Local shred pioneer Dano Pendygrasse reflects on where the sport of snowboarding has been, where it’s going and the role the Coast Mountains plays in that evolution.
words :: Dano Pendygrasse
It was the ‘90s and the Whiskey* flowed like wine. Skiers stopped spitting on snowboarders and started stealing their tricks. And their girlfriends. I was swept up in the hype of a new sport that was born from punk rock and skateboarding, one that had more in common with Minor Threat than mogul fields and had somehow managed to sneak in the back door of the classy resort scene built by skiers. My peers fondly refer to the ‘90s and early 2000s as the Golden Era of snowboarding, with its anti-heroes, relentless innovation and “outcasts to Olympics” storyline. It truly was an incredible thing to live through.
It’s 30-something years later and I’ve recently resigned from a great job to pursue a simple goal: snowboard more. As a veteran of the rebel years of the snowboard world, I often get asked about those times, and as much as I love telling stories, I refuse to become one of those “it was better in MY day” assholes who never bothers to notice what’s happening today.
So what is happening today? Is there any anarchy in the era of Instagram? Has global homogeneity and personal branding rounded off all the rough corners of the culture of shred? Where does the heart of snowboarding beat today, and is it still worth running away to the mountains?
On a recent Air Time podcast, host Jody Wachniak and I had a lively back and forth about the current state of snowboarding compared to the GoodOlDays™ and I jokingly asked him, “What have you done to our culture?!”
I thought it would be a good time to get his take on what is going on today.
A lot of the early generation of snowboarders hold up the outsider and DIY aspects of the punk scene as the reason why snowboarding was so raw. I asked Jody if there is any punk left in snowboarding and, more importantly, does snowboarding need punk rock?
“It needs modern-day badasses,” he replied. “We don’t need people to redo what Johnson and Kearns did. They did it, it was awesome at the time, it’s what people wanted, but do we need to do it again? I don’t think we do. I think the counterculture, that’s not playing into what society’s norms are right now, is awesome. When I meet a kid that’s not that into social media, but they are good at snowboarding and they still want to make it, that’s kinda refreshing.”
But it’s inarguable that social media has changed the game. Projects that used to be funded and facilitated by sponsors and a team of photographers/filmers/writers/artists are left to the riders themselves, which can hijack a snowboard season worse than a November rain crust. For Jody, it means that being a world-class rider and being sponsored isn’t enough to make it anymore.
“I’m a podcast person, I’m a photographer, I’m a writer, a mentor, a snowboarder, I run events…I wear all those hats now, just to stay in the game. If I could do one of those I’d love to do just that, but the reason I’m faced with burnout and stress right now is because I’m doing everything I can to be able to follow my passion.”
It’s been said that big money in the boom years ruined snowboarding’s authenticity, but the scene doesn’t have that problem these days. In a lot of ways, we’ve gone back to where we were in the late ‘80s and early ‘90s—there are a handful of people making a living as snowboarders and a whole lot more who are fully committed to trying, whatever it takes.
And there is a freedom in a scene like that, because the stakes are lower when nobody is getting rich, but there is also scrutiny now that didn’t exist prior to social media. If you accidentally grabbed tindy in the old days, your friends might spend a few minutes making fun of you, but post that clip online today and you could end up being Jerry of the Day to 2 million strangers.
Anyone who can remember the snowboard scene in the ‘90s and early 2000s will recall the name JF Pelchat. His powerful riding and off-hill antics with the Wildcats crew assured his inclusion in the history books. Aside from his stint as a pro, though, he was always tinkering with and building his own equipment, which led to a patented binding innovation that became Now bindings. Legacy aside, JF is also now the father of two badass daughters who are not only following in his footsteps, they’re boot-packing an impressive path of their own.
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I asked him about how he approached raising two talented kids in the shred world.
“I think what was important for me was to expose [them] to community events like the Baker Banked Slalom,”** JF says. “Coming at a young age and seeing what the community is…for them to make their own judgement…if they like it, if they want to be a part of it. For them to see that at a young age and immerse into it. And then Whistler, with everyone who is here, they told me it was a no-brainer, they really want to be in snowboarding because of the community and the people. And I think that’s important.”
Jubes and Billy Pelchat not only got involved in snowboarding, they got good, got sponsored and started travelling around the world to shred. But maybe more importantly they’ve started RWK (Real Wild Kittens) to give more girls a path into the skate and snowboard scene through events and camps. This kind of grassroots initiative is the foundation of any thriving scene.
Beyond the progression of the culture, what about the actual riding? The “spin to win” ideology might be reaching its physical limit at 5 full rotations. So where does progression go? I asked JF if you have to be able to do an 1800 to be a pro today.
“No, no. If you look at what Arthur Longo does, the side hits, and look at guys like Jaydn Chomlack and Cannon Cummins… the backcountry freestyle, for men and women, I think there’s a lot there to be conquered and the reason why it hasn’t is because it’s hard as f@#k. It’s not accessible, so it’s hard, but there is a lot of potential there.”
But to get there, you have to start somewhere, and that somewhere is the Whistler Valley Snowboard Club. Rob Picard started the Club in 1997 and built the road that has helped more than a few young rippers go from pre-teen to pro. I talked to him about the change from runaways and misfits to personal trainers and soccer moms. What’s it like for a young kid coming up?
“They’re all very keen,” Rob says. “At young ages they’re very motivated, and you can see it… We try to bring those kids together who aspire to more. When they’re all of the same kind of mentality, the same work ethic, and put the same work in, it’s awesome.”
But it’s not all about becoming the next Travis Rice. If it’s not fun, kids will wash out of the program at some point to chase other priorities. Which is why it’s important to Rob to create a compelling experience for kids like Jubes and Billy Pelchat who came up through his program, and current talents like Kanon Ling and Logan Daling.
“One of the big things that we do is to try to make them snowboarders for life, that’s the agenda,” Rob says, adding that a large portion of WVSC kids do stick with the sport. Not just because they make it as pros, but because they develop friendships on the snow that keep them coming back. “When I run into kids I used to coach years ago and they say, ‘Those were the best years of my life,’ that really hits home. I love that shit.”
So what does the culture look like today? I think it’s a little less carefree than it used to be—and a lot more digital—but it seems like it’s becoming possible to make your own path without bowing to the algorithm. I asked Jody what he thought the future looked like.
“I think [Whistler local] Brin Alexander is a really good example of somebody who plays the game of being in the digital world but doesn’t make it his be-all and end-all. His thing is actually being in the mountains… People ask, ‘How is he so good?’ It’s because he lives in the mountains every day. If you want to be it, live it, and then it’ll just happen naturally. Even at the beginning if you’re not the coolest…. Brin does everything the way he wants to do it and he’s not being defined by these subjective rules about what snowboarding should look like. He just does it his way, and it’s inspiring.”
To me, that sounds a lot like where we came from. So, in the most important ways, the snowboard dream still looks the same. There’s a thriving scene, full of individuality, with a ton of room to progress. DIY is alive and well, maybe more so than ever. The saying is that history doesn’t repeat itself, but it rhymes. I asked Jody if he’d recommend that a kid today should head to the mountains to chase the dream.
“Yes, I 100 per cent recommend chasing the dream, but realize that the dream you’re imagining it to be won’t be the dream. When you get there, it will be very different. I got there and it’s nothing like I imagined. But it was my unique path and I’m glad I did it.”
Dano was a snowboard photographer when you could still make a living at it. Now he’s just a snowboarder. He lives in Whistler with his wife and his dachshund and is trying to get 50 days in this season.
*Creators of the Whiskey movies, Sean Johnson and Sean Kearns changed the conversation from attempts to be professional and respected by the ski industry establishment to drunken chaos and a complete disregard for industry acceptance.
**The Mt. Baker Legendary Banked Slalom is the oldest continuously running contest in snowboarding, and attendance is like a class reunion for folks who grew up in the shred scene.
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