Bryan Jones 5/11/20 Bryan Jones 5/11/20

Pandemic in Paradise: Home-Quito-Cotopaxi

While the definitive global crisis of the modern era spread across the globe, I ventured off on a solo adventure around Ecuador. In my typical fashion, I had only decided on the trip a few weeks prior, after looking at my upcoming work schedule, and felt the need to scratch that traveller's itch.

Why Ecuador, you ask?

The initial choice was Sri Lanka, although that was quickly moved to the back burner when 24 hour travel itineraries with layovers in China looked to be the typical path to the Teardrop of India. Even in early February, the idea of transiting through China seemed like a poor choice for a vacation plan based on the International news headlines of the day.

So, like many times before, my attention drew back to Latin America. Costa Rica was the first consideration, as the Envision Festival was taking place in late February, with surfing opportunities abound. Last minute accommodation options for Envision looked to be limited to sweltering general admission camping at that point, and I was really craving something a little more adventurous than another trip to Central America, and a tropical "transformational festival" that likely felt a bit like a sweatier California (saying that, I absolutely would love to check out Envision Festival some day).

A quick bit of research on popular surf destinations in Latin America lead me to Montanita, Ecuador, a small Pacific town with a reputation for consistent waves, and even more consistent partying. I'm not one to put much of a focus on the latter when travelling, but it seemed like it had strong potential, and after considering the inclusion of the Galapagos, plus the incredible Ecuadorian high Andes, Amazonian rainforest, the compact size of the country, and ease of transport, it quickly became my top pick.

I found inexpensive flights on Air Canada through Toronto direct to Quito, though unfortunately the return ticket would provide no use in my escape during the impending shutdown of… well… the entire world.

Pandemic in Paradise - Prologue

The world feels like a drastically different place today, compared to the day of my last post on January 26th, 2020.

On that day, a novel Coronavirus, later called Covid-19, was an interesting but distant news story. A total of 56 million people in cities across the Hubei province of China had been placed under lockdown, and Hong Kong shut the doors to its local Disneyland. The global death toll was 56, with a total of 2,000 cases confirmed, with the first cases being reported outside of China in the US, Taiwan, Thailand, Japan, and South Korea.

Three days earlier, on January 23rd, the WHO declared that the outbreak “did not yet constitute a public emergency of international concern”, and there was “no evidence of the virus spreading between humans outside of China”.

Well… shit.

At that time, it was insignificant enough that it wasn’t worth a mention in any of my writing, though I remember being profoundly fascinated but the fact that China was able to impose such draconian measures of control over their population when they completely locked down the city of Wuhan, population 11 million. Today, less than two months later on March 25th, 2020, with four hours notice, India announced a complete ban on leaving home for all 1.3 billion residents of the country over the next 21 days.

Canada maintains a more trustful approach, shuttering high risk businesses, recommending social distancing, though fines and the criminalization of defying imposed quarantine rules are becoming commonplace.

The total case count, likely significantly underreported, currently sits at 462,781 with 3,290 in Canada. Globally, there have been 20,896 deaths, a similar number to that caused by influenza in a recent typical year.

Due to the warranted closure of many businesses, the collapse of global tourism and air travel, and a poorly timed price war between the Saudis and Russia in oil market, there have been massive impacts to the economy. Current projections in the US show a spike to 20-30% unemployment. Ski hills are closed, festivals cancelled, restaurants, bars, music, climbing gyms, parks, and professional sports are now shuttered for the foreseeable future. It is impossible to predict the cascading effects this crisis will impose on the world.

But, for me, by far the most devastating news has been progressing this past week. The overall community has been pressuring people to avoid trips into the backcountry, to reduce any potential strain over health workers overburdened by demands, and lacking PPE to protect themselves from the spread of the virus. The Canadian Avalanche Association will stop reporting on conditions in an effort to discourage backcountry travel. And later this week, there is a major storm rolling in with low temps, and I'm locked away for weeks dealing with a constant stream of stressful news, shifting global paradigms, American spring break morons, Chief-hiking ladder dipshits, choppy video calls, and fucking Trump tested negative from what could have potentially made this whole situation more palatable.

Seems like perfect fucking time to check out and go splitboarding.

I say this (mostly) in jest, and agree with the "just stay home" position being recommended across the board. I have Nootka here at the house, and targeting some more isolated spots to walk with him. I am extremely lucky to be in the position I'm in: business in my field will likely see a corresponding bump, as organizations expand their remote workforce options, along with the security implications involved, and I have a comfy house with a derpy dog on the edge of beautiful forest.

A veritable Covid paradise.

Speaking of paradise, and moving away from a topic that has been, and will continue to be, beaten to death quite some time, I have been busy since my last post. I returned from a fantastic adventure around Ecuador, culminating in an exciting pandemic-level escape back home. Earlier in February, snow conditions lined up for some incredible days of sled and shred, including a memorable mid-week hut trip with a tight crew to mountain paradise.

Feb. 2nd, 2020: The calm before the storm

Back-to-back solid days at Brandywine was a great reminder that it truly is an epic place for sled lap snowboarding.

At that time, we had no intention of practicing any sort of social distancing.

My boy Mike Martinson was in between jobs, so we were planning to get out on a mid-week Duffey area hut trip at some point during the break. We decided to jump on the opportunity that week to do a strike for one of the smaller cabins, and chatting with Mike H. and Dylan F., we made plans to head out Wednesday midday to Pemberton. The trip started with some light drama when ole Master Falls went incommunicado as we were ready to leave, as he do. Holmes isn’t the patient type when it comes to anything keeping him from snowboarding, so he left him and started the drive to Pemberton solo. After Dylan finally emerged from radio silence, a few terse words were exchanged, yet in the end all was forgiven, the Canadian economy got a boost from a third pickup truck’s worth of gas now required, and we regrouped at Blackbird Bakery in Pemberton for provisions and Chai Tea.

All loaded up, with high levels of stoke from Mikey on a snowmobile adventure to pow town, getting his first solo rip on a sled since he was a wee lad in flatland Ontario

The ride in was relatively uneventful, and we even managed to break trail right to the hut. Dylan was bored of everything going so smoothly, so he smashed his sled and his brake fluid reservoir into a tree about 50 metres from the hut just to add that little bit of extra spice we know and love with snowmobile-related activities. We had no plans to use the two-stroke billy goats once we got to the cabin, so Dylan’s lack of brakes were immediately forgotten, to be dealt with on the return journey four days hence.

We arrived late in the day, so all that was on the agenda was to set up shop and enjoy cabin life.

Minimal recent snowfall, erratic freezing levels, high winds, overcast skies, and light flurries in the forecast, left us unsure about the quality of goods we were about to be delivered. But that’s the game we signed up for, and we were ready for whatever we got.

You’re not living right if you don’t find yourself lost in profound existential thought staring deeply into your splitboard binding from time to time

”For Love of Sport” became the catchphrase of the day. Conditions were what I would describe as “sub-optimal” skinning up and riding down the west facing wind-scoured aspect we started our day on. Hammering winds while constantly sliding down the slope on icy traverses made much of the skinning experience rather unpleasant, but this group was not averse to a little type 2 backcountry suffering, and we carried on with a twisted level of humour and good times were had regardless.

“Beats a day at the office” is another useful phrase to mumble to yourself as you are temporarily blinded by blowing ice crystals, failing to maintain purchase on an icy sidehill traverse.

Holmes, rocking a makeshift broomstick ski pole after his 11th collapsible BD pole exploded in his hand that morning. His stoke level obvious.

Dylan considering that if he just maintained radio silence, he’d be warm and comfortable at home

Fortunately, our second lap on an east aspect fully delivered. Visibility was shiite, the wind was hammering, but snow quality was great and we were treated to a long string of face shots right back to the cabin, where after a few beers and noticing that it was still only mid-afternoon, we realized we probably should have kept splitboarding.

But cabin life is a good life, and we did have some important tasks to do…

Woodmaster Falls gets to work crafting Holmes some replacement poles. With a nice special “touch” at the end.

After seeing what choosing the correct aspect would deliver, we were pretty amped for the next day, especially with clearing skies in the forecast.

The sun cryptically illuminated a potential objective for the next day.

We decided to get up on top of one of the local peaks, hoping we would get lucky with the variable cloud cover.

Sadly, we did not get the clearing at the right time, but always feels good to top out on peak.

After a few hundred meters of survival mode descent, things opened up and the snow was banger!

Once back down to the lake, we yo-yoed a few more laps of fantastic gully farming to finish up a big day. Peaks and pow!

From blower overhead to the Grateful Dead

Another quality brodown evening in the cabin testing the insulation and HVAC capabilities, complete with night 3-of-3 of boil-a-bag Indian and excessive peanut butter consumption, and a few highly competitive rounds of Monopoly Deal. The next day was departure day, but with the cabin cleaned and all packed up and ready to go in the morning, we ventured off for our objective spotted the previous day.

Things started off with a steep skin in mature forest to gain an upper ridge.

Gaining the ridge, we were treated with clearer skies and beautiful views

That slope was steeper than it looks in this photo… I think…?

The upper south facing slope leading directly back to the cabin was quite literally wind fucked, and the east facing skiing that we skinned up looked to be all time, so we changed plans and ripped back down the way we came. It would only be a short skin back to the cabin from the valley bottom, and we had plenty of time. And besides a short section of gully survival mode at the bottom, the run was sensational.

For someone who enjoys both adventurous outdoor pursuits, and posting about it on the Interwebs, I am absolutely atrocious at maintaining a GoPro with a charged battery. So I have precisely zero minutes of footage from this trip… I’m including this awful cell phone video for posterity, as evidence that yes indeed, the snowboarding was top quality.

The exit was as uneventful as the entrance, even with Dylan in the lead with negligible braking abilities. These smooth operations don’t exactly make for great storytelling, but it sure is nice to avoid the all-to-common clusterfucks that often accompany these missions. I assume Martinson has been saving up funds for a snowmobile of his own ever since this expedition, as he seemed to enjoy himself immensely harnessing the small town redneck Ontario days of his youth, gaining a somewhat skewed view of how wonderfully efficient they can be for these types of missions.

And, as of the day of this post, there’s a chance that was the last snowboarding for the 2019/2020 season. Whistler has closed for the season, along with Cypress Mountain, both of which I had 2 day passes that went completely unused. Backcountry travel has become somewhat of a faux pas, now that healthcare workers are at their breaking point, and search and rescue personnel are not equipped with proper PPE to protect from viral transmission.

Fortunately, before the shit really hit the fan, I was to embark on an adventure to a warmer type of paradise: three weeks travelling in Ecuador that nearly became a fair bit longer…

Bryan Jones 1/26/20 Bryan Jones 1/26/20

#hutlife

As an IT Consultant living in the modern world, with a number of computer-based hobbies (photo editing, music production, and now “blogger”…), it can be difficult to disconnect. A constant stream of emails, meetings, Facebook/Slack/Hangouts/Signal/Teams and SMS messages, as well as the odd panic phone call from a client in distress, inundate day-to-day life. Throw in mortgage payments, hydro bills, home repairs, tax management for myself and my company - Atwell Systems Inc, GST payments, strata fees, investment management, client invoicing and follow-ups, and the odd sick puppy, and this whole adulting thing gets a bit fucking ridiculous.

Sure, I manage to get out a lot, but the anxiety-inducing torrent of news, communications, and social media doesn’t stop when I walk out the door. Generally, this level of nomadic connectivity allows for a very desirable work-life balance with my career and lifestyle, but holy shit does it ever feel good to take an extended break every now and again.

Hiking into the wilderness and camping provides an excellent escape; an intimate connection with the world around you. But anyone that speaks fondly of mid-winter camping is either an insane masochist, or blatantly lying to you.

Enter the backcountry cabin.

Providing at-your-doorstep access to incredible skiing at high elevation, and a cozy warm abode to dry yourself and gear, the only messages received are generally of the esoteric, spiritual kind. British Columbia is somewhat of a haven for these huts, often built on crown land as a memorial to past adventurers that would likely be extremely proud to carry such a namesake. Most are secretive and off the map, built by a collection of motivated friends with their own resources and time. Others are managed by various outdoor community groups, such as the Alpine Club of Canada, UBC Varcity Outdoor Club, or the BC Mountaineering Club. Finally, moving up the socio-economic chain, commercial ventures are developed and maintained by private families and organizations, and range from basic and affordable, to five star experiences for the truly elite.

Needless to say, I was stoked to get the message from Audrey and Mike that they were planning on celebrating Audrey's 30th birthday at the Alpine Club of Canada's Wendy Thompson Hut, in the Duffey Lake area near Pemberton, BC. What better way to celebrate with good friends than hauling back-breaking amounts of beer, whisky, boxed wine, jars of peanut butter, frozen tuna, portable speakers, camera equipment, and Monopoly Deal, deep into the backcountry for a few nights of debauchery and laughter surrounded by a backyard winter playground.

Giles C., Smash Mountain alumni, was even making an appearance, down from Rossland for the experience. Chef extraordinaire, philosopher, bass music head, slingshot slayer of overly aggressive grouse, gorilla-legged mountain speed demon, and ruthless conqueror of the Scoville scale; the only thing that makes him sweat is if someone happens to be talking about rock climbing near him. He's a great friend, and fellow splitboarder, so it was an absolute treat having the man in attendance. We met in Vancouver on Friday evening, and headed up the Sea to Sky, spending the evening in Squamish getting organized, wasting no time diving into light philosophical discussions such as the concept of free will (spoiler alert: it doesn’t exist).

We had a plan to try to get North of Whistler Saturday night to reduce travel on the following cabin approach day, and the snow conditions were all time with high avy danger on the coast, so we loaded up the sled to double into a new zone up the Soo Valley with a buddy, Sam. We had a nice little adventure up the beautiful valley to a warming hut, but struck out on the ski line choice below the hut, and ended up with a piss poor ratio of actual snowboarding to survival wallowing through creek gullies and flat clearcuts in chest deep snow. Hey, you can't win them all, and good times were still had all around. Sometimes on a high avalanche risk day, playing it safe is the right choice at the expense of good snowboarding.

January 18th, 2020 - Soo Valley warming hut

Things started out pretty decent…

But quickly turned into this…

After a night in Whistler posted up with the ridiculously gracious hosts at Sam's place, we headed up the road to Pemberton and Mt. Currie Coffee to organize and caffienate. Our tactic turned out to be a wise one, as the remaining six people from our party coming up from Vancouver were stuck in Whistler traffic chaos, and were significantly delayed, so we packed our bags and sipped an extra Americano, and hopped back in the truck to wind our way up the Duffey Lake Highway, roughly a 3 hour drive from Vancouver, and the epicentre of ski touring in the Coast Mountains.

January 19th, 2020 - Marinating sashimi-grade ahi tuna steaks outside a coffee shop is exactly the culinary experience I have come to expect from this man

The hike into the Marriott Basin, home of the Wendy Thompson Hut, is roughly 7km long and 550m elevation gain. Much of the approach is quite flat, with two steep sections in the middle and end of the tour. Not a particularly demanding day, but with a number of inefficient choices weighing down the pack, my lower back was happy to see the cabin after a little under 3 hours. Giles had recently completed a heinous 15.5 hour approach to a cabin in Jasper National Park, and my mind was constantly questioning the abilities, and level of mental stability, required to complete such an endeavour.

We got comfy, cranked the wood stove, and settled in to wait for the rest of the crew. There were a number of beginners, and even a couple on suffer slippers (i.e. snowshoes), so we were expecting the procession to make a fashionably late entrance.

Charcuterie prepped and served for our late arrivals

The weary crew arrived after dark with smiles on their faces, and libations and celebrations began.

Giles forgot the sprouts in Sam’s fridge in Whistler, so the seared tuna burgers were completely ruined.

Spirits were high the next morning, as the squad prepared for a day of reasonably organized pow hunting. In order to maximize efficiencies on these trips, multi-tasking is key. Staying loose and limber along with proper hygiene in the backcountry are extremely important, as well as “looking hella dope” throughout, and I encourage the viewers at home to take careful notes of Halfdan and Audrey’s high level of skill in achieving all three with this instructional video:

With the squad looking so fresh and so clean, it was time to hit the skin track.

We dug out a pit to analyze the snow pack. Tests came back as expected, with a persistent deep layer down 90-100cms that was only reactive under significant force. As a general rule: if you’re hurting your hand on the shovel during a compression test with no results, chances are the stability is pretty good. Shout out to Halfdan for sacrificing himself demonstrating this point.

And so we shred…

Some of the crew took the “get pitted” mantra quite literally.

Good times were had on the warm-up, so it was time to head back up for another. We were fortunate to be met with gradually clearing skies, and the true beauty of the Marriott Basin began to present itself.

We decided to take our chances with the “sucker hole” of visibility and clearing skies, and venture up into the alpine, to look around, and as the best approach to access some lines across the basin to finish the day.

Credit to Giles with the assist for a solid Photoshop cleanup on this one. Skimo bro in training, Mike M, showing how it’s done with the ski-on skin removal.

We wrapped up with an apres beer outside, taking in the last of the day’s light, followed by an excellent curry prepared by Mike, and some brutally cutthroat Monopoly Deal.

The following day included some more - you guessed it - backcountry skiing. To steal a line from the birthday girl used two nights earlier during an in-depth review of the tuna burgers: it was “fucked good”.

Another bonus of our Kootenay-based renaissance man, Giles, joining the trip, was there was another f-stop addict out there snapping pics, which is somewhat of a rarity for whatever reason with my typical crew. Here’s a few of his shots of yours truly from weekend:

Following a completely acceptable morning shred, we gathered back at the hut, packed and cleaned up, readying for departure. After an obligatory group photo in front of the hut, we split into smaller groups and flailed our way back to the highway through a somewhat ridiculously varied mix of conditions. As far as splitboard exits go, it wasn’t the worst, though it definitely wasn’t the best, and we did opt for an initial skin up to get one more short shot of quality skiing, bypassing the long flat section by the lake and meadows.

The Jan. 2020 Wendy Thompson “Get Pitted” Squad

Back at highway after a reasonably success split-ski out on the flat road using the “single skin technique”

After a celebratory beverage at the truck, it was time to descend down to Pemberton, where we assumed civilization was still waiting for us, along with all the associated creature comforts. Netflix, Skip the Dishes, 5g cellular networks, 24 hour news cycles, conference calls, Internet banking, and Trumps’ shit stained Twitter feed were all about to crash back into our lives.

“I think we have enough Cliff Bars left to survive a few more nights if we just turned around…

How much coffee do we have left? Shit, only that much?

Fuck.

Well, back to modern society then.”

I’m well adapted at this point to survive the modern era’s bombardment of media and technology, but I’m just not capable of living without my morning JJ Bean Fair Trade Organic Dark Roast.

As we roll into Pemberton, my cell phone explodes in a chaotic fireworks display of alarms, advertisements, notifications, communications, proclamations, and spam. My primary client had managed to forget that I had notified them of my trip through multiple streams of prior communications, and a cascading tone of desperation through seven well-crafted voicemails told the story of a disrupted “guest wifi” that needed immediate resolution.

Those poor guests. Their level of suffering sounded unimaginable. Cellular data being consumed at an alarming rate, likely primarily by desperate onsite auditors trying to reduce workplace boredom commonly associated with auditing, by using their personal devices to view the streaming TV series du jour.

Truly a crisis of biblical proportions.

Kidding aside, that is the crisis-filled, anxiety-ridden life we live today. We don’t have to outrun a predatory lion while on a hunt to feed our families, or worry about marauding bands of tribespeople from the next valley over. Evolutionarily speaking, we’re still the same “fight or flight” Mesolithic homo sapiens, we’ve just found new stuff to fight, and different methods of escape.

The fight against bad wifi rages on, but fortunately the flight to peace, solitude, and face shots is often just a short journey away.

Bryan Jones 1/23/20 Bryan Jones 1/23/20

Local Shreds Do Good

There’s no place like home.

Back in Squamish following the Revelstoke mission, conditions on the Coast were starting to look a bit less grim, with a series of major storms and reasonable freezing levels filling in our local hills.

Game on!

I have a… confusing relationship with snowmobiles. They are expensive, dirty, unreliable, exhausting, noisy, high maintenance, and annoying to store, with a short season of use. They are also completely mind blowing in their functionality to access winter terrain in the Coast Mountains. Long logging road approaches through milder temps at low elevation mean that splitboarding from the truck involves a lot of type 2 fun at the start and end of your day. Backcountry skiing has become so popular that the “adventure” aspect of touring looses a bit of its allure when you are travelling to the finite list of popular areas that provide good skiing with reasonable approaches.

Snowmobiles are capable of transporting large amounts of gear for overnight trips, or for hauling camera equipment and warm food into the backcountry. I have experienced incredible adventures, and been in some spectacular locations, thanks to the utility of the snow pony. Although generally not recommended due to a lack of options for rescue if things turn south, late day exits under alpenglow-soaked peaks and breathtaking alpine sunsets represent some of the more powerful experiences I’ve had in the mountains.

The concept of a snowmobile can seem at odds with the idea of natural preservation and an environmentally conscious backcountry traveller, but a lifetime of operating a snowmobile likely pales in comparison to the carbon footprint of long-distance flight travel. Major ski resorts cause massive ecological impacts on the local environment. Heli and cat skiing operations consume significant resources to bring powder addicts to their snow-covered Valhalla. Deforestation, big agriculture, and a huge mess of other issues all contribute to our dire environmental state. As much as I agree and support individuals doing their part in reducing their impact, we are at the mercy of our governments, including massive developing nations such as China and India, to put forth and enforce suitable regulations for industry, likely at the cost of growth.

Politically, I feel quite hopeless even here in Canada, objectively one of the most progressive countries on the planet. Our first-past-the-post voting system is antiquated, and I find myself begrudgingly voting on a purely strategic basis (The ABCs of Canadian voting: “Anything But Conservative”), instead of objectively looking at my local candidates, and voting for policy decisions that matter most to me: ones that impact our natural world. Sure I benefit from a 1% reduction in the small business corporate tax rate, and eliminating MSP payments. Legal dope is pretty cool. But the biggest mistakes us humans are making right now, more specifically in developed Western nations, is our lack of conservation efforts to protect our natural resources, and the devasting consequences of climate change. Although I’m generally a free-ish market capitalist, and have little confidence in the efficiency of government bureaucratic processes, this is one area where adequate regulation is absolutely necessary.

Snow machines provide a powerful and efficient way to explore our beautiful planet and local winter environs. I believe that myself, and the other backcountry enthusiasts I travel with, become more of an environmentalist with each passing moment spent in the wilderness. A culture of protecting these areas from commercial interests, maintaining one of the very few remaining accessible large scale wilderness areas, runs deep in our blood.

I just wish Elon would stop tweeting insider trading and smoking dope with Joe Rogan, and hurry up and build a half-decent battery powered snowmobile… Come on dude, you revolutionized both the space and auto industry, and even built a fucking flame thrower. You should be able to design a god damned electric snowmobile whilst taking your morning dump. I don’t even care if you make it look like that friggin’ Cybertruck.

Wow, this took a serious tangent… I guess sometimes I need to get creative in convincing myself of the value of snowmobile ownership…

January 9th, 2020 - My happy place: Upper Squamish Valley

The Squamish Valley is a magical place. Turn left off Hwy 99 just north of Squamish, and you are presented with access to a wilderness area that is hard to wrap your head around, especially when you consider it is only an hour's drive from the major cosmopolitan centre and 3 million denizens of Vancouver. It is a recreational paradise, with branching forest service roads of varying levels of drivability following the major river drainages that lead to nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Looking north, there are few traces of civilization up the entire Coast Mountain Range extending up to the Alaskan border and beyond.

No services, no cell coverage, no cafes or gas stations or even permanent residences once you hit gravel at the hydro station and wind beside the upper reaches of the Squamish and Elaho rivers.

Every time I turn off the highway and make my way towards the Squamish/Paradise Valley split, I am filled with an excited buzz, reminiscing on past adventures, or ridiculous festival memories at the Squamish Valley Campground events from the past.

Hills dont get much more “gnar” on the Coast than Mt. Cayley

We got in late, snow conditions were low, and it was sunny and beautiful, so we enjoyed a cold one under the imposing face of Cayley, was briefly entertained by Dylan “part Gore Tex model, part rambling mountain hobo” Falls (see below), and turned back home for the ride out.

Back in Squamish, we managed to accumulate a bit of snow, at least at higher elevations around the house. Nootka was also going through some serious withdrawal from the white fluffy stuff after Revelstoke, and I was more than happy to oblige him. He sure is one goofy idiot, and man do I ever love him… You’re mostly here to see photos of a derpy Goldendoodle, right?

Earlier in the week, I had noticed that the Alpine Club of Canada had started a new Squamish chapter. I had utilized a number of ACC training sessions and courses over the years, which represent incredible value if you’re fine with instruction from amateurs sharing their own personal knowledge, as opposed to mountain schools taught by ACMG certified guides. And as it so happened, they were holding an Introduction to Backcountry Skiing and Snowboarding that very weekend, and had posted in their Facebook group asking for an experienced splitboarder who would be interested in volunteering. I foolishly signed up before reading the itinerary, specifically the 6am Starbucks meetup time, though I managed to caffeinate myself appropriately, and ended up having a great day.

As mentioned, backcountry snowboarding is my passion, and I love sharing that with others. It was a great experience seeing everyone’s stoke level, I learned a few things myself, and made a number of great new local connections. The Red Heather meadows above Squamish is a just about the perfect spot for an introduction to this wild and wacky pursuit; with a ridiculously easy approach and exit, cozy warming hut in the lower meadows, and safe ski slopes that tend to be just too short and low angle to be worthwhile skiing. But I guess that’s just motivation to get back out and experience the full value experience of the steeps and deeps.

January 11th, 2020 - Kathleen, the outstanding main organizer of all things ACC Squamish

Feeling the karmic snow Gods appeased through time served with the uncomfortably early start supporting the blister-saturated ACC hoard the day before, it was time to collect my pow-dues. The following two days were stacked with superb snowboarding in completely adequate amounts of coastal cold smoke. The snow machines commendably demonstrated their prowess in the efficiencies of moving powder addicts towards their primary goal and purpose. My snow pony even had the decency to wait until she was back in the driveway before the throttle cable snapped, immediately transitioning from an incredibly efficient purpose-built backcountry machine, to a completely useless driveway filler with low-interest monthly payments.

C’est La Vie.

Sunday was forecast to be overcast and low visibility, with high avy danger, so we gambled on a trip back out to that same wonderful world below Mt. Cayley up the magical land of the Squamish Valley, to shuttle lap the famed “Burke’s Bumps”, named as such for legendary local skier Sarah Burke, who sadly passed away in 2012 from injuries sustained in a halfpipe crash. She was a pioneer in freeskiing, helping bring the Superpipe event into the Olympics, and an absolute bad ass. This skiing zone - also absolutely bad ass.

Consisting of a logging road winding up a series of cutblocks, when the snowline is deep and low enough, it makes for an incredible mix of lower angle to quite steep pillow skiing heaven, as the snow accumulates on the fallen trees and stumps leftover from the clear cut.

Say what you want about the logging industry, but they sure make one hell of a ski run.

January 12th, 2020 - “Burkes Bumps” in full effect

As always, the trip up Squamish Valley is a part of the adventure. We managed to recruit Team Dad, with new father Andrew C. and soon-to-be new father Sterling P. coming along for the journey. Sterling and Caroline’s due date was two weeks post, so a strict bi-hourly satellite message was a hard requirement for the day to ensure a hasty retreat was possible, to avoid the unfortunate situation of our whole crew’s demise as Caro systematically murders us all for being privy to Sterls missing the birth of his first born.

Team Dad - I assume Andrew teaching Sterls how to properly craft a makeshift diaper out of Gore Tex scraps

Fil demonstrating new and exciting ways to instantly coat $1200 worth of outerwear in road grime.

Dylan milking the moderate amount of new snow on the Squamish Valley Main FSR

Fil doing his best to wash off that road grime

Andrew C. demonstrating the Dad’s can still pop

The Squamish Valley Ski Lift open for business

It was a superbly excellent day, but apparently my sleep deprived offering to the Alpine Club had not fully paid out yet, and the next day I was treated to another perfectly acceptable sled-shred at an atypically deserted Metal Dome area off the Brandywine Snowmobile Club area. I’ll choose to forget the fact that it was -20 and the hand warmers on Sterling’s sled, which I had to borrow due to the aforementioned re-purposing of my snowmobile, apparently felt it was too cold to show up to work, on a day they were needed most. Besides some painfully cold moments, the day was filled with lap after lap of “best run of the season” moments, down a perfectly consistent grade of steep tree and open glade shots.

My hands were in no mood for camera time, and the crew was moving at a pace of top-to-bottom party shredding, that no further documentation was needed. Days like this I wish I was more consistent with the Go Pro… I did manage to snap a quick video though in the trees:

January 13th, 2020 - Metal Dome

My confusing relationship with snowmobiles takes on a new found clarity following days like these. I love the quiet solitude of splitboarding. The slow pace climbing through the mountains, the clean fresh air surrounded by snow covered Douglas Fir and Cedars, moving with a cadence lost deep in thought. But it’s hard to put into perspective the level of pure ecstatic joy that comes with lap after lap of sublime backcountry snowboarding. And for that, snow machines have the ability to bring that to you in such a way that is hard to downplay or ignore.

The local areas around Squamish, the town I call home, are special places to me, filled with past memories and future objectives.

Guess it’s time to fix that damn throttle cable.

Bryan Jones 1/15/20 Bryan Jones 1/15/20

In Search of White Gold

There really is nothing quite like a day travelling through snowy mountains with your snowboard.

March 2017 - Full shaka stoke On the Pemberton Ice Cap

I will fiercely argue this point with any rock climber, mountain biker, kayaker, surfer, Buddhist monk, raver, NFL quarterback, rock star, porn star, or Gang Starr. I have not had the experience of holding my own child in my hands, but to be honest, I’m quite suspicious of that experience as well. My snowboard has never shit itself, kept me up at night crying, nor will I ever have to worry about an older greasy drug dealing snowboard trying to date it.

But I have to admit that I cannot definitively say to a parent that they were wrong about little Thomas, and that they foolishly wasted decades of their life better spent snowboarding. Though for now, I’ll keep assuming I’ve made the right choices so far.

Skiers have a decent case, but sorry gang, snowboarding is just more fun. You can remind me I said that when you happily ski past me wallowing in the snow, stuck in the flats. At least I’ll have all that extra time to sweat and think about what to write about in my fucking blog…

December 20th, 2019 - Squamish - A late start to the season had things looking very green in the valley

The 2019-2020 Winter Season started out with the worst run in recent memory. The positive spin was that the dry clear weather made for great Autumn mountain biking, and I was so busy with work clients that I didn’t have the chance to get stressed. But by the time we were into late December, I was starting to get a bit squirrely. An short mission up Brohm Ridge, provided a good opportunity for early season gear adjustments. We were blessed with just enough of a break in the clouds to get a fun little sled roop in very deep and heavy coastal snow, beneath the imposing massif of Garibaldi-Atwell, overseers of Squamish and the upper reaches of Howe Sound.

Dylan looking for the next front coming in to fill in the early season conditions. Mount Garibaldi lurks behind.

Fortunately, only a few days later, we managed to catch that beautiful alignment of sunny skies and fresh snow. The pack was still very low, but with the help of our trusty snow ponies, we were able to get up into Tricouni Meadows to quickly farm a number of 200m runs in the morning before the warming sun baked our south facing treasure.

Garibali-Atwell - Lords of Squamish. Brohm Ridge from a few days prior snaking down off the front side.

Following a break for Christmas, and some time spent in Squamish waiting for conditions to improve as the Coast just kept getting more wet, I decided to take a proactive approach to setting up a base camp in a more northerly and cooler clime. Picking a clear day on the roads, Nootka and I dragged Winston the Argosy up to Pemberton for the season, and met Brian T. from Calgary, who had continued down to the wet coast from Revelstoke just to drag my sorry ass back to that very same interior town days later when conditions on the just were not lining up.

Winston feeling quite small under the gaze of the Pemberton’s resident bad boy - Mt. Currie

Greasy Snoot, attempting to warm up in Winston on a chilly evening.

After a cold night in Winston, and a late morning recovery sleep, we made an attempt to get a half day ski tour in at Hanging Lake, just south of Whistler. The conditions looked very sub-optimal, with wet snow and minimal coverage at the base, so we opted for a short hike around Alexander Falls, also in the Callaghan area.

You know you’re an obsessive dog parent when you have 15 good photos of your pup on a walk to a waterfall, but none of the waterfall itself.

With the coastal forecast continuing to look grim, and what looked like an entire province worth of white fluffy stuff condensing around Revelstoke, we decided the best course of action was to head inland. Brian’s patience with my next-level faffing during this week is deserving of a medal. In my defence, I was single parenting a 1 year old hyper-social Goldendoodle, and my life was rather in a state of turmoil. After a heavily medicated 9:30pm crash on New Years Eve fighting a cold, I welcomed in the next decade with a series of fever dreams and an early alarm wake-up, swinging through North Vancouver to collect Mike M. for the journey eastward.

The masses hiking the recently opened sub-peak at Revelstoke Mountain Resort

As the avalanche danger was sitting quite high, my single parent status with the pup, and the fact that I had never visited the ski hill, we opted for a day at Revelstoke Mountain Resort. We found some pow stashes in the trees, good times were had slashing up groomers and jumping off things, and I appreciated the fact that lift tickets were a “reasonable” $109 instead of Whistlers $185, alongside comparably minuscule lift lines.

It snows a fair bit in Revelstoke. We got to see that first hand. Taking things slow with the significant avy risk, we spent a day shovelling out the house of our gracious hosts, Lucas and Robyn. I took Noots cross country skiing, where a minor altercation with one of the staff with respect to Nootka’s manners on an off-leash trail escalated to us making a somewhat early departure. Didn’t think I was still cool enough to get kicked out of places like a Nordic Centre…

The next day we ventured out in search of our real objective of the trip: steep and deep backcountry skiing and snowboarding. The ski out was a bit grim, but boy was it ever good up high. A true bucket list tick for me, touring among ancient massive cedars in majestic primary forest. The large spacing between these sentinels of time creates a cathedral-like open atmosphere when moving up the skin track. I’ll likely say this many times here, but there is a magic to the mountains in winter, covered in clean white lines, deathly quiet.

Days like this really help relax about a winter season that can be consumed by an obsession to get out and charge every possible moment you can. Friends, work, partners, responsibilities, personal hygiene, all take a back seat when the Mad Pow Disease strikes. I’m working hard on my “modified Buddhist” approach, where I try to push away the desire to constantly search for the next rush, the next hit, the next adventure, and be present in the moment. Paradoxically, happiness is something I’ve really struggled with over the years, primarily due to the angst-ridden existential crisis that is my brain. Avoid focus on the past and future, instead being content with what you have now.

But this addiction runs deep. It’s snowing again, and like I said, there really is nothing else like quite like it.

Bryan Jones 1/15/20 Bryan Jones 1/15/20

"Better Late Than Never"

These words are ringing in my head quite a lot these days.

I’ve had the intention of putting together an adventure travel/photo blog for years now, but the simplicity of traditional social media, and likely just a lack of time and focus, has continually pushed it down the priority list. Entering a new decade, midway through my 30s, and sitting at a major crossroad, it seems the timing is apt to take on a new challenge/project.

….

“Better Late Than Never”

These words are ringing in my head quite a lot these days.

My intention is to collect and formalize my rather chaotic journey into a format that is my own; free from the structure, advertisements, and ethical dilemmas of social media, with an aesthetic look and storytelling format that I think better represents life as an adventure to be shared. The Gallery will hold a collection of my favourite images captured over the years, and I will likely aim to separate into different categories eventually once I dive under the hood of this whole Squarespace template business. Content from over the years is scattered and incomplete between social media or local backups, and so I would like to build out a more proper timeline of events in an Archive to bring everything together.

I have no intention of monetizing this. Like most primates, I hate ads. I also hate the idea of outside pressure to generate content. If someone is interested in any photos, please let me know, and I am happy to share them at full resolution.

And with this being January 2020, the year of “clarity”, and finding myself at another significant crossroad in life, writing has a strong grounding effect, providing thoughts, ideas, and reflections a solid platform to drift down upon, instead of spinning endlessly in the mind. I’ll try my best to keep it light, and keep crap like that last sentence to a minimum.

Let’s start at the beginning, which is generally a good idea for any story, unless you’re Tarantino writing Pulp Fiction. Plenty of time for mountains and oceans and sunsets and all that later. Christmas 2019 was spent with my folks and grandparents on tranquil little Mayne Island, British Columbia, Canada. So with respect to my personal story, this really is “the beginning”.

Don “The Hustle” Russell, my grandfather on my mother’s side, is a retired geophysics professor and former department chair from UBC, with a lifelong passion for Computing Science. One of his early mentors convinced him that computing was likely to remain a small niche field in academia and beyond, though tectonic plates were likely to be around for some time, and so professionally he remained in geophysics, though he’s been what I would consider a top shelf “computer geek” for decades before I even knew “Command and Conquer: Red Alert” existed. Over Christmas, we noticed he is still using old assembly-level punch cards used in 1960-70s era computers as scrap note paper.

He also apparently shares my love for downhill skiing, which I asked him about when I saw his sweater, but apparently he only skied once as a teenager, and barely lived to tell about it. Total poser.

Virginia “The Muscle” Russell, famed children’s book author, makes one helluva minced tart. She has in fact written multiple published children’s books, including a wonderful story of a boy, loosely based on yours truly, who discovers an ancient First Nations artifact in the same old giant cedar that sits on the same old Mayne Island property I enjoyed this Christmas. He then embarks on mystery-soaked adventures, learning more about our local First Nations people. A fantastic opportunity for children to learn more about the ways of the ancestral peoples of the beautiful unceded lands we’re lucky to call home.

”Voices on the Bay” is the book. I don’t think she was operating as “The Muscle” back in the early 90s, so you’d likely find it under “R”, for Russell. Quality stuff, and I’m beyond impressed and inspired by her initiative and creativity to spin up a story that helps preserve a fading culture.

Linda “The Friendly Foghorn” Jones (that one is actually real) put in a fair bit of work getting me to where I am today. She’s put up with a lot, and after 35 long years, I still stress her out on a daily basis. Thanks Mom.

Christmas Day, 2019. The Gulf Islands: reason #12,498 that BC is a magical place to live.

I left Mayne on the 25th to collect my grease-snooted floof-monster, Nootka (@nootkathefloof), as Faith took off for Indonesia that evening. After some hard goodbyes, I carried on to Squamish to figure out my life, and get organized. For a variety of reasons, admittedly I had been putting off and neglecting keeping Smash Mountain organized of late (or ever?), so it felt really solid to post up there for a few days, organize, and decompress.

12/27/2019 - The Greasy Snoot In full affect

Well, this seems like as good place as any to wrap up. Shit, I actually did it. I started a fucking blog. I think I can get into this. But that did take a full evening, and an hour past when I told myself I would stop and try to sleep… I didn’t exactly have a ton of spare time before, and I seem to be getting more busy every year… Fuck. Maybe this was a bad idea.

But I guess it’s better late than never…

Build a cabin in the air. That is where it should be.