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I’m staying close to home these days because I have a baby coming soon. Sitting here in a summer meltdown my mind wanders to the places I wish I could be riding. I’ve been thinking about my trip to New Zealand last summer with the Volcom crew.

What’s more significant anyway…

The anticipation of a moment?

The moment itself?

or the reflection of a moment?

The sun beats me down as I walk through the walled canyon of the mighty Teton range. Dripping with sweat I meditate, analyze, and daydream over the potential terrain this maze of eroded granite walls hold.

It’s July and I’m reduced to a pedestrian and spend long days wandering the valley’s and climbing the peaks. I love to stand on top of mountains and look at the different views each one holds. It gives me a better understanding of my surroundings and makes everything seem a little smaller, or more manageable.

An interesting landslide of steep rubble and rock catches my eye and translates into a possible field of pillows or a “connect the dot” problem to be solved. I try and visualize riding it once the impossibly thick blanket of snow returns to the fleshless skeleton of the range. This is how I like to spend my long summer days dry docked until winter. It gives you time to look at the terrain and find new stuff to ride. It’s good to know where the rocks and stumps are, as well as an understanding of the paths to access.

The annoying  burning sensation of my little toe rubbed raw from a pressure point is gonna be a blister for sure so I change the way walk to get relief only to create another ailment.

took hours to walk here, wish I could ride out…

The months of May and June turns Jackson Hole into a ghost town. It’s a sort of a purgatory of seasons, the grip of winter is loose but summer is far from taking hold. The weather is a roller coaster riding through the four seasons in a single day. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve put away my winter gear, pulled out my bikes only to unpack my board and hang the bikes back up to ride late season pow. Many people leave, tourists are non existing and the true locals can have their home to themselves. The coffee shops are full of amateur weather forecasters sipping from their cups anticipating summer and reveling over winter. I’ve learned to look past the gloomy rainy days and head up high. I’ve had good luck finding powder well into June.

On one of those days I hooked up with Adam Dowel for a trip up north to shred some late season goods…

Morocco ✭ February 11th 2006

It was extremely cold this morning as I drove to the Airport. The sky was crystal clear as the suns first rays struggled to warm the valley. It was the middle of summer when Steve Jones from TGR invited me to go on a trip to Morocco. He was producing a series of shows for Fuel called “Untracked” based on traveling to the far reaches of the planet in search of remote and unusual locations to ride/ski and surf.  Morocco fit the bill with the high Atlas mountain range and a long coastline filled with right-hand point-breaks. I never realized you could ride in Morocco and knew very little about the country but I was excited to check it out. At the day’s end I’d be getting off a plane in Africa, I had no Idea of what to expect trying to envision what the next two weeks of my life would bring. My flight was scheduled to leave Jackson Hole at 8:40 am, but it was delayed leading to a series of missed connections, long layovers and lost bags.
30 hours later I landed in Marrakech and was happy to see Zach waiting at the baggage claim to pick me up, turns out his snowboard bag didn’t show either so we were in the same boat.
The palm treed lined streets were flooded by heavy rains as we made our way to the hotel. We passed shadowy characters wearing dark gowns with pointed hoods and the surroundings were unfamiliar and foreign. I felt a bit uneasy, tiered and hungry.

At the hotel we met up with Matty Heringer (cinematographer) a good friend from Jackson. He took Zack and I down to a local restaurant where the rest of the crew was having dinner. Everyone was filled with excitement, as our group was now complete. Steve Jones (1ST Camera) Matty Herringer, Micah Black (Skier) Chris Figenshaw (still photographer) Chad Jackson (audio, high def digi tech man) Zach, 2 guides Mohammad & Abdul and Myself formed a hard to miss band of misfits in this old world. During dinner (best barbequed chicken ever) we talked over our plans for the trip, agreed the heavy rains meant fresh snow… now where are our boards?

February 13th

Smoke filled the air from the fire-roasted meat, carrying a blend of cumin, saffron, and cinnamon stimulating my senses. It was so thick rising up from the endless sprawl of vendors that it obstructed the view across the Medina. The old town is a labyrinth of souk’s (shops) surrounded by 19km of fortress like walls built long ago to protect the village from the nomads and Arab tribes of the vast North African dessert. The streets were occupied with Mystical snake charmers, beggars, and men with Berber monkeys on chains.  Vendors were lined in orderly rows selling wide variety of fresh fruit, dried fruits, freshly squeezed fruit juices, candy and nuts all perfectly stacked in a tempting fashion.  Hypnotic music entranced the snakes with beating drums and whining flutes, performers danced and crowds gathered and dispersed as if these people were the air inhaled and exhaled in the life breath of the bustling square. We wandered through the crowded narrow maze of ancient streets, past the café’s and food stands and meet up with a Man named Mohamed (not to be mistaken with our guide Mohamed). He owned a traditional Moroccan rug shop and invited in and offered us Mint tea, also know as Berber whisky the official drink of the land.  We looked at rug after rug learning about the different colorful styles and the stories the artwork told as the hours passed by. After a serious haggle session rugs were purchased,  people hugged and we were invited to Mohamed’s home for a traditional Moroccan Tangine and couscous dinner. We left the Medina as the sunset and walked through the chaos to our pick up by the towering mosque that glowed orange against the crimson palm treed studded skyline.
After a short rest we returned to the Medina and made our way through the dimly lit corridors past the shadow walkers of the night. It was a warm welcome from cold streets and dinner was ready when we arrived at Mohamed’s home. The smell of slow roasted meat was incredible and we were all hungry. A quick introduction to family, a hello to the wife and kids and they disappeared to watch television and left alone the men to eat at the table. Mohammad’s wife brought out the food in a large ceramic pot with a cone shaped lid. It was slow cooked chicken and lamb with veggie’s and couscous a traditional Berber feast.  After dinner we decided to go out and check out the nightlife. Mohamed brought us to a shady back-alley Hookah bar in an unfamiliar part of town. We smoked a blend of fruit flavored tobacco out of octopus like water pipes as we were served endless rounds beer and cocktails. It was an interesting experience, watching people dancing as the live music set mood. Things got a little crazy when the bill came, we were overcharged by about ten times and the crew was now turning into an angry mob, people were yelling and up in each others faces. This shit made me nervous as I looked around and realized we were far from the tourist traps and could easily have been robbed and left for dead.  Mohamed ended up admitted adding on some extra cash to the bill for the dinner and wine he provided us at his home. It was kind’ a sketchy but we worked it out, squared up with the bar and gave him some money for dinner. He dropped us off and there were no hard feelings, we were just glad the drama was over.

February 14th

After days of drifting without our possessions Zach and I couldn’t help feeling a bit frustrated. We had been back to the airport several times now and they would say something different on each occasion “it will be on the next flight come back tomorrow” or “it’s in New York” every let down became harder to accept. In our last attempt they admitted not knowing where it was so we called our travel agent back home. It was a scary thought of the possibility we’d never see our bags again and the trip would be a total loss. We left Marrakech disappointed about the bag situation but at the same time excited to see what the mountains had to offer. The road to Oukaimeden was long and straight as we passed villages, donkey-driven wagons carrying fruit and vegetables, and rug shops with colorful carpets. The foothills of the Atlas Mountains were green and reminded a bit of Big-Bear in Southern California, but the stacked mud hut villages made the reality of being in North Africa sink in. The road climbed steeply into the clouds winding past fog shrouded villages and leafless trees. We ascended for nearly ten thousand feet to where the snowline seemed to start. I was becoming a bit skeptical that there would be enough snow-pack to ride climbing so high with little evidence of snow. We arrived at our hotel and it was a large orange concrete pyramidal 1970’s euro-style sort of thing, standing out in a stark contrast to the timeless village. The sun was setting and you could barely get a glimpse of a mountain through the mist and fog, which over the next few days would form like clockwork come après.

February 15th

The Junk Show must go on!

Untracked Morocco….

It was a bluebird morning as the sunrise revealed the mountain to us for the first time. It was better than I expected, 5 surface lifts and a double chair going up 2,220 ft. to the summit. The mountain was still blue in shadows of the higher peaks surrounding the valley but you could make out some fresh tracks coming down the visible face. After a long breakfast and a lot of coffee we set out for the hill. Zach and I decided to rent boards from one of the local shops and at get up on the mountain for a look around. We found a primitive rental shop with a mismatched selection of ancient ski’s and a few random 80’s race boards with hard boots. We found two 148 wild duck snowboards with step in bindings, no high-backs and decided they would work just fine for the day. We had no outerwear so we shredded in street clothes just like the old days. It was warm under the hot African sun so I wasn’t worried being underdressed.

The scene at the base of the mountain was the most unique of any resort I’d ever experienced. There was merchants wandering around selling jewelry, carved wood, there was donkeys for hire, food being cooked over open flames and mint tea everywhere. Bus loads of sight seer’s lined up to take scenic chairlift rides, men with the dessert head-wraps and women in tradition Muslim gowns would alternate with the few skiers and riders.

We bought our lift tickets for 50DH or about ten dollars us and headed up the mountain. As we rode up the lift the terrain options came into view with a pleasant surprise. The snow was good and from the top there was easy access to a long ridge full of lines. From the top you could see across to Jebel Toubkal the highest peak in the Atlas Mountains and well into the green valleys below. We absorbed the amazing views made the most of our primitive set-ups riding pretty much all day. Traversing back to the chairlift we discovered cliff-side dwellings blending into the valleys around every corner. Micah decided to hike out along the ridge so Zach and I tried to follow. Without gloves and waterproof gear the challenge of a small mixed snow and rock climb up a steep cliff proved to be too difficult to follow.
After riding we got the call our bags had arrived in Marrakech!  Zach and I excitedly jumped back in the car with Mohammad and drove back down the mountain. It was all finally coming together despite the trials and tribulations we had endured up to this point.

February 18th

Day 4 of Riding the High Atlas Mountains
Another sunny day as high pressure continues to hold. The snow has stayed good despite the warm weather. I guess the north facing aspects were at just the right angle to not be affected by the intense sun. The ridge hike was well beaten in by our days of laps allowing easy access to more good lines. Above the clouds we rode farther across the feature filled ridge. Despite being one best snow years on record the snow pack was still shallow and we uncovered several rocks. We were able to ride a lot of fun stuff but had to be extremely careful. By the end of the trip our bases were full of gouges and we were thankful we came out unscathed.

After six days of sunshine and a lot of fun riding we left the mountain satisfied and headed for the coast in hope of finding some surf. I met some professional surfers back in Jackson just before we left and they told stories of perfect waves not too far from where we were going. It has been quite an adventure to say the least, by far the most exotic snowboard destination I’ve traveled to. The ancient cities and diverse landscapes make’s Morocco a worthy trip for anyone who is seeking a rich culture full of surprise and an opportunity for some good riding.