The roots of snowboarding run deep. From golf-course sessions and the first Banked Slalom to highbacks and twin-tips, we owe our ride to thinkers who made it happen. With no set mold, these visionaries dropped in on a new idea and produced stoke out of thin air. One rider at a time, they checked out, moved west or holed up in ghetto condos before the sport was even a noun. Community formed and an alternative grew into our identity.
Two decades later snowboarding has gone big. But the arc from skegs and certifications to floodlight fame has taken a toll. With dollars and days now measured in millions, shred culture has changed from tight brotherhood to target market. Fashionable steez has replaced original style and the lift-line vibe is no longer the same. Many who ride have grown tired of the blownout scene seek to rekindle a personal feel snowboarding lost long ago.
In this climate of conformity, word spread that snowboarding’s lost soul had been dusted off deep in the Kootenays. The organic elements brewing were riders laying down sick lines with no straps, while inhabiting an old mining town and adopting the crusade of a fallen friend. A core crew shedding bindings to surf pow sounded like the perfect myth. Yet, if this underground reaction was real, it was something my soul desperately needed to experience.
Heading north with loose directions, it seemed like I was on the right track. An hour past the nearest blinking light, a long stretch of washboard ended in a shuttered town with headhigh snow banks. The tour past the plow shed, the post boxes and the Noboard Cafe landed me at a combination general store-gas station-laundromat for directions. The surly woman rousted from an apartment inside turned me around and pointed me toward the Windsor.
Even not lit up, the Windsor is an impressive structure. The century-old hotel was built to serve the silver rush and survived boom after bust thanks to one female proprietor who refused to abandon her claim. Lazy dogs linger out front, while sunken hardwoods, brothel-era balconies and resident ghosts give it a grainy texture. Wireless connectivity and single-screen
cable make it the town’s main conduit to the Information Age. But more than a stop on the scenic route, a tavern for scruff miners or a sledneck bunkhouse, it is the hub of Noboard, BC.
On the saloon side I found Cholo Burns—the ambassador of Noboard—throwing back bottled Kootenays with team rider Sky Sheele and the boys. A former aspiring pro from coastal hippie stock, Cholo now sits at the centre of this unstrapped movement. Cholo grew up in the Richmond Ranch skate scene and found shredding back in the day at Cypress. He is not only the guy to call if you want a Noboard pad or a T-shirt, but the animated voice of this throwback revival. His open invite is why I landed deep in the Interior.
Surfing snow has always been the stated mission. From Sherman Poppen’s Snurfer to John “JG” Gerndt’s Fish, landlocked souls have long tried to replicate that feeling of flotation. The roots of snowboarding are offshore, yet straps have long kept us tethered. The thought of riding just a deck has crossed many minds, but until Greg Todds invented the Noboard in 2001, no way had been established to drop in without bindings.
Odd offshoots with a cash focus are a chronic industry irritation. But Noboarding was not some scheme, and Todds was a visionary, not a kook. In ‘96, he built one of the first parks at Lake Louise and constructed the first Superpipe with Al Clark when U-tubes were head-high ditches. His rider-based summer camp at Brohm Ridge was the antithesis of resort corporate, and he soon traded Whistler’s glam for the grit of the Interior.
In Revelstoke, Todds pioneered big lines with the likes of Scott Newsome, Jonaven Moore and Taylor Pearcy when drops were cheap and competition scarce. Like many in The Search for Mountain Jim circle, Todds later looked for an escape from the drama in Revelstoke. Finding pay dirt in a spot that two friends had stumbled upon while logging, he struck deeper into the mountains. He staked an official claim on the site of an abandoned mining camp and built a rustic cabin at the end of the road in solidarity with six friends.
The first one is impossible to forget and mine was on a borrowed Burton Backhill through upstate lake effect. With no idea how to make a turn, I pointed it straight and tumbled at speed. But the feeling I found changed my heading and sent me west after college. With multiple seasons in both Jackson and Mount Baker—and many storied trips along the way I’ve since had my share of sick days. Riding has taken me far, but it no longer feels like that first time.
With run one again pending, we met Sky at his Noboard Café. Sky speaks softly but rides with powerfully compact style. He was first on the scene while felling timber and bunking in a trailer behind the hotel. In 2006, he built the café with his girlfriend, Jessica, for stable local employment. The four-stool establishment is littered with snowboard mags, scented by the aroma of Negro roast and decorated with framed Gallup prints. The Snurfer in the corner was the only clue that my morning shred would not be the same as hundreds before.
We returned later to the cabin with pasta home-cooked by Cholo’s girlfriend Jenna, who shoots, rips and cooks. The cabin was built not quite to code in a rush to get the roof on before the 2000 winter. The entry is littered with drained jerry cans and battered two-strokes, but the interior pays homage to the past. The walls tell many stories with print eulogies and Noboard clippings on display. An oversized topo shows both access and tenure with the heading “Poachers in the Terrain” for local reference. Two mounted bears—one black, one griz—keep watch while a photo of the Creekside Mob sits proudly on display.
As the Vancouver Canucks almost pissed one away after dinner, I spoke with Gary “Tuttle” Hall during second intermission. Tuttle is the cabin’s current caretaker, but his real contribution is the cat. A summer of love maintains his baby, which keeps the road to the high country open all winter. Tuttle grew up stalking fish and game in the neighbourhood ranges and was instrumental in laying the cabin’s foundation. He moved in to decompress after four intense years and shed his bindings just this season. His character would clash with a world of spinning rims and slopeside bling, but he has earned a spot in Noboard’s inner circle because—after tallying 100 days without—he is both living it and killing it.
My mental breakthrough came on the bordering shot. With speed and control firing, slashy frontsides started miraculously to flow. Instinct took control as the Fish danced and dived in three dimensions with only slight downward pressure. This unanticipated sensation was completely irrational—and few back home would believe my rant—but I was breaking into the white room without bindings. The sky shut and a CMH ship rotored into a safe drainage as a reminder of a soulful legacy that allowed me to momentarily float free.
Sleds bogged down, and that would be my last run. Four of us stopped in one last Imax amphitheatre as Cholo lined up a steep, stucco flute. Riding it ropeless—but not quite clean he ran it out into the flats after pushing the level right to the edge. Negativity was absent, and there was no lens in sight, but the image was vivid. Deep in this protected bowl, my eyes glimpsed the future of a movement many clicks removed from anywhere.
It’s natural to want to spread the word, but unchecked growth has its peril. Snowboarding went big-screen, but the soul was forced underground so as not to be lost entirely. In this environment, the next evolution may come from a pro-stock video part or one more rotation at Winter X, but it may also come from lifelong riders shedding their bindings for a new challenge. In this case, a synergy of hushed zone, tight community and a building movement is where that rebirth of possibility just might be found.
The future of Noboarding is hard to predict, but scenes that started with one order are growing. Shops from the Golden Triangle to Utah and Alaska are stocking pads, a new run of 500 is on order and major brands have expressed interest. Trips to Arlberg and Japan are in the works and standing invites exist from Baker to the Swiss Alps.
The Noboarding vibe is spreading and, one by one, is being picked up by old souls looking for a fresh line. Word will eventually filter out, but the stated goal this time is keeping the feeling among friends and preserving a stage of discovery. As Cholo said to me after a few beers, the right people will find out and they’ll know where to go. We all have our secret stash, and that is where Noboarding will thrive. I know exactly where my zone exists, and I’m definitely not telling you where to find my line.
