All the way from Ripon, California, Traveling with and to Hope, Alaska
I found myself in Hope, Alaska, by chance. A random encounter at a going-away-party saw me hopping on a plane from Stockton, California, to Anchorage, Alaska, less than two weeks later—all for the adventure and with little more reason than that I had never been before. I spent the summer working in one of the oldest standing buildings in the state, the Seaview Cafe, located in the small town of Hope, about an hour and forty minutes drive from Anchorage. Originating as a mining town that once thrived with over 8,000 prospectors, this camping and RV destination has a rich history.
I sought new opportunities for the winter and found them after meeting a legendary local character, musician, and songwriter named Steve Norwood during a rather intense campfire bongo session. He lived and worked at what was described to me as a “cute little resort town” (whatever that meant) named Girdwood, home to Alyeska Resort. That’s where it all started for me: the passion for pow, park, and friends made sliding down mountains along the way.
Winter is Coming
Winter was coming, and after spending the first month of it in a tent, I found housing. After a neighbor hiked me up the bunny slope to hold my hands through some falling leaves, I was off. Thanks to Steve, I found work at the local dive bar and somehow managed to quit drinking while there. It was October 27, 2017, when I made that choice, and not three days later, I bought my first lift ticket. I had to learn how to do things without the crutch of alcohol, and this new hobby excited me so.
Learning the Do’s and Don’ts from a friendly Lifty (no beaver slaps!), my first season saw me venturing up to Chair 6, which, aside from the boot hike, was effectively the top of the mountain. I immediately caught toe side edge on my first run and fell to a penguin slide right under the chair line. I scared myself halfway back home but could now venture into the “glacier bowl,” where I saw my first natural features: gullies that were natural half pipes, wind lips, and “naty” kickers.
The Stoke was High
A ski area with over 1,400 acres of ridable inbound terrain and nothing but experience to gain, I was in love. At its base (only 250 feet above sea level), lifts gave you access to 1,600 vertical feet. Night riding doubled my progress. Eventually, I gained employment with the mountain, opening the door to earning my first free ski pass.
Seeing the removal of the historic chair gave me a glimpse at the mass logistical undertaking of operating a winter resort. Under that now imaginary chair line, I conquered my first double black diamond, “Gear Jammer.”
My very first blizzard days had me swimming through what felt like thick air. The deep powder both perplexed and amazed me. They called it “champagne powder,” light and bubbly like a frothy foam; however, somehow, my board just wouldn’t “float.” This was when I realized why a true twin traditional cambered board from the 90s wasn’t doing me any favors (Daniel Franc Atlantis, talk about classics!). A friend suggested setting back my stance, which showed me how valuable outside perspective could be. These experiences helped make every day feel like new.
It Wasn’t Just the Cold That Made the Air Feel Still…
When I learned the pockets of air between each flake of snowfall helped absorb and dampen sound, I knew it wasn’t just the eerie sensation of feeling like I was in a movie. Like a nostalgic, warm sonnet, it was the spaces in between that made the sweet music to my sensory experience. Even mundane activities such as walking home offered run-ins with bears, moose, and gangs of neighborhood family dogs that kept one’s head on a healthy swivel—granting an inherent awareness and excitement that propagated into every interaction. Everyone that had become accustomed carried themselves accordingly. When everything outside could easily do you in, including the outside itself, I garnered a deep respect for the actions of an impartial world.
The following season, I would find myself a little bit further south on the island of Oahu, Hawaii, before finally chasing the dream and working at Northstar, California, as a Lifty in 2018. Then COVID happened, which led to another season off, then Kirkwood, California, as an instructor. From there, I moved to Mammoth, where I now live and reside. Things have come full circle working at the Herald Wave Rave snowboard shop. This is where I can share in the stoke with new riders and relish in what I hope never gets lost on me. The excitement for new things, the willingness to pursue them despite adversity, and the will to push oneself beyond the scope of comfort, all just for the sake of fun. Who knows what’s next for me? One thing is for sure: the return trip to Alyeska is a must, especially now that it is on the Ikon pass!
