.
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What Does the Future Hold? Words By Mark Loebe Illustration By Ruckus Last year, I wrote an article about the early days of snowboarding. Enough with the past: What does the future hold for the snowboarders? When snowboarding started, nobody was using computers and all the snowboard companies were small, family-run businesses. Now, most manufacturers are big corporations or part of a large conglomerate, and networking on the Web is part of our lives. Our rapidly accelerating technology is driving the way we live. Where is snowboarding going? Will snowboarding come up short on the gap, casing on the front wall of the end ramp? Why are all the videos, with few exceptions, grinding out the same stuff ? What has happened to our creativity; what will set snowboarding apart? Even in The Olympics, snowboarding has turned into a cross between figure skating and gymnastics. Corporate America has always tried to use snowboarding — or whatever they see to be the “hot new thing” — to their advantage, until that thing has burned out and lost its identity. Is that happening to our sport? Has snowboarding sold out and gone mainstream? Where’s the love? Why do snowboards cost $650 and lift tickets are nearly $100? Check this out: Someday, something will come along that is more fun than snowboarding. Are you pissed yet? Ok, ok, ok … if anything is going to save us from all these pitfalls, it will be the same things that got us here: technology and luck. Technology is why we are where we are. Look what it has done for snowmobiling. That sport has totally changed. What about luck? We are so lucky to live in this age with modern medicine, the freedoms to live where we want, time to have fun, and toys to play with. These may be the best of times right now. So, what is the future of snowboarding? It’s up to us, especially the young people, who will be the riders of the future. I say, “Go snowboarding and have fun.”
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W1n+er Ma+h
Words & Artwork By Steven Glass
First, buy the pass. Just be happy that it doesn’t cost a million dollars. Who cares? In your next life, you could be a cactus. Or you could spend this one living in Baltimore or (insert the city of your origin), stuck in a cubicle during moments as precious as a winter Wednesday with snow. I know because I’ve been there. Learn from my mistakes. Next year, you might not be able to afford it; you may have a full-time job or a kid. Make it happen. Charge it, sling rocks like Biggie, make that shit work. Tomorrow you will be older with global warming advancing, cells mutating. Enjoy today. The pass is your entrance to nirvana. Keep it on you at all times. You don’t want to be denied entrance to your heaven because you don’t have ID. A simple piece of plastic is all you’ll ever need to carry; no amount of green, pleading or begging will you get through the turnstile. Make the sacrifice in August and winter exists beyond ski flicks, TGR forums and memories of powder days gone by. Make an investment in yourself and reap the highyield profits in December, January, February and March. Fast-forward to the stupid deep of winter. Write this on your arm, your windshield, your bathroom mirror: DRIVE BOOTS TRAM RIDE That’s all you need to know. Step on the coaster, the ride lasts four months. You’ve got a ticket, you know that much. You are in the game. There has to be order; chaos has the weather. It takes more than a singular commitment to drive to the mountain every day, hop in the tram line, slap your board down on snow and make some turns. It also takes luck. Tram’s not going to open, Couloir restaurant is taken out by an avalanche. Everything is blown down, avied out, Mother Nature’s pissed. I’ve stood 30 minutes deep in the Eagle’s Rest lift line, with full avy gear and beacon on, because it was that type of day just to get a turn, just to get a scan. It takes luck. Will the mountain even open? Mother Nature will decide, and she’s not on the resort’s payroll. Not a temp, nor a seasonal worker, she’s a mercenary and she will break your heart with wind, ice and sometimes too MUCH snow.
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Woody Allen said 90% of life is showing up. That junk might fly in Hollywood, but not at the mountain. No regrets —gorge on winter. You need every day. Set a goal. How many days in the season do you want? Do the math like Rain Man. Figure out every possible moment to ride. It’s a brainteaser. Write the equation so X is swollen and your price per day is the cost of a round at the V.C. Maybe you have never been goal-oriented, but this is different. It’s an investment. This is your winter. This is your life. The season will outlast boards, boots, clothing, mitts and relationships. Be prepared like Noah, have at least two of everything. And when the gear breaks down, have a credit card. Again, the Noah rule applies. If you are over thirty, swear off alcohol for the winter or no more than two at après. Nothing’s worse than being hungover on a powder day. Don’t be that guy. No amount of Red Bull, coffee and grease can put you back together again in time. Powder does not last; it’s a finite resource. There are no rain checks. Everything else can wait until spring. Like the character Siddhartha, learn how to wait. Get in line. Make friends. Pass the time by remembering snowstorms as a kid: fresh whited the yard, a canvas of potential. You wanted to leave it still, let it be — perfect, untouched, all possibility. Unblemished without step or angel or snowman. All your crystals, flakes accounted for in mint-rated rookie condition. That’s how you imagine the bowl will be. Take your place in line among dirtbags, old-timers and the unemployed — in other words, the enlightened. You will wait and wait, and wait some more. Sharing something with the others in line: anticipation, conversation, manna from heaven. Hear the bell, the buffet is open, the rope has dropped. Your smile must be this big to ride. Sinclair Lewis said, “Winter is not a season, it’s an occupation.” This is your mantra. Tattoo it to the nose of your board — it’s all you will see when floating pow, the words cutting a swath of white, leading the charge, chasing vapor.
Nice Guy Words by kyle Clancy Photo By Jesse Brown
All right, I’m a nice guy. At least I like to think so. That being said, I want to talk about something I see at every ski hill. Someone comes into the lodge mid-panic attack about how great his or her last run was. “You guys should have been there — so epic.” Blah, blah, blah. “It was 10 feet deep and some snow flew in my face.” Now, you need to understand that while you’re claiming “best run of your life,” we’re thinking, “yeah, ours was pretty good, too,” but we politely nod and smile.
Unless you happen to have a Virtual Reality helmet smashed between your CamelBak and granola in your backpack and we can have video review in the lift line, we’ll never really be sure, will we? I know everybody wants to have a good time, but don’t brag about it to us. We don’t care. It’s like bragging about having a bunch of money in the bank. “Dude, I just got back from the bank; it was so sick, I’m rich.” It’s something to keep to yourself — unless, of course, you want to take me down your epic run. Then, I can be the judge.
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Valdez, Alaska Foto: Sharif Zawaideh
A Life Wasted Is Not A Bad Life I started snowboarding in 1990. I skied when I was a kid. My parents had 10 acres and we lived on a hill twenty minutes outside of Fairbanks, Alaska. My good friend Dylan convinced me to get a snowboard instead of a monoboard — a good move, I know. I went down to the Alpine Haus and purchased a Craig Kelly Mystery Air, took it home, hiked to the top of my driveway, and put a huge scratch right down the middle of it. Like everybody has heard a thousand times, it changed my life. The freestyle scene back then was coming full circle: roast beefs, Canadian bacons, fresh fish, stale fish, chicken salad, pasta and salami, or whatever grab between your legs or wrapped around your knees was new school. I had this Burton shirt with a picture of this guy’s head and snagly yellow teeth, and below that it said, “Brushie twice a day!” I knew what I wanted to do: I wanted to become a professional snowboarder — whatever that was. So, after I graduated from high school, I dropped out of college, leaving behind a full ride and a potential professional hockey career. I moved to Breckenridge, Colorado. I had $1,000 to make it from Alaska to Breck, but after a bender in Montana I was down to 200 bucks. Arriving in Summit County on fumes, I was forced to get a liftie job for the winter and live in employee housing with two Aussies and a dude from L.A. Colorado was new to me. I remember when I first saw Breck’s half-pipe. I thought to myself, “What the fuck is that?” We didn’t have that shit back in AK! Over the winter, I got pretty good in the pipe; so good that I woke up in the bottom of it with two patrollers standing over me. Next winter, I had good friends from Alaska that were moving to Tahoe — Reno to be exact. I joined them. Our mission was simple: Buy a video camera and start filming. I didn’t think I would spend the next seven years in Nevada snowboarding every minute I could. The best thing you can do for your riding is to surround yourself with good friends who are motivated. I was lucky that I had a few that pushed me to my limits. My friend Jon was the mastermind of our film crew, Jonny Wire Productions. We came up with that name because he was hammered drunk and did a belly flop onto an exercise ball and broke his jaw. His jaw was wired shut, hence the name. The other hoodlum in our crew was Jed Hoffman. Check out the last few years of any Think Thank film and you will find Jed. He is a true street assassin, not to -60- mention pretty good in the backcountry.
Words By Brian Upisleja
Photo By Ryan Hughes
Rider: Brian Upisleja
After we got the video thing dialed in, we needed to find a photographer. This is where Ryan Hughes came in. I met Ryan hiking a jump on the backside of Sugar Bowl. An amateur photographer, Ryan, or “Huggy Bear,” was posted up on this massive hit called Mid Gully with one other rider that we didn’t know just taking pictures. We asked him if we could hit it, too. “Sure, as long as you help fix it,” he answered. The three of us hiked the jump and began to session. Long story short, we became good friends, and for the next three years would set up rails, jumps, quarterpipes, jibs, gaps, fake poker games, whatever to try and get a shot. Over the years, we made two videos, got a few shots in some magazines, a few free boards here and there, some stickers, etc., etc. Was it worth it? Yeah, it was worth it. Some of us fizzled out from the scene, but some of us made it pretty far and are still going. While I still ride, I’m not going to enter a Vans contest and try to throw a ten or chuck myself down a set of twenty. I consider myself a soul rider — whatever that is. So I made a list of the top five ways to extend the longevity of your snowboarding career:
1. Stay away from round bars. (I know — mad street cred, but round bars are slippery as shit and usually involve some form of concrete. I was always more stoked showing up to a rail and seeing that it was square.) 2. Pick and choose your time to party. (Do you really think you can hike uphill and through powder when you didn’t go to bed until 6 a.m.?) 3. Don’t listen to friends that say, “Dude you got it!” (No, you really don’t have it; they all want to see you get served! If you had it, they wouldn’t say it.) 4. Don’t listen to people that say, “Point it from here.” (Figure the speed out for yourself. Wax, weight and ability all play a factor when you overshoot a jump by twenty feet.) 5. Be focused and committed. (If you go into a cab nine half-assed, you will end up half-assed. Literally.) This will be my twentieth year snowboarding and my third year in Jackson. Jackson is by far the best stop in my career — or whatever you want to call it. Maybe there is a comeback in my future. Who knows? Regardless, I am happy I went for it when I did and happy for where I am now and that I have all my limbs, my teeth and my aging mobility.
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One Step at a Time Words By Bryan Iguchi Photos By Jesse Brown
For years, my mission was to get in as many runs as physically possible by all means necessary. Winter is short, and I tried to maximize my season with endless tram laps and snowmobile-access exploration. It’s made filling my powder quota easy, but has become a bit routine. My life priorities are changing, and I’ve been focusing more on searching out new quality experiences rather than the quantity of downhill vertical. Don’t get me wrong: I’ll always be on the tram as early as possible when we get a big dump to ride with friends and go through the hit list of my favorite runs.
My early experiences consisted of fumbling in the cold trying to put the puzzle together. I watched ski-touring parties pass by, shaking their heads in disgust as my frustration grew. Once the board was together on the ride down, it felt awkwardly heavy, bindings towering high off the board … it wasn’t that rad for me, to say the least. I tried ascending with short skis, but it wasn’t very effective in deep snow and, once again, I endured more trouble and discouragement.
Snowboarding has always been the bastard stepchild of skiing. It’s not a bad thing, but it’s the truth. Skiing evolved out of the necessity for winter travel and still remains the most efficient way to cover ground in snow. Unlike skiing, snowboarding was created with the sole purpose of downhill recreation. To me, snowboarding is equally an offspring of surfing and skateboarding as it is of skiing. Being from the board-sport side of the evolutionary chain, splitboarding has introduced me to the alpine roots. I can skin up a mountain just as my ancestors did in the early days, then transform the skis back into a board and ride. Living in the shadow of Grand Teton National Park, it has been hard to resist the urge to get out among the high peaks to ride and explore. I’ve always had to wait until the high pressure brought a freeze/thaw cycle, or until the snowpack consolidated in spring to attempt anything. The fear of hopelessly hiking in knee-deep powder for hours kept me from any mid-winter outings. I’ve toyed with splitboards in the past, but felt it compromised my riding too much to pursue it more than a couple of times a season. -68-
For more information, visit splitboarding.com
I decided to give it another try a few seasons back and I’m glad I did. In the last few years, the boards have become lighter, the bindings have gotten lower, and the feeling is now the real deal. I’ve been riding a 162 splitboard with rocker and was lucky enough to get turned onto the Spark R&D’s binding system. It has breakthrough technology that simplifies the board/ binding interface, the set-up is insane, and I love it. I can change from skis to a board in a couple of minutes and be riding down with confidence. I rode Cody’s central chute on my splitboard this past spring after the Village closed. In the past, I never would have thought of doing a line that steep on a splitboard. It has changed my whole perspective and inspired selfpropelled ascents one step and one breath at a time. I look forward to getting lost in a state of meditation, anticipation and daydream deep in the mountains. It gives me a chance to examine the ever-changing snow conditions, enhancing my awareness of my surroundings and giving me a better chance to make good decisions on what line to ride.
The Edge
Words & Photo By Rob Kingwill
“The Edge... there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.” — Hunter S. Thompson “Shit. Maybe this was a bad idea,” I thought to myself as I tried to reach behind me and pull my avalanche shovel out of my flak jacket to use as a makeshift ice axe. I was barely holding on to my heelside edge halfway down an extremely exposed line deep in the heart of the Chugach Mountains in Alaska, and I was In Trouble. I had looked at the chute from below earlier in the day. Although the line was slightly south facing, I thought the snow would be pretty decent and I would be able to slip through the tight rocks at the top and into the chute below fairly easily. That turned out not to be true. I had doubled up on my sled from the ABA heliskiing parking lot on Thompson Pass with fellow Jackson/Victor shredder and photog Eric Daft. Everyone else decided to go elsewhere for the day, and so Eric and I had The Girls and Bro Bowl all to ourselves. We both shredded some killer lines, and were taking turns shooting photos and video of each other. I had been looking at the line I was now on for about a week and decided it was worth the effort to climb into it and get a shot. The hike up turned out to be easier than I thought. In no time at all I was standing on the top of the 50-degree face, trying to figure out if it was really rideable. I looked out below me and could make out Eric and my sled about half a mile away on the saddle of the next glacier. If I fell, it would take Eric quite a while to come get me. And then there was that little matter of my sled not starting consistently. We hang it out there a lot in AK, and this was no exception. There is something about riding big mountains that allows you to truly
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test your mettle, to find out what you are made of — especially in places like Jackson Hole and Alaska. Standing on top of that mountain, I was alone, with no room for error and no one to rescue me. I could have taken the easy way out — turned around and gone back the way I came — but I knew in my heart that I could make it down that line, and I was fully committed to following through. In our lives, there are always choices, significant moments that can shape the path of the rest of our time on Earth. I remember distinctly the moment I decided to drop in, knowing I could handle what was below me, and that I would be just fine. In these moments, you can do nothing but trust in your skill and focus on the matter at hand until you make it out alive. Needless to say, this line took everything I had. Variable snow, ice, rocks like teeth, an overhanging cornice and 50-plus degrees of fun. The line turned out to be so steep that my backpack was touching the wall behind me. I managed to pull my avalanche shovel out and use it as an anchor so that I had a secondary hold on the snow if my heelside edge gave out since the south-facing ice didn’t give much purchase. (I don’t usually ride with an ice axe, but I will now!) I decided I should take a photo so that I could remember the moment, and I noticed my hand was shaking like a leaf. I put the camera away and used the shovel to dig out some of the snow at the top of the chute so I could squeeze through, drop in fakie on my heels, half-cab out of the first bank, and slash again to get the shot with Eric. Thankfully, everything went as planned and I ripped to the bottom of the 800-foot vertical line, breathing a sigh of relief and happy that I had conquered my fears and made it through unscathed. The shot that Eric took is in the Bern ad in this magazine.
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Cup ofwith Tea Anders Berling BT: So, word on the street is you were born and raised on a small houseboat in Mississippi. Was I on the wrong street, or is there any truth to this? AB: Depends on which street. I bet on some Canadian streets that’s the word. I am usually from Wilson, Wyoming. BT: Damnit … I knew that. I must have been thinking of Travis Rice. Anyways, about how long have you been riding for? AB: Around thirteen years on snowboards, but I’ve been riding moose to hunt for way longer. BT: I’m impressed. Mainly because I only try something for about a week — tops. Talk about your age: Where you at on the timeline these days? AB: I’d say in the college era. Just turned 21 in March so I can work on my pool and social skills. BT: My stepdaughter is the same age, and she’s a real bitch. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have told you that. Let’s keep going. Well, who the heck do you ride with? AB: Yeah, I met her once. I think it was in Custer, Washington. Moving on, I ride with the usual scrum ninjas and farmers … the working class.
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BT: Now, are some of those guys also in the street-tough gang you’re involved with? I believe MSNBC referred to the group as “Anomaly Farm.” Sup with dat noise? Give me the lowdown.
Photo: Chase Cleveland
Interview By Brody Thompson
AB: I know, Connie Chung keeps texting me. We are working out a phone plan to make it more affordable, but a.farm is just a group of kids I have known my whole life shredding and whatnot, and a couple years back, we started a business and have cruised with it. We are learning new things every day, so even if it doesn’t make us bills, it’s rewarding. BT: Sounds wholesome, makes me feel good, and I like that shit. Moving on. I’m going to hit you with some quick questions. Are you ready? AB: Yessir. BT: Powder or park? AB: I’ve got a secret pow park right next to Shawn’s half-pipe. BT: Regs or goofy? AB: Regs, but I ride goofy every day. BT: Worse: Snakes or spiders? AB: Snakes have worse intentions. BT: Stance measurement? AB: Between Kobe and LeBron knaawmeen? BT: Facebook, MySpace or Twitter? AB: Gmail and some Facebook.
BT: Snowmobile or tram? AB: I like how easy the tram is, but lately I have been sledding more. BT: Ass or titties? AB: I think you would get a more accurate answer from my girlfriend. BT: Favorite shred film? AB: I don’t know — is there a movie like “Blue Crush,” but with snowboards? BT: Top 3 riders you look up to? AB: All the Wyoming guys I grew up around, of course, and I have had some Washington folk that have shown me a good time, but if I should pull out the name-dropper, I’d say David Benedek, John Jackson and T. Rice. BT: Last meal (due to your heinous crime committed in 2019, which is far too graphic to speak of )? AB: Flank steak and sushi, with naked women for plates.
BT: One band, group or person that you’ll never get tired of listening to? AB: NPR, besides when they do the fundraiser. So, Brody, donate now to shorten the length of the fall drive. BT: Reverse or regular camber? AB: I’ve been riding pow mainly, so reverse. The Ride Slackcountry, but ain’t no slacking in my country. BT: Sponsors? AB: Ride Snowboards, a.farm2.0, I AM, Avalon7, mom and pops. BT: That shit got crazy. I appreciate your honesty and composure under the pressure of my awesome questions. I, on the other hand, would have been in a state of confusion halfway through — crying and rambling something about tiny wooden ants crawling on me. I don’t do well with answering questions, or old people with glass eyes. Lastly, where do you see yourself in ten years? AB: Probably on a sailboat pirating new software and music, burning money, spreading my seed to many continents — you know, the simple things in life.
Photo: Chance Philly
Personal Braid It was a crisp day. The mountain looked as if it had white fire licking at its peaks. I was riding up the big red tram at 8 a.m. For most people, getting up that early to ride in a metal box is crazy; not for me. As my group stepped off the tram onto the cement-like snow, we looked toward Corbet’s. Just like every other Saturday, we all said we were going to leap off that famous jump. But for the past four years, we haven’t gotten close. As we were staring at Corbet’s, all of us wrapped in our own fantasy of how we would go off the cliff, our coach started talking: “Are you girls going to jump it today?” We all shook our heads slowly, “Next time.” But Brooke, another girl in the group, and I looked at each other. It was as if we had an unspoken agreement that we had to tear it up on Corbet’s today or else we would never do it.
The morning was flying by. It was a perfect bluebird day. Brooke and I just kept on looking at each other, almost as if daring the other one to put our thoughts into words and then into action. Finally, I spoke up. Lunch was nearing, and I knew that if I didn’t jump in now, I never would. Our coach looked shocked and a little skeptical when I told him that Brooke and I were going to jump Corbet’s. Were we actually going to do it? The answer was a simple “yes.” For the second time that day, we rode up the big metal box. But this time, we were a lot crazier than the last. The group stepped off. Brooke and I were the last to head toward the gate that separated us from dreaming and doing. With those thoughts in my mind, I slowly moved forward. The other girls wouldn’t do it, just Brooke and me. Our coach traversed through the gate and onto the -74-74-
Words By Danielle Domsky
teetering edge of Corbet’s. Without a second thought or hesitation, he was off. Once at the bottom, he yelled out how easy it was. If there was ever a moment when I doubted my coach, it was then. Brooke and I just looked at each other, waiting for someone to go. I heard little snippets of conversations around me, but other than that, all I could hear was my heart pounding. My group was telling me I didn’t have to go. I could wait until everyone decided to jump Corbet’s together. There was a line of people around the cliff looking down at it, probably wondering the same thing as me: What awaited us at the bottom? We just sat there joking about how we all couldn’t do it and so on. One man’s leg was shaking nonstop. When he noticed, he said, “Damn, my leg is giving me away!” At that point, I knew I wasn’t the only nervous one. We had been on the edge of Corbet’s for a good half an hour. Brooke and I started to head out of the gate. We were almost out when we stopped and looked at each other again. I said, “Brooke, when lunch is finished, we are coming back up and not thinking about anything but jumping off the cliff.” She smiled and nodded. Then I noticed that we already had our minds set and we had to jump — now. So, we turned around and hiked back up. I saw our coach still waiting and shouted to him that we were going to do it. Brooke told me that if I took the “leap of faith” first, then she would follow suit. I agreed. With my heartbeat radiating throughout my body, I wasn’t sure if I could focus on the jump. All of a sudden, it hit me: mind over matter. If I don’t mind, then it doesn’t matter.
Photo By Chris Figenshau
I could tell the people around me were shocked. No one was talking. My eyes started to look at all of the adults waiting to jump this cliff. My body was relaxing, preparing for the drop. I knew that when I landed my jump, I would have accomplished a goal I had been fighting for my whole life. It would be something that I did on my own. Overcoming this challenge was something I couldn’t wait to do. As my body filled up with adrenaline, I looked straight at Brooke and smiled. With a hop and a push, I was flying! The snow rushed past my feet, like the ground under a cheetah chasing its prey. That was exactly what I was doing, chasing after my prey. I could feel my body starting to turn so I wouldn’t run into the cliff wall. Snow sprayed up into my face. I was almost certain I was falling, but I couldn’t see, so I wasn’t sure if I was just losing my balance. Ah, thank goodness I have two legs. My leg caught me and tilted my body upright. I skidded to a halt. My brain was going at a million thoughts per second. I screamed out in triumph. It was my accomplishment; nobody could take that away from me. As I looked back up at the cliff, I saw Brooke jumping off and landing. She had the same face as I had just moments before. We looked at each other and were beaming. For the entire day, I couldn’t stop smiling. It was the greatest feeling in the world. When someone accomplishes something all on their own, overcomes a challenge or does something new, it is the best thing I can think of. The next weekend when we rode up the big metal box and stepped off into the snow, I looked at Corbet’s and no longer dreamed of jumping into it. I already had.
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FIBR090342JHSnowboardMag.indd 10
MercuryCSC FIBR-090342 J Snowboard Ma Size: 3” x 1.5” Color: 4C Any Publication Newsprint
9/30/09 10:17:44 AM
Semblance Photo: Jesse Brown -76-
Rider: John Rodosky
Photo: Terry Ratzlaff Rider: Matt Frye
Photo: Angel Rodri Rider: Rob Kingwill
Photo: Jesse Brown Rider: Rajat Bhayani
Photo: Jesse Brown Rider: John Makens
Photo: Jesse Brown Rider: Adam Dowell
Photo: Aaron Dodds Rider: Kyle Clancy
Photo: Aaron Dodds Rider: Sam Luebke
Photo: Jesse Brown Rider: Colin Langlois
Try something new: it could be eating a fried spider, singing in a bard in front of many people or surfing. Study Hinduism, Buddhism,w Eleven Countries, Eleven Christianity andAround Islam.the Become Months. worlda member in a family of thirtyre back to tell the dinner story. for an entire orphanage! Checkba kids in and South Africa. Cook out a South African game farm! Learn to cook by candlelight onA a beach in Morocco. Climb another mountain; heck, maybe takeU your clothes off and run around! Try speaking other languages. Let the natives laugh at you. A hamam is a Moroccan bathhouse and is an intense experience.intense experience. Attempt to go to the bathroom outdoors during a Christmas desert sandstorm in the Sahara. Enjoy scrumptious potluck dinners with a van caravan crew. If the ski lift is closed, hike it, because emerging over a ridgeP to reveal endless snowcapped mountains at sunset in the Atlas Alpsca of Africa is well worth the trek. Shred powder in 80’s gaper gearG rentals! Play music with cave-dwelling gypsies in Spain. Walkth with blind faith through the catacombs of Granada’s high walls. LayA in a field of flowers in Portugal. Study in an ashram in India.a Swim across the Ganges River. Have color smashed into your facem Words & Photos By Tally Atkins
Black and white caps were tossed into the air. They rose in unison, and then fell to the ground. Triumphant cheers of graduates overshadowed fading notes of Pachelbel’s Canon. Here’s to the class of 2008. Here’s to success and happiness. Here’s to the future …
“Whoa, wait up! What does that mean?!” (My thought in the moment). Standing among my classmates, I glanced around at eager faces. Congrats, you’ve survived twelve years of school. Now what? I guess you catch the transition into college. Get a degree. Get a job. Get married. Must I go any further? We’ve all heard this story before, but that’s the thing — it’s just a story, one we each can choose to follow or defy. Don’t get me wrong: Education is vital for today’s standard of living, but there is more than one path to achieve knowledge. As far as success and happiness go, all too often we lose the focus during our pursuit of happiness; we fail to realize we can live it right now. Through this idea, I found myself faceto-face with the greatest challenge of my life.
If you had one year left to live, what would you do? Where would you go? Think of the people you could meet, the places you’ll see, the moments that will shake you, break you and make you. I was hungry for the world. Thirsty to thrive with a dream to travel, experience life, discover other cultures and to make a difference. So, it began … I saved every penny, booked a few tickets, and boarded a plane to South Africa in October 2008. With a little research and an open mind, I set out for the world with the hope that everything would work out. I couldn’t have planned the trip better myself. So, sit back, peel open a can of real human moments, and I’ll share with you some of the possibilities.
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The more you learn about the world, the more it shows you what you don’t know. Get ready to get lost. Get ready to have your life touched. Cry, laugh, scream and shout. Learn how to trust. Learn to love. Learn to listen. Find a friend. Face your fears. Make decisions. Make mistakes. Embrace sorrow and joy. Get sick. Live well. Grow close with those you love. Deal with stress. Tolerate danger. Break the rules. Be careful. Be careless. Express a positive influence. Lift up the chance to make a difference. Learn what it is you value most. Reap the benefits. Delve deeper.
arduring a chaotic festival. Watch home videos packed in a small room m,with an Indian family. Teach a child to ride a bike. Teach many to yread. Sleep in some pretty rough places. Sit in the dirt with street kbabas in India. Walk barefoot. Sneak into the Maharishi Mahesh nAshram, where meditation hives remain covered with jungle vines. eUtilize natural hot springs in the mountains of Northern India. . e o e n ePractice organic gardening. Work in a cafÊ. Rock-hop up a river pscanyon in the Himalayas. Travel with dear friends. Travel alone. arGet stuck in a small city during a strike in Nepal. You don’t want to kthink about how many people have touched that little yellow ukulele. yA Nepalese family that has nothing continues to give. Explore caves .and temples in Laos. Check out the local food markets in the early emorning. Try to speak other languages, and let the natives laugh at
you. Eat a simple feast on the floor with land mine victims in Cambodia. Take a closer look at poverty; it will humble you. Mill rice. Build water filters. Teach swimming lessons. Show your friends the crocodile pit behind the wall where you work. Volunteer here, there and everywhere. Wake up at four in the morning to meditate with a monk. Dance in the rain with street kids. Swim through the streets during a monsoon flash flood to get to your bus on time. Visit war museums in Vietnam. Accept free meals when invited. Befriend a Malaysian soccer team and become their number one fan. Bargain for every dollar. Dodge hagglers left and right. Motorbike a mountain pass and run out of gas. Meet several minority hill tribes. Scrub toilets and sing in the bathrooms during a ten-day silent meditation retreat in Thailand. Get certified to scuba dive inside a shipwreck. Ouch, sunburn. Check out Thai kickboxing. Snorkel with sea turtles in Malaysia. Go on a hunt for D43 Durian, the best fruit in the world. Record a song in a stairwell. Swim with sharks. Get lost overnight in a jungle. Don’t be afraid to walk the road less traveled. Amidst all the sorrow, tragedy and dire need in the world, there is so I feel extremely fortunate for this life-changing opportunity. Released into the real world, I was completely beyond my comfort zone. Traveling was the most testing obstacle I have taken on, but it was, by far, the most valuable. I now have a reformed understanding of the world and my place in it. The people, places, life lessons and memories are all immeasurable. The direct experience I have returned with is something that cannot be articulated into words. I owe it to David Cleeland and Drew Scott, two amazing friends also on around-the-world adventures of their own, who made it possible for me to travel in India and Morocco. I‘m entirely grateful for the immense support from the Jackson Hole community. In Jackson, dreams are known to sprout like weeds in correlation to our unique roots. Blame it on the Tetons; we are a rare breed of idealists and
visionaries. Some live in their cars to ski powder all winter. Some are artists and musicians on their way to making it big. Some paraglide their way through Nepal and India. Others take off to New Zealand to kayak for a year. There is no such thing as an insignificant dream and you can never go too big. In this day and age, the sky is the limit. If you still think limits exist, exceed them. So, if you’re living the dream or you’re ready to, what’s holding you back? If it’s money, you can work for two months in the U.S. and live in India for four. If you’re alone, you’ll meet others. If it’s a language barrier, common sign language speaks all languages. It will work out, I promise. Here’s to your dream. The world is your oyster. Carl Sandburg once said, “Nothing happens unless first we dream.” So, take that idea in the back of your head, put it in front of you, and make it a reality.
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The Church of the Blue Domers
There is an expression in these parts with which many of us are all too familiar: “sucked into the Hole.” I would venture to say that if you weren’t fortunate enough to be an actual native of this valley, this very thing probably happened to you in one form or another. This place has a powerful draw and that, as you’ll see, is an incredibly large understatement.
consistently missing this mandatory event. “I’m a Blue Domer,” I would remember him saying from time to time to my grandmother. “Okay, Rodgers,” my grandmother would reply while routinely rolling her eyes at him. What on Earth was a Blue Domer, I wondered as we rolled out of the driveway, leaving my grandfather to enjoy his Sunday outdoors, and where do I sign up?
I was one of those lucky kids who got to know all four of my grandparents well. In hindsight, it has allowed me to realize that each one of them gifted me with their own unique traits and belief systems. In a roundabout way, one of them is responsible for leading me here and helping me find my “religion.” For the purpose of this story I will only focus on him — my mother’s father, Rodgers Sollers. A true character, he was the best shot in his county (which, unfortunately, led to some squirrel-eating incidents for me as a child), a champion jouster, a fisherman, an expert oyster shucker and one of the greatest orators of tall tales I’ve ever known. But the skill I envied and admired the most was his uncanny ability to avoid an obligation no other relative seemed to be able to get out of, even on holidays: church.
Fast forward to my young adulthood and my own version of being “sucked into the Hole.” I, like many others, was just passing through. My young life was in an uproar, both personally and professionally, and I was half-heartedly attempting to return to my roots on the East Coast, complete grad school and join the “rat race.” Luckily, the pull of this valley was too much to withstand. By week’s end, my poor parents got the dreaded call: “Mom, dad, I’ve decided that it would be best if I live in a barn for now and take up snowboarding.”
“This area [Jackson, the Tetons, Yellowstone], is one of the most energetically powerful spots in the world,” she disclosed. “It’s important that we’re careful with that power and honor it.” Upon hearing this, I’d found that I already intuitively knew it. It’s hard not to. The beauty we live in is almost surreal, but again, sometimes we forget or overlook the things that are in our immediate surroundings. Kind of like the Labyrinth just a few feet away from one of the busiest roads in Jackson on Cache St. — a major gateway to our town from points north and the airport — and, most importantly, for any thrifty local, Browse and Buy. Have YOU seen the Labyrinth?
They eventually forgave me.
As a child, it was the bane of my existence. Dressed in the most embarrassing and uncomfortable clothes, my brother and I would spend the majority of Sunday either preparing for, enduring or recovering from this experience. I found no joy in the off-key singing, the constant genuflecting, crossing, sitting and standing, all the while trying not to fall asleep in the pew or get in trouble from that type of laughter kids erupt into when they are forbidden to laugh and know it means being grounded for a week. It was truly exhausting and something I firmly believed God didn’t fully approve of — at least not for me.
I was damaged goods when I arrived, but very quickly this place healed me. Everything felt more alive, more resilient, the air cleaner, the sunshine stronger — even that silence you can only hear in the mountains was so pervasive it seemed like the loudest, most soothing white noise you could ever experience. The people even seemed to be heartier and funnier and I quickly acquired many new friends. Lots of hiking, camping and snowboarding followed, exposing me to some of the most breathtaking natural beauty I’ve ever experienced that permanently changed my scope and perception of reality. Still, with all this evidence, I did not realize the full power of this place where I had made my home.
Grandpa was somehow blissfully immune from this experience, even escaping the blistering disdain any other family member would have gotten for
Several years later, as I’d slowly begun to take the power of my surroundings for granted, I received another wake-up call. A visiting friend took me to a
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Words By Wren Fialka Photo By Jeff Palmer
churchyard in town and in the middle of it was an elaborate circle marked out on the ground. It looked like a maze without the walls. My friend informed me that it was called a Labyrinth, an ancient meditation tool used to gain spiritual insight and bring you closer to God.
So today, a beautiful September day in the valley, I passed by the Labyrinth on my way to the bank. I realized I was absolutely obligated to stop and walk it. So I did. And as I stood in its center, waiting for any type of epiphany, I had a sudden memory of a Native American man I heard speak at a friend’s house last year. Blue Thunder, a younger tribal elder from the Wind River Indian Reservation of the Eastern Shoshone Nation and a member of the Spiritual Elders of Mother Earth, had been on my list of people to call regarding this article, but I’d been dragging my feet about it. One, because I’m slightly intimidated by his presence, and two, because I knew that the information he had for me and all of us would not be very warm and fuzzy. In fact, knowing it lays a very big responsibility at one’s feet. It is a responsibility that he, along with many other elders from a multitude of tribes and indigenous nations, has willingly shouldered for all of us … until now.
“It’s not a coincidence that you called today,” he said, after I’d explained the reason for my call and the nature of my article. “I was just up there [in the Tetons and Yellowstone] and big things are happening. Lots of pressure and heat, lots of little earthquakes, Old Faithful is really high. I had to get out of there. Your article last year was about littering? That’s what’s happening up there with words and actions. There is a lot of fear in the world right now. Banks are collapsing, relationships are collapsing. I wouldn’t say it’s everyone that comes through the park in the summer, but maybe threequarters. Parents are yelling at kids, at each other. People with bad intentions. People are literally trashing one another as they pass through and it’s being recorded in the electromagnetic field of the mountains and multiplied. People need to understand their actions and intentions have a powerful effect on nature. Humanity affects nature. Nature will mimic their energy. It’s going to be a very harsh winter. My dreams have instructed me to stop my healing ceremonies. The messages and wisdom that I’ve been trying to deliver have fallen on deaf ears and it’s in Mother Nature’s hands now. She needs to shake things up a bit to get people’s attention. It won’t be the big one that we’ve all heard about, but the Tetons won’t look the same and Jackson will definitely be affected. It will get the world’s attention.” “Um, can we do anything?” I half-squeaked. “Pray,” he said. Blue Thunder went on to explain things in more detail. Before the white man showed up in this part of the West, Yellowstone and the Tetons were considered very sacred and very powerful places. No one was permitted into these areas without an understanding and an ability to keep their intentions peaceful and pure. It’s believed that the Tetons are largely comprised of crystal, and this crystalline
electrical energy records and magnifies positive and negative energy. Without honoring this belief, these areas were opened up to everyone as national parks. A constant stream of people with their intentions and actions unchecked flowed through these powerful places. For years, a select group of Native American elders, including Blue Thunder, have tirelessly held ceremonies to neutralize the negativity in these sacred places to circumvent any type of large natural disaster. In the case of Grand Teton and Yellowstone national parks, it could be one of the largest in the world. The Yellowstone caldera could blow up to more than a 500-mile radius in every direction and cause a new Ice Age, wiping out humanity. In geological terms, it could be a very short distance away — 50,000 years or alarmingly sooner. Maybe we won’t be directly affected, but the ones that follow after us will inherit this terrible event if we don’t take responsibility to help neutralize it ourselves. If you’ve read the news reports throughout last summer you can see he is right. Activity and small earthquakes have increased. The bottom line is that Blue Thunder is asking us to wake up and pick up our trash NOW. This trash is in an invisible energetic form that we must train ourselves to be more vigilant about removing. My mom came out here this spring. I was not raised by skiers or snowboarders. I discovered that particular method of travel later in life. So I decided to take her snowshoeing. My mom has inherited my grandfather’s oratory skills, which I sometimes find a bit overwhelming, so I was zoned out as I trudged along in the snow trying to see animal shapes in the clouds above me. “Blah, blah, blah … Blue Domer,” my mom said behind me. I snapped back to the present. What about Blue Domers, I asked?
“Well, dear, you must have inherited it from your grandfather,” she said. “You certainly have found the right place to live.” I had always been reluctant to ask what a Blue Domer actually was, and what it had to do with my grandfather not having to go to church. My mom laughed and lifted a ski pole over her head. “This IS his church, dear. What do you think the sky is?” Mystery solved. Maybe I should listen to my mom more often. So, like Blue Thunder, I’m asking a little bit more of all of us this year. No matter where or how you worship God, the Divine Force and the Earth he/she provided for us, remember that we all live in a temple encapsulated in a blue dome. This makes everything and every being inside it sacred. Treat it all as such. Don’t trash the place, and if — in a momentary lapse of judgment or expression of anger or fear — you do, pick it up and neutralize it with love and peace. Walk the Labyrinth, contact Blue Thunder at tetonrainbows.com and hear firsthand what he has to say and what you can do to help. Wake up every morning and, with gratitude in your heart, list the things that you have been provided with, starting with being able to live on a planet and in a place that gives us so much. Honor the Tetons and Yellowstone like the Native American elders have asked and honor ALL elders as well. We owe them a lot and many of us will be them someday, too. As a Hopi teaching instructs us, “We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.” I’d like to welcome a few new members to the Church of the Blue Domers: Jake, Jessica, Nico, Harper, Finn, Sam, Molly, Lake, Kaia of the Playa, Ruby Sue, Eleanor Maxine, Mylo, Clementine, Dean, my little niece, Annie, and any of the other beautiful little ones who are new to this valley and the planet. This article is especially for you.
NEXT NEXT DROPPING
BLAKE PAUL
Words By Alex Yoder Portrait By Michel Hendryx Action By Ed Herbold
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The 1977 release of “Pumping Iron,” a documentary film depicting the run-up to the 1975 Mr. Olympia bodybuilding competition, is an invigorating showcase into the evolution of man. Watching this movie makes you feel as if you’re peering into God’s window and witnessing his true intentions for the human race. It oozes the enterprising qualities of focus, progression and foremost dedication. Arnold Schwarzenegger, almost literally, excretes passion and lust for bettering himself with ripe coitus undertones. This movie has nothing and everything to do with the rocksolid dude that is Blake Paul. Visually speaking, it would be hard to tell why it came to mind while pondering how to properly shed light on the lad. If you’re fortunate enough to get to know him, you’ll truly understand. Unaffected by teenage confusion and high school bullspit, Blake knows exactly what he wants and how to get it. That’s why you don’t see Blakey hanging ’round the ladies. It’s not that he doesn’t like girls; he just has better things to do.
Blake’s Sponsors: The North Face, Gnu, Dragon, Avalon7, a.farm, JHMR, Jackson Treehouse
Let The Good Times Roll Words By Cutter Photo By Jesse Brown
When the day is over and you are heading down the hill to catch the bus, load your sled or drive your busted-ass iconic ’76 van back to town, what is the one word that seems to come to mind? Après ski! Wait — shit, that’s two words. And I don’t ski. Anyway … Depending on your tastes, a couple of things might come up for you to choose from. For the more reserved, truly civilized folks, après ski could mean a real heart-to-heart conversation over some hot tea, contemplating how pretty the snowflakes look glistening in the beautiful morning sunrise while the blinding rays create a sundog above the sea of clouds filling the valley floor.
I believe that with any good adventure one should always take the time and look back on what an amazing experience one just had. I think this is an important aspect, as one can tend to get caught up and forget all the hard work and effort it took to get you to where you are currently situated in life. Think of everything you gave up and all the hours you worked at that bullshit job ’cause you thought it was worth all the epic pow turns, brah.
On the other hand, for the rest of us derelicts, visions that might pop up when you speak of the term “après shred” may be some wild scenario of a boozefilled party bar at the base of the hill with hot ski bunnies donned in white fur ’kinis seductively pouring shots of Hot Damn down your throat while Whitesnake’s classic jam, “Here I Go Again,” blares through the speakers. All the while the diva bartendress is telling you how hot you looked in the park today doing those methods she has no idea you’ve been doing for the last 15 years on the same jump over and over … or maybe that’s just me talkin’.
Mind you, your boss is laughing cause you are a slave to the job and they actually own the ski pass you saved 150 bucks on with their “special” discount rate — ohhhh, wait, let’s NOT talk about that. Anyways … you need another beer? Whether that is a beer with your beautiful bromance, a delicious homecooked meal in your cozy yurt, or simply just a good old-fashioned, deadlook-in-the-eye handshake that says, “thanks for sharing your life with me and letting me use your extra Turtle Fur since I forgot mine,” life is full of enjoyment. Don’t forget to celebrate!
But either way, I am going to say it can truly take on multiple meanings here. Though many of you would like to live the Hot Dog lifestyle all day every day,
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there are those who are repulsed by that kind of “immature” behavior. Haters. But, by all means, live and let live. So when you choose to take those last runs, I hope you have scheduled in a little après sesh.
Yo Son! That shit was Mad Asian! Words By Michael Bills Photos By Seth Herr & Morris Weintraub
In the month of January, the average temperature lingers around 5 degrees above zero, often dropping to 10-20 below at night! Although it may be the coldest month of the year, a natural phenomenon happens once a January that will warm your soul, make you dance, and forget all about the bitter air that takes your breath away! On this night, temperatures rise, positive energy reaches its highest point of the winter, and the great town of Jackson comes together to celebrate the one thing we all have in common: the LOVE for winter! On this rare night, you may see things you’ve never seen, you may see things you love to see, you might even have your wildest fantasy come true. If you’ve been to this event in the past, you know all about the good times. If not, you won’t want to miss the next one; it’s the annual release party for the Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine. After playing with the Players’ Ball in 2008 and being rocked by two epic movie trailers of “That’s It, That’s All” and “The Bluebird Movie” — not to mention being blown away by the sounds of New York’s own, Nacirema — it was hard to imagine how a great night could get any better!
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Again taking place at Snow King Resort and being a couple of days after the Chinese New Year, the theme was Shanghai Nights. Enter the dojo! Ninjas, warriors, nunchucks, Chinese stars, Wookies and short miniskirts filled the room. The glow from hundreds of Chinese lamps gave the room a red ambiance that made you feel as if you were walking thru Tiananmen Square on an Asian holiday. The main stage was transformed into a large dojo guarded by two giant warriors with sharp spear-like weapons that could easily take your head off with one clean swing. The surrounding areas of the stage were transformed into an Asian marketplace that featured juicy cocktails instead of your typical spices, rices and fresh fruits.
Nacirema was back — bringing with them a full band, new songs and more energy than the previous year — making sure to rock the socks off our local population! Also coming from New York was the worldfamous Beatnuts! “In the crib or the club or an SUV, it’s the shit you wanna hear every place you be, it’s THE NUTS!” Holy shit, the fucking Beatnuts in Jackson, Wyoming. I couldn’t believe it! Psycho Les and Juju made the long trip out to the coldass Cowboy State to play some serious hiphop. And boy, did they play some serious hip-hop, getting into the souls and panties of everyone in the crowd, causing a frenzy of sexy girls and hungry dudes to rush th e stage and partake in the passing of the
Courvoisier. As Snow King came to a close, the party was sure to continue. As partygoers left the building in avalanche style, the local Limo Lounge awaited them with a free ride to the after-hours party, where Kid Thunder took the reins and played slamming beats till the wee hours of the morning. Where was this party, you ask? I won’t tell! I’ve sworn myself to secrecy to protect the innocent and possibly insane for inviting these partygoers into their home. I will tell you that everyone was there: After a hard night of protecting the stage, even the ninjas and Asian guards were dancing the night away and enjoying the positive vibe that this annual celebration strives to bring! In my opinion, the party was another hit and the anticipation of next year lingers in the minds of everyone — especially me. Hope to see you there!
Start chilled. Finish responsibly.
Š2009 Tuaca Italian Liqueur, Livorno, Italy, 35% alc. by vol. Imported by Brown-Forman Beverages, Louisville, KY USA.
Cool Observation
Steven Glass By Jacintho Bloom Photo By Jesse Brown
Steven Glass has an obsession for glass — finding glass, stockpiling glass and working out his visions on glass. He has the faraway look of a man who has climbed to the top of his own personal mountain. Years of searching for the appropriate medium to express his ideas led him first to the words of other writers, and then to the critique of their work. Later, he stumbled upon his own heightened words on a page and was transformed by that experience. As a writer, he learned to open the floodgates of his creativity when getting words down on a page. But perhaps it was the act of revision that taught him the most about craftsmanship. It is true that we never know where we are going until we get there. And like most artists, Glass embraced the happy accident. In fact, it was happenstance that led him to claim an abandoned picture frame and to find new purpose in doing so. One man’s trash is another’s good fortune and so, out of nowhere, he found himself painting on the glass — working with layers and transparencies. Not formally trained as a fine artist, he takes great liberties with his surface and with his approach. In fact, it is the sum of all his creative explorations that make the man and the work we view today. In some ways, the writer in him has never known silence. These works are a conversation with the world. Robert Frost had “a lover’s quarrel with the world.” Henry Miller had a bruising argument. Glass hands us cool observation tempered with mystery. His work is stylized, has brilliant design elements, and both questions and affirms consumerism. Heavily influenced by our contemporary milieu and the design world, his method deals with the reduction of all the eye surveys at a given time. The images are whittled down to their base elements. Oftentimes, we see markings in the background of his work. These are the primitivizing of Roman letterforms. They often appear as quasi-fragments of ideograms, but they represent the disjointed consciousness of our sped-up lives. Looking at the work, I am reminded of other artists who sought to show us the garish colors of our environment. Although potentially hip, artists such as Warhol, Basquiat and Stella often subliminally reflected the attitude of a culture. As is always the case, the dialogue between artist and viewer is essential for placing ourselves within the confines of our history and moment. The work of Steven Glass reminds me of the tragic beauty of both our collective alienation and our urbanization. The tenor of that dialogue comes across through the depictions of human figures against backdrops of color with scratches, drips and etched words. Although an eerie quiet prevails, the work points to a world that is anything but quiet. The true marvel is that Glass allows us to see it as if from the bottom of an almost placid pool. -102-
Fire In The Hole Words & Photos By Tim Zimmerman
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Last February saw locals Travis Rice & Mark Carter bring Minnesotan Dan Brisse into the Wyoming fold while filming for Absinthe Films’ “Neverland.” It was a month of highs and lows, good conditions and bad. Exploration paid off, and old spots were made new again. “Same shit, different day” is a phrase I’ll never be able to apply to a trip to Jackson.
Travis Rice
Mark Carter
Dan Brisse
1. Why dig an avalanche pit when you can blow up the snowpack to test for stability? 2. Never content to take things as they come, Rice led the crew on a construction mission to build a jump over a jump. The wedge was so massive that overnight it settled 4’ to the right and had to be rebuilt. Massive jumps for massive air. 3. Snowmobiles are good: They’re good for access, they’re good for shuttling, and they’re a good way to destroy every snowboard jump landing in a given area in a very short amount of time. Mark Carter sends a twirlybird into one of the last good ones left. 4. Some days, a hunch pays off. Rice had been stalking this ridgeline for years, but conditions and circumstances never worked out until last year. It was like an oldfashioned shooting gallery up there. The riders picked off features from right to left like sharpshooters. Dan Brisse hit the primer and sent a frontside 360 down the barrel of the mountain. 5. Rice knows it’s not okay to claim it, but it’s okay to look back at a job well done. 6. Dan Brisse is methodical. The long hike up the ridge probably allowed him to plan out his next 2 months’ worth of tricks. 7. Scope it, hike it, send it. All in a day’s work.
www.weekendsnowboards.com At Weekend, we like to think that snowboards should be coveted, and not commodities. That’s why we limit our production runs to 450 individually hand numbered boards per series. As with anything limited, you need to get it while it lasts. Kind of like the powder you might be missing up on the mountain right now. Now put down the coffee, and get out there.
REDUCE, RENEW, RECESSION … Words By Christina Shepherd McGuire You would think that being in retail sales, I’d be all about “consume, consume, consume.” Just take a look in my closet: I have enough clothing to dress a small army; a snowboard outfit for every type of condition whether it’s stormy, dry or springtime. Our home storage shed houses gear for every sport from wakeboarding to surfing, snowboarding to skate skiing (although I haven’t touched the ski setup in about 5 years … a fleeting thought that I once wanted to get that aerobic). The economic downturn has us all thinking a little bit differently about our place in the world, and reminds me that I should put that skate ski setup on eBay. I think back to how we grew up. The last one on the block to get cable television, still don’t have a microwave oven, and my mom sewed a dress for every prom I went to. My dad worked hard — even in the late 70s — as an engineer, pioneering filters to cut down on manufacturing plant emissions. And my mom cooked her meatballs in the same pot as the spaghetti sauce, so as not to use the stove and the oven at the same time, and to allow the meat to soak up the good Italian “love” in the sauce. We truly were a family on the cutting edge of the green movement, but it would never be given a thought for another 20 years. Back then, in our 4-room townhouse in suburban Pennsylvania, I never thought I would someday be selling new snowboards, skis and mountain bike setups priced in the thousands, let alone the cute clothing to accompany the “look.” Reduce: It has all come full circle. The frugalness of the 70s turned into the prosperity of the 80s, which turned into the consumerism and greed of the 90s, and that got us to where we are today — forced back into being realistic about our consuming. To bring it all home, the snow sports industry has really had to develop some creative marketing to get people to return to the slopes this year. For the most part, it has paid off. People are getting back to their roots. Instead of dwelling on the loss of their jobs, their identity or their 30% pay cut, they are reveling in the fact that they have more time for their family and lifestyle. Season pass sales are up at some local resorts such as Grand Targhee, and recreation is at an all-time high. People may be cleaning out their closets to outfit themselves and clearing the dust off their old shred stick, but they are out there doing IT. This could honestly be the winter when the soul of the sports we love returns. Renew: This is the time when those who are creative shine. Artists who make their own clothing and don’t rely on factories in China to mass-produce it, such as locally designed Burgess Custom, are making super-unique ski and snowboard pants. -110Brands such as Arbor Snowboards have
Illustration By Ruckus
poised themselves as industry leaders using renewable resources such as bamboo and plant-based glues and resins. They buy their wood and bamboo from suppliers who create their products sustainably. All post-production materials are then reclaimed by manufacturers to stretch the resource to the max. Other companies use sustainable fabrics in their garments such as 100% organic cotton, hemp and bamboo. Volcom’s V.Co-Logical Series uses vegetable dyes and organic stains to produce their line of tees and hoodies. They also boost their environmentally clear conscience by donating a percentage of sales to “1% For The Planet,” a global movement that redistributes funds toward environmental causes. Companies like Simple shoes are utilizing recycled materials in the production of their kicks. Materials such as recycled tires and carpets make up their line of shoes. It doesn’t stop there: Simple’s packaging is made of recycled paper with soy-based ink and starch-based glue. Recession: What does all this mean, especially in times when the dollar is tight? Well, on the big scale, our children will be able to participate in the lifestyle we all love. The snow will stick around because the Earth’s atmosphere will slow its warming process, and the polar ice caps won’t recede as fast. The jet streams will return to normal and allow for weather patterns to continue, bringing some white stuff to the areas that count. On the little, everyday scale, it means that our precious dollars will go toward something that not only gives us pleasure, but contributes to the greater “soul” of it all. It sometimes takes a hard
knock, like a recession, to shift the habits of consciousness. It’s kind of like kicking your deadbeat boyfriend out of the house. He usually crawls back with a better attitude, a cleaner disposition, and starts to think about the “bigger picture.” We, too, can put that into practice by being aware of our spending and our resources. The extra dollar spent on the jacket or snowboard produced in a factory that reduces its emissions could make a small but important dent in the snowfall we get for seasons to come. Although we may not be around to reap the long-term bennies of our planet’s rebound, we will see that extra dollar creating a rebound in our country’s industry. This will mean more jobs, more mindful spending, and, ultimately, more snow shredding, of course. So, instead of the doom and gloom we’ve been accustomed to, challenge yourself to think differently this winter. If we all brighten our energy, better things will come to us. If we seek to be mindful in our everyday work, play and family, everyone around us will be affected by the new vibe. This Christmas, instead of buying presents for everyone, buy yourself something that contributes to the betterment of whatever it is you feel passionate about. And on Christmas Day, when you return from your “church” of powder turns, cook your meatballs in the same pot as your pasta sauce. They will soak up the love of the vibe you put out, and they will taste much better than baking them in the oven. I promise. Habitat supports eco-minded companies like Volcom, Burton, Arbor, Burgess Custom, Horny Toad, Dude Girl, Carve Designs, Lib Tech, Simple, and Spacecraft.
Committed to the SOUL of the sport
208.354.SNOW habitat@grandtarghee.com
Main St. • Inner City Driggs, Idaho Open 7 days a week
307 734 0804 915 alpine lane | jackson wy 83002
Kyle Clancy I remember when all these park rats invaded Mammoth Lakes, Calif., from the East Coast in the nineties. Kyle Clancy was one of them. It was just that: I mean literally hundreds of Vermont plates and strange accents overnight! This other click, being heavily skate-influenced, had moved to town, cranked up the Slayer and made people take notice. The youth and The Antics instantly livened up the joint on and off the mountain. Even though Clancy was from Vermont and part of that crew, he was always independent and even a little reclusive. I think the Mammoth/Tahoe scene wore on him and he wanted a more “organic” (he’s gonna hate that I used that word) shred experience. Jackson Hole and, more importantly to Kyle, its surrounding backcountry was the perfect choice. Now, he snowmobiles from his house in Alpine, has a park in his front yard, skates when he can and works as hard as anybody I’ve seen. I’m proud to see that he has become one of the best snowboarders in the world — especially while being a great husband and father! I was honored that he asked me to write his intro. This is no obituary; we will see plenty more of Kyle Clancy! — KEVIN JONES
Interviews By Willie McMillon Photos By Stephanie Peterka -112-
Who is the worst snowboarder of all time? Everybody who skis. Why are you a dad? Because it beats watching TV with a bunch of dudes. Best thing in my life; something to come home to.
28 years old and I’m still progressing and getting stronger. I know I have more to do as a rider, and when I don’t have any goals, that’s when I’d be milking it!
Tell me your life story in one sentence. Taking it easy while working really hard at what I want.
What are you gonna do when the checks stop rolling in? Not thinking about that — I’m designed for this lifestyle. I have to make this work. There have been points where the checks slowed down and I just kept trying. I was dropped by all five of my sponsors at once. I was pissed, but it made me more serious and focused.
Who is “The Shit”? Jake Blauvelt.
Who is keeping it real? Any snowboarder who doesn’t want to end up in Hollywood.
Biggest differences between Wyoming and California? Wyoming is behind the times; California is too big for its britches.
Are we doomed as a society? I think the bad parts of our society are doomed: unaccountability, greed and lack of concern. That is my hope.
Why’d you move to Mammoth? Awesome park riding every day, a good way to be seen. Everybody is trying to make it. Why’d you move to Wyoming? Great big mountains, a way not to be seen. Everybody is trying hard to be over it. Is Alpine better than Jackson? Why or why not? Alpine is really bad — don’t come down here.
How does one reach his/her full potential? By being objective and cutting out the b.s. in life. Have you reached yours? I’m on my way, damnit. What was the most money you’ve ever made at one time as a snowboarder? I’ve won $10,000 a couple of times. Handrail contest, of all things.
What happened to snowboarding? Lots of good things over the last few years. The one problem is that a lot of riders only want to ride handrails down stairs. That’s cool, but you only get 3 feet of airtime at the most. Snowboarding is about going fast and big; people forget that. You should strive to be an all-around machine and you’ll go places in the sport.
What really happened to Grenade? They’re still going strong and just hanging out in Hollywoodland, I guess.
Would you rather be a pro telemarker or a pro-telemarketer? I think you don’t need kneepads for telemarketing.
How much change do you have on the floor of your truck right now? Used it all on gas. People still get pissed when you buy $1.50 in gas. That will change.
Is this the worst interview ever? It’s pretty bad. How much longer are you going to milk your career? It’s been my only source of income since I was 15 years old. Now, I’m
Retard Riot or The Ones Who Got Away? The Retard broke up, but The Ones (Willie’s band) still plays shows here and there.
What’s next? Exploring new terrain and trying to go bigger than the year before, build the kickers a little larger, and start a few more yards up the hill.
Bryan Iguchi What can I say that hasn’t been said about Bryan? I guess I do know him a little bit differently than others, but he is still the same genuine friend to me that he is to just about everyone. One point that needs to be made is that he is the reason I moved to Jackson Hole ten years ago and is also the reason I was able to move back ten years later. Traveling around the world and living in random places finally led me to the fact that I wanted to be here more than anywhere else. Bryan gave me that key. We have known each other since the root of everything that led to the lives we live now. Hard to believe that two skids from SoCal that called Big Bear their home mountain ended up in Jackson, their perfect niche. While I was off getting weird in the corners of Eastern Europe, Bryan held it down here in the valley and progressed into one of the most solid mountain riders and human beings I know. Not only has he been like a friend and a brother, but he has also been someone for me to look up to as a role model. Step into the present day and he and his beautiful wife, Lily, and their baby boy, Mylo, share their home with me and make me feel like family every day. Bottom line is, there are not too many people in the world that have hearts as big or keep it as real as Bryan does. — MIKEY P.
What’s the worst situation you’ve ever gotten anyone but yourself into? I’m kind of known for “wild Guch chases” where I’ll play down how long and hard a hike is, or the gnarliness of a sled mission, to convince people to come with me. I love a good recon mission and am not afraid to suffer a bit. What’s the worst situation someone else has gotten you into? Getting lost in Wolf Creek the day before Thanksgiving. We were misguided out of bounds, realizing after riding down a lot of vert that we were lost and then tried to hike out for hours. It was a sobering moment when we knew we had to spend the night in the backcountry with no real gear or food. We had never been there before and had no idea how to get out. Everyone stayed cool and just did what we had to: built a shelter, a fire and found water. We never panicked or freaked out — just kept busy taking turns collecting firewood and listening for Search and Rescue. It was a real test of our ability to survive. Looking back, it’s actually one of my best memories. What are the main differences between the SoCal and Jackson shred scene? A few thousand people. When was your first visit to Jackson? 1991. When and why did you leave SoCal and come here? In 1995. I wanted to learn more about the mountains and become a better rider. Did anyone vibe you? Just you. What are the main attributes you look for in a friend? Honest people, people you can count on in good times and bad. People that make me laugh. How many people moved to Jackson Hole because of you? Two: Mike Parillo and Tim Ramirez. Best thing about having a kid? The feeling that your heart is about to explode with love every time you see him. Best thing about not having a kid? Sleeping through the night. What did you want to be when you were growing up? A pro surfer or skater. Did you think your snowboard career would last this long? Not even close. How much longer do you have left? You never know. Who is responsible for getting you into this? Tim Ramirez and Chris Brailo. What advice do you have for someone who wants to be like you? Ride and have as much fun as possible. That’s a good place to start.
What’s the worst situation you’ve ever gotten anyone but yourself into? I think it was when I got socked in with a friend snowmobiling in Tahoe and totally lost all sense of direction. It was my idea, my sleds, no compass, no GPS, snowing hard, almost had to stay the night with no camp gear. It wasn’t cool.
“highlight” career-wise, just because it was judged by peers and you had to be well-rounded to get that award. Hearing Daryl Hannah say that I won ESPN’s Rider of the Year while Metallica was giving me high-fives was pretty cool! That was like a dream.
What’s the worst situation someone else has gotten you into? We were deep in the Chugach in Alaska, trying to get that golden light of the evening. We were in a heli called the Pumpkin (I’m sure a lot of you know the bird I’m talking about) and knew that the Coast Guard wouldn’t come pick us up after 9 p.m. We took our last runs and sat in the shade on the glacier — after high-fives, of course. After what seemed like hours, the heli finally showed up and shut the engines down. We loaded up our gear. Then, the pilot tries to start this thing and it makes this sound like a methed-out dying hyena. So we unload and the pilot starts tinkering with this thing and it’s cold. The guide starts looking at our camp gear in the back, which was a couple of space blankets and an extra set of gloves. We start to get kinda worried and think we might actually have to stay out here! The pilot says, “Stay out here and I’ll try again,” with his voice really nervous. Usually, pilots are pretty cocky, so I got real nervous. He tries again and this huge plume of black smoke comes out of the back of this thing like a diesel truck. Wouldn’t start. No radio contact, it’s late, and it’s almost dark by this time. Pilot tries one more time. Of course, now it starts. We had to make the decision of being eaten by grizzlies fresh out of hibernation or a heli crash! I opted for a heli crash. It sucked, but we made it back and had quite a few beers that night!!
What makes you happy? Powder, good people.
What’s the biggest difference between Jackson and Tahoe? Biggest difference is the snowpack for me. I can’t say anything bad about Tahoe, but Tahoe snow is a maritime snowpack and doesn’t last as long after a storm. But it’s safer avalanche-wise. Snow stays better here longer, but needs to be taken more seriously from a snow-science aspect! Of anywhere I’ve ridden in the world, though, the tram and the hiking in Jackson are hard to beat out! I don’t know — they are both insane. What made you move here? The reason I moved here was for the mountains! The people here have a real passion for the mountains and the outdoors, and those are the people I want to be around. I had been here six or seven times before and loved it, but it was so much easier for me to get done what I had to get done in Tahoe. I just knew Tahoe so well and had done so much recon with the Hatchett brothers (Standard Films), Mack Dawg and Fall Line Films. It makes it easier when you know where you’re going! It never made sense till this last season. I always knew I wanted to live here; it just finally fell into place! Was there a breaking point for you as a pro shred? Yeah, for sure!! I just got so over the industry stuff, so burned out on the brobrah scene. I had been lied to, cheated, and after 12 years of perpetual winter, I just needed a break. It was weird, though: the couple of years I didn’t snowboard on a serious level, something was missing. I was unhappy and couldn’t figure out why. Are we doomed as a society? It’s kinda like that Porno For Pyros song, “We’ll Make Great Pets.” What was the highlight of your career? As far as my biggest highlight, it was the first time I ever rode in Alaska in ’96. I had never been humbled like that and never talked shit about big mountain riders ever again. I think that Rider Of The Year for three years in a row was the best
What makes you sad? I don’t know — global warming, ice, and crappy people that take advantage of other people or situations. Guilty pleasures? I have to admit I have a fly fishing addiction that got in the way of snowboarding for a while. Is there life after death? Yes, of course. What does the future hold for you? I just want to keep shredding till my body won’t let me anymore, try to be healthy and not get hurt. Who are the most crooked people in the industry? Agents, corporate sponsorship “bros” — there are exceptions, of course. I guess it’s the people who want something from snowboarding and don’t want to give back. Over the years, I have seen so many dipshits that just want to make a buck and have nothing to do or want to have anything to do with our sport. They just wanted a buck. The worst one I ever dealt with was … well, I guess I’ll just let it rest. I think Jackson is one of the best places to get away from all of that to a certain extent. On the flip side, there some of the greatest people in the world in our industry, too. Ones that live it, and their hearts and souls are snowboarding. Who has helped you the most? Billabong, for sure! I have been riding for them for fifteen years. Even when I was snapping and told them I was never snowboarding again, they stuck behind me. Mike Hatchett and Standard Films have also been huge supporters over the years. Who is most metal? There are so many, but I think the person that influenced me the most was Noah Salasnek. Great skater, great snowboarder — the way he opened up big mountain riding to the world blew me away. I just loved how he had so much skate style and took that to some of the gnarliest runs to date. There are so many … . What do you look for in a friend? A sense of humor, for sure. It helps if they don’t want to ride the park on a powder day. How does one reach his/her full potential, and have you reached yours? You have to love what you’re doing. I think you could get all geeked out on this, but I think that’s it. If you’re in it for the wrong reasons, it probably won’t work out for you. As far as reaching my full potential, I sure hope not! I mean, I’m not going to go for anymore X Games medals or try and be Snowboarder Of The Year again, but I believe that I still have something to contribute to this thing we call snowboarding. When I don’t, I’ll stop wasting your time. But I’ll still be out there. Snowboarding.
Kevin Jones Kevin is the best snowboarder ever. He changed the tricks people did, he changed the way people did business, and he never took himself too seriously. He has come a long way from landing 1080s in the backcountry and inventing the 450-spin onto rails. At some point, he got sick of all the people in the snowboarding industry being greedy or dishonest or whatever and gave “real life” a shot. He soon found out that real life is not as much fun, and now he is here in Jackson. We’re glad to have you here, buddy. If you see him around, tell Kevin he’s awesome. He’ll hate it, but it’s good for him. — KYLE CLANCY
What’s the worst situation you’ve ever gotten anyone but yourself into? Can’t really talk about it. I still feel bad. What’s the worst situation someone else has gotten you into? Vague memories of early school snowmobile missions with Guch. What are the main differences between the SoCal and Jackson shred scene? Fashion and function, real and fake, night and day, black and white, etc, etc. When did you first visit Jackson? When Bryan moved out here in ’95. I instantly knew that this was what it was all about. What do you miss about Prague? Friends, the countryside, cottages, super-cool and super-beautiful women, great beer and the relaxed atmo. What don’t you miss about Prague? Rude and jealous people, ZERO opportunities, getting unintentionally drunk like every day, and being too far from the mountains. What made you move back to Jackson? All of the above, wanting more out of life and having a gut feeling that the time was right. Tell us about the Hard Winter Lane house. What was the craziest thing you saw while living there? Guch and Ramirez taking a circular saw to the interior deck in the garage while building a ramp. It was pure craftsmanship. What is Asymbol? It’s our vehicle to make available to everyone’s walls the art and photos that have inspired this lifestyle over the years. We will launch our winter collection in mid-November at www.asymbolgallery.com, so keep an eye out. I’m the art director for the project and TR and I have been putting a lot of time into gathering some amazing images. We will feature some of my work and the work of Jamie Lynn, Scott Lenhardt, Tim Zimmerman and Jeff Curtes, to name a few. What do you look for in a friend? I just follow my intuitive instinct when it comes to character judgment. There are no real set criteria that I follow. Are we doomed as a society? That’s entirely up to us as individuals. We have some serious issues to work out, but there is always hope. What are 3 things that make you happy? Simplicity, creative connectivity and laughter. How does one reach his/her full potential? Hard work, sincerity, integrity and absolute belief in one’s dream and vision. Have you reached yours? I’ll be working on it every day of my life. Because once you feel you’ve reached it, what do you do — get complacent, give up? There is always a higher plane.
Mike Parillo
You may recognize Mike Parillo for his creative paintings and unique snowboard graphics, but he’s a rider first and foremost. Mike is one of my oldest and best friends in the sport. I met him in 1992 in Big Bear Lakes, California, when we worked together building the world’s first snowboard park. When we met, he was living in a tent in the woods and was completely devoted to riding. I instantly gained a ton of respect for him — living like that just to ride, showing up to the hill every day eating frozen burritos and Top Ramen without even cooking it. He was hardcore and we became good friends quickly. It was a time of creativity: He took a featureless mountain and built jumps and the next thing we knew, people were coming from all over the world to ride them. I have great memories of riding park laps with Mike in Big Bear and road tripping around California and Oregon in the early days. Some of the best times were our first backcountry riding experiences in the Southern Sierras while filming for Volcom’s “Alive We Ride” and “The Garden.” If you’ve seen him ride, you won’t forget his powerful style: charging hard always, super-fun to shred with ... stoked and smiling. He’s been on the front lines of our sport for years as rider/artist, constantly defining and contributing. Mike was a natural when it came to painting, and it consumed him once he started. His work continues to evolve as his life is constantly changing. — GUCH
Words By Mike Parillo Artwork By Mike Parillo & Jamie Lynn Asymbol is the vehicle Travis Rice, myself and a few dedicated others are using to try to showcase the creative interpretations of the world that surrounds us. It was created because of Travis’ own search to find and highlight the works of art that have been personally inspirational to him and his cronies. Asymbol is an online gallery representing the paintings and photographs of the image makers who have driven our lifestyle for the past decade. It is also a production house, creating archival-quality, large-format editions of these images and making them attainable. Based in Jackson but accessible worldwide, our constantly evolving collection will have a little something for everyone, from board-culture enthusiasts and beyond. Newly launched and always expanding, be sure to take a look at asymbolgallery.com and enjoy the little mental escape with works from Jamie Lynn, Tim Zimmerman, Scott Lenhardt, Jeff Curtes, Mike Parillo, Trent Mitchell, Nick Russian, Danny Zapalac, Matt French and more.
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49’R & Gondom WWW.TLG8.COM
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Beer & Loathing
Words By Adam Dowell
Ladies and gentlemen! Welcome, welcome, welcome to the greatest show on Earth! No, it’s not Barnum and Bailey’s, and no, it’s not actually the greatest show on Earth, but allow me to take you on a tour through this circus that is the trade show anyways. As you enter, you’ll notice a 400-pound male security guard alongside a 90-pound, cracked-out female security guard whom he might eat. They both like to flex their rent-a-cop — or even lesser at that — power to ensure that they stop you EVERY time to check your entry credentials. Continue the tour and you’ll see a vast array of snow-sport booths. On one side of the arena you’ll find the skier booths, which I swear are so fucking boring you can hear crickets. As you walk by, the douche-bag dude running his “fuzzy ski helmet covers” company looks at you as if you’re going to shank him since you have baggy pants and are drinking beer at noon, but it’s VEGAS! Once you’ve passed through the skier zone you will enter the zoo that is the snowboarders’. Here you’ll find the bearded lady. Actually, it’s not a bearded “lady” per se, but in fact some jackass dude who’s wearing his sister’s pants, her hairdo, a dirty white V-neck, a feather in his ear, and calls himself a pirate, or a snowboarder, or a jackass. I’m not exaggerating either is the sad thing. You’ll also find “The Wangsters,” a posse of kids who grew up in the suburbs, but because they snowboard and listen to hip-hop, they think they’re thugs and can dress the part. They wear bandanas around their necks, not to protect them from all the sun and snow inside this conference building, but to show how “hard” they are in case you couldn’t tell from their Tupac shirt. Now, I can’t fully dog on this trade show because if you can take your eyes off those losers and the beautiful girls in thongs they hired to stand in front of their booths,
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Photo By Jesse Brown
you’ll find true snowboarders. Like Kurt Wastel, Danny Kass, Willie McMillon, Travis Rice, Mark Carter, Chris Coulter, Kyle Clancy and legends like Jeremy Jones. So let’s continue the tour, shall we? I understand that dressing up like Hunter S. Thompson is a timeless thing to do in Vegas, but to have 100 dudes doing it? You aren’t that fucking original. Think it through because you’re fat and smell bad. Anyways, here I was, prepared with portfolios and DVDs to hand out. Just an eager young snowboarder trying to poke his dick a little farther into the industry’s vagina. You see, if you don’t have sponsors, or enough of them, this is where you go to get them. You have to talk yourself up and say how super-cool you are and how hard you shred and how you can make their company super-cool too, and hope they believe you. It is also an opportunity for shops around the globe to come and place their orders for the new gear and socialize with the industry acolytes — in Vegas of all settings. Vegas is a highly skewed version of what is considered acceptable behavior. It has enough secondhand smoke to kill an entire Tibetan village. Enough beer to drown the population of New York in a tank. Enough liquor to give the entire state of Nevada alcohol poisoning. Enough slots that every person from Japan could be on one. Enough entertainment that Justin Timberlake could go broke trying to watch it all. Enough extracurricular drugs to kill Michael Jackson again. Too soon? Whatever, enough with the analogies for Vegas because now the trade show is moving to Denver, where the bars close at 2 a.m. That sucks, but the good times will still be there to be had, along with the real people, the fake people, the industry and the booze.
JHSC to SASS ...
Words & Photos By Jeff Moran
“I’m telling you, dude, it’s the experience of a lifetime! You’ll come down for two weeks and stay for a month. It’s that good!” That’s what Travis Moore, part owner and Director of Sales at South America Snow Sessions Camp (SASS), told me every time we crossed paths last winter. Part of me was very interested, part of me thought he was just feeding me his sales pitch, and part of me wondered if anyone knew he was off his meds again. Nevertheless, I rounded up a pack of eager young rippers from the Jackson Hole Ski & Snowboard Club’s (JHSC) Freeride Program and we set course for Bariloche, Argentina. Our crew included JHSC athletes Cam Fitzpatrick and brothers Jimmy, Jack and Phil Hessler, as well as Colman Cook and Annalise Johnson. Although promises of fresh snow, backcountry booters and big mountain lines are what enticed us initially, it was the opportunity to increase our avalanche and backcountry knowledge, speak Spanish regularly, and be immersed in Argentine culture that sealed the deal. This was more than a trip to summer shred camp; it was an adventure. SASS is located in the picturesque city of Bariloche, Argentina, on the shores of Lago Nahuel Huapi, just minutes from the Cerro Catedral ski resort. Cerro Catedral’s terrain leaves little to be desired, with everything from steep couloirs, wide-open powder fields, cliffs, cornices and cat tracks to spacious “enchanted” forests and technical bamboo jungles — and that’s just inbounds. With the heavy and abundant maritime storms that pound down on the Northern Patagonian Andes, it’s no wonder they measure snowfall in meters. On a regular basis, a single overnight storm would transform previously unrideable terrain into our newest playground. -126-
Photo: Armelle Burke
Our crew wasted no time taking full advantage of what each day had to offer. From the second the wheels left the tarmac, Colman, Jack, Cam, Annalise, Phil and Jimmy were embracing every moment of their travels. The entire JH crew made a powerful impression on the SASS campers and staff, both on and off the hill. Whether it was their dance moves, bags of tricks, positive attitudes or enthusiasm for whatever the day brought, they made friends and impressions that will last forever.
detail how amazing our trip was. We made friends and contacts from all over the world. We ate incredible meals. We learned about avalanche and backcountry safety. We experienced a totally different culture. We spoke a different language. We hucked backcountry booters and endless cliffs. And, of course, we rode deep, deep snow in absolutely mind-blowing terrain. I feel incredibly fortunate that I was able to be a part of this amazing experience and am already planning our trip back next summer. You should come, too!!
The SASS staff prides itself on its ability to run a world-class snowboard and freeride camp that caters to riders of all abilities and desires. It was completely apparent that everyone involved with SASS is there because they eat, sleep and breathe skiing or snowboarding (or both). On any given day, the SASS staff may be battling Mother Nature and/or the ever-present “A-factor,”* but no matter what, they produce an experience that makes each and every camper, pro, coach and visitor call home begging to stay longer.
Travis was right: It was the “experience of a lifetime,” and while I originally planned to go for two weeks, I ended up staying for a month. Thanks to everyone who made that happen!
If I had ten pages in this magazine, I still couldn’t tell you in enough
Find out more about South America Snow Sessions at sasnow.com or on Facebook as Snow Sessions. *A-factor – The Argentine culture of doing things how they want, when they want … if they want.
INTEGRA R RA A AT T E PERFORMANCE N & STYLE NCE I/O GRANDSTANDING GOGGLE MARK CARTER smithoptics.com
A Hopi Elder Speaks
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“You have been telling the people that this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this is THE HOUR. And there are things to be considered … Where are you living? What are you doing? What are your relationships? Are you in right relation? Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your Truth. Create your community. Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for the leader.
suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water. And I say, see who is in there with you and celebrate.
Then he clasped his hands together, smiled, and said, “This could be a good time! There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will
We are the ones we’ve been waiting for.”
At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all, ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt. The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.
— Attributed to an unnamed Hopi elder Hopi Nation Oraibi, Arizona
avalon7 was built to help you remember who you are, that you are capable of great things.
AVALON7
om
-7.c a-v
selves. Find your truth. step out of your box . open your eyes and realize you are a force of n
we hope to inspire and excite, incite and combust people into whole beings, into their true
AVALON7
ature and you are limitless in your potential. you are the future. be futurepositiv.
Wednesday Night Lights Words By Rob Kingwill Photos By Angel & Ed
If you are in Jackson this winter looking for something to do on a Wednesday night, come check out the Wednesday Night Lights RailBattle at Snow King Mountain! I started the RailBattles with the help of Jeff Moran at the Jackson Hole Ski & Snowboard Club as a way to bring a fun event to the kids in the community. When I was growing up in Jackson, there used to be a town race series that we could enter every week. It really helped me to figure out how to deal with the pressure of competing, how to prepare, and how to turn it on when it counts. Plus, it was fun to go out and compete against my friends to see who was the fastest. I felt that Jackson really needed another fun event series to give the kids something to do and help them be more prepared if they do choose to compete on a higher level. So, Jeff and I got together and made it happen. To keep the focus on fun, the top three get prizes and then we hold a raffle so everyone that enters can win. We have a ton of support from Jackson Treehouse, the Boardroom, and Hoback Sports, as well as Skullcandy and AVALON7. The overall winners get their names burned into a 200-year-old Tibetan cup that I bought as a trophy and dubbed “The Town Cup.� Sign-ups start at 4:30 p.m. on Wednesday, Feb. 24 and March 3, 10 and 17 at the Snow King Lodge Room. The contest is open to everyone over the age of 12, so come join us!
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Legacy
By Dustin Varga
Funny, isn’t it, how in this lifetime almost everything comes full circle. Bob Marley said, “Once a man and twice a child.” This could never be truer! One instance is that we all wore diapers when we were little babies and most of us have a chance of wearing them yet again when we get old. Yuck!! Or how about all those times we get upset at the old lady driving 15 in the 55 zone, or blocking the aisle or checkout at Albertsons, not realizing that we’re all destined to be the slowpoke when we get older. I am guilty as charged, and now that I have a little boy and my injuries don’t heal as fast, and I am certainly not as rad as I thought I was, karma has a way of sneaking up on you, so be careful! I’ll go out on a limb and declare that most of the people we hang with will definitely get married, have some children, babies, man-cubs, kiddies, or whatever you want to call them, sometime in the near future. It is the most desirable and noble of ideas to teach them well and also teach them the way of the shred. Jackson Hole jedis and ninjas born to current shredders are poppin’ up everywhere! Finn, little Rock, Harper, Winter, little Axl Koch, Little Guch and a myriad of others are ready to take over and drive the shred bus. Hopefully, the toilet-papering, egg-throwing, apartment-thrashing, potty-mouth, no-good (yet fun and harmless) traits will all have gone by the wayside and swum off with all the other tadpoles that didn’t make the cut for the big game. Highly doubtful, but if DNA holds true, they will also inherit mental maps of secret trails, pow stashes, cliff drops and wind lips all over the entire valley. As a big Jackson plus, these kids will be able to remain somewhat civilized and cognizant of proper behavior toward skiers and other snow sliders, and represent when hitting up other mountains around the world. On that note, I will see you in Corbet’s Cave this winter right after I change three diapers, build a Big Wheel, heat up some milk and go get ready for round two, ’cause Mama’s got another bun in the oven!!!
My father used to say You sleep with dogs the next day You’ll wake in the bed scratching Those inevitable fleas At ten years old You listen to what you are told But I never felt the itch I never would My mother had forbidden me To waste away my life I want you to have all the things I could never buy you So don’t stop what I’d begun You’re my one, my only son Follow what I say not what I’ve done Follow what I say not what I’ve done Shower, scrub, and shave Cleanly boys don’t misbehave Follow what I say not what I’ve done — NOFX, “Fleas” Photo: Chuck T.
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Thank you.
As I sit here and try and think of what to say for this closing thought, the only thing I can think of is thank you. Thank you to all of our contributors, advertisers and readers for supporting us over the last five years. Our magazine has gone places we never expected it would, and we can’t wait to see where it takes us next. Over the last five years, we have worked extremely hard to make a publication that reflects upon this amazing place we call home. We never set out to make the best magazine in snowboarding, but rather, to create something that not only we could be proud of, but our community could be proud of as well. We have filled this issue with jaw-dropping imagery from some of the most talented names in the game. We have also set out to deliver a product filled with inspirational writing meant to empower the reader and not beat them down. I can’t say enough about how lucky I am to work with such a talented group of individuals, and that none of this would be possible without the help of Michael Bills and Kristen Joy. Every year, they bust their asses to help make this possible and I would never be able to do it without them. As you flip through our pages, notice the diversity of the words and images you see displayed. We strive to produce a magazine that goes beyond the simple monotony of snowboarding, and rather, offers a glimpse into a subculture that few will ever have the pleasure of living. We have grown exponentially since our inception, and although we had to weather an economic tsunami, we are in a good place. We are not rich off this publication and probably never will be, but if I measured success by the amount of money in my pocket, then I would be doing myself an injustice. There are many people around the world with plenty of money that I would not consider successful. Success is something that you find from within, and only you will know when you have achieved it. To me, success is living your dreams and feeling blessed to wake up every morning in a beautiful place with amazing friends and family. I challenge all of you to go out and find your own successes. Let’s not be discouraged by our daily news and instead, see it as a chance to make a difference and make the world a better place for all future generations. I truly thank each and every one of you for taking the time to check out this magazine. We are nothing without all of you, and it’s because of the overwhelming support we receive that we strive to progress and make every issue better than the last. “An individual has not started living until he can rise above the narrow confines of his individualistic concerns to the broader concerns of all humanity.” — Martin Luther King Jr.
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Photo: Jesse Brown