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WINTER 2021 | volume 2.0 What Really Matters?
Emily Tidwell / Rider Ricky Hower at Mt. Hood, Oregon. LEFT “God I’ve Missed You” by Frank Moth
snowpack really
“Compassion is radicalism of our time.” - Dalai Lama XIV
Ryan Creary
P: TAL ROBERTS
A: LUCAS WACHS
THE SEND IS NEAR.
@10BARRELBREWING
Scan to check out Lucas Wachs' full segment in Matchstick Productions’ latest film Huck Yeah!
Intro
“Is the grass always greener on the other side, or do I need to water my lawn more?” Back in March 2020 - just as ‘Rona was making global headlines, my wife and I purchased an old cabin near the once robust farming community of Whitehall, Montana. A few weeks after signing the paperwork, I was furloughed from both of my “real” art director jobs. For the first month or so, I figured things would go back to normal, then month two went by, and three. Fear crept in. Financial stability was becoming an issue and we had a baby boy on the way. By June, I became impulsive: I remember walking into our house and asking my wife if she wanted to take one last look at her. She was already crying through the window. I walked back outside and handed over the keys to our beloved van. In moments like these, split decisions are made. At the time I had no idea I’d be creating Bomb Snow ever again, so we let her go. I realize selling the van is trivial and a ridiculous thing to be upset about, especially during a pandemic. And losing two jobs isn’t the worst problem either. In fact, If it weren’t for last year’s pitfalls, or Powder Magazine shutting it’s doors, Bomb Snow would not have been brought out of hibernation. To work on a project I’m passionate about again, and
to see the excitement from our readership after announcing its return, made me realize what matter’s most – and so it goes – at first this project was a lifestyle and a hobby, now it’s a living; we’ll carry the torch with pride and we’ll do it without corporate ownership. Thank you readers (and sponsors) for trusting us. But we seem to ask ourselves all of the “what-ifs” imaginable don’t we? How will I provide for my new family? Will I need another job to support this endeavor? Should I change careers and do something completely different? This thought pattern is exhausting for everyone involved and it’s a complete waste of the present. As Teddy Roosevelt said- “Comparison is the thief of joy.” The sooner we tend to our own lawns and stop wondering what the other side looks like, the better off we will be. And the sooner we ask ourselves what really matters in life, the earlier we’ll be doing what the Universe wants. So, as we start this crazy new decade, Bomb Snow has asked our contributors, “What Really Matters?” to them. I hope their insight will bring some perspective to you, our readers, and help you navigate through these turbulent times.
The “Old” Bomb Snow van, March 2019. Update: We let the Universe decide for us and a new van “Reggie” has fallen into our lap. Check out our Insta page for more updates on Reginald’s progress and DM us any of your ongoing #skibumhousing projects @bombsnow.
Todd Heath / Chief Motivator
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TREES FOR THE FUTURE provides smallholder er farmers how to restore degraded agricultural land farmers pathways out of poverty and hunger by planting trees in forest gardens around the world. Their Forest Garden Approach (FGA) is a 4-year training and technical assistance program to teach rural smallhold-
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into thriving “Forest Gardens.” This approach benefits farmers, both economically and socially, while creating co-benefits for the environment through soil revitalization and carbon sequestration. Pretty neat, right?
, A TREE IS PLANTED FOR EVERY BOMB SNOW MAG WE SELL ONLINE.
Dave Heath
Contents
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
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The photos above represent just some of the stories you will embark on within this issue. The next page corresponds to the humans involved in creating them. There are no page numbers on purpose, please enjoy responsibly. – Bomb Snow
This magazine is dedicated to our friends and family members who died too soon, may you remain forever in our hearts.
Endsley Barrett, David Granger, Patricia Heath, Peter Lazar, Peter Maxwell, Eric McConeghy, Bryce Newcomb, Christopher Peterson, Steven Popovich
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Issue 24 | Volume 2.0 Chief Motivator
Todd Heath Managing Editor
ALEX BueCKING Editor-At-Large
ETHAN A. STEWART Copy Editor
KRISTOPHER DRUMMOND Sales Directors
Amy Balbier M. DAVID JOHNSON Cont. Designer
Craig Moore / Glacierworld.com / Skier Dan Greene in Whitefish, Montana.
RYAN WILSON Senior Photographers
Travis Andersen Dan Armstrong Cont. Photographers
RYAN CREARY DEAN BLOTTO GRAY GRANT GUNDERSON DAVE HEATH JORDAN INGMIRE MORGAN MAASSEN CRAIG MOORE JASON THOMPSON EMILY TIDWELL NOAH WETZEL Cont. Writers
Travis AndersEn Guy Alsentzer SAKEUS BANKSON Victor DeLeo KRISTOPHER DRUMMOND ANNIE FAST HEATHER HANSMAN MIKE HARRELSON TIM HAWKE ROSS JANZEN MEGAN MICHELSON mike rogge ETHAN A. STEWART TIMOTHY TATE Kyle Taylor PARKER THOMPSON Brad VanWert EAN WOOD Cont. Artists
MEGAN BUECKING Hannah Eddy ANDREW HOFFMAN Cover Artist
FRANK MOTH Special Thanks
TO ALL OF OUR SPONSORS Spirit Animal
RICHARD ASPEN
Contributors
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
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It took us 5 years to print another magazine but we did it, and thanks to the line-up below, we’ll do it again. 1. HEATHER HANSMAN is a former editor at Powder and Skiing, and a current itinerant freelance writer. Her book about ski bums, ski towns, and the future of living the dream, Powder Days, will be out in November. You can preorder it from your local bookstore now and we think you should. 4. ANNIE FAST started writing while studying at Montana State University, documenting the exploits of inspiring locals, while herself exploring the surrounding mountains on her snowboard. This led to a 10-year tenure at TransWorld SNOWboarding Magazine, where she previously served as the editor-in-chief. Annie continues to snowboard and write about outdoor adventures from her home in Bend, Oregon. 7. ALEX BUECKING spent the last 10 years operating his life like a racket, figuring out how to go skiing and call it “work”. These endeavors include writing for various outdoor publications, selling ski equipment, and editing Bomb Snow Magazine. He doesn’t work in the ski industry anymore, but the goal remains the same.
Ryan Creary
10. EAN WOOD is a writer, teacher and coach who focuses on helping people reconnect to themselves, others, and the natural world. He sees outdoor enthusiasts as a pivotal collective of people necessary for the future of this planets overall health and survival. Find more about him at: eanwood.com.
2. DAVE HEATH is a vagabond planet earth wanderer, wet wind warrior, and mountain epic discoverer. His adventures have had him tackling penguins in the Antarctic and first descents in the sub-Arctic. He thinks that you should do...rather than say. And if you dare crack a few and listen, there will be great adventures to hear of: chest deep powder in Poland, rocky chutes in Turkey, or the endless singletrack of his backyard. Best then, because you probably won’t find him (unless you too exist in some parallel universe of endless presence), to sit back and watch. Soak in amazing photography that focuses less on the perfect frame and more on the imperfect story–images that speak the truth of an incredible world and its most fascinating people. Feel free to pop some cold ones along the way. He’d like that. -Mitchell Scott 5. MIKE ROGGE is the editor of Mountain Gazette, a large format, mountain literature title founded in 1966. The photo to the left shows Mike “doom scrolling.” Long live print. 8. KRISTOPHER DRUMMOND is a writer, photographer, and educator from Bozeman. His work focuses on serving the wild ecology of earth and exploring possibilities for a regenerative human culture. He also works as a dreamwork and writing coach, helping people actualize their creative goals. 11. Long before most of you whippersnappers were a gleam in your mom and pop’s eye, MIKE HARRELSON (AKA: Waxer, Harley, Hairball) was surfing in Waikiki, arcing turns on Teton Pass, and paddling West Virginia’s steep rivers. Now on geriatric cruise control, he still gets after it.
3. MEGAN BUECKING has spent the better part of the last decade in the most avant garde sector of the art world - the Montana art classroom. She’s out of the classroom now but still wrangling artists and students as the Education Director at the Arts Council of Big Sky. Freelance illustration, painting, skiing, trail running and trying to keep track of her dog and husband keep her busy in her free time. 6. A coastal creature for the better part of the past 4 decades, ETHAN STEWART started cheating on the ocean shortly after marrying a girl from Montana. Slowly but surely, a life in the surf has become a life in the mountains. A wordsmith by trade, Stewart is an awardwinning journalist with a focus on environmental issues and all the various ways humans like to get rad in nature. His work has appeared everywhere from Playboy and The Surfers Journal to ESPN, Patagonia, and Time Magazine. 9. SAKEUS BANKSON is a former editor-in-chief at The Ski Journal and Freehub Magazine. He currently lives in Roanoke, VA, but calls the PNW home. 12. MEGAN MICHELSON is a freelance journalist based in Tahoe City, CA. She has worked as an editor at Outside, Skiing Magazine, and ESPN.com and now writes for publications like Ski, Backcountry, Outside, and the San Francisco Chronicle. She also runs a coworking space in Tahoe for fellow freelancers and remote workers and is a mom to two wild kids.
“Long live print.” -Mike Rogge
Eons ago… In the world’s northernmost reaches, where day and night become one, a thousand-mile land bridge once spanned the arctic subcontinent. As human beings ventured across, no territories were claimed, no maps scribed; only the timeless continuum of existence prevailed. Division was unknown in this vanished land joining east and west, marked only by the migratory movements of close-knit communities, crafting the future. Before Hokkaido, Kamchatka or Kanatami, Valdez or Vashon, before America, there was
Beringia
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New West THINGS HAVE BEEN CHANGING rapidly around here, and there are some traditions that seem to be getting lost in the transition. I could easily be the grumpy grandpa and lament about losing the “good’ol days.” I could also be another jaded local who wants to blame everything on all the new imports. I’m not going to play that game. It’s regional bigotry. I don’t care where you happened to be born. All that matters to me is that you are a decent human. There’s plenty of my fellow nativeborn Montanans who think they are special simply for the luck of their parents copulating here, and most of them don’t even recognize that their ancestors were unintentional tourists less than 200 years ago. So, they feel justified in complaining about the Californians who moved in next door. It’s a bunch of crap – imagine how the Native Americans feel. So how do we keep these “Montana” ways from fading into memory? We remind people about them, and why they are important. I’ve been noticing a disturbing trend. It’s a small thing, but very much a part of our culture here in the 406. If you are driving down a dirt road in Montana, it is required of you to acknowledge traffic coming the other way. You don’t need to make a big production out of it. Two fingers off the steering wheel will suffice. It says “howdy, we live in the most beautiful place on Earth, enjoy...” This is an unwritten but understood rule. Your political affiliation doesn’t matter. Nor your gender or race. It just happens. You will always see an acknowledgment through the glare
of my dusty and bug-spattered windshield. I really hope that I get one back. During our long winters here, everyone keeps a shovel and a good tow strap in their rig. If we see someone stuck, we immediately pull over to help. It’s pretty much a Montana pastime. The biggest truck to join in will be the one to pull, while the rest of us pile out and push. It’s a team/ community effort that ends in a round of cheesy high fives. Join us. It’s fun. Montanans are known for being rather friendly. Some of you who came from the city might find it odd that we smile at strangers walking down the street. We make eye contact and sometimes say “Hello”. We aren’t weirdos. There’s nothing threatening about it. We really are just genuinely kind people. So, smile back, grant a little head nod – just acknowledge the kindness and pass it on. A lot of you moved to Montana for our vast wealth of public land. Please respect it and don’t leave a mess. You will often hear gunfire when you’re out recreating. A lot of us love to go target shooting. Rest assured, no one is getting murdered. It’s not a backcountry robbery, no need to panic and call the sheriff. It’s all good. But if you decide you’d enjoy partaking in this plinking pastime, make sure you know what’s behind your target! There are people everywhere enjoying our public lands, don’t assume you have the place to yourself. And if you’re driving around looking for a place to camp, don’t roll right up
WORDS Tim Hawke ART Andrew Hoffman
next to someone else’s site. It’s absolutely rude. There’s plenty of room for us all to spread out. If you’re headed out to a trail in your boots or on a bike, be prepared for anything. Things can get really “western” in a hurry out here. The weather can change on a dime. When you head into our forests, you are no longer at the top of the food chain. Our mountains are steep and the rocks are sharp. The rivers are swift and cold. Understand your limitations and pack appropriate gear. Don’t put the rescue personnel or other trail users at risk by being reckless or ignorant. And please, I beg of you, if you bag your dog’s poop, DO NOT leave the bag on the trail or down at the trailhead. No one else is going to pick it up for you. This shouldn’t need to be stated, but apparently it does. Montanans like to play in the mountains in a variety of ways. We used to all get along just fine on the trails. Hikers would wave to the friendly guys on motorcycles, and bikers were good about yielding to horse and foot traffic. And once again- everyone smiled and said hello. These courtesies have been falling apart recently. Some people seem to have this attitude that, what-I’mdoing-in-the-mountains-is-better-thanwhat-you’re-doing. It’s not. Please don’t be so sanctimonious. If you don’t want to share a trail with bikes of any kind, then please go enjoy our many wilderness areas where they are not allowed. If you’re on a trail with others, then can the attitude and smile. But also- if you want to fly down the mountain on your bicycle as
fast as possible, stick to a designated downhill ride and quit running people off the trail, and ruining it for the rest of us. Don’t ever assume that you have the trail to yourself. And dammit, take out your earbuds and turn off your speakers.
Sometimes, you’ll be cruising down a road and come across a bovine roadblock. Ranchers need to move their cows often, and occasionally that means on a highway. Don’t freak out and start honking at the cows. Let the cowboys do their job. They want their beef off that road as much as you do. Be patient. It seems that some of you are moving here to be around your like-minded, right-leaning peers. Please understand that Montana is, and always has been, a purple state. Jeanette Rankin from Montana was the first woman ever elected to the US House of Representatives (1918). She was a pacifist and a women’s rights advocate. Very progressive. We’ve recently had several Demo-
cratic governors and senators. Unfortunately, we’ve fallen victim to the politics of fear (“the commies are going to seize our guns and melt them down to make dildos for the gays!”). Although unfortunate, keep in mind that there are plenty of homegrown liberals here as well – and we also like to shoot guns. Let’s have a beer and talk. At worst, we can agree to disagree. And if you moved here as a liberal and are hoping that you can enlighten us hayseeds, you might want to reconsider. You will meet a lot of resistance if you come in hot and try to wag your finger at those who don’t agree with your politics. Be kind and maybe try a friendly conversation about issues. Don’t be combative. You’ll be surprised how open-minded Montanans can be. All in all, just be kind and courteous to all of your fellow Montanans. Hold the door open for strangers. Help a senior citizen out to their car with groceries. Feed your neighbors when you know they are in a tight spot. Shovel the snow off a stranger’s sidewalk. Just try to be an example of why we are considered such a friendly state. It’s pretty easy to do, and it keeps our little corner of the world the Last Best Place. Tim Hawke is a Montana Native who doesn’t care if you’re not. He is an obsessed explorer who values memories over money. Buy him a beer.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
really matters? WORDS Megan Michelson
family
he closest I’ve ever come to death wasn’t my death. Instead, I scoured the snow, nauseatingly, as three friends I was skiing with that day met the sudden end to their lives under the weight of an avalanche that still haunts my sleep nine years later. Part of me died that day, too.
Jason Thompson
But, of course, now loaded with a tremendous amount of guilt and sadness, my life did go on. It wasn’t the same. Prior to the avalanche, I would have told you that what mattered in life was being happy and what made me happy was skiing. I’ve been a skier since I could walk and the brightest people in my life are those I met sliding down mountains. So, yes, of course skiing mattered. But after I saw firsthand how the lure of powder just outside the ski resort boundary left two young girls without a father and three families in a spiral of grief, skiing felt like the most selfish, the most deplorable thing in the world. Of course, skiing didn’t matter. In life after avalanche, I didn’t want to waste my time commuting to a job I didn’t love in a city that wasn’t home. I didn’t want happy hour at 5 p.m. to be the happiest part of my day. So, a month after the worst day of my life, I had the best day: I married my best friend while a blizzard raged outside. Soon after, the two of us left the city and moved to the mountain town that’s always been close to my heart. I quit my job and became my own boss, something I’d wanted to do for ages. We bought a house and made it our own. My most cherished part of each day became my time outside, exploring the mountains. I was terrified to return to backcountry skiing after the avalanche, but here’s the weird thing: being out there felt like the only place I could restore myself. With skis on my feet and the quiet wilderness around me, I began to feel whole again.
The closest I’ve ever come to life wasn’t my life. It was the night my daughter was born. Hours of agonizing pain made everything else float away. My body, and what it was capable of, was all that mattered in that moment. Breathe. Endure. Breathe. Finally, the sweetest relief. She had arrived. And she was perfect and strong and healthy and staring right at me. If you ask me what matters now, I will tell you it’s them. My daughter and my son. Giving them lives they can grow from. Teaching them to be kind and brave. Doing my best to make sure the world they inherit is better than the one we got. But here’s the weird thing: The moments when teaching them all of that comes the most clear and easy when we’re skiing.
Skiing doesn’t matter, but if it’s the vehicle that gives you clarity, if it’s the moment that makes you realize what does matter, then maybe it matters, too.
Ryan Creary
The other day, I was skinning uphill on a snow-covered trail behind my house. I was towing my four-year-old son up the slope with a bungee strap attached to our waists and my husband was doing the same with our now six-year-old daughter. For a moment, I felt alone in my thoughts, breathing heavy. Breathe. Savor. Breathe. My son was singing to himself joyfully behind me, relishing the free ride through the snow-covered trees. In that space, skiing gave us a chance to be free — to be our own selves — but also to be together. Skiing doesn’t matter, but if it’s the vehicle that gives you clarity, if it’s the moment that makes you realize what does matter, then maybe it matters, too. At the top of the hill, I set my son loose and he skied down on his own, free as a baby bird taking flight into the world.
Instagrammers Never There was a time when skiers and backcountry enthusiasts relied on guides, books, and local knowledge to anticipate weather and conditions correctly. It was a period when trial and error were common practice. Since then, analog methods have been replaced by digital, and like much of our society, the internet and social media has created inept laziness when it comes to skiing. The bad etiquette of following anonymous tracks and bootpacks has made a turn for the worse. Today, many skiers simply follow an Instagram feed to find the prime conditions and locations we’re all seeking. Due to the poor behavior of some people they’re following – who actually announce exactly where they’ve skied – many casual Insta-fiends will believe whatever they see, and tag friends in the comments with lines like “Let’s go here next!” or “That could be us!”. The ubiquitous photographic images that fill our visual world are constructs, rather than absolute truth, and as such, the old saying “the camera never lies” couldn’t be further from the truth. The camera is a great liar, especially on Instagram. Today’s conditions reports are your Instagram feed, and potential trips may be based on what someone’s ‘gram looked like yesterday, with the location that was tagged. We are all guilty
of this from time to time. Even large media outlets can be guilty of seeing a ‘gram and planning a trip. I say we use this to our advantage. I live in Bozeman, one of the fastest growing cities in the country.* The last thing we need is more people, especially skiers. If you are going to post your latest neck-deep shot to Instagram, you might want to consider geotagging an alternate location. Tagging an exotic locale will make you look well-traveled, while also steering others away from the goods. Utilizing certain landmarks, bars, and hashtags can be very helpful at this. Below (with corresponding photos to the right), you will find a few examples of how to persuade the masses into believing that the epic turns you got today were actually at Vail, instead of your local stash.
1.] Here, we have Travis Andersen @travisandersen skiing powder in a crazy location. With the old dead trees, it could be Moonlight Basin. Or, since there’s a cliff band in the background; perhaps Grand Targhee or Jackson Hole Mountain Resort. You could also choose a favorite chain restaurant or box store as the geotag. For this one, how about The Olive Garden or Bed Bath and Beyond? 2.] This is a photo of George Rodney @gskizy skiing some okay snow “South of France”. Now, since you definitely don’t want anyone back in the States, or the UK for that matter, to get any ideas of exactly where you are, make sure to use #hashtags like #smellycheese #Pelforth #freedomfries and tag a location like The Grand Montets. That way, when the Brits in Cham check the ‘gram tonight, they’ll know it’s the place to be. 3.] Look at this shot of Axel Peterson @skisendski skiing in the Montana sidecountry. Now, with those cool geologic folds and nice snow, everyone will want to know where he is. Hence, I recommend finding a similar place with folds like that. Chatter Creek, BC is a place you could tag. We have all seen the sick shots of pros sitting on snowmobiles in front of that ridiculous backdrop. Using this location will make it seem like you paid tons of money to go on a guided trip, instead of a place anyone who wants to walk for six hours could get to for free. Use tags #goldenbc and #poutine.
WORDS + IMAGES Kyle Taylor
4.] This dreamy scene is Rob Raymond @roboski3600 from a “snowy basin,” get it? But you wouldn’t want everyone just down the road to know how good it is, so be sure to tag #myalta #LCCfamily and #greatestsnowonearth. Make your location the Tram Club or Peruvian to completely throw off the scent. 5.] Next we have Karl Fostvedt @crazy_karl skiing in what is the mecca of snowmobiling in Southwest Montana, but as a serious rule you are never allowed to explicitly say you are there in any media produced for social, print, or video. Please follow this rule! Instead, try tagging @bigskyresort (they love the publicity), or just Montana is fine. TGR followed these rules for years producing movies here, learn from their example. 6.] This is Whit Boucher @whitboucher standing in a couloir that could be anywhere in the world, so why put the exact one on social media? It’ll only attract others. Instead, Photoshop a rope line or a Corbet’s sign into the shot, and tag #waffles and #earlytram just to seem cool. 7.] This is Bridger Bowl. Feel free to post and tag accurate locations and scenarios if they might deter shredders from coming here. Examples are large lines, freezing rain, expensive beers, $30 parking, lack of co-eds, shitty apres-ski scenes (i.e. bad pizza and nachos) and anything else you can think of to keep the hoards away. 8.] Sort of like number 7, remember to mix in accurate locations when you are with groups of people who could potentially call your bluff. This keeps other tags more believable. Any Wedding (#8) is a great example. 9.] Always post Avy danger when you see it. Feel free to experiment, and come up with different ideas that’ll protect your stash while still appeasing the social media world. Also, check me out @taylormadeimages, where I will happily be taking offers from ski areas to tag my backcountry photos at their location. *Kyle doesn’t live in Bozeman, but you believed him.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
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bombsnow If you are going to post your latest neck-deep shot to Instagram, you might want to consider geotagging an alternate location. #vailwasdeep
Skier Mark Abma dropping pillows not bombs at Notellum Creek, BC. Remember what we just learned on the previous pages? It works for published photos as well. Follow our lead. Grant Gunderson
awareness
“RUN TO THE HILLS.” These words are embedded into my skin from shoulder to shoulder. This first tattoo, received at 18 years old, reminds me how I would escape the madness of the world. It brings back memories of my best friends and our shared love for the metal band, Iron Maiden. We were skateboard punks and snowboard bums. Our obsession started as an escape and ended as an awakening. Born in a small city north of Seattle, near age of 20, he was diagnosed as bipolar/
the foothills of the Cascade Mountains, I came into this world unconsciously knowing the importance of mental health. My mother was living with a lot of anxiety while I was still in her belly due to my father’s mental state. He has shared stories with me of wanting to run away from an early age after dealing with major abuse as a kid. Before the
schizophrenic. He was also taught from a very young age to fight, growing up in an era of “boys don’t cry” and “I’ll give you something to cry about.” This gave him the fuel to go against what the Western medical system wanted to force upon him. “Take these pills for the rest of your life. You’ll never be normal. There is no other way.”
WORDS Ean Wood PHOTOS Jordan Ingmire
“Becoming aware of the destruction of the natural world while living in a
society that continually values
profit over sustainability was a tough road to walk.”
-Ean Wood
I became obsessed with understanding more about the environment. I began learning about waste, fossil fuels, manufacturing, pollution, soil degradation, and many other subjects. I followed Tamo for some time and began embracing the title of environmental activist. Becoming aware of the destruction of the natural world while living in a society that continually values profit over sustainability was a tough road to walk. Recognizing this challenged me and brought about depression and anger. I was in pain from the amount of guilt I carried. I was aware of all the years I wasn’t paying attention, feeling the agony of pumping fuel in my car and throwing away endless amounts of trash. I started to change all of my snowboarding sponsors at this time in my life. I was working hard to get my actions to align with my words. Simultaneously, my connection to nature was strengthening. Every day in the mountains became a ceremony of life, bringing awareness to every breath as an exchange with the plants, feeling the sun rays warming my skin and the snow under my feet in a whole new way. My life was ridiculously gifted. I was traveling in a vehicle that ran on waste vegetable oil, deeply immersed in my greatest passion, joined by some amazing people. I was utilizing my platform created through snowboarding to share awareness about how we can enjoy the outdoors while creating less impact. I was surprised to find that snowboard companies would fund some of these eco-snowboard adventures. At this point, all my attention was going into writing and media. On the outside, I was living the life of my dreams. However, I was suffering inside. What I struggled with most was that it seemed like no one was listening. I was published in magazines all over the world and had the privilege to produce several films on eco-consciousness, yet I felt like I was mak-
Ryan Mclaughlin / Steven’s Pass, WA.
My father dove deep into books and educational programs, getting to know the inner workings of human beings and different healing modalities. He developed a love for Indigenous teachings, particularly those native to North America. In my early years, my father influenced me in a unique way, pushing me into an interest in the inner life and the natural world. Connecting to nature, myself, and the divine energies of life had an enormous impact on me, and I started reading self-help and personal development books when I was just 10 years old. As a teenager, snowboarding became my obsession. It was all I wanted to do and all I could think about. I was running to the hills anytime I could, and it continued for decades. I was never the most naturally talented in my group of friends, but my love for it was profound and it was a deep enough love to allow me to go pro. I was lucky enough to travel the world living my dream and on one of my trips, I met a powerful young man In South America named Tamo Campos. Like me, Tamo had received teachings from his father from an early age. Tamo’s lessons were focused on environmental impact; taking care of the Earth and being mindful of how we tread on this living planet. He opened my eyes to where I was asleep and how I was contributing to environmental impact every single day without any awareness, never once thinking about how my actions have a ripple effect on the planet.
Left: Ean Wood with Tamo Campos filtering veggie oil for his rig. Right: Ean Saved all of the trash he accumulated during his snowboard trip to Japan and flew back with it on the plane.
ing very little difference. It was an uphill battle that seemed to be getting steeper. I was losing traction. And then one day something changed. I can’t remember what triggered my epiphany. It was almost as if it came from nowhere. A thought bubble from infinite space and possibility burst in my brain. How could I expect people to care about the natural world around them when they barely cared about themselves? Most of us were raised in a society that taught us nothing about personal care; that everything we put into our body and mind affects how we think and feel. Food, TV, music, alcohol, cigarettes, video games, social media, relationships, etc., all affect our way of being. This, combined with a complete lack of awareness of our connection to the earth, has set us up for failure. After many years of inquiry, I came to the realization that the environmental destruction going on outside of us reflects our collective inner turmoil. Pollution, degradation, contamination, acidification; they all add up to depression,
anxiety, disconnection, suicide, and loneliness. To solve these outer issues, we must address this inner commotion. The natural world– plants, animals, swimming creatures, the birds in the sky, all need us to get our act together. Quickly. The generations to come will inherit the earth we leave them. There is a saying- we teach what we most need to learn. As I begin my departure from a life that was simply focused on finding the next big storm cycle, I am finding that I have a new passion for guidance. Teaching, coaching, writing, and sharing these perspectives of finding balance in our minds, bodies, and hearts. Ultimately, I can only do this work for myself, but I feel inclined to guide others as I have been taught. I see now that my fathers’ struggles are becoming some of my greatest gifts. The teachings I was soaking up from a young age are many of the same lessons I share with others today. The mountains were where the alchemy took place for me. I learned to care for nature, which
“How could I expect people to care about the natural world
around them when they barely cared about themselves?” Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
Christian Werhan about to “Drop-in” at Steven’s Pass, WA.
“Running to the hills began as an escape and
Running to the hills began as an escape and ultimately became how I found a truer sense of self. I wanted to play a part in raising the quality of life for others in this world. To heal. To feel more happiness and fulfillment, and to learn how to enjoy all the sensations of life, the highs and the lows. It’s all connected. Our very thoughts are measurable energy rippling into words and actions, either raising the quality of life or diminishing it. The first step is awareness, creating spaciousness within the continuous stream of thoughts. To do this, we must go inward. We must “drop in.” “Dropping in.” These words are often yelled to announce to others at the top of a line or jump that “it’s my turn, I am going.” However, as I turned more toward the practices of meditation and connecting with my inner self, the words “drop in” have taken on a different meaning.
Now I see that dropping in – into the world, into myself, into reality – is an obligation that we all share. As outdoor enthusiasts, we are on the front lines of the natural world, taking our joy, pleasure, and meaning from its endless generosity. So it should also be outdoor enthusiasts who connect with and protect the meaning of that experience, because we know more than most, that in the wild world, we truly belong. In the words of the great poet Mary Oliver, “Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting, over and over announcing your place in the family of things.”
Author, Ean Wood, “Dropping-in” at Steven’s Pass, WA.
ultimately became how I found a truer sense of self.” taught me how to properly care for myself.
Zen & the
of Stretching
connection
Seek pliability at the edges of your mind, body, and spirit. BODY For over 20 years I had a running joke with myself. As the dark days of December bore down – time to make perennial New Year’s resolutions – I’d half-heartedly say to myself, “now, this is the year I’m going to start stretching.” Ah, but 30 became 40… and 40 became 50, and I was still too caught up in the slipstream of my ADD inertia. Too buzzed on espresso, stoke, testosterone, THC, or whatever else to actually slow down, and learn how to move my body to its desired limits. It took the loss of my dear old dad to throw a ball-peen whack in my world, forcing me to my mat. There, in an effort to quiet my monkey brain and tamp down my grief, I was taught how to breathe. I learned how to utilize the lion’s share of my lungs which had remained for-the-most-part inert, and began feeling the physical rewards of elongating my connective tissues to their happy place limits. Exhale. While I realize most of you shiny faced kids are well off from being bombarded with AARP mailings, I’m here to tell you– you can’t get started too early in meticulously tending your vessel. Want to remain strong on the skin track, stay on your whitewater game, and maintain your paddling prowess for lengthy surf sessions at Punta Perfecta? Well, you best take Uncle Miguel’s advice, and start figuring out ways to keep your body pliable.
MIND Ah, there is more to this flexibility regime than biceps, hamstrings and sun salutations. Look around our collective mountain communities; we’re surrounded by beacons of inspiration in the form of those who model the sage practice of actively flexing
their brains. Continuous learning, in whatever flavor you choose, is key to carving fresh grooves in your gray matter. Whether by pursuing new skills to build furniture, take a master gardener class, sharpen your Español, bump your avy awareness, transition your career to a higher purpose, or simply breathe life into your creative epiphanies, there are infinite ways to expand your mental bandwidth. It’s arguably the most important muscle in our bodies – the one that deserves the most frequent stretching – and it sits squarely between our ears.
sonal gains might also be applied to expand our willingness to give back. As populations continue to swell and our attention spans dwindle, stretching our compassionate energy and actions to serve something more profound than ourselves is key. Whether it’s rallying people to vote, helping local youth who’ve gotten off to turbulent starts in life, devoting yourself to building out a new trail system for your community, or growing food for others; pick something you truly give a rip about and sink your teeth into it.
“As populations continue to swell and our attention spans dwindle, stretching our compassionate energy and actions to serve something more profound than ourselves is key.”
SOUL Perhaps you’ve heard Stephen Hunt’s poignant quote, “If you’re not living on the edge, you’re taking up too much space.” I’ve long pondered why I, and most of my amigos, have an affinity for chosen discomfort. Clearly it’s a deeply seeded element of our caveman/cavewoman DNA, to optout of our comparatively plush, highthread-count lives and sometimes choose, instead, a virtual bed of nails. Why else would we enjoy shivering in an -18F° snow cave in the Glacier backcountry – for days on end– merely for the promise of an unmolested line and the wish of a wolverine sighting? Or, deal with explosive gastrointestinal issues (and related Third World realities) just to post up in the bowels of Mexico on an extended surf mission? Or, simply beating our heads against a proverbial wall, pushing to achieve new personal records, be they real or existential? These are just a few ways we – in our happy bubbles – choose to stretch ourselves and live closer to our respective edges. Yet, this burning compulsion to push limits and sacrifice comfort for per-
In hopes of adding light to the world, here’s one last stretch I’ve adopted: Keep a running list of long-lost friends (and family) who’ve affected your journey, and make regular outreach efforts to keep them on your radar. This semi-random reconnect ritual has me reaching out to folks I haven’t seen or spoken to in years or even decades. I know this may sound radical, but I actually call them – out of the blue – on the phone(!) without any dire provocation or agenda. The goal is to surprise them, to caringly catch up on their lives and try to make their day just a skosh better. Ultimately, I guess the goal is to let them know that – in this bat shit crazy, slam-dancecosmopolis world – they matter, and you’re there for them. This stretch can be a real heart opener.
WORDS Mike Harrelson ART Hannah Eddy
I MOVED TO THE CITY for a once-in-a-lifetime job. It was my first winter in almost twenty years that I wouldn’t be skiing the Rockies. When the first snow came in New England, it went to waste, melting immediately on wet, black streets. The ski life I’d left in Montana suddenly felt like an ex I regretted dumping. I tried making new friends, took up yoga, and locked a useless quiver of fat skis in storage. Skiing here was never going to work. One new friend, Amy, a New Hampshire Native and self-proclaimed skier, suggested we visit a ski-making demo at Parlor Skis, a custom ski builder in an industrial corner of East Boston. Their factory is next to Constitution Beach—a sliver of sand so small it’s more a pit stop than a getaway. Similar to East Coast ski areas I presumed. Inside they were serving beer, so at least I’d have one thing in common with these people. The first thing I noticed, above the ski press machine, was a sticker. It read, “Ski the East.” I pointed and laughed.
“It’s like saying Forget your Dreams.” I said to her. Slogans are supposed to inspire us, like “Save Ferris.” Ski the East? C’mon. Icy moguls, tiny hills, big crowds? Still laughing, I looked at Amy who glared at me like I’d said the moon had better skiing and we should go there. “Why not go back to Montana with that attitude.” “Hold on,” I said. The East has half the snow, half the vertical, a quarter the acreage, twice the crowds. “It’s not a ski destination, it’s a necessity.” No one would ski the East if they could ski the West. To me, it was funny that someone wanted to celebrate it instead. She didn’t quite stomp her foot, but close. “I’ve skied here my whole life, my parents skied here, and my grandmothah skied here while my grandfathah fought in World War 2.” I felt like I’d insulted her whole family, then tried defending myself but she cut me off. “There ahh more ski areas in New England than all of your precious Rockies.”
WORDS Victor DeLeo ART Megan Buecking PHOTOS Emily Tidwell
perspective
This shot shows the Moment Ski Factory in Reno, NV (not the East Coast). It’s all about perspective.
She had a point, even though she’d have to stack a few on top of each other to equal a Big Sky. “And there ahh powdah days.” I imagined day-long lift lines and denim skiers double ejecting everywhere. She didn’t call me a jerk, but kind of. “Don’t come ‘round here with all your powdah snobbery.” Wait. A snob? Before Boston, I used to walk to the lifts from my home in Montana. I’d worked lousy jobs so I could ski everyday. I’d caught dozens of first chairs, climbed untouched couloirs in Chile and Alaska, snowmobiled deep into British Columbia’s backcountry, and skinned thousands of vertical feet in New Zealand all to scribble turns down powder that belonged to me and only me. On second thought, she was right. I was a snob. I hurt her feelings too. A part of me thought she was too sensitive. Another part of me realized I wasn’t doing a good job making friends.
I turned toward the ski builder who continued spreading glue, sandwiching wood and laminate before inserting the wood into the press. He was making a mid-fat, 105 in the waist, aspen core, carbon fiber. He explained how they made every type of ski, even fully rockered fatties. These guys did understand powder. “Um, so what makes eastern skiers different than western skiers?” I asked. Maybe he’d save me. He didn’t hesitate. “Hardah spirit, hardah snow.” Amy nodded. I realized that the eastern skier’s life, is indeed hard. They endure blue ice, bone-soaking cold, and elitist Westerners judgments. That toughness is precisely what makes East Coasters so proud that they want to celebrate it. The skiing, no matter what the conditions, must go on. Even for the snobs.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
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LOOK GOOD OOR
DON’T BOTHER
IN BECOMING A WELL-ROUNDED WINTER ENTHUSIAST, one must learn to use a plethora of tools to master the neverending pursuit of sliding on frozen water. A monoski is one such tool. The flock of monoskiers may be but a small part of the tribe, but we are growing once again. Read on, and join us if you dare.
4. Ignore the patroller with the SLOW banner; as always, speed is your friend. Pick a relatively steep blue run and point your tip into the fall line. Feel the wind flow through your uncovered hair as you pick up speed.
1. Step one is the most important: If you want to be a monoskier, you have to look good. You are no longer a member of the general public; you are one of the few, the proud, the totally radical. Your outfit must be a one-piece, no goggles, and no toque. A headband is acceptable but only encouraged on cold days. You absolutely must have a mustache. Remember, the entire monoskiing clan is depending on how good you look.
5. Once you’re ready to turn, make a pole plant well in front of you. Here is the best part – finish the turn with your ass. Oh, yeah, baby...every turn is an ass turn: pole plant, ass, pole plant, ass. This is why your ass looks so good at the end of every run. Don’t be afraid to tell people that.
2. You must be confident, even cocky. It doesn’t matter if you’ve never done it before. Exude confidence and poise. In the event of feeling insecure, remember, you only have one edge to worry about. And you look good (see rule 1).
6. When you get to the bottom, take off your “ski” and stand for a moment, allowing your fans to bask in your radness and take your photo. Do not smile. You are serious, intent; maybe even French. Slowly walk to the bar, slam a shot of Jäger and buy a round for that table of hot cougars. You are now a monoskier.
3. Soft snow is essential for your first attempt. Edge transfer (from right to left) takes a long time to master, so make sure you have warm spring snow or deep powder to cushion your soft flesh upon crashing.
WORDS Ross Janzen ART Megan Buecking
A promoter of all that is Fernie, Ross is a mono-er at heart, working hard every day to kick as much ass as possible and remain absolutely Rossome. Here he is to the right being totally radical.
humor
BBER OFF M E M A R F THE LONGE RE ONE O RE NNO A A U U O Y ICAL. ; OO Y IC LLY RAD AL PUBL A R T E O N T E E G THE DD, TH HE PROU T , W E FF
Let’s Not Denude
the valley of flowers Is it possible for mountain towns to grow without losing their soul?
EACH OF US HAS OUR OWN “Valley of
the Flowers” origin story. Valley of the Flowers, to the uninitiated, is the term that some indigenous people used to describe the Gallatin Valley in Montana which, in addition to sparkling with native botanic panache, was home to wild bison herds. Reverence for the latter, historians say, is what led to an agreement between ancient tribal enemies to put their weapons of war aside while hunting for sustenance and leave mortal conflict for another day. For more modern arrivees, Valley of the Flowers still holds allure for those looking out a window seat on a direct airplane flight from Minneapolis, Chicago, Seattle or Atlanta. Or maybe one catches a glimpse of it while driving north on US Highway 191 wending through the Gallatin Canyon and spying a first take on the dis-
tant Bridger Mountains shimmering in the close-in distance. Of course, Valley of the Flowers is also a metaphor that could be applied to Jackson Hole, Teton Valley, the Bighorn Basin, the Yellowstone River corridor between Livingston and Yellowstone or any other vale in our region.
Change, however, can be difficult to embrace no matter what form it takes. I am constantly having discussions with people trying to make sense and meaning of change; some of their stresses are related to changes occurring in the landscape around them, leaving them feeling unsettled.
Some come to us in Bozeman from the west having driven at a high rate of speed on US I-90 through the curves around the Horseshoe Hills spilling out over the Jefferson River’s placid presence.
I am reminded of a teaching story Alan Watts used to tell about a boy and a baby chick. The boy wanted to hold and cuddle the downy yellow bundle, pestering his folks long and hard enough, that they relented and took him to buy a young freshly-hatched bird. It could have been at Murdoch’s Ranch Supply last Easter.
In my case, we arrived, my wife and I, with our daughter bundled up against a winter’s unforgiving deep freeze. Even then, we sensed the special magic of the valley as we drove from the hospital to our home post birth, convinced that this is where we belong. Native, local or newcomer, we all seek wonder.
After purchasing the chick, parents and child load up in their Suburban, adults in front and he in the back seat cupping the chick in his hands; so warm, so delighted. He held the avian a bit too
Ryan Wilson / Valley of the Flowers, just off of Highway 86 near Bozeman.
WORDS Timothy Tate
hospitality
WORDS Brad VanWert IMAGES Dan Armstrong
Change, however, can be difficult to embrace no matter what form it takes.
Dean Blotto Gray / The Tetons, Jackson Hole, WY
Noah Wetzel, Steamboat Springs, CO.
tightly, so wanting to experience its life, feeling its heartbeat. The baby chick suffocated from the over enthusiastic clutch of the exuberant child. Can we love a place to death? Can we want what it has to offer in all its abundant glory that we squeeze life out of its wonder? And if so; what is the role of community in safeguarding the life force of our towns no matter where significant change is happening? It used to be that when one place filled up, you could find an earlier iteration of what you loved in another town. Not so much anymore. Residents of Jackson Hole have fled to Bozeman or Idaho; Bozemanites ponder exits to Lewistown or Dillon. And yet, at the same time, rural sparsely populated areas are emptying out as elders cope with the heartache of losing their young
people to cities where many more stay than return. Many have highlighted the challenges we face as Gallatin Valley and its hub, Bozeman, grow at a breakneck pace. I wish here to attend to another dimension of our community’s health and wellbeing: it is the sense of otherness. The degree to which I experience people in our town as “other” is the extent to which I am myself alienated, disturbed, and annoyed by my own hometown’s vibe. I could rant about how, on a daily basis, I am pushed by aggressive drivers or how the crosswalks on Main Street are more like target zones, not safe ones. But I remember when a talented young woman, her bright future ahead of her, was crossing Main Street back in the
late 1990s. She was sent airborne by a speeding motorist (I cannot rid my memory of that thump sound nor the expletives she screamed). In other communities like Jackson Hole, there is a natural world parallel – that of a rising roadkill count involving wildlife finding it difficult to move through that remarkable valley. What it represents to me is a metaphor, and the metaphor is that we are not paying attention as the blinding speed of things picks up. What we are experiencing now is less random and more chaotic, crowded, and impersonal. This impersonal quality is what I mean by the “other.” Communities are built upon human connections and holding them together is the glue of common values.
Noah Wetzel
Take, for example, this shared moment, which occurred at Western Drug in the Heeb’s grocery store as a way of understanding the other. I went to fulfill a prescription. I have known the pharmacist on a facial recognition basis for 30 years going back to when Western Drug was its own business and located where the downtown Community Food Co-op now operates. The pharmacist knows me and without having to present an ID he pulled my prescription out of a drawer. I noticed a Stihl chainsaw on the floor behind him. I had the same Stihl 028 model for decades so I was drawn to share my delight with him about how “old school” Montana a chainsaw in a pharmacy was to me. We talked for five minutes about harvesting wood and how many cords he goes through in a winter. We both heat our houses primarily by wood stoves.
He must have a hell of a big house since our 2000 square foot passive solar home is kept toasty by a quarter of the wood he uses. But when he got to the part of knowing where standing dead fir trees were my ears perked up.
characteristic within us citizens. People who are known to each other, greeted, and easy with conversations create a community web of meaning and relationship. People who take time to listen and converse about life’s mundane details.
Sociologists call this phenomena of engagement as “familiar stranger.” You could call it neighborliness and it strikes a contrast to what I mean when I use the term “other.”
There are various measures of a community’s health and certainly not all of them are related to economics. The mental health of the community is vested in our personal and collective ability to transcend the otherness of who we are. Otherwise we become simply what “development” momentum will decree – the sum of real estate deals that may leverage property values but do little to engender a more caring atmosphere for people and place.
We both took the time to engage in a conversation about a common activity and thereby generated a story that binds our lives together in a particular way. This is an example of breaching the barrier of the other and, in downtown Bozeman where I spend my days, such sharing has been an important part of the social fabric. Tim Crawford, who owns a building downtown, calls it the “Boulevardier”
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
We are in that phase now, caught up in an overwhelming surge which involves a tidal wave of virtually anonymous “others” inundating and replacing the sense of community. I can’t tell you how many
Communities are built upon human connections and holding them together is the glue of common values.
Dean Blotto Gray / Keystone, CO
Noah Wetzel / Collin Collins in Ketchum, ID
times I converse with people who say “the old Bozeman is becoming unrecognizable.” It is clear to me that we are at a tipping point in our town. But let’s cease and desist from the attitude our town is being ruined by the influx of others who are loving our place to death. What purpose does blaming serve? Good people still hold our town together and it is important that we welcome in people who are committed to doing the same. Maybe it was my upbringing by socially-conscious parents who believed everyone was equal, no matter their station, or maybe it’s my fascination with the mix and match of “the other” that together creates a vibrant town. But what if the other does not share such a value and simply wants to muscle in, take over, and use money to make more money at the expense of my quality of life? Is that when
I don my Lamont clan kilt, reach for the broadsword and in the tradition of William Wallace seek freedom from economic tyranny at any cost? Man that’s appealing but not very effective. Rather, let us consider how we are to host the divergence, wealth, agendas, ideas, and building projects flooding the Valley of Flowers. But let’s be clear what this spirit of our town is, that we are not desirous of emulating “other” places. I am reminded of clan gatherings in Ireland and Scotland where the regional chieftains would come together, sheathing their weapons on an annual basis to hold a council of leaders to take the pulse of the health of the land and people. We know who the chieftains are in our valley. Since they are not taking the lead, what if concerned citizens were to host an annual gathering to discuss the health of our valley or eco-
system? It would be a pathway to achieving the unthinkable, which is moving forward without losing our soul. What if, together, we clearly delineated that our values are reflected in our care of landscape and that, if we conform it is to the obvious recognition that individual ambitions must have limits – that growth and change without any meaningful reflection on impacts is irresponsible. If we do not come to a creative all-inclusive discussion, we can kiss our sweet Gallatin Valley and everything we love about it goodbye. That is different from loving a place to death which is the result of apathy. Citizens step up to protect the things they love and prevent them from incurring harm. The only kind of “other” worthy of scorn is the individual who denies this exists. -Timothy J. Tate, who lives in Bozeman, is a professional psychotherapist and is still practicing after 30 years. Find him downtown, behind The Blue Door.
This story was originally published online at: mountainjournal.org. Mountain Journal serves as both a journalistic watchdog and celebrant of Greater Yellowstone. It is devoted to advancing civil, scientifically-informed discussions about the role/obligation that private interests play in serving a larger—and greater—public purpose, benefitting humans and non-human species.
Grant Gunderson / Skier KC Deane
Guru
In pursuit of bliss and cupcakes. Guru (gooroo) is a Sanskrit term that means someone who is a “teacher, guide, expert, or master” of a certain knowledge or field. But a guru is more than a teacher; in Schralpskrit, a guru is the one who dispels the hardpack, and takes to the powder. A guru also serves as a counselor, who values knowledge of lines with literal understanding, and opens new possibilities in the mountains and rivers. These individuals serve as an inspirational source in the spiritual evolution of a shredder, helping others to discover lines the gurus have already shredded, and striving to live a life in pursuit of bliss. Every ski community holds a particular affection for such people; the people who are always smiling and enjoying a life well-lived. They are always up for an adventure and often pull others into their world; be it for a day, a week, or even a lifetime. I am lucky enough to have become friends with several of these characters over the years. Today however, the tale we are telling is about Schutz. One such guru here in Bozeman, Jason Schutz. Over the years, his exploits have been documented as often as they’ve flown under the radar. He is often shredding the mountains alone on a snowboard, kayak, bike, or snowmobile. You may hear a tall tale at the bar or see a funny Instagram post, but if you happen to be in the right place at the right time, you might just be lucky enough to share a run with the local legend. The stories span about 40 years here in Montana, as well as several other stops along the way. Details can really only be shared over beers and would fill an entire magazine if told properly. Just a few highlights include years spent schralping every possible line on the Bridger Ridge, pioneering ridiculous routes on the tram face at Big Sky, kayaking legendary streams and rivers around Montana, as well as adventures in Canada, Alaska, Tahoe, and Chamonix- just to name a few. Eventually,
a whole host of phrases have become common when we mortals are in the presence of the guru. Things like: What the Schutz!?, Holy Schutz!, The billy goat Schutz line, but usually it’s just, You Cupcake! In recent years, we’ve both become fathers. This was a truly life changing moment for each of us, which would be a major understatement for most ski bums. However, the unexpected joy has now been raising our kids as skiers. These days, the “Guru” spends most of his free time passing on the wisdom of a life well spent, one full of adventures. Our kids, like so many growing up in mountain towns around the west, are crushing it at a young age, the guru’s wisdom and guidance being key to their success in these early years. Family fun days on the hill, at the river, or in the backcountry are now the focus. As dads, we are keeping the stoke alive for the next generation, and sharing a little knowledge along the way. I have come to find myself in the right place at the right time on several occasions, some by force or verbal intimidation of sorts, others by luck or fate. The following collection of images showcase just a handful of those meetings where the guru Schutz and I have crossed paths and were able to capture some magic moments in time. And maybe, pass around a few cupcakes!
WORDS & IMAGES Travis Andersen
mentors
I’ve seen Schutz ride this line several times – most of it is hairball-steep, exposed, and not visible from the top. There is one spot just barely visible from above that always seems to be in the right spot for a slash. I focused the camera on the spot and hoped all would go well. With luck, he’d make it down in one piece and make that turn just as I had seen it made before.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
Top Left: A couple of seasons ago a bunch of us were up in _______________ (left blank purposely). Most of the guys had gone back to town to party but we stuck around for some late-light in a spot that was looking really fresh. When we got to the face, Schutz said, “What if I just make just one turn right by that little tree?” Right place, right time. Nice.
Right: The classic __________ Line. (left blank purposely). It has bested many a man, but on this day Schutz just simply sent it! “Hands up, don’t shoot!”
“I hang out with my guru in my heart. And I love every thing in the universe. That’s all I do all day.” - Ram Dass
Bottom Left: Another Deep day in Argentina.
Bottom Right: Tall tales of the Guru’s exploits on snowmobiles run deep. Basically, think twice before following Schutz into unknown territory on a sled. “It goes!” might be the last words you hear before getting stuck in some crazy creek bottom in the dark woods.
Above: As you can see here, Mikey Andersen (14) and Lucas Schutz (12) are showing that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. Soon, these little rippers will be out searching for their own adventures Like the 2 Dads below.
FISH Talkin’ Rain Dogs
OUT with Surf Photographer
OF Morgan MaAsSen
WATER
film
We all know how awfuLL Californians can be; modern day conquistadors with disposable income, Sprinter vans, and Ugg Boots. If they are from the beach, the problem often gets worse. Entitled flatlanders who say “dude” and “stoked” way too much while drinking gallons of glutenfree, vegan, oat milk chai matcha’s with CBD kickers. So you can imagine our surprise when we learned that one of our favorite new, short films of the year, Korua Shapes’s Rain Dogs, was filmed by a young man who hails from the beaches of Southern California. His name is Morgan Maassen and, if you have been paying even casual attention to the various goings-on of the surf universe over the past decade, you likely already know that he is a bit of a freak show genius when it comes to a camera. Be it stills or video, Maassen is an absolute stud. Don’t believe me? Go check out his Vimeo page and prepare to be transported.
The youngest staff photographer ever on the masthead at Surfer Magazine, Maassen walked away from that dream gig before he turned 22. He was on to a much coveted spot as staff shooter with Quicksilver, working primarily with Kelly Slater (For the uninitiated, Slater is hands down the best surfer of his generation, or any generation for that matter.) Still,
Maassen wasn’t satisfied. Soon enough, he was calling his own shots and traveling the world over 320 days a year while working for clients like Apple, Nike, Mercedes Benz, Patagonia, Corona and Red Bull and doing regular editorial jobs for media icons such as National Geographic, Vanity Fair, ESPN, and the New York Times. It is a ridiculously stacked resume for a dude that is only 30 years young. But there wasn’t much snow on it. In fact, there was none at all. That is, until now. Last February, just before the Covid bomb blew up here in the United States, Maassen linked up with the Korua Shapes crew for a mid-season mission to the Pacific Northwest. Mt. Baker, Mt. Bachelor, and Crystal Mountain to be exact. Lars Popp and Nicholas Wolken made the trip over from Europe. Theo Acworth worked the other camera and assorted local shred lords like Josh Dirksen, Jake Price, Erica Kutz, and Dan Bott joined in along the way. The result is a transcendent 12-minutes of gritty, moody, and arresting on-piste action. You feel this film in your chest. Your pulse quickens. You need to go snowboarding. Immediately. Edited by the Eliel Hindert, Rain Dogs has a big, big vibe for being a relatively short, short film.
WORDS Ethan A. Stewart IMAGES Morgan Maassen
Bomb Snow caught up with Morgan after the New Year but before our new president took office. We talked about Rain Dogs and what it’s like going from the beach to the mountains with a camera in hand. What follows is an edited version of that conversation.
Ethan Stewart: How on earth did a surf bum like you wind up working with Korua? I mean, it can be kind of hard to snowboard in swim fins. Morgan Maassen: Ha! I’ve only been into snowboarding seriously for a couple of years, after investing some real time while working in Chile in 2016 and getting into the mountains as much as possible. As I progressed in the sport, I came across Korua online and fell in love with their boards, brand, films, everything. It just made perfect sense to me. So, I started harassing them on social media until they couldn’t deny my presence on their next trip. When they said they were coming to North America to shoot a film and asked me to join, I was elated.
ES: Wow. So previous to showing up to film with Korua, you were pretty much a full-blown snow kook with very little mountain experience? MM: I had none. Over the last decade, I had done several trips to Mammoth Mountain to try snowboarding, but it never really clicked for me. Plus, I was just too busy working, traveling, or spending my free time in the ocean. However, in 2016 I shot a Corona campaign in the mountains of Chile and absolutely lost my mind with both the beauty of snow and how much fun I had riding. Finally, it clicked.
I immediately started plotting how to get back on a snowboard as soon as possible. 2017 saw me spending an incredible amount of time in Chile again and I made huge progress. From that point on, I have found myself taking multiple snow trips a year as well as adding mountain/snow photography to my business’s repertoire.
ES: Rain Dogs drips with moments and feelings that are as surf-inspired as they are snowy. Was this intentional? Or just a happy accident when a dude with roots in the surf gets asked to help make a snowboard film? MM: Spending time with the Korua crew was fascinating. They represent this really pure interest in transcending snowboarding for just the feelings of speed and flow- ultimate carving. My background, being steeped in surfing, is largely represented by appreciating speed and style. While our backgrounds were quite different, our altruistic takes on board riding met perfectly in the middle. Nicholas Wolken, one of the co-founders of Korua, is really interested in combining surf “mannerisms” with his snowboarding, like cross-stepping and big slashes into snow lips. Inversely, I explored the mountain with the same interest I apply to most of my surfing subjects; a board rider navigating a rich and vast world of textures. We would constantly placate each other’s curiosities and ideas with absolutely
I always count my blessSings that in the world of snow/surf, you are immMersed in nature. The shot can be as big as you can imagine it, working with storms and clouds and trEess. The oppPortunity for creation is endlessS.
no expectations, thus making it one of the most laid-back and creative shoots I’ve been on in recent memory.
ES: REDs are no joke. What camera set-up were you running?
ES: Being the proverbial fish out of water, what were some challenges you faced in filming?
MM: I shot everything on my Red Weapon. I only had three lenses on me: a 14mm f/2.8, a 35mm f/1.4, and a 50mm f/1.2. I’d pack a couple extra batteries, a special handle for skateboarding that I use to shoot follow-cam, and some trail-mix in my backpack. Aaron Schwartz had a mirrorless camera and would shoot stills and some video with it. Additionally, we had a couple GoPro’s which we used for some super tight groomer and followcam action with the full expectation that we would break or lose them at some point.
MM: First, I am still making huge headway with my snowboarding so there were plenty of times where simply trying to keep up with the crew had me in over my head. Way over my head. Mountains and snow kind of scare me. I get vertigo and white out and feel humbled and intimidated constantly. I’m not going to lie, there were some moments on tight ledges that I was wrought with fear while everyone else didn’t bat an eye. Secondly, we were all excited to get the RED camera up on the mountain, especially for the follow-cam stuff. Even in its smallest, most hand-held configuration, it was a big package to carry around. A lot of versatility goes out the window with a 25kg backpack carrying such precious cargo.
ES: Learning curves aside, did all your years of surf work help you anticipate moments in the snow? MM: Yes and no. There were many moments when I felt like an ignoramus on the mountain simply because I wasn’t well-versed enough with snowboarding to capture things the way I wanted.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
That being said, there is no doubt that my time and energy spent in surfing definitely helped give me a distinct viewpoint to capture some amazing and hopefully fresh moments in this sport.
ES: As you see it, what are the strongest aesthetic and cultural crossovers with snowboarding? And where do the two disciplines most sharply depart? MM: The two crossovers that most excite me are style and atmosphere. For good or bad, style is something that every snowboarder both controls and exudes. The same is true for a surfer... And then there is the atmosphere. I always count my blessings that in the world of snow/surf, you are immersed in nature. The shot can be as big as you can imagine it, working with storms and clouds and trees and textures and light and darkness. The opportunity for creation is endless. I’m an avid tennis player and always joke that that does not exist in the world of ball-sport photography. To your second question, I’d say these disciplines depart in how much more specific and refined technique is revered in snowboard-
ing. This parleys both to my points of “style” and “atmosphere” as I’ve really taken an interest in noticing how nit-picky the snow community is about one’s technique in both the art of boardriding and the media that results from it. I first noticed this from shooting skateboarding; the community there is neurotic about the technique used in every motion made and how it is captured by a camera. Surfing, on the the other hand, is an absolute wild-west. I can take a photo of a beginner holding a surfboard wrong and the ocean can do so much heavy lifting that no one will care. Personally, I chalk this up to surfing being so appropriated to the broader population for so long now that, at this point, anything goes.
ES: With as few dude-bro-isms and as little hand-jive as possible, briefly try and relate the sensations of sliding sideways on a wave to that of sliding sideways on the snow? MM: The motion of gliding on a wave, taking a highline, and then putting all that energy sharply on a rail is such a remarkable feeling. It is the ultimate in speed and balance. The body works in concert with the board and nature, everything synchronizing perfectly.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
Snowboarding is a total parallel. It is the same feeling except the water is, of course, frozen.
ES: What was up with the dude riding the surf mat on that hydraulic feature? Backstory? MM: Bend, Oregon has a river wave right in the heart of town. Nicholas brought his surf mat to try out on the Oregon coastline and ended up having a blast riding the river wave a few times. At home in Switzerland, he does this on backcountry river rapids, hunting for perpetual motion and flow while braving the ice cold water. We’d go to the river wave to relax after snowboarding, play S-K-AT-E in the parking lot, and shoot the breeze with the Bend locals.
ES: Peeing in wetsuits is a good way to stay warm. Peeing in your ski pants, not so much. Thoughts? MM: I’m the wrong person to ask. A decade of traveling and working in some of the harshest environments imaginable has turned me into a camel. I don’t need liquids and never have to pee because both will slow you down.
ES: Ha! Sounds crampy. Any plans to get back up into the mountains with your cameras? More snow projects? MM: I’m dying to spend more time on the mountain to both ride and shoot. I’d do anything to be in the snow right now! The Korua guys and myself are talking about linking up again, but getting to Switzerland is not in the cards for me this winter.
ES: The whole theme of this issue is an attempt to answer the question, “What really matters?”. So, Mr. Maassen, from your vantage point right now in the early days of 2021, what really matters? MM: Health, growth, progress, and gratitude. Personally, I am trying to enjoy everything I’ve done in the past while also enjoying everything I am afforded in the present. I am so grateful for every morsel of opportunity that has come my way and I am having a blast constructing it all into new pathways for the future. Consciously creating with gratitude matters.
Based in Santa Barbara, California, Morgan Maassen is an artist and visual storyteller. When not out stalking dogs for what is sure to be the world’s greatest canine calendar, he can be found making images of water, be it frozen or otherwise, and the wonderfully weird people who like to shred upon it.
POWSURFER SHAKEDOWN THE UNIVERSE DELIVERED; we went along for the ride. These days getting 6 rad dad homies together for a midweek backcountry trip takes more than simple planning. The stars must align. Add 7 unique powsurfers, 3 cloudless days, one available cabin in a typically booked spot, and you’ve been blessed by more than good fortune. Did I mention it dumped for a week prior to our arrival leaving us with thousands of acres of untracked, knee-deep snow? Freshly waxed boards sat frosty on the back of our sleds each morning as we eagerly waited on the sun for warmth. For this particular escapade, we chose to go bindingless. The purpose of our trip was to experience a quiver of creatively crafted wooden planks and test their notable traits. The beauty of wood selections, foot pads, concave, convex, and even wavey P-Tex bases was exciting enough; include wide angled side-cuts, heavily rockered profiles and an asymmetrical tail, and even the surliest of board enthusiasts would be aroused. We were a bunch of spoiled old shreds with new toys to take on their maiden voyage.
What we soon realized – some of the designs excel in knee-deep, open pow fields – while others are more fun in ankle to boot-top tree lines. Some boards track well on steep variable sun-crusted snow, others perform best on north facing light pow. Having only had three days to shakedown these unique powsurfers, our comments are subjective to the splinter of time provided with idyllic blower conditions. What became obvious, every powsurfer we examined had its own secret sauce, and you won’t go wrong purchasing one based on the riding style you enjoy most. On the next page, we’ve attached some notes on each boards specialty to help our readers make an educated decision on what rides are best for them. The sport is evolving from the days of flat wooden planks, so whatever powsurfers you’re able to get your hands on, do it now, and take a test ride whenever you can. The enthusiasm and skillfulness that designers are putting into their craft these days is enough to be proud of and it’s an exciting time for an evolving sport. Here’s to hacking your shackles soon. -Todd Heath
Dan Armstrong / Surfer Joey Weamer
The Groundswell board is a gun. Being the largest board in the mix, it tracked well and was much easier to turn than we anticipated thanks to the rockered profile and concave shape of the top. We really appreciated the strips of pointy grip tape as it helped with edge control but wasn’t overkill if you want to move your toes around. The full P-Tex bottom has a beautifully designed channel, not too deep and not too shallow. Made for bigger lines and larger radius turns. This board will last a lifetime. Check ‘em out at: groundswellsnowcraft.com
The Shark “Chuna 143” board did really well in steep terrain. The edge control with this board was unparalleled and sometimes felt too easy, like riding an actual board with bindings. The wide nose and tapered tail slice through pow and the craftsmanship and attention to detail are stunning. The bamboo is a touch soft so make sure to baby it in the back of your truck or while attaching it to your sled. Rub on wax and/or teak oil for speedier descents. The track pads were great but also harder to move your feet around if you are used to dancing on your surfboard. All around shredder, go to: sharksnowsurf.com
The McCollum board is so much fun. The large spatula like shape and extremely rockered nose made for a float deck like no other in the bunch. Both powder and heavier snow were easy to navigate, as the front of this board barely touches snow. It is by far the most rockered profile in the line-up and the craftsmanship is absolutely gorgeous. This board would benefit from a small strip of “GripAll” tape. Check them out at: facebook.com/ McCollumCustomLongboards
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
Konvoi’s smaller deck was easier to turn than the “Essal” and the pads have such a fun floaty-feel. A ton of fun, wish it would get up to speed faster, as the size made it tough to get going fast on the low-angled terrain although this board was extremely fun to rip around steeper light pow.
POWSURFER SHAKEDOWN
The wavey P-Tex bottom of the Konvoi “Essal 159” tracked extremely well (very stable) but took more power from the rider to initiate each turn. The asymmetrical shape of the tail helped for toeside and after some practice, turns became much easier. We loved the thicker pads, creating a softer, cushier feel. Heavier sun-baked snow or tight trees, not recommended. Cold, deep pow preferred. So fun! Go to: konvoisnowboards.com
Travis Andersen
The convex P-Tex bottom of the Syrup Tree was perfect for in-town jibs and 360 degree spin-outs. We loved the accentuated ramped edges for super fast turns and easy edge contol. Golf course bombers, tight trees, roof top acid drops and town-hill pursuits are your best friend. Durability is a plus.
The Dungulfish, got up to speed quickly, and became the fastest board in the bunch because of it’s weight, wide nose, and tapered tail. Having the large foam pads is great for moving your feet around to initiate toeside turns (like surfing). The Dungul absolutely rips through pow and is recommended for more experienced snow surfers. Go to: facebook.com/dungul.fish
KEY TAKEAWAYS:
If possible, try as many boards as you can before commiting to purchasing one as it really depends on the person. See you in the pow! Disclaimer: We were unable to receive a Grassroots Powsurfer in time for this review but would like to give a shout-out to Jeremy, who has dedicated so much of his energy and love to the sport. He is also making split-powsurfers so make sure to check those out. PEACE! -T.O.
Dan Armstrong / Surfer Jason Schutz
Travis Andersen / Surfers Strongarm, Heathbar, Big Al, Travy, and Papa Schutz
Travis Andersen / Surfer Jason Schutz
Above Dan Armstrong / Surfer Jason Schutz
Travis Andersen / Surfer Alex Allen
Left and Above Travis Andersen / Surfer Todd Heath
Left and Above Travis Andersen / Surfer Travis Tollefson
A TINY SOLUTION
Assuming this isn’t the first ski magazine you’ve picked up in the last five years, you’re probably all too familiar with the term “housing crisis”. The lack of affordable housing in mountain towns is a real problem, and as such, inquiries into the many causes of this widespread issue have been discussed over and over again. “Why is there a housing crisis?” “Whose responsibility is it to fix?” As someone who moved away from a resort town because they couldn’t afford a home there, I don’t have answers for you. I mean, I could take a mildly-educated guess like everybody else, but I’m not going to write another story bitching about how developers prioritize profits over equality, nor am I going to make some kind of progressive statement by saying that ski resorts owe it to the people in the communities they operate within to provide a decent quality of life. These days, the ratio of time people are willing to spend criticizing a problem versus the amount of energy they’re actually willing to put into coming up with a solution is disheartening, so I’ll spare you from reading another helpless-toned essay on the lack of social justice in whatever ski town. Instead, this story outlines one instance where a particular set of circumstances allowed an individual to come up with a creative employee housing solution for one mountain town. A little bit of blind foresight ended up going a very long way when Aspen Ski Company purchased the old KOA campground located just outside of town in 2008, because they did it with a loose plan. It would be slated as a “mixed use property”, meaning it could be used as a conventional campground, or a place for people to rent camper slips long-term, or maybe something completely different. In 2016, ASC hired Phillip Jeffries, who would be assigned with the sole task of doubling the resort’s employee bed count. At first, they considered the obvious solutions; like building condos or a large dorm-style housing complex. To nobody’s surprise, these options were expensive, and entailed long construction timelines strewn with miles of red tape that would take even more time to navigate. But Jeffries needed to produce results faster than these options would allow. He had recently checked out a Sprout Tiny Home, and upon recalling the tour, he looked back at the old KOA, and the vision for Aspen’s Tiny Town was born. “It was the only way that we could add a significant number of beds so quickly”, recalls Jeff Hanle, Aspen’s VP of communica-
tions. “The homes were all made on wheels and have running lights, as if they were vehicles. So, because of that, and the zoning at the campground, we didn’t have to rezone. We even struggled with calling them ‘tiny homes’, but thought calling them ‘trailer homes’ might upset some people in government. But Eagle County has worked hand-in-hand with us, and we couldn’t have done this without their approval and go-ahead, and I think they should be proud of what they’ve done. They helped provide much-needed housing with a speedy process.” So with the county’s blessing, Aspen Ski Company ordered their first phase of tiny homes. During that first season, there were just six tiny homes parked at the old KOA that housed twelve “guinea pig” employees. Once the season was over, the employees were surveyed. Given the small nature of the homes, what ASC gathered from these surveys came as somewhat of a surprise: “The feedback was very positive.
WORDS Alex Buecking IMAGES Bomb Snow Readers
shelter
“These days, the ratio of time people are willing to spend criticizing a problem versus the amount of energy they’re actually willing to put into coming up with a solution is disheartening.” Because the homes are so small, we were able to put in higher end finishing that we wouldn’t have been able to put into dorm-style housing” recalls Hanle. “And they even said that since they don’t spend much time in the homes, they’d rather see the rent decreased by having homes with three sleeping spaces instead of two. So we said alright, and we had 34 more units built and brought in for the next season, and we designed all of the new ones to have three separate sleeping quarters, based on what the employees wanted.” So just like that, Tiny Town, as it’s known by locals, grew to 40 total units the following summer. The tiny homes were filled quickly by the various department heads who had seasonal employees wishing to live just outside the hustle and bustle of the busy resort. Once 2017-2018 came and went, Aspen’s management was pleasantly surprised again by its Tiny Town employees. It turned out that providing a nice, quiet, comfortable place to live not only solved an employee housing issue, but also solved an employee retention issue.
“Typically, most of those employees would’ve moved out during the summer because they were seasonal employees-- they’d go do something else.” said Hanle, “But people loved them so much that they didn’t leave this summer. They said, ‘Alright, I want to stay in my house, do you have a summer job for me?’” In addition to higher employee satisfaction and retention rates, Aspen’s Tiny Town has also received positive attention nationwide. Most notably, ASC received an award from The Urban Land Institute for their innovation in workforce housing in the fall of 2018. To further validate the project, it’s also worth noting that Aspen recently submitted a third order of homes to Sprout. Is Tiny Town a model solution for every ski town with a housing crisis? Probably not. As I mentioned earlier; Tiny Town worked in Aspen because a particular set of circumstances and a certain degree of cooperation allowed the project to thrive. Disclaimer- This story is two years old. You’d think that the housing crisis in mountain towns in the USA would’ve changed by now, but it hasn’t, so we figured it was still a a worthy read.
Grant Gunderson / Zack Giffin, Paul Kimbraugh, Matt Steinman in more of a “wet snow” region.
WORDS Guy Alsentzer
Mountains aren’t just playgrounds, habitat for wildlife, a spiritual refuge, or an economic driver: they are also the crucial source of water, especially in otherwise dry landscapes of the Northern Rockies, functioning as natural ‘water towers’ providing vital headwaters to many beloved Montana rivers like the Gallatin, Big Hole, and Madison. The freshwater that arrives from melting snow produces streamflow, winding up in creeks, wetlands, rivers, and lakes, forming the headwaters of the Missouri and ultimately ending up in the Gulf of Mexico. This snowmelt also serves a critical role in replenishing our mountain and valley groundwater aquifers, systems that supply over 60% of drinking water to Montanans, not to mention its contributions of consistent, cool, clean waters that are vital during seasonal low flow summertime to local surface waterways. The Nexus Between Snowpack and Snowmelt Even though it seems straightforward, the relationship between snowpack and snowmelt is complex. Snow accumulates in the cold winter months to form a snowpack, which thaws during the spring and early summer and subsequent snowmelt produces the streamflow that fills rivers and lakes below. A major component regarding the volume of runoff each spring comes from snow texture (the structure of snow) and density (the amount of water per unit volume of snow). While Montana’s beloved Cold Smoke, a “dry”
snow, is prime for skiing, it does not contain as much water moisture as “wet” snow, such as the Pacific Northwest’s well-known Sierra Cement. Air temperature and air moisture determine the dryness or wetness of snow, while deeper snowpack and wetter snow both increase density and compress lower layers. A wetter and heavier snowpack creates higher compression, which changes the crystalline structure of snowpack. In turn, snowpack density and structure regulate how quickly snowpack melts and how much water runs off to feed lower streams, wetlands, and river systems. Mountains, Water, And Land Use in the Northern Rockies For all the spectacular climate, fertile soils, and outstanding recreational opportunities that have created healthy ecosystems and driven agricultural and urban development in boomtown regions like Montana’s Gallatin Valley, none of this bounty would be possible without the existence of mountain snowpack and the ability to share the resulting snowmelt far and wide.
The Gallatin, Madison, Ruby, Beaverhead, Big Hole and Jefferson rely directly on cool, clean mountain snowmelt to stay healthy. These namesake waterways literally arise from the cumulative flow of thousands of headwater streams, springs, seeps and creeks, many of which are intermittent or ephemeral (only flowing in response to precipitation) and fed by snowmelt.
Because mountain snowpack is central to freshwater river systems, much of Montana’s social and ecological abundance depends on the quality and quantity of water created by snowmelt. In SW Montana, snowmelt is the primary source of water for prized blueribbon trout streams like the Big Hole, Jefferson, Madison, Beaverhead, and Gallatin. The quantity and quality of water coming from Montana’s mountains influences the state’s powerful outdoors-based economy and, equally important, directly influences the health of local waterways. Our Land Use Up High Affects Our Water Quality & Quantity Down Low The treasured Missouri River starts with trickles that flow from the high mountain peaks of SW Montana. These seeps and springs, fed by snowmelt, soon leave our national forests where, sadly, they become considerably less pristine. Each of the six primary headwaters of the Missouri River start in SW Montana’s mountain ranges. The Gallatin, Madison, Ruby, Beaverhead, Big Hole and Jefferson rely directly on cool, clean mountain snowmelt to stay healthy. These namesake waterways literally arise from the cumulative flow of thousands of headwater streams, springs, seeps and creeks, many of which are intermittent or ephemeral (only flowing in response to precipitation) and fed by snowmelt. Despite being remote, Montana headwaters face many of the same environmental challenges we think more common to urbanized regions, including the threats of urbanization, stormwater runoff, industrial pollution, mine drainage, agricultural runoff, overuse, and over-allocation.
Interruptions and changes to their flow patterns hurt trout and other aquatic communities. Healthy snowpacks that melt gradually enable streams to maintain flows and cool temperatures well into the hot summer months, allowing cold water fish such as trout to survive. Similarly, the degradation or destruction of intermittent and/or ephemeral headwater streams affects the timing and quality of those freshwater inputs, affecting the biological and chemical quality of mainstem rivers. The same applies to Montana’s wetlands, many of which are scattered amongst those headwater stretches
Dave Heath Skier Sam Kuch
Unscientific and politicized pollution rules endanger all of us and undermine the landscape economy and outdoor heritage we hold dear in Montana. and alongside our namesake rivers. Wetlands are critical to the health of downstream rivers. Wetlands trap sediments, moderate water temperature, produce oxygen, recycle nutrients, and absorb chemicals and other pollutants. All of these functions improve and maintain water quality in nearby waterways and the degradation of these wetlands impact the watershed as a whole. Science-Based Rules Matter We’re fortunate in the United States to have strong pollution control laws that help protect our waterways and all the purposes they serve. Our nation’s hallmark water pollution law, the Clean Water Act, prohibits the degradation of “waters of the United States” unless a pollution permit is obtained. In this way, the Clean Water Act limits the dumping of toxic chemicals, radioactive wastes, sewage, backfilling, or dredging into rivers, streams, lakes, and wetlands. In essence, waters that meet the definition of “waters of the United States” are protected. Waters that fall outside it aren’t. That means pollution prohibitions and legal controls designed to protect people, water quality, and river health are only as effective as the legal scope given to the phrase “waters of the United States.” Because everyone understands that clean water is vital to public health and wildlife, and pollution moves downstream, the Clean Water Act’s definition of “waters of the United States” has long protected traditionally navigable waters, territorial seas, interstate waters, and intrastate rivers, streams, lakes, wetlands, canals and other connected waters against pollution and destruction. Sadly, during the last four years the Trump Administration took an axe to these traditional legal understandings when it removed pollution rules and replaced them with un-scientific, politicized rules that effectively removed legal protections for most headwaters across the American West, including Montana.
When we don’t responsibly manage what occurs on our landscapes upstream, particularly up in the mountainous high-country, our rivers suffer. For example, bulldozing new roads or trails in sensitive wetlands, or clearing subalpine meadows for new subdivisions nearly always harms the delicate ecological balance that provides cool, clean flows to our river valleys. More impervious surfaces and less natural surfaces – which ordinarily trap and retain snowmelt and rainfall – create more unpredictable, and earlier, runoff carrying unnaturally elevated levels of contaminants, chipping away at the fundamentally balanced water table that provides fun in the winter and the summer. The Clean Water Act requires our decisionmakers to implement common-sense land use management strategies that protect the shared public good of clean water. Unfortunately, the previous administrations rules allow widespread pollution and unchecked destruction of headwaters across our nation, especially in mountainous Montana, where over 60% of our stream miles are headwater reaches not covered under new rules. Unscientific and politicized pollution rules endanger all of us and undermine the landscape economy and outdoor heritage we hold dear in Montana. For this reason, Montana’s leading river protection watchdog – Upper Missouri Waterkeeper – is in federal court working hard, committed to overturning these dangerous rules and restoring broad water quality protections for Montana’s headwaters. The long and short of it is this: when we’re enjoying our favorite powder runs this winter, let’s remember how important snow – and responsible, sciencebased land use rules – are to protecting our favorite rivers next summer. Guy Alsentzer is the Bozeman-based Executive Director of Upper Missouri Waterkeeper, Montana’s nonpartisan advocate for fishable, swimmable, drinkable water.
Grant Gunderson Skier Josh Daiek
WORDS Brad VanWert
SOLAR IS CALLING My phone is ringing, again. This time it’s a hedge fund manager from New York City, last week it was an oil baron from the Bakken. Most of the time my calls come from Joe six-pack or Jane the soccer mom, but more frequently they are from the owner of a manufacturing facility or a superintendent from the local school system. The topics of conversation range from investing in utility scale solar farms to questions about how going solar can lower operating costs. Others want to know how many solar panels will fit on their roof and what type of incentives are available. But all of the conversations share a theme: how can I capitalize on the power of the sun?
Dan Armstrong / Above Bomb Snow HQ and the Bozeman Brewery
cash and is charting a similar course, an opportunist who sees the writing on the wall. Within five minutes of answering his call he had tapped directly into the breadth of experience 11 years in this industry has provided me. I guess this is how savvy guys do it, they cold-call and offer some combination of words that lands like a truth serum in the ears. They absorb as much information as
humanly possible and then get to work, and everyday more and more of them are making calls asking me about solar. I’m an easy target because I can talk about this shit all day. The solar industry is fun and exciting and full of opportunity. It is interesting and engaging and most people agree that getting our electricity from the sun offers some long-
Scott Webb
The oil baron I’ve actually known for a while now. He called me out of the blue a few years back, offered to buy me lunch and proceeded to coax me into explaining everything I know about the solar industry. We have since talked once a month as he transitions the $500 million he manages from fossil fuels to renewable energy. The hedge fund manager has an even bigger pot of
clean energy
term benefit. However as of late the only green that finds its way into these conversations is the color of dollar bills. The high-level conversations with the “suits” are fun, but my bread and butter reside with Joe and Jane. I work with middle class Americans every day and I help them lower their monthly costs, add value to their home, and shrink their carbon footprint. I wake up every morning and go to work for the sun, and I help people put the sun to work for them. And this is by far the favorite part of my career. We are in the midst of an energy transition, the dawning of the age of renewables. In 2019, solar accounted for 1.7% of the United States electricity generation. The goal is to increase this to 48% by 2050; that’s a lot of solar panels to install! But this target is set by agencies and government; the oil baron and the hedge fund manager have different plans and they’re much more ambitious. While admin-
istrations talk about targets and goals, investors talk about returns and profits. Politicians might make promises, but fund managers make money, and they’re going all in. All the while, Joe and Jane continue making choices that are best for their family, and this means making solar part of their lives. But wait, there’s more– Our current electricity needs are only part of the conversation, because we have only just started talking about electrifying transportation. While Tesla and Rivian entice us with sedans and SUV’s, we must also consider the school bus and the dump truck in the alley; lest we forget how that package will get to your front door from Amazon. Electrifying transportation means we will have to generate a whole lot more
electricity, which equals even more solar panels to install. And it is all happening. Yet still, there are haters. In the halls of the Capitol buildings across this country, and especially in Montana, roam dinosaurs who still believe that burning dinosaur bones is the only way. While global capital is moving mountains towards renewables, locally we still have to fight tooth and nail for this industry. But be discouraged not, for the momentum is ours. If we are to achieve the utopian renewable energy future we all dream of, the one where electric cars glide across solar roadways and carbon emissions are replaced by gigantic clouds of ganja smoke, rather than coal, we must be informed and we must continue to transition towards clean power. Brad VanWert is the co-founder of Harvest Solar, a locally owned, licensed electrical contractor offering affordable solar energy solutions to homeowners, businesses and nonprofits throughout Montana.
These are in fact snowboard tracks. “Snowboarding Matters” as well.
does
WORDS Heather Hansman IMAGE Ryan Creary
Have you ever tried to explain skiing to someone who doesn’t do it? It sounds so, SO dumb. You sound like a goobering idiot because all the buzz words seem ridiculous in the context of winter: stoke and float and deepness. I think that’s because when skiing is the best it feels like nothing: no pressure, no bottom, no catch. The clearest way I know how to explain it is to talk about gravity. When I try to talk about that pull I keep coming back to gravity and weightlessness. It’s the rush where you’re just barely in control of the forces of the universe, sensation surging. Where else can you feel that freefall? I know there’s nothing useful or necessary about it, but it’s the closest thing I know to flying. “It sounds hokey, but when I’m skiing everything feels like it’s in balance and synched up,” a friend once told me when I asked him why he’s pegged his life to skiing. “Everything else melts off, everything makes sense, and everything is smooth.” So does it matter? Is there any value in trying to skip out on one of the major planetary forces, even just for a little? No, of course not. But also of course. The clearest way to appreciate something is to take it for granted and then have it taken away. And some winters feel like that now. I took skiing, and the grace that comes from it for granted for so long. I thought the rush and connection that comes from throwing myself downhill were a given, and always would be, if my body and my nerve could hold up. But that’s starting to feel naïve now. Which makes skiing feel like it matters more.
the Pacific while high pressure hung over the Arctic, fizzling precipitation. No one I talked to was having a good winter. Not in Montana, not in Maine. I’ve been thinking about what I could lose if I didn’t have skiing, or winter or snow. I’d miss the relationships and chances that have come out of slipping around in the mountains, and the lucky selfish ability to throw myself downhill at the mercy of gravity, but mostly I’d miss the way skiing locates me in place and holds me into a landscape, feeling everything. Does it matter? Of course it doesn’t matter. But that’s the whole point. To find skiing purposeful, you have to think that it’s the same genre of necessity as art or song. It matters because it doesn’t matter, because it’s just for itself. It feels like nothing and it feels like nothing else. It matters because it might make you care about the rapidly warming planet, or your local mountains, or the people who inhabit it. Skiing matters because of the dopamine and the belonging and the feel of it: the romance of the early morning sparkle-studded glint on the angles of the hoar frost, or the way you forget to breathe, sucked into the rhythm of bump turns, in that lucid moment where your body takes over for your brain. It matters because we need joy. It matters because it connects the dots between our weird little bodies and a bigger sense of place, and I don’t know anything more important than that.
skiing
This year, storms kept coming in hot and rainy, if they came at all. The pineapple express rolled in from
Frank Moth creates nostalgic postcards from the future using the collage technique in a struggle between humility and eternity.
the human element is obvious, yet perpetually incomplete. There’s always something missing, interrupted, or covered-up.
The alias, started in 2014, became a way for twoseperate artists to create things together under one name while concealing their true identities as they worked two “professional” jobs in Greece. The main person behind Frank Moth is a self-taught artist who’s been designing for many years from gig posters to mixtape covers. The compositions are mainly human-centered, and the presence of
Frank Moth uses people from older decades, retro colors, luscious florals, space elements, weird patterns and natural textures to convey messages of depersonalization-derealization, revival, rebirth, insecurity, and obsession. Their art represents an awkward, frantic effort to find God and eternity, under the potentially wrong axes of nostalgia for the past and instability of a sci-fi future. -We love it.
art
Bomb Snow recently caught up with both artists (we think so, anyway) and a short Q + A ensued. What are your day jobs? We have studied medicine and media but we are so blessed to currently work full-time for Frank Moth. How often are you making artwork? Does it come in waves, or is it an everyday thing? We work every day on everything “Frank Moth.” The really creative days however, usually come in waves and are dependant on mood, inspiration, and personal circumstances. Do you fight procrastination? Yes, we absolutely fight procrastination, especially under the current circumstances of being full-time artists. Procrastination has been a vice that’s haunted us for a very long time. In our case what works is one of us nudging the other; we don’t let each other stay in procrastination mode.
Will your identities ever be revealed? How much of your artwork is a collaboration between the two of you? Well, we haven’t made a huge effort to hide our identities, it’s just there’s no reason for them to be revealed anymore, since people know us as Frank Moth. Most of the creative work currently comes from one of us, while the other is responsible for the day-to-day, administrative things. Has your practice changed over time? It has changed indeed. For starters, it has converted to a full-time thing from just a hobby. It has been enriched with experience and practice, while opening up doors for beautiful collaborations and many new clients throughout the years. When we first started, there was a feeling of guilt for pursuing this, but now we are giving our practice the attention and seriousness it deserves.
If you had all the money in the world, what would you two do? This will sound cliché, but we would only keep some for necessary expenses and give the rest away because we know it only causes trouble and it definitely doesn’t create happiness. What does your ideal day look like? An ideal day would be one without anxiety and to-dos, a carefree (preferably) spring day full of blossoms. A day with family, and with God’s peace, bringing us true joy. Since you are both from Greece, where should one travel while there? One of the best places to travel is Crete, an island in the Southern part of Greece, full of beautiful beaches, large mountains, golden sun, and exquisite food. Thessaloniki is another destination in the Northern part of Greece. It’s the most beautiful, multi-cultural, historic city to live in. How long does a typical piece take to create? Are you drawing up sketches first and then collecting the materials to finish or how does the process work? Time varies when it comes to creating each piece of artwork. A piece may take a few days from start to finish, but there are other works of art that may take years before we feel they are complete. We don’t really sketch beforehand, we tend to play with the material we have. Many times the raw material gives more clear direction to a vague idea.
Where do you draw your inspiration from? Inspiration comes both externally and internally. Externally, we take inspiration from older pop culture and its trends – think old magazines, old advertisements, old television series and movies (our personal favorite to watch). We also have plenty of artists we admire and follow, who inspire us as well.
“ THE EPICENTER IN ALL OF THESE IS NOSTALGIA AND SOUL SEARCHING.” Internally, inspiration comes mostly from our childhood years, the decade we grew up in (late 80s & 90s), but also from older decades that we admire. We love everything from the 50s, 60s, and 70s. We find inspiration in memories of the cities we’ve lived in and from the activities we were doing in the past. The epicenter in all of these is nostalgia and soul searching.
Has Covid helped or hurt your creativity? The honest answer is both. We have been going through phases with the whole covid situation where we live. The stress from lockdowns totally blocks our creativity and personal balance. However, due to the long staying inside periods, we have time, zest and inspiration to create new things. What two words best describe each of you? Him: miserable, anxious/nervous. Her: patient, hardworking. Favorite book or podcast right now? At the moment we love everything by Raymond Carver. Where do you turn to stay inspired? Usually, the first thing we do is we stay away from everything for a while, clear our minds from information, and take a short break. Typically, we’ll look at the past, either our own creative past or previous times in our lives so we may be inspired to start something fresh again. Turning to many of the artists we admire helps as well. We also make an effort to read and learn about new things in art or practice our hand at new mediums, experimenting with texture and color.
“ OUR ART REPRESENTS AN AWKWARD, FRANTIC EFFORT TO FIND
GOD AND ETERNITY, UNDER THE POTENTIALLY WRONG AXES OF NOSTALGIA FOR THE PAST AND INSTABILITY OF A SCI-FI FUTURE.”
(on snow)
Dave Heath / Illustrated Text- Hannah Eddy
Skiing, riding, sliding…they all have soul, right? Does it matter? Bomb Snow asked four industry editor’s what the “soul of skiing” mean’s to them. Each story shines a different perspective on this soulful phrase. We’ll let our reader’s decide where it resides.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
Revelations in Appalachian Astroturf
By Sakues Bankson
After three seasons estranged, I recently fell in love with skiing again. I give Jesus credit—Jesus, and a silver 2011 Honda Insight.
less; it wasn’t a proper season unless it ended with both your bank account and GPA dangerously close to zero. Skiing was more of a religion than a sport, something to which everything—money, time, energy, safety—must be devoted, all other obligations forgotten.
It happened in early August of 2020, when my wife and I were buying a used car in Lynchburg, Virginia. As we went over the paperwork, I couldn’t stop staring at the whitecolumned buildings marching up a nearby hillside: Liberty University, the ultra-conservative Christian college founded by pastor and televangelist Jerry Falwell, Sr. I idly examined the campus’s $40 million football stadium, 275-foot bell tower, rows of colonial-style brick buildings…and a bare slope blanketed in white.
This zealotry deepened when I became a ski writer and every day, every trip, was a potential story. Cross-country stormchasing was part of the job, as were complicated travel plans to unusual places. On pow days, I was obligated to be in line for first chair. It was the dream, everything the broke 21-year-old me could have imagined, much less hoped for.
I whirled back to the salesman and pointed at the complex. “What is that?” I asked. “The big white patch on the mountain over there?” “That’s the university’s ski hill,” he said, barely looking up from the paperwork. My disbelief quickly turned to feverish curiosity, but the salesman had never been to the hill. We could check it out ourselves, he suggested. It’s open to anyone, and students get a discount.
Only one problem: Add losing too many friends to avalanches, and skiing had become profoundly, existentially stressful. I just didn’t want to go anymore. Then I blew my knee and was out for a season. By the next, I’d switched jobs and my wife’s medical school had pulled us to Whitefish, Montana, where we didn’t know a soul. The following season we’d moved again, and I only skied eight days, the fewest of my life. Then residency brought us east for a three-year stint in Virginia, a place not known for its snowsports. In the darkest, deepest corners of my mind, I was relieved.
Ten minutes later, we stepped out of our freshly purchased hybrid and into a caricature of a ski resort—the lodge, the huge trail map, the slopeside après spot (sans booze, of course)—it was all there, but with the gaudy feel of a traveling carnival rollercoaster. The “snow” surface was thick and bristly, like backcountry Astroturf, the artificially curvaceous slope scattered with rails, boxes and angular jumps. A handful of skiers and snowboarders, outfitted in sweatpants, Tshirts and generic rental gear, traversed cautiously towards the magic carpet and another lap.
Standing below the sheet of albino Astroturf, sweating in the 80-degree Appalachian sunshine, I felt it all drop away. The stress, the fear, the gear envy and pow-day guilt. I was looking at the antithesis of everything I thought skiing needed to be, and seeing what skiing actually is. Stripped of terrain and even snow, people still skied. They still laughed and cheered on complete strangers. I even saw one sneak a sip off a flask.
It was the most hardcore, glorious mountain I’d ever seen. I felt something stir inside me, so buried under shame and self-delusion I’d never noticed its absence. For the first time in a half-decade, I wanted to go skiing.
A few days later, I slammed my heels into my boots, tucked a beer in my pocket and sauntered to the magic carpet. The turns were awful, by any measure, and my beer was warm. But every swish of my edges, every foamy sip, every painful jab of my boots was familiar, like coming home. I’d been here, I realized. In fact, maybe I’d never left.
For the past 20 years, that’s all I wanted to do; I’d built my life around it. I moved to Bellingham, Washington in the early 2000s, officially for college…but truthfully for Mt. Baker Ski Area, the snowiest place on earth. With every frenetic, 100-day season, my views on skiing became equally obsessive: it wasn’t a true mountain unless the terrain was jagged, the consequences terrifying, and the snow bottom-
They had no reason to be here. But they were, drawn by the simple freedom of gravity meeting gradient.
Unloading at the top, the lifty—carpeteer?—declared they’d be closing in 15 minutes. I flipped my buckles closed, grimaced, and crushed my beer can. If I hurried, I could get in a few more laps. I let gravity take over. There was skiing to be done, and no time to waste. - Sakeus Bankson is a former editor-in-chief at The Ski Journal and Freehub Magazine. He currently lives in Roanoke, VA, but calls the PNW home.
hot dog, hot dog, hot diggity dog By Mike Rogge
The soul of skiing is probably on an Apple Watch somewhere in the Wasatch. Maybe it’s in a ranking list on Strava. It’s most definitely in a upcoming marketing campaign for Vail Resorts. Frankly, the soul of skiing is everywhere because, like the term extreme in the 90s, we as a culture have exhausted the phrase. The soul of skiing exists in the back of a pickup truck, but that truck is a Ford 150, Built Ford Tough, neatly parked in the Protect Our Winters Parking Lot at a Mega Resort on a Megapass all shared through the MegaApp, which just updated so you can Find Your Friends. It’s my belief that if you need an app to find your friends then you must reevaluate your friendships and skiing abilities. Try and keep up. Like most of American subculture, outdoors and mountain towns are the latest trend to get washed through the marketing authenticity machines, squeezed dry on the other side in the form of black-pumped photographs on huge billboards in the middle of Manhattan. It’s played. It’s overdone. But it hasn’t killed the ski bum. It’s simply redefined what it means to be one. A week ago, I skied with the founder of a very large outerwear company worth slightly less than $100 million. He wiggled his way into our group of ski industry nerds who spend weekdays skiing Alpine Meadows like we’re 13. We’ll call him Yvonne, but not the one you’re thinking of. Yvonne and our crew talked our shit on the lifts, spoke hopefully of this incoming storm, and how the best skis are the ones made for that day’s snow. A good ski quiver is a big part of the soul of skiing.
I wasn’t intimidated by Yvonne’s net worth, which he did share with us strangely. I was more taken aback by what it means to be a skier or a rider. Success in the mountains shouldn’t, and isn’t, measured by how much money is in the bank account. The soul of skiing doesn’t mean you pay local property taxes. The term exists in your mind and it’s mathematically an equation that roughs out to what is the amount of skiing you’d like to be doing compared to the amount of days you’re actually on-hill. If you’re like me, it’s never enough and the desire to go more, ski more, see more, dance more, drink more, laugh more, parking-lot-hang more is always there. The soul of skiing is a verb. It requires constant attention. If you don’t feel it, maybe close the laptop, put down the phone, and run for the hills. And I swear to you on the soul of skiing it’s not the Yvonne you’re thinking of. I’m told that guy lives in Jackson where everybody knows the soul of skiing rents a room in the Hostel Benny Wilson, co-founder of the Jackson Hole Airforce, grew up in. Everybody knows that. -Mike Rogge is the editor of Mountain Gazette.
This Page: Ryan Creary
the soul As I write this, we’re just coming off a few days camping in “the lot” at Mt. Bachelor over New Year’s Eve. Our second winter lot camping trip of the season. A series of storms was stacked up, the winds were gusting across the mountain, the snow was not expected to stop. So, we packed up our van and our four-yearold son and drove all of 30 miles to live at the mountain for a few days. We weren’t alone, plenty of our friends also thought this was a great idea. The experience of being with friends in the mountains embodies what snowboarding is to me at this moment beyond sliding sideways on a board. I could leave it at that, but there’s more.
Dean Blotto Gray
Snowboarding is constantly changing. There was a time where I might’ve enthusiastically shared that linking turns on a rental board down an icy mogul face was everything. A time where I was so deep into snowboarding that I probably would’ve had some cringe-worthy, overly-impassioned view of it. Fast for-
of snowboarding ward through a tour of snowboarding around the world courtesy of a decade at TransWorld SNOWboarding Magazine with a heavy dose of the snowboard industry mixed in. Now I’ve found myself on the other side of that ride in Bend, Oregon … still snowboarding. Through it all, I realize that the main storylines that have carried through are a feeling of freedom and community. That experience of freedom spans all snowboard experiences from first timers on the bunny hill, to the park lappers and powder hounds, to the weekend warriors, and the devout splitboarders. That euphoric feeling of breaking free from gravity, finding that balance point, and going fast. It’s also a freedom from distractions and multi-tasking, work, school, chores—when you’re snowboarding, you’re snowboarding.
WORDS Annie Fast
With community, you can take it as broadly or narrowly as you like. There’s a sense of belonging to a group that comes with being a snowboarder, and very obviously, it’s so fun riding with your friends. Thirty years on from my first turns on a board, we’re teaching our son how to ride. Which brings us back full circle to the bunny slope, where we’re surrounded by first timers eating shit all over the place with huge grins. And then there’s my kid, hitting the snacks on the ride back up and practicing his falling leaf all the way down. I’m realizing snowboarding is about family now, too. And I’m suddenly struck by the revelation of how true the saying is about snowboarding being a lifestyle. - Annie Fast is a former editor-in-chief at TransWorld SNOWboarding Magazine. She continues to snowboard and write about outdoor adventures from her home in Bend, Oregon.
skiing’s soul survives on smiles
Chair 5, always delivers a beautiful “Glacier view.” Whitefish Mountain, MT.
soul
WORDS Todd Heath IMAGE Craig Moore
I was a rope-tow-operator at the tender age of 15. A “ropey,” getting paid to watch my friends lap the halfpipe all night. It felt surreal. A couple years later, I moved up to lifty-status and obtained a discounted locker and a free ski pass. I’d entered a club where the soul of skiing resides, a place where the obsession I have lived with since my early days of lapping bump runs and charging gates first formed. I missed going to see the Rolling Stones with my older brother because it landed on the opening day of skiing at Mt. Brighton. Yes, the same Mt. Brighton from Aspen Extreme (the best ski film of the early 90’s) and the same 230 vertical feet that kept me satisfied throughout my formative years. It wasn’t until I became a bit older and grew tired of the same bump run – around the time said movie came out – my friends and I decided to illegally hop the fence one dark night to attempt skiing the “backside.” The rush of my first illegal OB mission and the late nights skiing under fluorescent lights had me captivated. My dad recently came across a letter I wrote to my grandparents and it states: “Hi Grandma and Grandpa. Everything is going great, school is good, my grades are good, but I wish there was more snow.” I was 10. Whether the soul of skiing is a sense you are born with, or something that creeps up on you will never be known, but it had me on my first night sitting in a five-by-five wooden shed. The soul of skiing lives in those lift shacks. It lives on those sneaker pow days, when 3 inches feels more like 10. It’s there when the rest of the world is commuting to work and you are hiking a ridge; and in the absolute freedom of forgetting life’s responsibilities, one turn at a time. The soul of skiing is found in those long hikes where your own breath is the only thing keeping you warm from a howling wind, when your goggles are so fogged and frozen, yet you laugh because the amount of snow on your brain-frozen skull keeps you from caring. The moment when only the present matters. The soul of skiing might live in a chairlift conversation or a thumbed ride to the hill. It’s a feeling of fulfillment, a simple yet amazing joyfulness that doesn’t need explaining to those who know it. It’s an addiction we share. The soul
of skiing lives in all skiers and snowboarders who understand the uniqueness of a perfect flake falling on their jacket or the sacredness of an untouched line. The old Poma lifts and double chairs reverberate its soul. The one-piece suits weathered in fringed duct-tape, or the smell of hot wax on an old iron remind me of its presence. The soul of skiing lives in a snow-filled parking lot you slept in prior to the plows waking you up for a morning pee. It lives in line before the lifties reach for their shovels. The white knuckled all-night drive is the antithesis of the soul we all know, but you still go.
The soul of skiing is actually so magnificent, it deserves a poem: The skin track, the boot pack, the smoke and patrol shack. The T-bars and rope tows, the lifties dancing to Dead shows. The late-night drives through nuking snow; it’s all part of the soul. The camaraderie of a late-day Après, especially on a pow-day. Or an afternoon skin when lifts stop their spin. Above an inversion when the rest of town sits in clouds, the soul of skiing smiles down– a large grin. Because simply enough, it’s a feeling we all keep. No matter how icy or steep, the soul of skiing runs deep.
Sure the ‘Stones concert may have been something I’d never forget, but for me, to be a part of skiing’s soul, is something I’ll never regret. - Todd Heath is the founder and Chief Motivator of Bomb Snow and firmly believes that the “Soul of Skiing” matters. Through habit, when he mentions going “skiing”, he’s most likely riding a snowboard.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
recommended books, podcasts & music
Ever had the desire to drill a permanent hole in your skull in hopes of boosting your mood and forever improving your cogBORE HOLE by Joe Mellon nitive function? If so, this is the (Strange Attractor Press) book for you. And, if not, this is still most likely the book for you. It is just that weird and entertaining. I am not sure it is possible to read this book and not feel a deep need to talk about it. Originally published in 1975, Bore Hole is the autobiography of England’s Joe Mellen. It was a cult classic when first released but soon fell out of print and found itself on multiple “banned books” lists. The reason being that at the center of Mellen’s book is the highly controversial topic of trepanning. Specifically, self-trepanning. That is to say, purposely drilling a hole in the top of your own head with the explicit hope of improving functionality. Along the way, Bore Hole goes deep into the early days of Europe’s psychedelic scene and provides an intimate look at the legendary LSD guru, Bart Huges. And, yes, the author drills a hole in his head, but it takes a few tries. This modern edition of Bore Hole (Strange Attractor Press, 2015) includes all sorts of previously unpublished photos, the transcript of a never-before-seen interview with Huges, as well as a new postscript from Mellen himself that has to be read to be believed.
VOICES OF YELLOWSTONE’S CAPSTONE:
A Narrative Atlas of the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness
Every once and a while, a book comes along that is so special, it defies common description. Voices of Yellowstone’s Capstone is just such a thing. A visually arresting tome best suited for the prime real estate on your coffee table, VYC takes ambitious aim at being the last, best book you will ever need/read about the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness. It is an absolute love poem of natural history, personal narratives, art, maps, photography, wilderness, wildlife, and so much more. Simply put, this book matters. Edited by Jesse Logan and Traute Parrie, VYC features words of wisdom, storytelling and major knowledge drops from folks like Gary Ferguson, Hilary Eisen, Doug Chabot, Hank Rate, and Shane Doyle. From mountain passes and wolverines to wildflowers, white bark pines, and the still unfolding history of humans on the land, VYC is as educational as it is inspirational. Additionally, all the proceeds from this book go directly to the Absaroka-Beartooth Wilderness Alliance, an organization dedicated to keeping the A-B as wild as it is magnificent for generations to come.
It should go without saying that breathBREATH: THE NEW SCIENCE OF A LOST ART ing is a fundamental part of our health and by James Nestor (Penguin Random House) well-being. After all, if you stop breathing, you die. Even though we take about 25,000 gulps of air a day, within the first few pages of Breath, it becomes clear very quickly that most of us don’t know shit about breathing. And, more to the point, you are likely doing it all wrong. This book is the user’s manual for your respiratory system that you never knew you needed. In short, this book can and will change your life for the better. After several years of research, including using himself as a test subject, and extensive interviews with the world’s foremost authorities on the subject, Nestor has penned not just a history of human breathing and all of the associated science, but he has also created a radical call to arms for those of us who breathe too fast, too often, and/or with our mouths. It is remarkable how many different things- from stress, hormone production, anxiety, and athletic performance to happiness, cognition, blood pressure, and your genitals- are impacted by your breathing habits. As an added bonus, Nestor’s background as a journalist who writes magazine features, means that the language and storytelling is sharp and lively. This is a science book written so well it almost takes your breath away.
Bomb Snow 2.0 | Issue 24 | Late Winter 2021
music The grassroots, Vermont-based nonprofit 1% for the Planet has been leading the conversaThe 1% for the Planet Podcast tion around earth-minded consumerism since its inception in 2002. As a result, it has an extended and unrivaled network of outdoor industry badasses and environmental advocates. Now in its third season, Planet Service Announcement is the organization’s official podcast, a wonderfully accessible place to meet some of the remarkable and inspiring people in the 1% family like Jeremy Jones, Caroline Gleich, Nikki West, Jeff Johnson, James Bidwell, Yvonne Chouinard, and Alex Honnold to name but a few.
PLANET SERVICE ANNOUNCEMENT:
Host Mike Powell goes deep with many of ski and snowboard legends, newcomers, as well as a wide range of industry and action sports icons (even rollerbladers and musicians). His questions are well-researched, his energy level engaging and the conversations almost always entertaining and hilarious. Powell’s direct, candid style is refreshing, and his guest list impressive. Just look at all of the dang episodes he’s recorded. A few of our favorites: Plake, Stump, Hattrup, Schmidt. Can you tell we’re old?
THE POWELL MOVEMENT thepowellmovement.com
LOOKING SIDEWAYS BY MATT BARR
A deep and thoughtful dive into some of the best surfing, snowboarding, and skateboarding stories ever told. Episodes range anywhere from 45 minutes to 3 hours and are always filled with passion, insight, humor, and inspiration from names big and small in the action sports industry. As fascinating as it is encouraging, host Matt Barr digs deep with honest and insightful questions to keep each listener tuned in about the lives of many of our idols on boards. wearelookingsideways.com
KUNZITE
Birds Don’t Fly, 2018
THE DEBUT ALBUM FROM KUNZITE was self-released in 2018 but I’m here to tell you that its hippie electronica vibes are just what you need to keep your living room dance moves on point during this pandemic and ensure you do your part to keep the local dispensary in business. KUNZITE is a collaboration of Mike Stroud (Ratatat) and Agustin White (White Flight) who melded their production skills together from far flung parts of the globe. It’s no surprise that KUNZITE channels a similar style of chillwave guitar riffs, synth lines and bass-heavy beats that you like about Ratatat, then adds
a fresh take on vocal arrangements, and douses it all with a few hits of LSD. Check out the track “Vapors” which has an unrelenting rhythm and geometric sounding hook which is perfectly suited to soundtrack a reboot of the 8-bit game Rad Racer. Another favorite is “Honeycomb” which starts off with a fleeting woodwind arrangement over a synth organ that all morphs into an electro-guitar anthem. And don’t sleep on the track “Minerals” which harkens back to the original intergalactic guitar exhibitions of Ratatat. If the subject of this review seems a bit dated for you, check out the single “Saturn” from their upcoming album which brings even tighter similarities to the early works of Ratatat. Expect a new album to drop in 2021. -Parker Thompson (PT)
NEWEN AFROBEAT Curiche, 2019
KHRUANGBIN & LEON BRIDGES Texas Sun (Full EP)Vibes Vol.3,
ON HIS FIRST ALBUM IN FIVE YEARS, French hip hop producer Wax Tailor enlists the lyrical help of many musical legends including Mr. Lif, Del the Funky Homosapien and Mark Lanegan to bring his trip hop tapestry The Shadow of Their Suns to life. For those unfamiliar, Wax Tailor has spent a 20-year career digging through dusty crates to assemble cinematic beats which draw a comparison to the works of renowned beat producers DJ Shadow and RJD2. The Shadow of Their Suns does not deviate from Wax’s high caliber of past work. This latest release feels like it was made as a soundtrack to a contemporary film noir piece which
leaves you wanting each track to continue for another few minutes to see what’s lurking around the next corner. Check out the track “Just a Candle” which features a languid bass-heavy beat with soulful wailing strings and ethereal samples layered on top. On “Everybody” both Mr. Lif and Del lend their lyrical prowess which touch on the fate of mom-and-pop shops and finally concedes that “now all my friends work for Amazon.” While some tracks like “Everybody” hit squarely on the nose in these unprecedented times and perhaps accurately predict our grim future, this album surely will stand out as a timeless piece. -PT
NEWEN AFROBEAT IS THE GENRE blending world music ensemble you didn’t know you needed until now. Hailing from Santiago, Chile this band of 15 musicians nails the fundamentals of Nigerian afrobeat while playing in the musical strengths of their native Chile. A breath of fresh air in this male dominated genre, Newen Afrobeat features female vocalist Maria Francisca Riquelme who sings en español about themes of ecology, women’s empowerment, equality, and indigenous issues over tight layers of African drum rhythms, electric guitars, and whole heap of horns. In passing you might
think this is another spinoff group from the Kuti family dynasty, but upon closer inspection you’ll feel the soul of South America shine through on this polished album. Sure, you’ve probably heard a few 17 minute Fela Kuti songs – enough to garner some cursory afrobeat clout at the homemade kombucha swap circles. But showing up and rambling on about the virtues of Chile-Nigerian crossover Newen Afrobeat is sure to get you one step closer to that feature on the Hipsters of Bozeman Instagram page you’ve been dreaming about for months. -PT
THOUGH IT MAY SEEM OXYMORONIC, I’m old school when it comes to listening to music online. I’ll type something into the trusty YouTube search bar, only to get bored-out by the familiar sounds of my 90’s Ska and pop-punk fondness. But that’s the beauty of the YouTube search, it helps expand typical selections by picking for you. When you listen to certain genres all day at work, new albums start popping up on the right-hand side that are similar to the music you’d typically cue up. Yeah, Spotify and other more popular Apps do this as well, but I’m too stubborn to try them – so, either laugh at me, or listen up. I’ve found so many
kick ass bands just by streaming my classic go-tos. Next time your ears hurt from old tastes on repeat, let the beauty of techy algorithms work in your favor. My current favorite is: Khruangbin & Leon Bridges - Texas Sun, but here’s a list of some other great artists I’ve come across while playing other tunes: Allen Stone, Allah-Las, Durand Jones & The Indications, Delvon Lamar, The Equatics, El Michels Affair, Thee Lakesiders, SLIFT, All Them Witches, and the Unknown Mortal Orchestra. -Tío Have any favorites you’d like us to review? Email me: todd@bombsnow.com or DM our Instagram @bombsnow
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As uncertain as reality has become during the Pandemic, it felt right to end our themed issue with a serious non-fictional piece about the importance of accepting death. It’s heavy, but in these turbulent times we must step into fear in order to conquer anything worth fighting for. I hope you’ve enjoyed Bomb Snow 2.0, we’ll see you in July when we release a new issue of Bomb Flow. Thank you readers, we couldn’t have done it without your support - T O Double D
The Love in Defeat WHEN I MET BOB, we were in his assisted living apartment, a dark room a little bigger than a hotel suite, with stale notes of the previous occupants’ cigarette smoke still hanging in the air. He was resigned to his mechanical recliner, a gaunt figure dwarfed by overstuffed padding billowing out around him. I was a kid looking to get closer to death, to taste its notes against the palette of my insulated life, and Bob was a man reluctantly acknowledging he didn’t want to travel his terminal Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease (COPD) diagnosis alone.
On the very first day of our contracted hospice relationship, Bob told me the story of how he asked his wife to marry him. I was shocked at his immediate openness. Bob needed to be convinced for months to even allow a volunteer into his room. Like most of his generation, Bob was nobody’s charity case and in his opinion, his feelings were his to deal with. I was warned before my first day that “it might start out pretty rough.” So when he opened up with a critique of the corporate establishment and continued into his most precious story, I was amazed. “I’d known her for two weeks,” he said, looking out the window. “We worked at the state mental hospital. I think we were about 22, the both of us. I didn’t know much about her, but I knew I
liked her. So, I invited her for a drive one day, out along a dirt road. I wanted to marry her from the moment I met her and I figured ‘what’s the point in waiting?’ After we pulled over to take in the view, I got down on my knee, no ring or nothin’, and said ‘what are you doing for the rest of your life?”
malcy to make the conversation bearable. He told me about his kids, about his favorite hunting spots in the Pintler Mountains, his grandchildren’s athletics, and wanting to be near his dog.
His eyes watered. His wife was also in hospice at a dementia unit 90 minutes away. I learned later that she didn’t remember him anymore.
he had to lose and growing increasingly despondent. The last time I saw him, the day before he died, something in me knew we’d never talk again. At the time, I was falling in love with someone and visiting less frequently. That last day, sitting with Bob who was now gasping for most of his breaths, I told him about my new partner, gushing about her intelligence and creativity, telling him how she might be “the one.” He smiled wide.
“She said ‘well, I don’t really know,’ with her hand over her mouth, all surprised. So I said ‘why don’t you think about spending it with me?’” He smiled for the first time. “Well, she said yes. And that was that.” Over the course of six months, I saw Bob maybe 20 times. I was there the day after his wife died and I sat and cried with him. Some days we watched football together (though neither of us really watched) and talked about the state of the world as the cheering crowds of spectacle soothed us with enough nor-
Each visit, I noticed Bob’s health worsening. He was losing the little weight
“I’ve got…” he paused, pulling in a breath. “A pair of my wife’s earrings. I’d like to give them to her. I’d like to meet her.” Nodding, I looked into his fading blue eyes and realized it wouldn’t happen. In that moment, I also realized that there
acceptance
WORDS & IMAGE Kristopher Drummond
was love between Bob and I from our first conversation. Somehow, being squeezed between an ending and a beginning gave me access to the truth that love has nothing to do with time. I saw in that moment that love is a blossoming that happens when we surrender to reality. It arrives amid facts. To love, to really love, is to accept defeat. Whether we’re yielding to big D death or the initiatory death of intimate relationship, relinquishing the known is required. Bob and I started in love because he and I were already, albeit in different ways, defeated. Lately, I have been remembering Bob almost daily. As I write, we’re three days past the Capitol being breached by a mob during the warmest winter on record. In Emigrant, Montana, where I live, the Yellowstone River is running without a trace of ice halfway through January. These days, I’m reckoning with what’s becoming impossible to deny.
We live in an ending. For most of my adult life I’ve been a climate activist, organizing marches, writing letters, fighting for what I believed was fixable. I don’t believe that anymore. At least not in the way I used
to. During my time with Bob, our conversations wandered often to the world and a version of the future that even then I sensed slipping away. I remember his shriveled body, the love-as-anger still pouring through it, and the silent understanding we shared that he would never live to see the outcomes we speculated about. More than anything else, beyond any of the conversations or stories or frustrations, I remember the connection Bob and I shared. Some part of me was, as it still is, apprenticing to endings and learning to surrender to the love and meaning inside them. Even then, I recognized that the only way to a better world travels through the fierce doors of finality. As we’re thrust into 2021, we don’t know whether we’re in hospice mode for our species or potentially even the earth itself. Scientifically, it’s quite possible. Likely even. Here, up against the edges of an ending none of us really grasp, we’re faced with the choice of every terminal patient: will we cling, stalling for just a little bit more time with our capitalistic narrative of “progress?” Or will we
turn around and face the fact that we’ve reached the end of this story and step into what comes next? Buddhist teacher and death worker Stephen Levine wrote of the many healing miracles he witnessed when people finally accepted their diagnoses at the deepest level. However, the key to those healings was found in absolute surrender, not in any desired outcome surrender might enable. It seems now that only through collectively giving way and stepping into the reality of things as they are will we find the love that may paradoxically offer hope for a human future. Contemplating Bob, I feel admiration for the way he faced death with such soverieignty and courage. I visit his grave sometimes and remember how he would shift between screaming about a fake charge from his living facility to crying about how he just wanted to go hunting one more time. Watching emotions cascade through a dying man who even six months prior would have denied their existence gives me hope that we can do the same. And maybe through accepting the humbling in our unravelling, we can humanely meet the uncertain future.
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