SUMMIT-AT-SNOQUALMIE, WA (February 23, 2009) - Billed as the event "God couldn't stop", The Summit-at-Snoqualmie, Lib Tech, Red Bull, Olympia, and Snowboy Productions teamed up for the sixth-year in a row to bring one of the West Coast's premier events to the multitudes once again. And, as usual, Krush Kulesza and Co. did not disappoint. A single day of old school meets young guns in a Washingstonian festival of much love, death metal and pure, unfiltered stoke for the roots of what came before and what is yet to come. From Rob Skala to Austin Hironaka to Pete Saari to Paavo Saari to every OG and grom who knows what's up - The Holy Oly is the greatest thing since Olympia bottle cap picture-puzzles.

With previous concerns about having moved the event from Hyak due to the damage suffered from this winter's storms (see previous "God" reference), put immediately to rest with Peter Line's first timeless 540 and the wafting scent of Cobra (or at least Cobra-like) hotdogs, Holy Oly VI provided a beacon of rad for all as spring descended on the Kittitas/King County line.

Where to start? Massive quarterpipe with Jesse Burtner on the mic, giving a constant history lesson and proper heckling level for all? Check. More Red Bull than Pat Bridges could consume in a lifetime? Check. Afforementioned Cobra(esque) dogs? Check. Sun? Check. Genovese? Check. Jake Price? Check. Peter and his colon? Check. "Master of Puppets" on heavy rotation? Check. After-party with performances by the esteemed Mr. Scott Sullivan, Todd Schlosser and a cadre of circa-87 metalheads cranking away in hair-flinging unison? Check. Awesome bouncer vs. local action? Check. Hangovers and pancakes in the am? Check.

Way better than the best Quiet Riot concert ever.

I've been to the Olympics, X Games, US Open and the King of The Hill. Give me the Holy Oly, please, and let's shotgun a few for next year: Holy Oly VII: The Dawn of Timberwulf.

Oh yeah, Monte Hayes won.

Perfect.

Results:
Hardest Charging Industry Guy - Kaiser from POW Gloves
Highest Air - Austin Hironaka
Raddest Guy with a Day Job - Jay Kelly
73 Tricks and Counting - Jason Robinson
Destroyer of all things Jib - Andre Spinelli
Best Trick - Matt Guess
Hucking his Meat Award - Devun Elliott
NW Method Award - Kurt Jensen
Holyest of the Oly - Monty Hayes

Photos: Joe Briggs/jvbriggs.com

Riders:
01 Peter Line
02 Unknown
03 Austin Hironaka
04 Unknown

George Dobis was one of Mt. Baker, WA's greatest characters. Although he himself did not snowboard, his daughter Marcella became one of the sport's premier racers in the late 1980's and early 90's, placing consistently at the top of that era's World Cups. Along with wife, Bobbi, the family started what would become one of snowboarding's most hallowed sites: The Mt. Baker Snowboard Shop. Mentoring folk like Craig Kelly and Dan Donnelly on mountain conditions and wilderness survival, George become the unofficial tribe elder for a growing culture. With his recent passing, writer (and frequency: TSJ publisher) Jeff Galbraith takes a moment to recall this legendary individual.

George Dobis: Fireworks, Honeybees and The Last Mountain Man

It's taken over a month for me to be able to even consider writing something about George. I missed the initial wake at Weege's place with the requisite keg of Coors. I missed the private "bro" wake at Glen's spot a couple weeks ago, as well. It's clearly selfish and protective, but I've just hit a space where I only have the capacity for a single public grieving session for any of my friends. And George was an amazing dude and good friend.

The first time I had the opportunity to meet George Dobis, I was still a teenager, coming down from the mountain in Eric Janko's tan VW Rabbit, packed in with Jeff Fulton, Joe Dockery, and Carter Turk and our attendant gear. We slid into the drive at the small home in tiny Glacier, and within a matter of moments were audience to this smiling and completely animated man. Quick to offer to this young crowd homemade plum whiskey, George launched into one tale after another, most ending with his running off of some overly aggressive Forest Service agent into the hinterlands of the North Cascades.

I wasn't sure why we were stopping, with no clear purpose or intention when we pulled into Marcella's drive that day. Five minutes into meeting the man, however, I knew exactly why we were there. Stopping by to visit with George became, over the years, an increasingly significant ritual.

As we seek to tame the mountains, to subdue their rivers with dams and cover their hillsides with planned communities, George was one of the knowing Old Worlders, who understood and celebrated the wild: The idea that the woods and the mountains belonged to no man, but to all. That nature is the ultimate authority and that the streams, the old growth and the creatures within, are in our individual stewardship was a strong ethos with George that had sprung from a childhood in Slovakia's High Tatras Mountains. Additional toughness, as if it were needed, was supplied from surviving under a communist dictatorship.

Sometime after my initial kitchen roundtable encounter, I was debriefed on his story, or at least what we, as kids, were able to piece together: Escaped the iron curtain, swam The Rhine into West Berlin with daughter and wife in an inner-tube-and in the other hand, a pistol, firing back at the guard towers.

Upon arrival, finally, in NYC, as George would describe it years later, he stopped in his tracks to gaze upon a large alpine mural in Grand Central Station. Staring at the rugged flanks and crevasses of the Washington's Mt. Shuksan, George said, "I knew that I had to go there." Years later, after two tours in Vietnam as part of his citizenship pact, and making his family's way to the Northwest, he ventured to the Mt. Baker region and happened to see the real life massif he recognized from years prior.

He settled in the region and became one of the community's main pillars for more than three decades. Although at times in confrontation with the local Forest Service, sheriff, and other badge-holders, George was always reasonable, but keenly aware of the consequences of authority run amuck-and especially of the dangers of giving up public rights.

But for any episodes of disagreement with The Man, there were countless instances of selfless giving to hundreds (if not thousands) of kids over the years, who walked through the doors of The Mt. Baker Snowboard Shop, looking for a binding part, a washer, or a secret wax tip for the Banked Slalom.

He welcomed them all, kids from five to fifty, into the hallowed bowels of his shop, to retrieve that one special item, just for them. This would invariably include a good deal of story telling in that infectious Slovak accent: "Jeffy, dude! - I tell you this..." For the children especially, there were treats, occasional fireworks, and an experience that would leave them wide-eyed and stoked.

George supplied more than his fair share of material for my own writings over the years my first published piece in Powder nearly twenty years ago, was a brief profile of the man. My most recent piece, a freelance article for the Swiss multi-sport title Seventh Sky, focused on George's belief that increased radio frequencies along the nearby US-Canadian border (read Homeland Security) were killing off his honeybees.

George was a man in the traditions of both Ed Abbey, and every Cubano pitcher ever willing to float the Gulf Stream to get to the Other Side. A dichotomy at peace in the hills.

When I learned a short while ago that he was fighting late-stage lung cancer, I couldn't quite accept this. This gnarled mountain man who could seemingly cold-cock a panther, would beat this back. There would be time to visit.

There was not time to visit.

To lose Craig was especially tough. To lose George, one of Craig's most respected mentors, perhaps goes even deeper.

This winter has seemed to hang on forever in the North Cascades, and it is supposed to snow another foot these next few days, even though the ski area is shut down for the year. But even in this extended season, there are signs that spring is fighting to return. The nettles are starting to bud, there are frogs croaking on the few warm evenings.

I had heard George requested that we have a remembrance for him in May, when the spring had returned. I imagine that the rebirth and renewal in the High Tatras is as spectacular-if not more so, than the North Cascades. I imagine him meeting a young lady at the local ski resort, fleeing their world together with a young child and wresting a new life from a new land. I imagine having to fight a ground war for two years in brutal conditions. I imagine that the return of the living, the warm soil, the songbirds and salmonberry flowers would mean even more. I guess he simply said, "We're going to have a get-together, and I'll be there along with Craig, and Scott Stamnes, and Teal and Mikey P."

We'll all be there, George.

My prayers and meditations go out to Bobbi, Marcella and the whole community of Glacier. A friend asked the other day who the hell was going to keep the tin-badge holders in check in the woods now? I couldn't begin to answer he was the last of his kind.

To George Dobis, the King of Mt. Baker: Cheers, skol, and thank you.

JG

Mt. Baker, WA - In a. week that will undoubtedly go down in Baker lore as one of the greatest sessions ever, Kamp K2 managed to bring together a couple hundred retailers, pros, and media types for a truly amazing three-day private powder party.

Opening with 16 inches of fresh, the fortunate few graced lines at a leisurely pace, ripping lazy laps down runs that are normally rally race scenarios.

And the shredding was only part of the deal, with catering by local favorite Milanos, free massage, hot showers and a maze of RV's across the White Salmon parking lot. With a true "camp" style approach, K2 heads Danielle Hambelton and Jeff Mechura led wobbly tricycle races, beer pong, and video rock competitions among assembled teams. Jib contests, a mini banked slalom, and avalanche safety courses rounded out the event.

But perhaps the highlight of Kamp K2 was night two, featuring Hells Belles -- an all-female AC-DC cover band, and free PBR for all. With the guitarist ripping blistering solos, note for note, equaling, if not excelling, Angus Young himself, "Dirty Deeds" never sounded so sweet.

Thanks much to the K2 crew for the invite and a truly amazing spectacle.

Thunderstruck, indeed...

Mount Baker, WA: Persevering through record winter storms, road closures and the general wrath of the North Cascades, local favorite and perhaps the mountain's top freerider Temple Cummins, pumped and bumped his way over this year's particularly demanding course to win his third Golden Duct Tape in a field that included 6-time winner Terje Haakonsen as well as last year's champion, Glacier's own Lucas Debari. In the pro women's category, Burton vet Maelle Ricker came from Whistler to take home her second straight roll of glory.

Despite a Saturday closure of the highway (and therefore the mountain) by Washington's Department of Transportation (all of Washington's major passes and mountain highways were closed to facilitate snow removal), shredders from around the globe showed up on finals Sunday to brave the classic dumping, wet snow conditions. With sightings of notable riders from Scott E. Wittlake to Wolle Nyvelt and Rob Morrow, all generations were once again represented and inspired.

In addition to Temple's win, the Cummin's Family presented the Craig Kelly Award (given to Northwesters who make outstanding contributions to snowboard culture) to the 2008 recipients: The Howat Family, with Duncan accepting the trophy alongside wife Gail and daughters Amy and Gwyn. The Howats have put on the LBS for most of its 23-year history after being established by fellow CK Award winner the late Bob Barci. Although the family normally eschews any focus upon themselves, it was high time these individuals were recognized for continuing this amazing tradition, and a standing ovation from the White Salmon Lodge confirmed this.

As the evening skies cleared, the last of the bbq salmon was consumed, and the parking lot filtered out past a multi-colored Volcom R.V., it was clear again that the Banked Slalom is only enhanced, and never faded, by mother nature.

- Jeff Galbraith

Actually, writing a story about the Banked Slalom is more difficult than you might imagine: Like all contests it has winners and losers - but that's where the similarities end.

First of all it is a 'timed' snowboard race that isn't lame. In fact, this might be considered the anti race - completely devoid of hardbooters - sponsored by companies like Lib Tech and Volcom, with big names and legends competing for zero prize money. It isn't televised, and there are no interview time outs. The riders who attend are like a who's who of snowboarding history... from contemporary heros like Terje Haakonsen, Temple Cummins and Danny Kass to legends like Bob Klein (the 3rd guy ever to ride transition on a snowboard), Tom Burt, Pete Saari (co-founder of Lib Tech, who put up a qualifying time competitive with the pros.) And countless others: filmers, company founders and owners, retired pros, current pros, kids as young as nine are all here for the same reason - enjoying snowboarding.

- Mark Sullivan