Myself, a skier named Ian and boarder friend Jess made the seven-hour haul on Feb. 18^th from Alta, Utah, to see what the B Gully Freeride at Bridger Bowl was all about. Jess and myself were newcomers to the comp and Ian had wrangled a second-place finish some years back and was itching to hit it again.

Up early to get to Bridger and scope the venue, I stood in awe at the base. The mountain rises gently, providing loads of intermediate runs until the curvature of the terrain ramps up sharply for a thousand vertical feet or so of extremeness. “The Ridge” stretches wide across the resort and a few lifts dump people off just below the steeps. From the top of the Bridger Lift it’s a rather grueling, 20-minute staircase hike to the top. From there, traversing out on either side is allowed (beacons required) and dropping back into the bowls puts you on top of amazing and scary exposure, huge cliffs and more.

Bridger Gully (B Gully for short, the venue for the comp) is located on the far skier’s left of the mountain and was a beauty of a course. The top section was short, tree-riddled and steep, with features galore worked into the foliage and lots of big drops at the end to shoot you into the open powder field that comprised the middle section. Next is another technical area with a main gut, devoid of danger, surrounded on both sides by several layers of airs to hit before winding things out in the finishing zone with mellow, low-angle turns.

We got a few laps in, trying to commit things to memory before heading inside for nourishment. We scored some leftover $1 pizza and burgers at the mid-mountain lodge, which may be the single greatest deal ever offered in the history of expensive ski resort food. Thank you.

On the day of the event, the 20^th, the vibe was small, friendly and local. The entry fee was low and the overall mood was a feeling of pure skiing and snowboarding enthusiasm. People wanted to win, but I got the impression that they wanted to see their friends shred hard and do well just as much.

Given that climate, the fact that it was skiers and snowboarders competing against each other, and that it was a one-run event, I decided for a go-for-the-gold mentality. ‘Might as well give ‘er hell’ was the basic sentiment in my mind, as my turn to drop loomed closer.

Right away I hit a cross-fall line ten-footer that was literally no more than five feet from the traverse/starting line. I landed and regained control before my big air of the run, a solid 20-footer into the open pow-field. Lining it up, I sent it and in the air noticed a whole lot of tracks in the landing. Upon setting down, I promptly blew up and tumbled at least two and a half cartwheels. Oops, there went the flawless run. Sticking with the plan, I traversed to another 15-20 footer that I had never hit. I aimed for what I thought was the take-off and landed cleanly this time, cutting a few turns to slow down before the next section. Next was three drops of about 8-10 feet in rapid succession. Number one was another failure and I almost slid straight off number two. Recovering and hitting the second and third without any more crashes, I was happy to be done and made some fun turns to the bottom.

I knew it was not a good run (something of a disaster really) through the judge’s eyes but I was proud to attempt an aggressive line in a contest nonetheless.

Afterwards I sat back and watched some amazing ripping. Most entrants were from Montana and you got the impression from watching that the skiers and riders had a thorough understanding of the terrain and the snow, which was ample powder becoming a bit choppy by the end.

Watching the mixture of skiing and boarding, it seemed tough for us boarders to match the power and speed of four long edges versus two shorter ones through some of the steeper, choppier snow. But boarders definitely held there own and though none finished in the top three, they could definitely hang in the same crowd as the skiers.

More importantly, there was no bickering on which discipline was superior and the so-called “rivalry” seemed non-existent anyway, it was just personal choice of a different weapon to get down the same mountain.

On the long, late and exhausting drive through the pitch-black dark night through the woods, it seemed the B Gully comp just made sense. Ride hard on good snow, have fun and don’t complain. It really can be that simple, in Montana at least.

Click here for full results.

All Photos: Jen Milton

I heard from friends that word on the street was that Snowbasin is a mountain for those that want to ride expansive terrain, discover new runs and not be held up in lift lines. As someone who fancies a long, challenging with just a friend or two, I couldn’t have been more excited to see what was in store.

However, the relentless high-pressure that has defined February in the Beehive State threatened to kill any powder hopes. But like an early Christmas present we were happily greeted by steady snow and a few inches on the car as we awoke that morning. There is nothing like a powder day in any case, but unexpected ones are all the more stellar.

Arriving at the base, the facilities were impeccable (marble-floored private bathrooms!) but the mountain was socked in by a soupy fogball, starting mid-mountain. This cut off visibility for all of the upper elevations, as we pondered what might lie in the abyss. Without much of a clue of where to go and unable to see a thing, we relied on instinct and trail maps.

At times, the fog was maddening and necessitated a game of Marco Polo to stay in touch. Vertigo would set in when the fall line became a mystery. But with low crowds and roughly six inches of Utah blower, it really wasn’t that hard to find excellent runs when a window appeared.

Heading straight to the Strawberry Express Gondola where we saw a plethora of blacks and double blacks on the map, we hugged the rope line to skier’s right. Fun gullies with many natural rollers, hips and halfpipes provided for endless entertainment and cautious airs into the soft, but sometimes thin snow. Unfortunately, most of the gates that access the reportedly amazing sidecountry terrain were closed due to the storm, so we made do with the readily available terrain.

Going off a tip from a fellow gondola rider, in the afternoon we headed to the John Paul Quad, which rises an impressive 2,400 vertical feet with the option of a short tram ride at the top for another 500 feet of vertical. This was where they ran the downhill in the 2002 Olympics, explaining the mini-tram. It was here we found our calling. After a mean, high-speed-tear under the lift we made the short traverse and five-minute hike to No Name Peak, accessed by entering what I believe was the only open gate that day. There we found trees, open bowls and almost anything else you could want--clearly, the goods lay just beyond the boundaries that afternoon. The skies cleared a bit and we caught glimpses of the stunning features that stretch across the summit ridgelines: mind-blowing straightlines, enormous, shelfy cliffs, and enough terrain to challenge anybody, but that would have to wait for another day.

As we slurped down PBR and greasy chicken wings back in Salt Lake, I couldn’t help but ponder the epic potential if the gates were open, the snow fresh and the crowds low. Seeing as how we went two-for-three, I imagine batting a thousand at Snowbasin is sometimes a reality.

All the more reason to return.

Photo 1: Courtesy Snowbasin, A Sun Valley Resort

Photos 2 and 3: Scott Lommele

Barely five days before the 2010 North Face Masters series at my current home mountain of Snowbird, the conditions were rotten. Rocks, Ice, and shallow snowpack defined the daily reality. Just keeping an edge down the anticipated Silverfox venue was a significant challenge, not to mention hucking my meat off cliffs.

But on Wednesday the 20^th the storm cycles came with oomph, dumping almost seven feet in seven days when the skies finally cleared. Blessed with amazing contest conditions, freeriding was showcased as it’s meant to be: In deep, dry powder with a stacked field and tons of fun.

But it wasn’t without ample waiting, watching the weather, and nearly running out of time altogether. On Saturday the 22^nd, the anticipated first day of competition, over a foot of overnight fresh, fierce winds, poor visibility, closed roads and a delayed opening at Snowbird made it logistically impossible to run a field of over 100 competitors. We were thus introduced to the term “aggressive standby,” which quickly turned to a postponement to Sunday.

Day two looked to be more promising but an unexpected fourteen inches of snow fell overnight with puking snow continuing through the late morning. Postponed again. Now with almost the entire mountain shut down, I wondered how they could do the necessary avy control work for Monday even if the weather was to cooperate.

Two days of waking up with my stomach in twisted knots from the fear/stoke of prepping to compete plus five days in a row of riding pow for six, seven hours a day had pummeled me into a mess of fried nerves and noodly legs. But the weather finally looked to be taking a break so I braced for one more day.

            The morning of Monday the 25^th the snow had stopped but the vis was crap and ANOTHER foot of powder kept avy dangers on high. But the course had been closed on Sunday meaning the potential for the all too rare combination of powder and big-mountain competition was high.

           With solid patrol work and steady organization, the aggressive standby was lifted and they got the ladies going by about 10:30. Due to the postponements, it was one-day, one-run-take-all format. No qualifying, no second venue, just throw it all on the line.

The women got the freshest turns of the day and ripped the course apart but a thick, hanging ball of fog put half the course completely out of view for a good portion of the day. The final area for a big move was in view however, and the women straight-lined some tech sections, aired out some solid drops and billy-goated with power and style.

After watching about half the women’s field I headed to the top where it was cold and miserable and the tension mounted as I watched rider after disappear behind the steep curvature of the terrain. After not qualifying in 2009 on the same venue the doubts piled on as to whether I was out of my league or if I could actually hang with these guys. Finally I was in the start-gate, rocking out to some bracing metal, then “3,2,1, dropping.”

           The top section was a beat-up but I worked some turns and didn’t take many risks, for fear of an early run-killing fall. I sped to my first air, a cross-fall line 10-footer and booked it down the fall line, popping a few fun bushes and small rocks on the way. I knew the last section would make or break my score. I ducked into a narrow chute, making choppy, jump turns over roots and rocks, and spilling sluff over the immediate drop-off below. Almost directly out of the chute lay a 20 foot drop over some bushes with some rock hazards lurking somewhere in the landing. I took a quick breath and sent it. It felt big but I touched down on good powder and stomped it. All of a sudden it was over and I had executed my run without a fall. Stoked!

Ecstatic to have it all behind me, I could sit with some friends, drink a beer and watch the action go down. The sun even came out for a bit, warming the faces of the spectators and providing good visibility for the first time in days.

         Creative spins were mixed with classic big mountain strength and speed. Mark Carter destroyed the venue, linking fifteen-footers and smashing the fall line with complete control and awareness of his surroundings. The judges noticed as well and he won the Men’s field by a good margin.

I pulled off a 19^th place finish, far from the podium for sure but well stoked to be among the ranks of some amazing riders.

After an exhausting three days of waiting, riding deep powder and finally competing, it was all over. But in the end it seemed a great success as it displayed the core simplicities that make big-mountain riding great: Stoked riders, an impressive venue and fluffy powder snow. Let’s hope the rest are like this as well.

On Saturday, warm spring snow greeted the competitors and a few inches of fresh sat atop an-ever softening base from the bluebird skies. It was the makings of a great day.

The massive natural-halfpipe run Superpipe was the venue for the Expression Session and featured a cliff/tussock band that ran almost the length of the right side of the course. Riders were dropping cab 180’s into the gut and expressing themselves with handplants, power slashes, and more. For my run, I dropped some tussocks, didn’t fall and earned a 4^th place tie with two others. The finals were meant for the next day, but with the overnight freeze and resulting frozen coral, the judges called it Sunday morning and they went with day one scores. Ben Wooster (a boarder) had the best score out of anyone and won himself a day of New Zealand heli-skiing.

Also on Saturday the Banked Slalom, held on Shooter, showed that while we boarders may not spend our days racing gates as a career, we have a darn good time giving it our best. No new speed records were set, but the slushy course made for crazy fun with some nasty ruts in the curves by day’s end.

On day 2, under a light cloud cover, the Big Air was carried out jam format style. Riders had two hours to impress the judges, with the highest score winning. While not massive, the jump allowed ample room to spin, flip, and of course, hit the knuckle. Whether it was tricky speed or bad light or the fact that Treble Cone doesn’t maintain an ongoing park throughout the year, many riders ended up slapping on the flats, to the oohs and aahs of the crowd.

But on the bright side, Eli Pope laid out a slowly-rotated backflip oozing with quiet style, stomped the poop out of it and got a free snowboard. Well done. Others threw some mean rodeos, front-flips and sevens, while my throwback BS 180 earned a paltry sixth.

Given a year or two to iron out the organizational kinks, the Triple Comp could be a major southern-hemi attraction. The setup of talented riders, killer prizes and a creative format can only help it grow. I hope to be back one day.

Leaving the shred-culture epicenter of Wanaka for a few days, I hit up the more isolated Canterbury club field of Craigieburn Valley for a big mountain comp put on by K2 in late September. With no expectations, we hauled north to an area chock full of small, low-key ‘club fields,’ where the infrastructure is miniscule but the terrain and friendliness is world-class.

We arrived to a big, fat, soggy storm and sat the first two days out in the lodge reading books, playing cards and watching shred flicks while it rained and rained. The vibe remained amazing though, with stoked and energetic competitors, relaxed families and a super-hospitable staff keeping the mood from going anywhere near sour.

On day three it cleared up for about two seconds so they fired up the tows and let loose a pack of rope tow rookies, myself included. For those that don’t know, the rope whizzes around the pulleys at a healthy velocity. The rider wears a harness belt connected to a nutcracker, (the metal contraption that fixes to the ropeline) and the rider must grab a hold of the rope to get moving, then quickly attach the nutcracker via a graceful under-over-clamp method that locks it into place. Passing the pulleys, the nutcracker makes a frightening CLANK from the metal on metal contact.

After about an hour, the mountain threw down the most hellacious wind gusts I’ve ever experienced (nearby Porter’s field reported 195 km winds) which left me pinned to a wooden fence, unable to move, nevertheless navigate a tricky rope tow. We called it.

Day four let up again in the morning and we were lapping some fun bowls, while most of the mountain remained closed. Comp organizer Stu Wadell made the call to do an expression session, and we ripped the bowls while the judges took notes. Since it wasn’t a proper venue for a comp, it seemed a perfect medium to keep the people happy. Some tech skiing was thrown down through ultra-bony rock clumps and airs were boosted, despite the nil visibility factor. Who needs to see a landing?

Whatever, it was a lesson in unrelenting stoke no matter the conditions. We all walked away with a spot prize and a smile, more than happy to spend a few days away from our jobs, away from the masses and among like-minded individuals that want to make the best out of any situation.

After Craigieburn, the two-part series moved to Mt. Olympus (but I went back to work) where they reportedly had bluebird skies, a feature-loaded venue, and an impressive turnout. I can only imagine the level of stoke there.

For the un-lazy type, as I like to look at it, a fifteen minute hike can get you up the Sundance ridge for a long, steep unobstructed pow run. For the real prize, head to the Motatapu chutes, skiers right of the quad lift, through the access gates (avy gear recommended) into tight, varied and technical chutes that finger out in a puzzling maze as they empty to the valley below. Hike straight back to the lift and repeat.

Me and two yank female rippers (with whom I hap hopped the pond for the season) headed up to TC recently. About 40 cm had fallen in the saddle and the familiar buzz of a powder day was running rampant through the crowds. 40 cm mixed with bluebird conditions is a recipe for epic mayhem. Powder thirsty kiwi’s, nomadic snowbums and beater families all mixed together in anticipation for patrol to drop the rope for the saddle, which had been untouched in the previous day’s storm.

With strength in numbers, the saddle gate had been breached before it was properly open and dozens of overzealous shredders nearly put the kibosh on the whole damn thing. Luckily, they (including Jess, of our party, for shame) received a firm reprimand. As I pulled into the cluster%@#* of too many people jostling to get on the chair, it had me stressed out in a pleasant way. I got on about five minutes after first chair and ripped some mean, tight turns through a mellow chute that paralleled the lift line. Pow turns in July. Not bottomless but real, in-the-flesh powder. Next lap up I met up with my Jess and Julia, the other gringo, and we whooped it up. Jess dropped a few rocks, Julia shredded the poop out of the slopes, I sliced and diced the powder and life was good.

Although Patrol kept the ‘sidecountry’ chutes closed on account of avy danger, they opened up the summit hike at around 2, and we booted up to the summit in about 20 minutes. We soaked in the 360-degree views of AK-esque death spines across the valley, the endless oblivion of the Alps, and mystical, island-studded Lake Wanaka. The view is worth the hike, shredding down is a bonus. From the summit is a mini-tech section through rocks followed by some nice wind-buffed powder. We rode straight to the base via Easy Rider, the seemingly endless groomer with all the cat track lips, jumps, and snow-blower jibs a boarder can consume. You can even get your jib on here at TC without a mega-park.