Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine - Issue Nineteen

Winter 2023/ 2024

Issue Number Nineteen

Ambassador Mark Carter Jackson Hole, Wyoming

Issue Number Nineteen Rider: Blake Paul 05

EDITOR’S NOTE

For The Love W

hat is it about snowboarding that cuts so deep for us? What keeps us coming back for more, year after year, even as the world goes further off the rails? This thing we do becomes more than carving turns and riding lifts; it’s a rebellion against the darkness, a middle finger to the dystopia. In a world teetering on the brink, snowboarding becomes a refuge, a sanctuary where we connect with ourselves, nature, and one another.

This isn’t just another issue of Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine; it’s a direct line to the soul of snowboarding. We believe in amplifying the voices of the passionate individuals who make this community thrive, whoever they are. Inside, you’ll find stories from visionaries, doers, dreamers, everyday folks, pros, and purists. We’re calling this issue The Deep One, in honor of the incredible winter we had last season and the spark it rekindled in so many of us.

Issue 19 features the joyful artistic vision of Idaho-based artist Aimee Babneau (p.12) on the cover, and a look at the innovative

gear-repair revolution happening at Needle & Shred over the hill in Victor (p.27).

There’s a strong Wydaho presence stitching together all of these pages, and it’s no secret that the valley known as Pierre’s Hole is a snowboarding mecca these days.

Read about legendary rider Rob Garrett (p.66), one of the earliest shred-pioneers to move to Jackson, and his recollection of snowboarding exploits from the golden age of nylon-strap bindings and knee-high gaiters. Explore the history of High Mountain Heli (p.72) and their contributions to the shred culture of that same era. Everything we know and do in Jackson Hole builds on the generations that moved here before we did.

Blake Paul takes a turn at the keys and takes us inside his world (p.62), while Zeeplin Zeerip (p.76) and Dani ReyesAcosta (p.80) bring us stories from far outside of the Jackson Hole bubble that give context and depth to how snowboarding fits into their lives.

WORDS: HEATHER HENDRICKS PHOTO: KEEGAN RICE

There’s more, of course. Drool-worthy photos, salty op-eds, Rated Radical board reviews, a fresh face that’s Dropping Next— these pages connect us with our community, and with the personalities behind those dark goggles and face masks you see on the hill. It might be bad out there, but it’s warm and bright in here. Thumb through, settle in, and enjoy Issue 19 of JHSM. Thanks for reading. See you out there. xx, HH P.S. - This magazine is fueled 111% by heart and passion that burns brighter than the sun on a bluebird blower pow day. It continues to happen every year because you all make it happen: by contributing photos & stories, subscribing & supporting, and continuing to do rad shit. Long Live Snowboarding!

Either here or there, @heatherhendrickshh is always on the go. With a newfound love of composting and upcycling, she wants to know, wanna swap gear?

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The Crew WINTER 2023-2024

EDITOR

Heather Hendricks editor@jhsnowboarder.com CREATIVE DIRECTOR

Olaus Linn olaus@sharpeyedeer.com

CFO / ADVERTISING

Jenelle Linn jenelle.linn@sharpeyedeer.com

COPY EDITORS

Mercy Rudolph Ben Rudolph

BIG THANKS

The Linns Krista & Rich Coffin Gillian & Daniel Heald Ginger Salazar Brett Matthews Cait Fischer PUBLISHER

DESIGNER

Sharp Eye Deer sharpeyedeer.com

DESIGNER

jhsnowboarder.com

Bethany Chambers bethany.chambers@sharpeyedeer.com

Ryan Dee ryan.dee@sharpeyedeer.com DEVELOPMENT DIRECTOR

Mark Epstein mark.epstein@sharpeyedeer.com

ON THE WEB

SUBSCRIPTIONS

jhsnowboarder.com/subscribe

MAILING ADDRESS

3875 W Linn Ranch Rd Wilson, WY 83014

CONTRIBUTORS

Taylor Fry Heather Hendricks Jessica Kaplan Izzy Lidsky Olaus Linn Stefan Merriam Blake Paul Dani Reyes-Acosta Joey Sackett Zeppelin Zeerip

BOARD MEMBERS

Halina Boyd Mark Carter Mikey Franco Bryan Iguchi Rob Kingwill Jeff Moran Lance Pitman Julie Zell

COVER ARTIST

Aimee Babneau

PHOTOGRAPHERS

Scott Askins Connor Burkesmith Ryan Dee Oli Gagnon Leslie Hittmeier Izzy Lidsky Rob MacInnis Fredrik Marmsater Reed Mattison Duane Nardi Willie Nevins Alex Pashley Keegan Rice Joey Sackett Jared Spieker Zeppelin Zeerip ILLUSTRATOR

Olaus Linn

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The Contents ISSUE NINETEEN

EDITOR’S NOTE - 05

Heather Hendricks

THE GALLERY - 32

PASS PIONEERS - 66

STEPPING OUT- 86

MAKING SENSE - 51

50 YEARS OF UNTRACKED ADVENTURE - 72

OUT FOR DELIVERY - 91

Photo Contributors

DEEPLY ROOTED - 12

Izzy Lidsky

Joey Sackett

Olaus Linn

Heather Hendricks

DROPPING NEXT - 19

Stefan Merriam

A PLACE CALLED HOME - 54

Izzy Lidsky

RATED RADICAL - 22

Shaper Summit Board Testers

UNPHASED - 58

Joey Sackett

IF IT AIN’T BROKE - 27

Taylor Fry

QUEST FOR UNDERSTANDING - 76

Jessica Kaplan

Joey Sackett

ONE FOR THE ROAD - 96

Interview with Travis Rice

Zeppelin Zeerip

OUTLIERS - 80

Dani Reyes-Acosta

BLAKE’S WORLD- 62

Blake Paul

ON THE COVER © 2023 Sharp Eye Deer LLC All Rights Reserved

Rider: Curtis Ciszek Photo: Alex Pashley

“Wydaho Roots” Acrylic on Board Aimee Babneau

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COVER ARTIST

Deeply Rooted Issue 19 cover artist Aimee Babneau finds her creative flow through snowboarding WO R D S & PH OTO S : I Z Z Y L I D S KY

T

he first thing to catch my eye when I entered Aimee Babneau’s studio was a bright orange LEGO helicopter perched on top of her fridge. It didn’t quite fit in with her twinkly lights, colorful artwork covering every wall, and the painted tea kettle whistling happily on the stove. “My kids would play Art of Flight with it when they were little and didn’t want to snowboard all day,” Babneau told me, gesturing to the helicopter. She had used Travis Rice’s magnum opus 2011 snowboard film to keep her kids entertained on down days—the mark of a true die-hard snowboarder.

Babneau was raised just outside Pocatello, Idaho, and she grew up with a view of the Tetons in the distance. She would make the trek to Pebble Creek or Grand Targhee to ski any chance she had. “We’d jump out

of bed in the morning. It was better than Christmas to go skiing for me,” she said.

After years of skiing at Targhee and one summer living in Jackson Hole during college, she moved to the Teton Valley full-time in 2009. As a lifelong artist, the culture, music, and art of the Tetons drew her in. Although she’d never lived there full-time, in many ways the valley had always felt like home to her.

Painting–like snowboarding–was a way for Babneau to find a creative flow while working multiple jobs to survive. Over time, the two have become intertwined and created a balance in her life that she’s come to rely on. Getting out and riding before sitting down to paint allows her to come to her work with fresh air in her lungs and some sun on her face. The ritual puts her in the right state of mind to be hypnotized by

the process of painting and fully immersed in her work. Although painting has also now become a job, it remains just as much a creative outlet and passion as always.

“I could be working all day long and it feels like an hour. Same with snowboarding and just being part of the moment—it forces you to be present. That’s more what it’s about to me than making a piece that someone would want to buy. I’m doing it because I have an idea in my head and I need to get it out, and if someone else likes it, that’s an awesome bonus.”

Her work reflects a life spent in proximity to the Tetons and the deep connection she has with the surrounding landscape. She uses bright colors and fluid shapes in her pieces to transport the viewer to a visual plane where they see colors and light that

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We totally staged this shot to look like Aimee was still working on the cover art.

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You guys should buy some of Aimee’s postcards and art.

no photo could ever capture. Babneau’s paintings emulate the joyful magic of the unique, irreplicable moments we encounter in the mountains.

Recently Babneau has begun to branch out into mural work and digital painting. Much of her physical work uses recycled or found wood panels that are then painted with acrylic paint, paint pens, or water-based spray paint. “There’s something more rustic and connected about working on wood. I like to expose the wood grain in a lot of my pieces when it’s available. And if all else fails, you can just sand it back down and start again.”

Creating the cover art for Issue 19 of Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine was

It’s hard to tell where she gets her inspiration but it sure looks fun!

a dream assignment for Babneau because of her close connection to the art and snowboard community in Teton Valley.

She initially had the idea for her cover art piece “Wydaho Roots” while driving up the Hoback River canyon and seeing a mudslide cascade down the canyon wall. The piece depicts layers of the earth under a blanket of snow. Roots are growing from the foot of the rider, symbolizing connection to the vastness of the mountains. Seeing that mudslide in the canyon made her consider all the layers of the earth and how we affect the environment around us. How will it impact future generations if the snow melts for the last time? The piece is also a self-portrait meant to honor Babneau’s own Teton roots and the joy she continues to find in the mountains.

Aimee Babneau’s work has been featured on the Grand Targhee Bluegrass Festival and Snow King Concert Series posters. She currently has a mural on display at Teton Geo Center and will have work hanging at Guidepost Brewing in Victor starting in December 2023. She also has greeting cards with her artwork available at MD Nursery, Barrels and Bins, and the Liquor Market in Driggs. More of Babneau’s work can be found at ababneauart.com IL

Izzy Lidsky is a freelance photographer and writer groovin’ in the Tetons. She tells stories through writing and photography. @izzylidsky

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“I’m doing it because I have an idea in my head and I need to get it out.”

Yeah it was cold, so what? Aimee sacrifices for her art!

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Dropping Next

WORDS: STEFAN MERRIAM

PHOTO: CONNOR BURKESMITH

H

ave you ever felt intimidated by a swarm of young rippers out on the hill?

They’re small but their voices are loud, and they ride fast and move in a hungry group like a pack of wolf pups. When they rock up to the park they hit it like a runaway freight train: one unbroken line of shredders. As the head coach of the Jackson Hole Ski Club ( JHSC) Freeride Program, I get to follow a posse just like that around the mountain and watch people scramble to get out of the way. But their chaos is controlled. These kids move with purpose, following a leader down jump line after jump line. And I know that if I ride up to the front of the pack I will find Noah Robertson.

Noah only fully joined the Freeride Program last year, but he has been involved in the Club’s skateboard side for years now. His talents on a skateboard translated immediately to snowboarding. He’s a true Jackson Hole Renaissance man—he also raises pigs with Teton County’s 4H Club and plays just about every position on the 8th grade football team. His enthusiasm for everything he does is loud, persistent, and infectious.

Noah Robertson

Noah’s style pairs well with his snowboarding ability. He is strong and naturally athletic, often leading by example as he tries to figure out a new trick or feature.

As his coach Hunter Piggot said, “Noah has serious style, especially when spinning off big jumps. He is a heckuva strong rider for his age and his riding will only continue to improve.” He attacks new tricks without fear, quickly masters them, and adds them to his bag. It’s an impressive thing to witness. At the Woodward Copper Snowboard Summer Camp this past year, Noah learned how to spin effortless 720s on his skateboard into the mega ramp foam pit, dazzling onlookers.

His drive to learn new tricks encourages his teammates and peers to join the battle with him. He’s helping to keep the fire alive in the Jackson Hole snowboard community. Even when he’s not leading the charge himself, he’s cheering everyone else on. His encouragement elevates the team’s time together and pushes their progression.

We saw Noah’s toughness and resilience last season when he dealt with a mid-season broken ankle. Injuries are a drag at any age,

but Noah was back on the hill to join his teammates at the Wednesday Night Lights rail jams in the spring. Before the injury he had already earned enough USASA and IFSA competition points last season to qualify for Nationals, but unfortunately the broken ankle kept him home. He’s ready for redemption.

The JHSC Freeride Program is fortunate to have Noah carry the Dropping Next torch this year. His steady commitment to snowboarding alongside his other interests and activities exemplifies the type of studentathletes we have in our club. It’s been really exciting to have a front row seat watching his growth as a rider and a person. Noah and his friends (and previous torch-bearers) Ace Emery and Ellis Swain are part of a crew of young rippers that are building up for a full mountain takeover in the coming years. Keep your head on a swivel! SM

Stefan Merriam is the head coach of the Jackson Hole Ski & Snowboard Club Freeride Program. You can find him eating Noah Roberston’s dust all winter long.

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Wonder Alpine Belleaire

Winterstick Swallowtail

Rated Radical Rob Kingwill’s Shaper Summit Board Test is held annually at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort.

A motley crew of shredders assembles for three days and tests hundreds of boards. This event is the proving grounds for our Rated Radical board recommendations.

We sift through the results after the test to find boards that stand out. We keep the riders’ opinions in their own words, so you get an unvarnished take on what’s Rated Radical this season.

T EST ER: OL AUS LI N N

TESTER : R OB K I N GWI LL

SI ZE: 1 5 6

SIZE: 183

“So quick and fun! Incredibly lightweight, scrappy board with a great fun shape.

Initiates turns really nicely. Wonder Alpine is super interesting snowboard brand: they are actually part of a biotech company developing renewable materials based on microalgae. Those materials have made their way into the core and sidewalls of this board, replacing some of the unfortunately nasty stuff that’s in traditional polyurethane Go check them out!”

“I love the OG Swallowtail! It truly outperforms just about every other board on the planet, and it literally elevated my consciousness in Alaska. I rode the 173 with plastic topsheet as well, and that one wasn’t quite as satisfying. Not sure why.”

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Rossignol Jibsaw

Arbor Veda Marie

Notice Pin Not

TEST E R : JE S S G OU C HE R

T EST ER : ER I C D OYLE

TESTER : K ELLY COLL A DO

SI ZE: 1 53

SI ZE: 16 0

SIZE: 1 45

“I had one of the best lay-down toe-side turns of my life on this thing. It basically turned in a full circle. So fun on terrain park jumps and lets you ride the entire mountain like a park. I’d 100% add this to my quiver.

Seriously one of the most fun boards I’ve ever ridden. ”

“Super fun, super stable—this thing wants to have fun! I would love to see a twin version based off the nose, seems like that would be the dream.”

“Stable, quick to maneuver. Had strong turn initiation and drive. Felt stable in the hardpack and had great edge hold. Was able to plow through anything. Didn’t have enough time on it! ”

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Moonchild Popsicle

Lib Tech Steely D

Franco Jenney

TEST ER: VALERIE BLACK

T EST ER: ER I C OD LI N

TESTER : CAMI LL A BR OWN

SI ZE: 14 8

SI ZE: 1 67

SIZE: 151

“I’ve been waiting for a chance to try the Moonchild snowboards and I was NOT disappointed. The Popsicle was pretty much as fun as it gets for me. ”

“The Steely D is an automatic landing machine. Its taper, spoon nose, and overall vibes were amazing in powder and jumping.

It rode smaller than its size suggests, and was quick edge to edge. I was a little sad to see the solid BRD go in LIB’s lineup for ‘24, as I have been having a blast on that as my daily pow driver, but the Steely D will have to be in my quiver for the deepest days and when it’s time to jump off stuff !!”

“This board is as nimble as it gets! Turns effortlessly and absolutely attacks tight trees. The shape cuts through variable conditions, carves groomers beautifully, and really shines in the pow. The swallowtail had a really nice release when you slashed a wall. I could place a turn wherever my heart desired at a moment’s notice. The medium flex is forgiving but is still super stable at high speed and has nice pop. This board is so freaking fun!!!!”

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Arbor Candle

Moonchild Malibu

GNU Banked Country

TEST E R : JOH N R E ED

T EST ER : KYLE F R EU D D EN BER G

TESTER : R OB K I N GWI LL

SI ZE: 1 60

SI ZE: 155

SIZE: 159

“This is one of the few standouts at Shaper Summit this year. While the Gnu Hyper had pulled me back to the dark side of the traditional vs. whoopty camber debate, this board brought me back. I think too many full camber boards are super stiff too, but this one’s mellower flex allows the traditional camber to work perfectly. Need to add one to quiver.”

“One of the coolest powder boards I’ve ridden. The exaggerated tapered directional shape was a blast to ride on when the snow was deep. ”

“I love the Banked Country! Temp and Cannon definitely know how to design a snowboard. It is a little softer between the feet, so you can twist the board and foot steer really well. The next generation magnatraction doesn’t grab too much, but is nice to have when it is icy. The tail was solid and strong for stomping. My only negative is that it has a bigger sidecut than I am used to, so not as turny as some other boards I like.

Rated Radical!”

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If It Ain’t Broke Meet the Needle & Shred crew and their philosophy of mending WORDS: TAYLOR FRY PHOTOS: KEEGAN RICE

Tim Eberly is serious about stitching. He flips for zips.

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If you take a bad fall the guys can (probably) stitch you right back up.

T

ucked away on a side street in Victor, Idaho, is a fully-tuned snowboard gear repair shop called Needle & Shred. It’s run by a motley crew of riders who are also DJs, sewists, skaters, artists, dancers, would-be surgeons, grandma’s favorites, and–most importantly–hardworking friends who know how to have a good time. There’s also one son of a cobbler.

I swing open the door to Needle & Shred, and it feels like I have stepped directly into Santa’s Workshop, except it’s full of snowboarders instead of elves. The walls are paneled with perforated cardboard adorned with hundreds of multicolored spools of thread. Bright blue, yellow, and red zippers hang from hooks like county fair prize ribbons. Skateboards are stacked thoughtfully on racks, and rock climbing hangboards are fastened onto wooden beams pressed with stickers.

It’s hard for me to believe that Needle & Shred once fit inside Fitzgerald’s Bicycles.

The HQ now contains a mini skate ramp for brain and leg stretches, many tables full of hefty machinery, and storage shelves stacked to the ceiling with patterned fabric. The tempered ping of staple guns punctuates the air, and I notice the constant soft background hum of sewing machines threading over a thousand stitches a minute.

Skateboard wheels plunk and screech around the floor, soft rock plays over the speakers, and two co-workers are discussing the Japanese aesthetic philosophy of wabisabi while maneuvering jackets and hats beneath thumping needles. The organized chaos feels perfect.

The door closes behind me, and I sheepishly hold a Patagonia coat with a jacked-up zipper that belongs to my housemate.

Jeremy Holmstead, co-founder of Needle

& Shred, greets me and takes the wellloved orange ball out of my hands. He tells me with a smile that he can look at the damage while we talk shop. He explains that the zipper is a 4.5, a size that Patagonia is known for using. Tim Eberly, the other co-founder, brings over a small box of the same size zippers. The two pass the jacket back and forth, fiddling with the zipper, discussing the coil sizes and how stubborn this particular zipper can be. Only after the problem has been dissected and diagnosed do we finally dive into Needle & Shred’s origin story.

Tim picked up his craftsmanship skills from his family: his dad was a cobbler (a shoe repairman), and his grandma created costumes for the Nutcracker Ballet in Denver for 40 years. He recalls that enormous pants–think JNCO Jeans–got super popular in the nineties when he was

Issue Number Nineteen still in high school, and his mom taught him how to make them himself. He bought his own billowing yards of denim and constructed what could only loosely be described as pants at home with his mom’s sewing machine. But he looked damn cool, he saved a ton of money, and he was hooked (on sewing, not giant clothing).

Jeremy honed his sewing skills while recovering from a ski injury. His grandma gave him a sewing machine, and he started learning how to make things. “I loved manipulating fabric to make 3D objects you could use,” he tells me. “You would

be surprised what you can learn from YouTube.” The knowledge he gained from online tutorials, reading, and hands-on experience has paid off. Needle & Shred has been busy non-stop since the day they opened. That was over three years ago. “The second we started, we took off running,” Tim shares. “It was so obvious how necessary a business like this was to a community.”

Needle & Shred’s wide range of services includes warranty fulfillment for brands like Stio, Flylow, Trew, and Sea to Summit; walk-in repairs; snowboard demos; and

Jeremy Holmstead in his happy place.

clothing manufacturing for Wilderness Trail Ridge Products, which is one of their biggest clients. “We do all their llamapacking products: panniers, gaiters, first aid kits—we say yes to pretty much anything. I love simplifying the manufacturing process for our clients’ products and making them cost-effective,” says Jeremy. “But this,” Tim yanks the Patagonia zipper up and down, “is our bread and butter.” He chuckles.

“Goddamn zippers.”

Some customers ship items from across the country, others live right next door and leave items in the dropbox outside. “Teton

Needle & Shred is also a full snowboard demo shop.

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Valley needed it,” Tim says. “Fixing gear is becoming more trendy, which is great.

We all repair our shit, and it’s awesome.”

The biggest next step for Needle & Shred?

“We’re really excited about the idea of making our own products soon,” Jeremy says quietly through a smile, a flicker of excitement in his eyes.

“

Fixing your own stuff is pretty liberating, honestly.

”

Everyone in the shop takes time to show me a few things. We discuss the intricacies of materials, the names of certain stitches, and what’s different about each machine.

I am in awe of their craftsmanship, but Jeremy assures me I could do this too.

I almost believe him because there’s something contagious about the crew’s genuine passion for what they do. “Fixing your own stuff is pretty liberating, honestly,” Tim says. He tugs at my friend’s jacket again. “Especially when you have a broken zipper for 10 months.” He effortlessly pulls the small metal tab of the newly repaired zipper up to the top of the coat. “And then you’re like: ‘Oh hell yeah!’”

Drop by the shop this winter and ponder some philosophy, have a skate session, and get some gear repaired. But don’t be too surprised to see a “Gone Boarding” sign in the window on a powder day. Needle & Shred still revolves around good friends, hearty laughter, and getting out to the mountain or the skatepark to shred as much as possible. They hope you understand, and they’ll see you soon. TF

As a writer and photographer, Taylor is drawn to where the stories are. She continues to bound between mountains and coastlines, searching for something more, or nothing at all. frytaylor14@gmail.com

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The Gallery Mind-bending photos for your viewing pleasure PHOTOS: SCOT T ASKINS , RYAN DEE , OLI GAGNON, LESLIE HITTMEIER, FREDRIK MARMSATER, ROB MACINNIS , DUANE NARDI, W I L LY N E V I N S , A L E X PA S H L E Y, K E E G A N R I C E & J A R E D S P I E K E R

Photo: Oli Gagnon Rider: Blake Paul

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Photo: Keegan Rice Rider: Rob Kingwill

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Photo: Duane Nardi Rider: Myles Nardi (age 10)

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Photo: Alex Pashley

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Photo: Willy Nevins Rider: James “Chickenbone” Wilson

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Photo: Jared Spieker Rider: Keegan Rice

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Photo: Leslie Hittmeier Riders: Lani Bruntz, Dani Reyes-Acosta

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Photo: Ryan Dee Rider: Travis Martin

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Photo: Scott Askins Rider: Keegan Rice

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Photo: Keegan Rice Rider: Taylor Gold

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Photo: Fredrik Marmsater Rider: Nathaniel Murphy

Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 48

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Photo: Rob MacInnis Rider: Richie Beats

Issue Number Nineteen

Making Cents Can we find a way out of this billionaire wilderness?

Joey and his buddies like to argue the finer points of economic theory in the pre-dawn darkness.

I

half-heartedly crank the wine opener. I’m only partly paying attention to my task, distracted by the snow falling like cotton balls outside. I am already daydreaming about tomorrow’s turns on Glory.

I nearly spill the bottle on a customer when the cork comes free.

It’s been a dismal shift. Each table has been a reminder of what seems to be ruining Jackson Hole: digital nomads planning their next work-life vibes-based move, “locals” from NYC that sleep here for three weeks out of the year, and a table of shiny costumed cowboys and cowgirls whose white hats would look great in LA.

WORDS & PHOTOS: JOEY SACKET

I get pessimistic on nights like this.

Leeching off the bourgeoisie for a living can be a constant reminder of how much you don’t have. But money tends to stain authenticity, so we hold on to the ideal of the unsullied ski bum local in our hearts and keep our heads down. I moved here to snowboard; I’ve moved five times since then, and worked 10 different jobs. I feel like I deserve to be here as much as anyone, but so does everyone else, and we fight amongst ourselves for the scraps.

I clench the steering wheel with white knuckles on the way home. Snow is zipping past in straight horizontal lines

like I’m entering hyperspace. It feels like I am moving impossibly fast. In reality I’m crawling down the road in the dark at 10 miles per hour, unsure which lane I’m even in. Winter cuts both ways.

I finally lay my head down on my pillow, and it feels like only a minute later my alarm starts blaring. It’s still pitch black outside. The only reason I drag myself out of bed and into the cold open air is grudging solidarity with the friend picking me up. I know that person is waking up on the other side of town and asking themself the exact same question: who made this plan again?

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Why can’t we start a movement to save the working class in Jackson Hole?

I don’t achieve full consciousness until the wind nearly rips the car door off its hinges at the top of Teton Pass. It’s dark, freezing, and windy, but also somehow crowded. We get the last parking spot. I’m struck by how many truly insane people live in Jackson Hole. How many of them moved here after COVID? My localism doesn’t wear off until I’ve had my morning powder.

Colors begin to spill from the east and it gets lighter with each step I take up the boot pack. The steady trudge takes the edge off my salty thoughts. I can only think about the next forward step and my labored breath. Those moments before the sun explodes over the Gros Ventre Range are always quiet. I remember why I chose to wake up so damn early. I remember why I moved here. By the time I get to the summit everything makes perfect sense.

Everything is in its right place. All downhill from here. As Jeremy Jones says, there are “no words for the way down.” In spite of being chained by the forces of gravity in these heavy bodies, we can get pretty close to flying. The experience might be generic off-brand flying, but I’ll take what I can get.

I drive back down towards Wilson with a shit-eating grin on my face. The valley looks

different heading down: it looks like home.

This otherworldly experience keeps me high all day long. It keeps the crust away. I complain less about the overcrowding and the rising costs. Snowboarding affords me an escape from that reality.

organize your friends, roommates, and co-workers to do the same. We don’t need to reinvent the wheel here. We can do this—this fight has been fought before, in countless communities where the haves want to displace the have-nots.

But the reality is that if we do nothing, it will continue to get worse. Thinking the situation is already hopeless will end up making it hopeless. The economic forces changing this valley seem uncontrollable, but this is also not our first rodeo. It’s textbook gentrification, and there are ways to combat it.

Snowboarding brought us here. Let’s use that rebellious spirit and fight to keep our uncivilized, dirty asses here. Snowboarders are infamous for thinking differently and breaking new trail. Travis Rice continually redefines big mountain riding. Jess Kimura is a leader for women and mental health in action sports. Jeremy Jones started the influential climate-change activism organization Protect Our Winters (POW).

That “Wyoming Is Full’’ bumper sticker on your Tacoma won’t change anything, nor will your rage at the car with California license plate that has clearly never been driven in snow. We can’t sink into apathy and snowboard this particular problem away. We are doomed unless we take a political stand, together, now. That includes everyone who has loved this place, for any amount of time: digital nomads, Texans, and fifth homeowners included. Working together, we can modify the social contract we have now. Go become a member of ShelterJH, then look into starting a labor union where you work. Vote in all local elections, even the boring ones, and

Why can’t we start a movement to save the working class in Jackson Hole? JS Billionaire Wilderness is a reference to the book about the ultra-wealthy in Jackson Hole, “Billionaire Wilderness” by Justin Farrell.

Joey Sackett likes to ride sideways and pretend he’s surfing. Sometimes he likes to suffer in faraway places on tall peaks. He also tries to get involved in local housing issues, and he’d really love for you to join him as a member of ShelterJH. @jsack_foto

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With a view this good it’s easy to forget the shocking income inequality below.

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Cold beers: bringing old friends together since 4000 B.C.

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A Place Called Home The story of three local athletes and their lifelong bromance WO R D S & PH OTO S : I Z Z Y L I D S KY

P

atches of mud and slushy snow made it feel more like late spring than early winter as I let the smell of french fries guide me into the Trap Bar at Grand Targhee. I located Max Martin and Cam FitzPatrick sitting at a table, fresh off the hill. Our phones buzzed simultaneously with a group text from Corey Jackson: top of lift, see you in 6. Max responded: we are timing you. My phone read 3:02 pm. At 3:04 I saw Corey toss his skis into the rack outside the Trap.

“You beat the clock by four minutes!” I said as we greeted each other. “Well, as soon as it was a challenge, I had to go faster,” he replied with a grin.

These three share a lifetime of history and friendship. Max, 30, Cam, 31, and Corey, 31, were each born and raised in Jackson Hole. As we sipped beers and margaritas, I wondered if they still felt that electric beginning-of-winter feeling, in spite of how much the sleepy mountain town they grew up in has changed.

The last time all four of us were together was nine months ago on a frigid February day at Jackson Hole. We were shooting for Max’s film project, Home Away From Home.

After some filming in-bounds, we headed out a backcountry gate into a zone I’d never explored. I am by no means a professional athlete; I can confidently say I was as scared as I’ve ever been on skis. Sensing my sheer terror, these three showed me unwavering kindness, support, and confidence in that moment. It was clear to me then that growing up together riding some of the most unforgiving terrain in the West–and deeply embedded in the intense culture of action sports–had not molded them into the mountain-town-hardo archetype. Instead, it instilled the importance of community and collaboration in each of them.

If you’re unfamiliar with Corey Jackson, Max Martin, and Cam FitzPatrick, I highly suggest a quick Instagram search to see what these guys can do. Max is known for

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Gotta check if those helmet cams are rolling bros.

skiing big lines with ski-racer speed and technique. Corey can make any mountain in any condition look like the best day ever.

Cam rides with effortless style, has deep backcountry experience, and has segments in iconic films like Travis Rice’s The Fourth Phase and Warren Miller’s Daymaker and Timeless on his résumé.

This trio has lived on snow since they were small. Max clicked into his first pair of skis at 18 months old and never looked back.

Cam is the son of a former JHMR ski patroller and also grew up on two planks.

Corey put on skis as a baby but actually grew up snowboarding alongside his brother and mom.

On Corey’s 10th birthday, he and Cam decided to swap for the day. “That’s when everything fell into place,” Corey admits.

Skiing had spoken to him. Soon after, Cam’s dad gave Corey a hand-me-down pair of boots and skis, and suddenly, he was skiing as much as he was riding. On

the other side of that trade, Cam strapped into a snowboard for the first time and also instantly became hooked.

Growing up in a mecca of ski culture shaped their childhoods. They spent many days together in the mountains, aiming to emulate what they watched in ski and snowboard movies. “We grew up watching TGR, Matchstick, everything—skiing or snowboarding,” said Corey. “We went to every film premiere from like five years old to now, and we’re still going. Now we have our friends making movies on the same threshold.”

They each recalled hiking up Moran Face in the days before the Teton lift and learning to do backflips. “You were like the Energizer Bunny,” Max says of Cam. They all took turns filming each other; Corey’s parents had a video camera and his brother had editing software. “We were inseparable for years and filmed everything we did together,” Corey reminisced.

As golden afternoon light slowly warmed up the Trap Bar, the three friends reflected on the support they each got from their own parents–and each others’ parents–from an early age. They recalled all the parents taking turns bringing the boys to the hill on weekends, and advocating for them to get out of school early on powder days. It truly took a village to raise them.

“I’d think back to when we were in elementary school, and we’d go ski with Max’s mom and be out all day on the weekends, and ski ‘til we couldn’t stand up anymore,” recalled Corey. It wasn’t just ski culture that had been ingrained in them— the mountains gave them a big extended family. “That’s the most relatable thing about everyone at this table,” mused Max. “We’re all still doing the same thing like we’re five years old. Things change, but the perspective doesn’t.”

Things do change. All three moved away to

Issue Number Nineteen pursue their own paths in life. When they eventually returned, they found a different version of Jackson Hole than the one they grew up in. The valley is busier, and glitzier.

There are fewer and fewer old-time ski bums sticking it out. Corey’s parents moved away a year ago because of the rising living costs. None of the neighbors who lived around his childhood home are still there.

“Everything around us is changing, but our relationship with each other has not changed,” he said.

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This past August, Cam and his wife René welcomed their son Jet into the world. He’s the first of the three to become a parent, but he hopes that if Corey and Max have kids, they can raise them all together, village-style, the way they were raised.

They’ve already made a pact that the next generation will be called Gen Shred.

“You don’t come back here to stare at the Tetons. You come back here to spend time with those that you care about,” Corey remarked. “I also think that being pro riders brings us all together still so much. We’re all still pursuing it. You could easily just flake off and never see any of these people ever again. But then the snow starts falling and I know I’m gonna see my homies up there.

And if I don’t show up, then they’re gonna quit showing up for me.”

Where can you find Cam FitzPatrick, Max Martin, and Corey Jackson this winter? All hope to participate in the Kings and Queens of Corbets event at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort in February. All three have competed before but they’ve never gone head-to-head. They’re also talking about more film projects in the future.

IL If you don’t find @izzylidsky hunched over like a gargoyle editing photos, you’ll almost definitely find her handing out meat sticks on the Tram or crying when her pro-athlete friends take her down things like ‘Spooky Death Ridge.’

Cam FitzPatrick is officially a rad dad everyone!

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UnPhased Searching for water sports in all the wrong places WORDS: JOEY SACKETT PHOTOS: REED MATTISON & JOEY SACKETT

This water looks warm. I assure you, it is not.

Photo: Reed Mattison

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M My friend Pius and I set out in early June this past summer to Surf The Tetons. We were looking to ride H2O in all its surfable forms: first in a solid state as snow (our favorite). Then we planned to seek out liquid water in the form of stationary melted snow and finally, as rapidly-moving melted snow. We immediately realized we were doing a mini working-man’s version of The Fourth Phase, Travis Rice’s 2016 waterbased Earth-surfing film.

We didn’t have helicopters and catamarans of course—just simple tools: hiking boots, climbing harnesses, snowboards, wetsuits, and the Aerial Tram. Instead of chasing the cycle of water across oceans and continents, we tracked the cycle of water down from the crown of the Tetons to where it meets the Snake River.

Pius and I met up with our friends Sophia, Nick, and Turner at JHMR for the first phase. It was early summer so the resort was closed to snowboarding, but we knew the high alpine slopes still held vast reserves of solid H2O It felt strange to walk across the dry black pavement and green grass in

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Long hair, don’t care.

Photo: Joey Sackett

Teton Village with our snowboards in hand.

Tourists gawked at us and peppered us with questions while riding up the Tram. “Is there snow up there?”

Clouds wisped over the craggy ridge top of a distant peak: our destination. We started down a slope we had ridden many times in the past, now a snowless rock scree field. No first phase here. Only vapor drifted above us as we marched along the edge of the cliffs.

proved capable. We lowered him down the rappel and put him on a ski belay for the firm snow and intimidating line. After some tenuous moments, Pius made it to safety, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief. I put away the rope and surfed a little earth for myself. It proved to be icy, steep, choppy, and terrible. But surfable nonetheless.

We stopped to peer down into a legendary side-country line known for being steep.

Packed between the walls of the couloir, we found it: sheltered snow. The line intrigued us—what could go wrong?

The sun-baked snow continued down the open bowl below. We navigated around a couple of cliff bands, traversed another slope, and came into view of our next objective. At the bottom of a cirque sat a pond filled with beautiful electric blue water surrounded by snowy slopes. We had found the second phase: stationary melted snow.

I had sandbagged Pius. He hadn’t snowboarded in over a year (and he had never rappelled in his life). Thankfully, our crew had the skills to help him, and he

Our plan was to set up a pond skim. We wanted to ride down the snowy slopes and out across the water on our snowboards.

But the snow surrounding the pond was

just as suncupped and terrible as the earlier stuff had been. All five of us started snow-plowing down to create a smooth run-in, until I just couldn’t wait any longer.

I pointed it straight downhill with no speed checks. The thought crossed my mind that if I didn’t go fast enough, I’d have to swim.

It felt like how I imagine riding a bull must feel. It took everything I had not to get bucked off when I hit the water.

Gravity just turned off for a while and I was floating. I wasn’t sure if I could even attempt a turn, but who needs turns in a moment like that? We rode the pond for hours. We all got wet, and our boots were sopping by the end. The second phase had been a ton of fun, despite the bright blue meltwater tasting nothing like Powerade.

Treetops drifted past as we descended 4,000 vertical feet on the Tram to the valley floor

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Perhaps some of the same H2O molecules from February were actually flowing by under my surfboard.

This water is also pretty dang cold.

Photo: Joey Sackett

below. The mountain portion of our water molecule chase had ended. Pius and I said goodbye to the rest of our functional group and continued our mission to locate the third phase: rapidly-moving melted snow.

We raced down the Snake River Canyon in Pius’ van and changed into our wetsuits on the pavement of the Lunch Counter pullout, and we knew surfboards would be the best tool for this phase. During the spring runoff a standing wave forms at the Lunch Counter rapid, and the swell is on.

Pius is an ocean guy, so I figured surfing a river wouldn’t be beyond him. He likes to suffer. We dove into the frigid water and those recently-melted water molecules took our breath away as the current ripped us down the river.

It’s a scary feeling when the river has control over you. Pius began paddling hard,

and I paddled behind to assist if needed.

After just a tiny bit of panic we made it into the eddy against the opposite bank. We were ready for the third phase.

I jumped from a rock into the wave, bodyboarded into position, and popped up. The water zipped underneath, and rafts floated by. I danced, turning left and right, waving my hands for balance. It’s a feeling that I love—it’s on par with pow turns. Perhaps some of the same H2O molecules from my deep February runs were actually flowing by under my surfboard.

Next it was Pius’ turn. Before I even made it out of the river, he floated up next to me in the downstream eddy. He had been eager to get his first try out of the way. We walked back up to go one more time right as the exhaustion from our big day started to kick in. Pius jumped into the wave for

his last go. He paddled hard, bodyboarded for a few moments, and was washed out the back. He retreated back across the river and I followed shortly thereafter to congratulate him. Catching the wave and body boarding on it was an impressive feat.

Our Earth-surfing that day was a tremendous success. We had even literally surfed. Pius had taken on every obstacle and survived. We had chased excited water molecules on the downhill leg of their journey as they took the path of least resistance back towards the ocean. We completed the three phases of the spring water cycle in the Tetons: ice that looks like snow, water that looks like ice, and snow that looks like water. JS Joey Sackett writes a lot of articles for this magazine, huh? @jsack_foto.

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Blake’s World Blake Paul takes his pals on a whirlwind snowboard tour of Jackson Hole WORDS: BL AKE PAUL PHOTOS: OLI GAGNON

Issue Number Nineteen

A

t the turn of the century my parents packed up our family’s comfortable life in Vermont and took the dusty trail out west to the Tetons. The reasons behind our move were simple: better snow, steeper mountains, vast beauty, and the opportunity to enjoy the outdoor lifestyle as much as possible. At the naive age of seven I had no idea the impact this cross-country escapade would have on my life. During the first decade I spent in the valley, I joined the snowboard team, learned how to ride powder, competed in local and regional contests, got mentored by my snowboarding heroes, signed sponsorships, started to travel the world, and created friendships and memories that will last a lifetime.

I will be forever grateful that I got to grow up in Jackson Hole, and I consider the mountains and the people of Teton County responsible for molding me into the snowboarder and human I am today.

I don’t let a winter go by without returning home to catch a storm cycle.

I lap my favorite runs at JHMR, sled in the backcountry, hike the Pass[b][c], see all the old familiar faces, and experience the taste of nostalgia. I fell in love with snowboarding here, and coming home brings me back to that feeling. I’m more excited about sharing this area with my friends than ever.

I checked the Jackson Hole weather forecast one day back in January, and I saw a report from an eccentric forecaster claiming that “Winter Storm Olive will be one to remember, blanketing several feet of snow across the Tetons. If you’re thinking about coming—start driving now, as the airport will probably be shut down for days.” I knew we had to act fast. I called up fellow ‘boarders Parker Szumowski,

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Mike Rav, Sam Taxwood, and Mike Bogs, cinematographer Harry Hagen, and photographer Oli Gagnon and I said the same thing to each of them: It’s time to head back to Wyoming.

We got in the lift line at 7 a.m. for the first few mornings of the storm, and we participated in the rat-race like powderhungry mongrels. We rode Dicks Ditch, Rock Springs, Four Pines, and topped each day off with a few laps through the mini park. We stopped at Overview Coffee, ate at Teton Thai and Teton Tiger, dodged moose on dark back roads, scored some night pow at Snow King, and spent a down day in Bryan Iguchi’s garage skating his mini ramp.

During a break in the storm, we built the classic Old Pass Road gap, one of the first bigger jumps (and shots) I ever had in a movie, roughly a decade ago. I was elated every time someone on the crew got hyped about our day-to-day routine. It’s a rewarding and special feeling to share places and spaces that meant a lot to you throughout your youth.

When the storm cleared and the avalanche danger settled down, we headed into the hills to film for the latest Vans video Bless the Ledge / Secret Tape. We stayed south of town in a rustic cabin with no hot water, but with a gracious host who came over every day to dutifully try and fix it. We relied on gas station burritos and Bryan Iguchi and Mark Carter to lead the way.

Some of the crew were new to backcountry sledding and rented neon-yellow 850 Polaris sleds, complete with bright orange helmets and full face shields. We weren’t exactly dialed or experienced, but we were motivated, and definitely had a ton of fun.

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Blake’s world!

Party time! Excellent!

The snowboarding and filming that ensued was productive every day. The snow was just deep enough to get after it but not too deep, allowing us to cover the entire zone over the course of a week. We weren’t the only ones out there either: one day we picked up Austen Sweetin and Travis Rice on a radio channel from a completely different drainage in the range.

We rode wind-lips and step-downs, built kickers, ripped pow surfers, got stuck in creeks a few times, lost a backpack,

launched a few fireworks, and capped every day with sips from a Chivas Regal bottle in the parking lot at sunset. The most memorable shot we got was Parker’s 50-50 on a gigantic hanging rainbow log, with a twenty-foot drop onto the pillow face below. He laced it on his third try, blowing everyone’s mind! It’s a feature that other film crews have probably driven by for years but never actually dared to step to.

Winter Storm Olive had provided. That zany forecaster was correct: it was one to

remember. We drove home in a convoy of trucks with the sun setting over the mountains to the west, blasting a Best of Stevie Nicks playlist from the speakers.

Another Jackson mission accomplished. I can’t wait to see what this year provides.

BP

Low-key, continually evolving, and always one for words: Blake’s got layers. @blakepaul

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Sideways caption! You don’t see that every day.

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Pass Rob Garrett was there at the beginning of snowboarding in Jackson Hole

Pioneers WORDS: OLAUS LINN

PHOTOS: ROB GARRETT & FRIENDS

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R

ob Garrett almost didn’t want to talk to me for this story at all. “The old days are just that—old,” he said via text message.

“I just don’t think people give a shit anymore.” But as our readers know, here at Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine we love reminiscing about the halcyon origins of snowboarding in Jackson Hole. So I texted back, and he relented and shared some stories with me. But I had to promised not to call him the first person to snowboard on Teton Pass. We may never know who actually trudged out in the snow at the top for the first time with a rudimentary board in hand. What I can say is that when Rob and his crew of buddies first started riding up there, they had the place to themselves.

RG (as he’s known to his friends) first arrived in the valley in 1980. He had been living in Santa Cruz, CA, and working for eponymous Santa Cruz Skateboards. He grew up loving skiing, surfing, and skating, and when he started seeing snowboarding images at trade shows, he knew he had to try it. “It looked like all the things I loved

friends started heading up Teton Pass and riding in Telemark Bowl on his Gar Ski and a collection of Winterstick swallowtails that the nascent snowboard manufacturer had shipped out to Lifelink. The Wintersticks had nylon straps for bindings and keels on the bottom that made them impossible to ride in anything except fresh powder. So RG and his buddies were always searching for the softest snow they could find.

to do rolled into one,” he said. A former colleague named John Krisik urged him to apply for a position at an up-and-coming outdoor gear brand called Lifelink. Rob got the job, and in September of 1980 he packed up his life and headed for Jackson Hole to start a new chapter. He brought his orange fiberglass Gar Ski snowboard along with him.

The winter of ‘80-81 proved to be a bleak year for snow. Rob wanted to ski, and the skiing sucked. So he and a small nucleus of

They also spent that first low-tide winter learning the unspoken rules of life in Jackson Hole. They figured out how not to get beat up by the cowboys at the bar, and the way to tell if someone in town was a telemark or downhill skier just based on their hat. They learned how to stay warm and dry when hiking through deep snow by wearing a good set of waterproof leather hiking boots with knee-high gaiters over the top. And they explored by poking around in the trees and low-angle terrain, doing side-hits, setting bootpacks, and finding new runs.

Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 68 The following winter was as good as the

previous one had been terrible. Rob figured out a routine to get runs in during the week: he would clock out of work as soon as the UPS guy picked up the last packages of the day from Lifelink at 4pm, and then head up to take a lap on Scotty’s Ridge or one of the other runs off of Snow King. The Spring Creek Resort was under construction on the butte above Jackson, and the steep switch-backs of the access road also made for great afternoon turns.

Rob and his crew of fellow snowboarders were all spending their weekends up on Teton Pass opening up more new terrain.

Each day, there would maybe be one or two other cars in the parking lot at the top belonging to crusty alpine skiers touring along the ridges to the south. The north side was rarely skied at all mid-season; it was taboo to ride Glory Bowl or Twin Slides outside of the spring months when the corn-snow cycle rendered their naked avalanche paths benign. But the glades on that side of the highway called to RG and his friends, so they started working their way westward down the ridge over the course of the winter. Step one was setting a

boot-pack up First Turn. From there they could cycle down via First or Second Turn, or fan out and explore the myriad small gullies and faces of that zone, naming runs things like Pipeline and Creamy Slope as they went. The north side of Teton Pass became their snowboard playground, a place to learn and perfect the art of sliding sideways on snow.

A few years later RG ran into a lone figure standing beside his car in the top parking lot, shivering. It was December 1986 and the snow that day had been awesome. The stranger introduced himself as Chris Pappas, and he said he had just moved to the valley from Colorado to start a snowboard school at Jackson Hole Mountain Resort ( JHMR).The new sport was growing and progressing quickly, and some mountains in Colorado had already begun opening up to riders. RG had seen a couple of snowboard tracks under the Apres Vous Chairlift the previous spring, so the news wasn’t a complete shock.

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It looked like all the things I loved to do rolled into one.

Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 70

Weeks later he ran back into Chris Pappas, this time on the slopes at Jackson Hole.

Chris glanced at the SIMS board. “So,” he asked with a wry smile, “how’s that going?”

He ended up offering RG a judging spot at the first half-pipe competition ever held in Jackson Hole. By the end of the season Chris had also offered him a job as a snowboard instructor. A few years after that RG was the director of the entire snowboard school. He hired a young instructor named Mikey Franco, who would eventually take his place running the program, and he watched the meteoric rise of kids like Rob Kingwill and Julie Zell.

“Oh, I never ride hardpack,” RG informed the newcomer. “It’s just too good up here.”

Chris Pappas replied, “If you don’t ride hardpack then you ain’t shit.”

The encounter with Pappas left a bad taste in his mouth, but RG was there shredding the resort the following winter in 1987 anyway—the first official season of snowboarding at JHMR. A friend from California named Gary Cross brought one of the new SIMS boards out during a visit.

Gary insisted on switching gear with RG so he could ski. That was RG’s first day at the resort on a board, and he slammed immediately getting off the Crystal Springs chair. He took several more big falls getting down to Casper, and by the time he got back down to the bottom of Eagle’s Rest he had been humbled.

Things have changed in Jackson Hole since then. The open boundary policy at JHMR and the explosion of backcountry tools & equipment (along with the somewhat more modest expansion of backcountry skills & knowledge) have turned the top of Teton Pass into a morass of people. Most of the guys in RG’s old crew are gone anyway, drifted away on the tides of life. He makes his living now driving the START bus, which gives him an up-close look at each fresh generation of newcomers experiencing their first winter in the Tetons. He can’t fault them for their enthusiasm. For his part, he’s back to where he started: poking around in the woods with his snowboard, looking for some soft snow. OL

Olaus Linn was born in February of 1986, during one of the deepest snowstorms in Jackson Hole history. Coincidence or fate? @olaus

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50 Years of Untracked Adventure Tracing the history of High Mountain Heli on their Golden Anniversary WORDS: HEATHER HENDRICKS PHOTOS: COURTESY OF HIGH MOUNTAIN HELI

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were few and far between. Powderbird was the first company to offer heli-skiing in the United States in 1972. They began flying off a helipad located near Snowbird in Little Cottonwood Canyon, Utah. High Mountain Heli answered the call and became the second heli-ski operation in the States.

McClure launched the company with a single Bell 47G helicopter, a three-seat chopper with a distinctive bubble cockpit.

The experience was a little rough around the edges. It was also renegade and largely unregulated during those early days. The HMH team had to figure things out as they went along.

T

he spirit of adventure and the lure of the unknown are intricately woven into the fabric of snowboarding. We are also drawn to the feeling of flight, whether carving a path at speed through freshly fallen flakes or floating through the air after launching off a cliff. The ultimate flight comes from heliskiing, offering an unparalleled portal to untouched peaks, mind-blowing lines, and vantages otherwise out of reach. For the last five decades, High Mountain Heli (HMH) has been a pioneer in the world of heliassisted skiing and snowboarding. Through that time they have remained the sole heliski operation in Jackson Hole.

THE EARLY DAYS

In 1974, a visionary Jackson resident named Robin “Boomer” McClure decided to get into the helicopter business. He was an avid skier and a backcountry pioneer, and he conceived of HMH as a way to unlock access to more remote terrain. In the 1970s, the concept of heli-skiing was still brandnew and virtually unknown. Operations

“It was pretty much flying around by our shoestrings,” admits Jon Shick, High Mountain Heli’s former lead guide and also a former owner. Jon joined HMH in 1976 as an apprentice guide. When the business launched half a century ago, they were making around $95-$250 bucks a seat per day. At those rates the goal was just to keep the heli gassed up and flying for another day, rather than trying to turn a profit.

“In the first couple of years, I don’t think anybody got paid,” Jon remembers. “If you had a helicopter sitting there, you’d better fill it up, and you better look at everybody that you have in the back seat of the helicopter and make sure that somebody paid for it because if they’re not paying for it, you are.”

By 1977, HMH secured their first Forest Service permits, and the operation began taking off. “There was much more freedom in the 70s and early 80s before the Wilderness Act was passed,” Shick tells us.

“We had vastly more terrain and could ski in places like the west side of the Tetons, Table Mountain, the Gros Ventre, and Sleeping Indian. We could even land on top of the Americano [now known as Snow King] or even at the top of the Tram on some days.”

HELI PIONEERS

In the 70s and early 80s, HMH was at the forefront of backcountry exploration in the Tetons. With vast swathes of untouched terrain at their disposal, they were constantly discovering new lines and pushing the boundaries of what was possible. They ventured into areas that had never been skied before.

A particular moment has stuck with Shick over the years: one day there was a solar eclipse where the Tetons were in the path of totality. HMH gassed up the bird and flew 11 people to the top of the Sleeping Indian (otherwise known as Sheep Mountain). The group disembarked from the heli and waited at the summit for the celestial show to start, complete with an unparalleled view of the Tetons across the valley. As broad daylight faded into darkness, the crew clicked into their skis and ripped down the mountain’s flanks, hooting and hollering in the eerie frozen twilight.

Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 74 TRAGEDY ABROAD

After three years of operation, High Mountain Heli’s founder Boomer McClure thirsted for more. He set off for Switzerland in the late spring of ‘77, with his sights set on another lofty goal: climb the Matterhorn and claim its first ski descent. The pyramidshaped peak is the most recognizable mountain in Europe, and also one of the deadliest in the world. The summit sits at 14,692 feet, making the Matterhorn the 12th-highest peak in Europe. Its striking features and the challenge of a first descent beckoned him.

McClure and his ski partners made it to the summit and got into their skis atop the western face. This shear zone sits approximately 4,000 feet above the Hurricane Creek valley. As they began to descend, a late-season avalanche cracked above them. It swept McClure and his

partners off the mountain and into the valley below. Their remains have never been located.

After McClure’s tragic passing, his parents wanted no part of his ragtag heli-ski operation in Jackson Hole, so they handed off High Mountain Heli to his good friend, Dave Miller. It was still 1977, and Dave Miller tapped Carl McNew and Jon Schick to join him in taking the reins and steering HMH into the future.

EXPANDING OPERATIONS

Tales of impossibly deep powder and endless untracked runs percolated through the Jackson Hole community and beyond.

HMH was getting busy. They tapped into their network, contracting helicopters and pilots from other operations, giving them the ability to scale up their business to meet the increasing demand.

Their mainstay helicopter model during these years was the Hughes 500, a bulbousnosed little chopper that could hold five people: the pilot sandwiched in front with two passengers, and two others on a bench in the back. Their carrying capacity had improved even if the ride quality hadn’t.

HMH’s clients during that period were often young, physically fit, and able to ski deep powder. Day rates were close to what a full-day lift ticket costs now, and as a result more people could afford to experience heli-skiing. According to Shick, business boomed even more after the invention of powder skis. This new technology opened up heli-shredding to older clientele who now could ski powder, thanks to skis like Shick’s favorite: the Rossignol Haute Routes. These vintage powder boards had a giant slalom cut, curved tips for float, and a beastly size of 205cm.

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“Aviation is proof that given the will, we can achieve the impossible” - EDDIE RICKENBACKER, AMERICAN AVIATOR AND HELICOPTER PILOT (1890–1973)

ALL THE RICH AND FAMOUS

INTO THE FUTURE

As the popularity of HMH (and Jackson Hole) grew, so did the list of their famous clientele. One repeat skier Shick vividly remembers guiding was Queen Noor-alHussein of Jordan. Queen Noor was friends with a longtime Jackson local, and she skied multiple times with HMH. Despite flying to zones way off the beaten path and far away from any peasants, Queen Noor’s secret service trailed along for the backcountry romps, even though they weren’t adept skiers. They hesitatingly snow-plowed their way down perfect powder runs, as the Queen ripped fresh snow beside them with style.

Now under the leadership of Jake Laskin, who took over in 2021, HMH is poised for the next 50 years of shredding success.

Laskin is committed to maintaining the company’s legacy of excellence while also making continued improvements to the guest experience.

One day the Queen requested they fly to the top of the Tram. They landed on Rendezvous Mountain, then clicked in and skied down to the Alpenhoff. When they arrived, her bodyguards were already standing at all of the doors. The Queen invited Shick to have cocktails with her husband, King Hussein.

He accepted and enjoyed the drinks and conversation with Jordanian royalty.

“First off, I immediately came to realize that we had an incredible staff that had worked together for a long time—many for over eight years,” says Laskin. “In this business– which relies on a track record of safety– employee retention and loyalty are invaluable assets.” Laskin is still amazed by the sheer size of the terrain available to them. “This unbelievable heli-ski terrain covers 305,100 acres over four mountain ranges,” Laskin says. “I want to focus on creating a better guest experience. From moving operations into the Snake River Sporting Clubhouse to enhancing our lunches, we have built on what was already in place. We’ve had several

great seasons in a row now, and we have such a great team and great repeat clientele that it makes me look forward to coming to work every day.”

There’s more to come for High Mountain Heli. As the prices and crowds at resorts continue to skyrocket, the lure of endless private runs starts to beckon. With its tenured team of guides and unwavering dedication to adventure, HMH will continue to be the premier heli-shred operation in the Tetons.

As long as the snow keeps falling, fiends from all over will chase untracked lines, seeking new experiences, deep snow, and the ultimate feeling of flight. HH

Next time you see @heatherhendrickshh, ask her about those mining claims, Billy + Squid, artifacts of Aspen, and if she’s still writing her tell all of first times…

Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 76 IN THE FIELD

Quest For Understanding 1,000 miles on the Iditarod Trail with Apayauq INTRODUCTION & PHOTOS: ZEPPELIN ZEERIP WORDS: JHSM STAFF

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In the fall of 2021, my friend Apayauq called me and asked about sharing her story. She had come out as transgender a year prior, and she was about to set out on the 1,000 mile-long Iditarod dog sled race. We became friends while I was producing a documentary about America’s public lands (read “Land Grab” in JHSM Issue 16), and we had remained in touch throughout her transition. She competed in the Iditarod in 2019; this was her opportunity to return to the race and compete as her correct gender in 2022.

In the current political climate, stories like this need to be told. I said yes, borrowed a snowmobile from Apayauq’s father, and followed her for more than 1,000 miles through the frozen Alaskan wilderness, documenting her journey from Anchorage to Nome.

If you haven’t seen Apayauq yet, head over to YouTube right now and give it a watch.

It’s an eye-opening short documentary that conveys Apayauq’s journey artfully and compassionately, and it resonated with us as snowboarders and adventure-seekers. Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine was able to catch up with Zeppelin and ask him a few questions about the film.

JHSM: How did being a snowboarder help

you with this project?

Zeppelin: If I weren’t a snowboarder it would

Our goal was to show her courage and dedication to the sport of sled dog racing. We also wanted to put on public display the hateful messages she has endured, and tell the story of how her family and community have supported her. My hope is that this film will create a deeper understanding and empathy for trans individuals and celebrate Apayauq’s groundbreaking achievement.

have been nearly impossible for me to make this film. It took everything I had learned about snowmobiling, winter camping, and filming in sub-zero temperatures to pull it off. The trail begins outside of Anchorage, crosses the Alaskan Range, navigates the Yukon River, and ends with a sprint down the coast of the Bering Sea where we were met with nearly 100 mph winds. It was the most rugged production I’ve ever set out on and I had to draw on everything I’ve learned from my decades of backcountry snowboarding and being in the elements.

Zeppelin Zeerip

JHSM: What were your personal goals with

Los Angeles Times Op-Ed

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wenty-four-year-old Iñupiaq musher Apayauq Reitan finished the Iditarod as the last racer to cross under the burled wooden arch in Nome, Alaska, in March 2022 with seven dogs remaining on her team. Apayauq earned the Red Lantern award, which is given to the final musher who finishes the race, in order to celebrate their commitment and perseverance. She took 37th place with a time of 13 days, 8 hours, 39 minutes, and 13 seconds.

this piece?

Zeppelin: I wanted to tell Apayauq’s story in a

way that humanized her and created empathy and understanding for someone I consider a close friend. There is so much hate and vitriol in the media today with very few positive role models for trans people, and I wanted to create a film that wasn’t overtly political but just showed Apayauq for who she truly is: a regular person attempting to navigate the world that we live in. I hope this film will create a deeper understanding and empathy for the trans community and celebrate one person’s groundbreaking achievement.

JHSM: Tell us about being on the Iditarod

Trail. What moments still stick with you?

Zeppelin: To say it was the adventure of

a lifetime wouldn’t be doing it justice. To snowmobile 1,000 miles without support, sleeping on the trail every night, all while navigating COVID-19, was incredibly challenging. On top of that, I was a oneman-band film crew: shooting, dumping footage, charging batteries—all of it solo.

The most harrowing moment was when we reached the Bering Sea and the town of Shaktoolik. 100 mph winds were reported, and the race director called the aid station and put a ‘stay’ order in place. For nearly 18 hours, we were forced to shelter in place and weren’t allowed out on the trail for fear of getting lost. To go out would have truly been a life-or-death situation, and in that storm, numerous teams dropped out or were disqualified.

JHSM: It’s a terrifying moment in the film,

with the wind whipping and the weight of the snowstorm pressing in. In spite of those hardships, Apayauq accomplished her goal of being the first publicly-out trans woman to complete the Iditarod race. Critical reception to the film has also seemed really strong. Is the final short documentary up for any awards?

Apayauq qualified for the Academy Awards after winning the Best Indigenous Short at the Bend Film Festival!

Zeppelin:

As the Red Lantern award winner, Apayauq was given the honor of extinguishing the Widow’s Lamp on the final arch in Nome, a ceremony that dates back to the time when dog sleds were still the primary mode of transportation in the depths of each Alaskan winter. Putting out the final light signals that no other mushers are out still there on the trail. @ZeppelinZeerip doesn’t just make films; he makes films that matter and give your brain a workout. And he recently married his best friend @burningmanders, bravo!

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80

Outliers The counterculture vibes of Dani Reyes-Acosta’s OUTLIER film series about women who snowboard WORDS: DANI REYES-ACOSTA PHOTOS: LESLIE HITTMEIER

Dani tells it like it is, no matter how much blow-back she gets.

Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine

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How you bear strength and softness in those same browned shoulders, Grind grit in your teeth and savor wisdom; Find a way forward, always, With knowledge and love;

You pad through the forest, Glide through the trees,

Push me to grow, my sister As I sing alongside you.

Together, on this mountain,

We’ll honor our great mother, Howl high unto the moon.

So shake off your blades Then rattle your bones, And I’ll show you, We’ll show you,

Just how great we can be.

- Dani Reyes-Acosta

“Skiing is just way more efficient.”

Her lips pulled tight, her disdain apparent as I knelt to slide a crampon into my binding. The other skiers in our group had already glided across the terraced sastrugi ahead. I knew better than to chance it without crampons: I didn’t need to injure myself on this wind-scoured penultimate pitch.

I shot back: “That may be true, but you’ll never have the rooster tail I do.” I grinned widely and blew a kiss because, well, the truth hurts. I chunked up the shoulder, the wind whipping my emotions into a froth. I’ve heard many versions of this exchange from friends. Emotions range from confusion to anger. Why the attitude, especially in the backcountry?

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They say the endless growth of capitalism benefits us all. People living in an uninsulated truck/yurt/garage or working three jobs to pay their rising rent might disagree. But what happens when all your options get cut short or taken away? What happens when you find yourself truly on the outside, or in-between, searching for a way forward?

Like many people in Jackson Hole, I grew up skiing, a two-planked toddler marching down the slopes. With adolescence came three unexpected developments in my life: a love of surfing, earth-shattering family strife, and punk rock as a musical preference. I mourned the loss of my father, unaware at the time that I was also losing my access to the mountains—to the snow.

Only as an adult did I resume snow-sliding, and I swapped skiing for snowboarding without a backward glance. Living against the grain felt easier on one plank: I found solidarity in the counterculture narrative that snowboarding thrives on.

I got heckled by skiers on my first day at Crested Butte (too slow on the boot pack). I was mistaken for a maid in Tahoe (“I’m going to the pool—these towels aren’t for you sir”).

My frustration with the social dynamics and the economic engine geared towards wealth that runs all our mountain communities has continued to build. It’s my job as a ‘creative’ to transform individual and collective experiences into something more, transmuting my perspective into art. We all do this while riding: thinking in images, we construct ideas of how we’ll draw a smooth line down a blank face.

Maybe we plot out the rest of our run, maybe the rest of our season.

Something unexpected emerged from my frustration at the status quo. By now, I’d had a taste of bucketlist lines and classic summits. My tiny act of rebellion against the dominant system, I decided, would be to tell a story. I decided to create a film, in true punk-rock tradition, that would become a tool for protest and action.

There are more ads featuring female snowboarders these days. There are also a number of sisterhood-focused, ski-centric ‘slaydies’ films out there. These are positive steps forward for the action sports industry.

But as a female snowboarder, as a Latina, and as a filmmaker, I want to see something other than more of the same surface-level stoke. How many films can you think of that feature women snowboarding? How many of those are actually made by women, let alone by women of color?

Most calls for new voices in snowsports push for more on-camera representation. Much less has been done to support women, particularly women of color, being behind the camera. In fact, in the 2023 Hollywood Diversity report, the number of women in leadership positions across the entire film industry is still shockingly low. Only 20% of directors are women. Only 3% of crew members are Latina. And in front of the camera, only 2.3% of acting roles are played by Hispanic folks.

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OUTLIER is my three-part documentary film. It was born from my need to address these frustrations, and more: it explores the role of identity, community, and belonging in our survival as a species, all through the lens of women snowboarding in the backcountry.

My goal with this project is to show girls–and everyone else who has ever felt caught inbetween–that being an OUTLIER can be a joyous journey of self-love, connection to others, and reconnection to the Earth herself.

While many of us head for the snow to chase joy, that’s usually not our only reason. Often we’re dealing with challenging emotions and experiences; moments that make us question who we are as people. We’ve all lost too many friends to deny that repressing our human experience makes us miserable. Denial robs us of being fully alive and, ultimately, fully ourselves.

As you go into the mountains this winter to learn more about who you are, ask yourself: Am I trusting this process along the way? Embrace it all because whether you want to admit it or not: you’re an OUTLIER too.

DRA

Dani’s background is in change management and brand strategy, with creative production for Nike and narrative strategy for The North Face and Vail Resorts.

Dani combines media with action to foster community-building and justice. @notlostjustdiscovering

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Jackson Hole Snowboarder Magazine 86

Stepping Out

Take a peek at the next evolution in splitboard binding tech WORDS: JESSICA KAPLAN PHOTOS: COURTESY OF BURTON

Editor’s Note: Step-in bindings. Merely mentioning them is enough to spark a lightning rod of controversy in the gondola line. Some riders love the ease and innovation, while snowboard purists are often staunch in their refusals to consider anything sans traditional straps. Burton’s Step On system is one of the best options out there, and they are getting tantalizingly close to perfecting the step-in. We asked Jessica Kaplan to give us an overview of their brand-new splitboard binding.

that designed the original Step On system in 2012, so it seemed only natural for him to retake the reins in creating this next backcountry product.

The first iterations were wild.

urton has released splitboard bindings with their Step On system for the winter 2023/24 season. For riders familiar with how Step Ons function, Burton has incorporated the same user-friendly Spark Tesla mounting system and Hitchhiker binding design. The result is a quick and easy-to-use splitboard binding.

Kavarsky kept tinkering around to see if something could potentially stick. “I built a few crude prototypes in 2018 using some scrap aluminum, and literally bolted the Burton components to a modified Spark splitboard binding. That’s how it started.

I used a modified Spark tray because they work so well, and I’m good friends with the owner, Will Ritter, whom I’ve known before he started Spark R & D in 2006.

Will was a great help later on in getting the component specs just right. In February 2019, I built another round that was more robust and tested those for a couple of seasons around Montana.”

Their innovative design comes from mastermind Ray Kavarsky, longtime design engineer for Burton. Kavarsky is a contractor for the brand, and helms his own laboratory den at 1326 Design based in Bozeman, Montana. Back in 2018–though it wasn’t an official Burton project until a few years later–Rob Sprague, VP of Global Product Development at Burton, reached out to Kavarsky to see if he could adapt their existing system into a splitboard binding. Kavarsky had been on the team

Things progressed slowly until the winter of 2021, when Kavarsky moved to Pemberton, British Columbia, for a few months. He brought the binding prototype and continued testing it. Pemberton is a backcountry mecca, the ideal environment to give them another whirl. “I was riding huge mountains with these almost handbuilt prototypes,” Kavarsky said. “I’m using it in this massive backcountry environment.

I had no issues at all—no problems. There were no issues with retention when dealing

B

with heavier snow and deep powder. It wasn’t a problem.”

Kavarsky had finally cracked the code. He contacted Sprague to share the good news.

Development was accelerated and Burton Step On Splitboard Bindings officially moved from research and development ideation to full production.

I asked Chris Cunningham, Chief Product Officer at Burton, about Kavarsky. “From the day Ray and I randomly crossed paths almost 20 years ago, I knew there was something special about how his brain ticked. Today, I sum up his engineering work in one word: savant. And while it took an entire team of designers, engineers, and developers to bring the new bindings to life, Ray was for sure an integral part. In fact, ‘integral’ is probably an understatement, as I don’t know if we would have unlocked what we did with this design without his contributions. They were crucial to its success.”

Danny Davis rides for Burton and has tested the new splitboard bindings. “I was just so pleasantly surprised, to be honest.

The comfort alone makes them 10 out of 10. Less stuff on your feet, less things to deal with,” he said. Davis is well-versed in backcountry travel in the Tetons.

“Obviously, Teton Pass is awesome. You park your car, throw on your split board, and you’re on top of something rideable

Issue Number Nineteen pretty quickly. You’ve got great areas.”

“Jackson Hole has probably some of the biggest approaches I’ve personally dealt with in the backcountry. The land in Jackson around mountain access roads is so protected, where on big doggie days heading to Mount Moran and the Grand, the lines–even just to get in–make for huge days. You’re spending a ton of time on your skis, going uphill or going across the lake.

The runs are long too.”

Back in his design lab in Montana, Kavarsky added that he was especially pleasantly surprised with how well these bindings function during transitions.

“They’re definitely faster. There’s no doubt about it. When I’m touring with friends or just doing side country, the transitions are just faster, period. I also feel more control over the ski and less foot fatigue.”

The foundation of the Burton Step On system has always been rooted in comfort, convenience, and performance. Not having to strap in the traditional way removes a slow and sometimes frustrating step to the process of getting back on your board, whether you’re getting off a chairlift or transitioning back to snowboard mode after skinning up. The time factor especially matters in backcountry touring situations where you’re racing daylight (and maybe trying to keep up with skiers). Have we finally found the holy grail of a splitboard binding that’s as fast as a ski binding and as comfortable as a traditional snowboard binding? If you’re a grail-seeker like me, these are definitely worth a look. JK If she’s not here, she’s there, in the city, hustling as an entrepreneur and Creative Director, Owner and Founder of Sidereal Haus. With more than 20 years of snowboarding under her board and just as much time in the media/writing/trendwork worlds, @JessicalKaplan is all that. She’s also on the Board of Directors for the Chill Foundation. Catch her at JHMR if you can.

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Issue Number Nineteen 89 Jeremy Jensen blasts off.

Out for Delivery Making the most of a work trip with Grassroots Powdersurfing WORDS & PHOTOS: JOEY SACKETT

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“I went out with a bunch of dads and we spent the whole day acting like kids on the neighborhood sledding hill. ”

eremy Jensen had a special delivery to make. He is the owner of Grassroots Powdersurfing, and he makes the boards himself. And if you live in a rad zone surrounded by great powdersurfing terrain, he might even be your delivery man.

The snow came down around us like a Christmas movie, as we drove deep into the rolling Gros Ventre mountains. We were looking for a side road with an arched sign over the gate reading “Let ‘Er Buck Ranch.” The name of the place set the tone for the day. We pulled up to a cozy cabin, and a bearded mountain of a man came out to greet us. Shawn Roberts is a friend of Jeremy’s and a powsurfing aficionado.

We were on a mission to deliver him the new model of the Grassroots Splitsurfer—a bindingless powsurf board that can come apart for skinning out into the backcountry.

Delivery concluded, we turned to our more important task for the day: powsurfing. The air was soon filled with the beautiful smell of gas exhaust and the purr of snowmobile engines. Our crew consisted of me–a young bachelor–and three rad dads: Jeremy,

Shawn, and Dave Bender. All of them were experienced snowpony jockeys, lifelong snowboarders, and prophets of powsurfing.

In contrast, I could barely ride a sled and had only a few days of powsurfing under my belt.

Would this be the beginning of my ‘cool dad’ transformation?

Shawn was our guide. He’d already been tending to the terrain here all winter: setting bootpacks, cutting branches, and building jumps. We brapped out to one of his zones and immediately started letting ‘er buck. Jeremy acid-dropped out of a tree, and we party shredded lines. Boards went flying, cliffs were dropped, and a small avalanche even shook loose. The rad dads were unfazed.

We continued further back and stumbled on an area different from the others. It looked like a miniature version of the forests of British Columbia, with squat sixfoot evergreen trees poking out the snow in every direction. The dads weaved around trees and split gaps with surgical precision

on their powsurfers, while I took photos at the bottom. It looked like easily the best riding of the day. Maybe next year I’ll be rad enough.

We finished up the day warming up in Shawn’s cabin, sipping beers and looking back down the Gros Ventre as the sun set behind the Grand Teton. I was struck by how powsurfing reinvigorates my inner child. It feels good to be a novice, trying to master new tricks and moves.

Powsurfing also transforms the terrain, or at least my perspective of the terrain. We had been ripping low-angle slopes that a splitboarder would ignore. It’s also just fun.

I went out with a bunch of dads and we spent the whole day acting like kids on the neighborhood sledding hill. That simple freedom and joyful expression makes me fall in love with riding sideways all over again. JS

@jsack_foto is a proud kook on a powsurf. It reminds him of riding sledding hills growing up in Chicago. He likes how photography helps him chase his curiosity.

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Sometimes you just need to drop some acid.

A P R È S

S T R E T C H

P I L A T E S P R I V A T E

Y O G A

Y O G A

C L A S S E S

F I T N E S S B A R R E

3510 N. LAKE CREEK DR., WILSON, WY (BEHIND ASPENS MARKET) TETONYOGA.COM

C L A S S E S C L A S S E S

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Hey look - it’s another rad dad!

ravis Rice is a pillar of the Jackson Hole snowboarding community, and we knew we wanted to get his perspective into this issue.

It took a flurry of last-minute email exchanges with Rice’s team at the Natural Selection Tour, but we finally caught up with the hardest man to pin down in snowboarding.

What are you personally looking forward to this winter in Jackson Hole?

JHSM:

Travis Rice: Well, frankly, I’m excited about

One For The Road Travis Rice spills the tea on the Natural Selection Tour and the future of snowboarding WORDS: JHSM STAFF PHOTOS: A ARON BLATT / COURTESY OF NATURAL SELECTION

the new chapter my family is starting with bringing a new daughter into this world. So snowboarding is a bit of a second priority for me this winter. I still hope this season cranks again for the sake of the local grinders who deserve it, if nothing else. Beyond that, I’ll be working on Natural Selection and the SENDY gear marketplace that we launched about a year ago now. Download it off the App Store if you want to check it out.

Jackson Hole is the type of town where a lot of locals could always use a side hustle!

JHSM: Tell us about the transition of the

Natural Selection Tour from onsite at JHMR to its new 2024 contest format in the BC area. What should viewers, readers, and fans look forward to most with these new tour stops and locations?

Travis: I wouldn’t call it a transition: more

of an air-to-flat. But luckily we landed in pow up at Revelstoke Mountain Resort, so it has been an exciting year and I think we just scratched the surface last season up there! I think a lot of people saw the event we pulled off from the deep backcountry with Selkirk Tangiers Heli, which was pretty mindblowing for a live event with the type of terrain and the conditions we had for it. To top it off, we made it out two days after that

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event and ran basically another event called Supersession that we didn’t even talk about until a few weeks ago. You can actually find it on Outside TV now and watch it for free.

For this coming season, we are running a Duels Qualifier for new invites onto the tour, which will take place around the world, then we are focused on the two-day final at Revelstoke. For one of the days, we have a gorgeous venue in the side country off the resort. We also spent all summer working on a new deep-backcountry venue that will be quite a bit different from last season.

JHSM: Where

do you think backcountry competitive snowboarding would be if not for the Natural Selection Tour?

Travis: Hmmm, tough to say, but I think

we have really been able to help showcase

the craft of the world’s best, combined with some of the best locations and terrain on the planet. The NST has always prioritized mastery and bringing self-expression into an area with conditions that allow for the most varied approach to interacting with the environment. We call our judging criteria CREDO—which stands for creativity, risk, execution, difficulty, and overall. It’s not about how gnarly or how close a rider came to serious injury to get the highest score, as I don’t think events like that are sustainable or the direction snowboard contest culture needs to take. I don’t think this sport needs to keep inching towards football with bodily harm as part of the spectacle, you know?

to listen to the riders. With the support of our long-term partners like YETI, Red Bull, Ski-Doo, and GoPro, we have been able to fast-forward the otherwise incredibly long curve this would probably have taken to get to the quality of the events we are running now.

For example, what if we were just waiting for the evolution of the Freeride World Tour– especially now that it is owned by the FIS [Federation of International Skiing]–to get us to a place where competition runs were on par with video part riding? Even if the NST were to end tomorrow, the world can’t unsee what we did, and I think that will continue to influence the snowboard contest landscape for the better.

This collective movement in snowboarding was somewhat inevitable. We’ve always been headed in this direction. I’m just proud of the NST team, and proud that we continue

JHSM: Parting words for JHSM readers?

Travis: See you in the forest...