Okay. I don't do rap, mostly. I won't rank songs or artists or eras cos I don't really care about the entire discipline, even though I and my generation are wont to do so. I don't have the knowledge or depth of listening. I will, however, state confidently that Public Enemy is better than some rap and hiphop artists. I also dig that one Grandmaster Flash song from back about the time I was born.
Alta, that one** place in Utah that doesn't allow snowboarding, has some good terrains. They claim a lot of snow each season, too, although I'm not sure I believe them. Or anyone, really, unless their totals have been certified by NOAA. Even in the modern era of web-based snowfall-stake cameras, there is always an asterisk, something like "official totals taken in a special secret bunker location located secretly somewhere on the hill or maybe not so if you see an obvious discrepancy it's tooooootally not our fault you just don't know the whole story," and then 4" on the webcam is 6" on the report, just like it was before webcams when Herb would tell Denny 3", Denny would figure it'd snow another 3 before opening and tell Duncan 6, and Duncan would Duncan and report 12". Meanwhile, it'd stopped snowing before Herb could get back in the loader after calling Denny and brewing some more coffee.
At any rate, "Alta is for skiers". That's one of their taglines. In truth, they can have it. I just don't get it. I remember a day back in April of '96, Pa and I were down there on the way back from a band trip in Breckenridge, See-Oh. (Speaking of overrated.) We'd skied A-Basin, Keystone, Vail, and were in SLC for a bit before flying home to the Wet Side. It'd snowed, probly ten or twelve, and it was a bit thicker than what Lee Cohen always shows in them hash-tag Award Winning Photographs. Pa and I ripped the shit outa that place. Seriously. It's one of the best days I can remember. Patrol opened some line they then called Glory Hole, which I can't find on the map today, for whatever reason. (Maybe more on that in a later episode?) 2 in the afternoon, Utah sun still not punishing the snow, first tracks on the skinny skis, it definitely doesn't get any better.
In the lodge, though, one couldn't escape the attitude. "It's heavy, today." "Fkn Sierra Cement." "What is this shit?!" The locals, or at least the grumpy dudes who wanted you to think they were locals, were not only looking the various gift horses squarely in their respective mouths, they had out the measuring tapes and were disputing whose hands should be used to measure the beasts. It was probly mid-20s in the morning, warming slightly to around 30 Freedom Degrees by closing, never really damaging the snow. Comfortable, good viz, deep, supportive snow, and these clowns were complaining before going home empty handed.
Fast forward a few decades, Amy and I are in line at the bottom of Collins, waiting our turn on another April deep day. (Shoulda skied Wildcat, but I didn't know that then.) Collins is now a detach quad, and as such there's always some shuffling about in line trying to maximise uphill capacity. A couple dudes next to us, who apparently "weren't from here" or something, asked the two dudes next to them if they could join and make a quad. The local--he absolutely would not let you forget--spat "that's not how we DO things here," and continued shuffling unfriendly-like up to the ticket checker. I've skied at around 4 dozen joints, and not a one of em cares if you make up a full chair group ahead of time when the line's long, so long as you don't leave empty spaces once you actually load. But at Al-tuh not Awl-tuh, we do things just a little different.
Conincidentally, about 6, maybe 8 turns below the top of Collins, I lost my edge on a rock and slid real hard over my pole with my hip and bruised my entire iliotibial band from fibula to iliac crest. Couldn't bear weight, and had to get a ride down. Couldn't test ride bikes at work for three weeks. The patroller was efficient, and in no time we got to the bottom, where he unceremoniously said "This is where you get of bwah, I'm goin back to Alabam." (I mean, I heard David Allan Coe, anyway. Maybe he didn't actually say it like that.) Turns out Alta doesn't staff an aid room with your ticket money. Some other entity does, and wouldn't you know, they charge you for the attention. Really, I just needed ice, so Amy got a trash bag full of snow and I sat glumly in one of the bars slopeside while she went and got all schreddy on Wildcat.
Snowboarding can trace its roots to surfing, I think. At least, the original 60s era product that is the first recognisable thing related to a snowboard was called a Snurfer. (I hate portmanteaux, almost as much as I hate Al-ta.) It's kinda silly, really, this snowboarding. Everything is asymmetrical, moving through any sort of terrain where gravity isn't the prime mover is basically impossible, and (important for our modern overcrowded slopes) you have a massive blindside on every single heel-side turn. If you live somewhere, say, Alta, where all the goods are accessed by long traverses with a lot of uphill, you limit yourself to just easy-access spots or Joey-traverse your way into the lines halfway down, ruining those lines for those of us willing to work to get to the top. Moving through the line at the bottom of the lift is a joke, stepping on your neighbours' skis and generally getting in the way.
Speaking of listicles, I recently ran into an article while perusing the internet on my morning constitutional. 17 Not So Obvious Bucket List Experiences for Skiers and Snowborders in the U.S., missing hyphens theirs. In addition to being conceptually incorrect, in that everything on the list has been done to death in a million ski rags since the dawn of ski rags, multiple "experiences" on the list aren't even available to snowboarders at all, number one in particular. Mad River Glen, Ski It If You Can, as the sticker goes. Or as the Burton (I think) Snowboards sticker goes, Ride It If We Could. Set aside for a moment, your judgment of whether or not the Back Bowls at Vail are actually bucket-listable*, or if they're "not so obvious". The fact that snowboarders can't access some of these things on snowboards is interesting, to say the least.
This argument, to allow snowboards or not, is settled science at {does some internetting and coffee-break maths} 99.4% of the ski areas in the good ol' US of A. The simple answer is "d'uh". For some joints, there was some holding out. For others, say, the number 5 "not so obvious" bucket list joint, nestled up there in Whatcom County, WA, South Canada, between Shuksan and Kulshan, from where one can spend an afternoon working the top of 5 gazing longingly at American and Canadian Border Peaks, and Tomyhoi, and Goat, and Yellow Aster, and the list goes on, the answer was an emphatic "yes", print my money now thanks.
Craig Kelly grew up in Skagit County, WA, that land of extremes. Spires of accreted sea floor rip foot after feet of water out of the clouds every wet season, supporting vast forests of Abies and Tsuga and Pseudotsuga and, in the slide paths, Alnus and other first succession species. The Skagit River drains under 2,600 square miles and starts up in the far northern reaches of the Cascades, in Canada. Yeah, it just crosses that wild frontier like nobody's watching. Build a wall, there, CheeToh. On a big flow day, it'll move about 45,000 cubic feet per second out into Skagit Bay. On a really big day, we're looking at 80-100 grand. The Boise River, our local stream, looks like a creek in comparison. The Boise serves a big portion of south-central Idaho, over 4,000 square miles, draining in its course many peaks exceeding 10 grand in elevation. High spring melt-off flows, the ones that get Eagle Island residents running to their attorneys to sue the Bureau of Reclamation, rarely exceed 7,000 cfs. Less than 10 percent of a big Skagit day out of a drainage something like 50-some-odd percents bigger.
The peaks above the Skagit Valley, the really big ones like Eldorado and Terror and Shuksan and Jack, either barely climb above 9 grand or don't at all, and yet they hold glaciers. Snowfall, as they say when attempting hyperbole without any sort of creativity, is measured in cords and fetlocks and average-size adult Acer macrophyllums. (One of the many, many binomials I like. "What's that tree called? Bigleaf maple. Cool, let's call it Maple with the big leaves, but, like, in Latin." It could've gone the other way, too, but I wasn't there.) Snowfall is famously wet, or more accurately, dense, as all snow is technically wet when it melts. Having lived within sight of {starts internetting but runs out of ambition and besides, it's a dern volcano} what I think is the highest point in the Skagit Drainage, I can attest to the density. It makes for physically strong skiers like yours truly, and in the case of Craig Kelly--you though I'd lost the thread, didn't you?--strong snowboarders.
Craig helped push snowboarding from its scrappy roots and goofball image to the same level as skiing. He was ridiculously smooth. His time at Baker no doubt helped him build technical strength and skills that folks pointing and slashing in Rocky Mountain pillow fluff wouldn't have needed, nor developed. He influenced skiing, which would be hard to admit for a lot of PSIA folk, more than a lot of skiers in his day. Though the rumours of skiing's demise in the early 90s were greatly exaggerated, Craig's style and skill and ambition still helped us out of what could possibly be called mild doldrums.
In the end, the American snowboard discussion seems to have ossified. The three--yes, just three--resorts that ban snowboarding are at this point loyal to a mistake*** they will never admit is a mistake, and have hardened their stances into legend. If Mad River Glen, or Deer Valley, or Al-ta ever allow snowboarding, it'll feel like a tidal shift. (Or just good business sense, but who's counting?) There will be faithful who will turn on the perceived devil who makes the decision like a shieldback on a squished fellow shieldback. (I'm not linking anything for you. You can gooooogle it, thankyouverymuch.) Boycotts, outrage, all sorta vitriol better aimed at folks who do ethnic cleansing on their neighbours or starve whole nations because there might be one militant left among the rubble. Their privilege, as the kids are saying, will be showing.
The final thing that frustrates me about this whole absurd argument is the folks who claim this snowboard ban is discrimination, somehow of akin to a civil rights infringement. Snowboarding is a choice, one that cannot be argued is baked-in. Where the colour of one's skin is a) not a thing that can somehow be "wrong", and b) not a thing that is chosen, snowboarding is an active choice, one that in some specific situations can actually be wrong, and one that is entirely a first world concern. To that end, Alta, MRG, and DV do not discriminate against the person, only the orientation of the stick or sticks that cat slides on. Reduced to such a minimum, both houses deserve a pox. Banning snowboards, no matter how useless I personally think they are, is simply being a dick for the sake of being a dick. Claiming discrimination is just absurd. You, printer of stickers and poacher of lines, are not banned, not in the slightest. If you want to ski that hallowed High Rustler mogul line (#4), learn to ski. Or remember how, if you used to ski. Or, better still, boycott the douchebags outright and go somewhere, anywhere, you are actually welcome. Sliding on snow is not limited to the 0.6% where skiing is the only option. My best day on snow wasn't even at a ski area. Think about that.
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Title from Public Enemy's magnum opus, Don't Believe the Hype. If you have not heard it, queue it on up. It's also the title of my new Snowbird (not snowboard) ad campaign. Alta, Don't Believe the Hype. And here you thought I'd never get to the actual point. Hit me up, Powdr. I'll sell the rights for only many many many many ducats.
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** YES I KNOW THERE ARE TWO WELCOME TO THE ENGLISH LANGUISH
*** Richard Russo wrote whole books about this very human tendency. If you are in need of some good noveling, give him a look see.
* Annoyingly so, I'd say. That same Al-ta trip, Pa and I got absolutely shredded by the sun back there, and it, too, is top ten ski memories. You'll know from reading our pages that top ten lists might be 60 things long, but that's okay. The back bowls on the backside of Vail's frontside, should you somehow time them to a day where only 3299 of your best friends are at the hill instead of the usuall 70,010, are mellow, open, endless, with views to match. Vail Corp is one of the worst things to happen to skiing ever, other than all the gatekeeping and abusive coaches and racist bullshit and misogyny and Sinclair Oil and, well, you get it. The terrain west of Vail Pass, on the south side of Gore Creek, east of the upper Eagle River, north of Turkey Creek, is not to blame for President Katz and all the evil he hath wrought. It just sits there, waiting for the kiss of a sintered base and some really, really toxic wax.
