Driving that train! High on Dacyshyn!

Some things go together like peanut butter and jelly. Some things don't.

Some things go together. Copy and paste. Peas and carrots. Bon and Jovi. Snowboarding and Slayer.

Some things don’t. The Grateful Dead and anything. John Mayer and anything. The Grateful Dead and John Mayer and anything.

It is a mystery to me, then, why Burton’s Creative Director Greg “Bad Santa” Dacyshyn loves them all so much and loves to roll them into bad collaborations.

You may know Mr. Dacyshyn from such hits as last year’s An Open Letter to Jake and Donna Burton:

You have two senior “leaders” working for you that have undermined you, your company, and the entire snowboarding industry for close to 15 years. The damage is deepening, and unless you take action soon, the situation will go from bad to dire.

They don’t snowboard, flaunt their wealth in the face of your modestly compensated organization, lead by intimidation and fear, and pursue countless failed projects under the guide of “being core” and “building a lifestyle business,” which benefits no one besides themselves.

And last year’s Jake and Donna Burton Respond to the Open Letter:

The internet can be a toxic place full of rumors and anonymous trolls. Don’t confuse their rants with facts. And don’t lose sight of this: It’s a good time to be at Burton. We are so excited about the future, about our direction, and about this great team. The rest is noise.

You want to know what that noise is? Do you?


Greg Dacyshyn says:

One of my favorite bands is the Grateful Dead, who have created a new version of the band called Dead & Co. They’re on tour in the US so I’ve been catching shows wherever I can including NYC, Boston and Boulder, Colorado.


Do you know who leads Dead & Co.?

John Mayer!


In case you are lucky and unaware of the the Grateful Dead you might look at their skull motif and you might read their lyrics like, “Driving that train, high on cocaine…” and you might think “Metal.”

But you are wrong. The Grateful Dead is not metal. It is hippie bullshit with a squeeze of rot. It is a Baby Boom of disaster. It is a beard worn long and craggly hiding bits of last night’s fondue dinner.

It ain’t good.

And now to cleanse your palate.

Too Hard Squad: Spiking the punch!

Pour a glass of purple drank and enjoy some jib n shit!

It all started with a Kickstarter. Actually, it all started with a beautifully gifted and simultaneously giftedly beautiful crew of female snowboarders who began spiking the punch right under our noses.

For those who’d been sleeping on Too Hard, Danyale Patterson openly shed her Jibgurl tears via kickstarter back in 2014 with the #goalz of funding her next endeavor. As predicted, the teaser spread quicker than Kanye’s call to T. Swift. The opening sequence featured handrail carnage accompanied by Sarah Mclaughlin’s famous desperation cry that makes us hug our puppies.

If you weren’t bawlin’ out yet, Red Gerard’s wide-eyed baby face and helpless cry for Jibgurls everywhere was enough to immediately place you in massive debt. For ONLY $69, they promised us T’s hats, stickers, authentic Jibgurl tears and a photo of an injured Jibgurl.

A total of $7,536 was sent into the arms of jib angels by adoring fans. Fans of female empowerment. Fans of girls stacking on double kinks. Fans of switch backside tricks AND twerk sequences. Fans who were dying to receive a side of women’s snowboarding best enjoyed over glass of purple drank. This broad squad of potentially questionable mental health status had successfully earned enough green to bring us the best of the breasts again, and these ladies brought it, they really brought it!

It’s now 2016 and all Danyale does is cool shit, just ask her Instagram. It might be a little early in our relationship with Danyale to use the L word, but we’re unconventional like that, and we’re swooning for you. It’s a Drake x Riri situation, babyjibgurl. We know you might not notice us yet, but when you’re ready, step into the lodge. The fire’s warm and the champagne’s on ice, and we want to cozy up with you.

Now please bow your head in respect and binge on the cinematic greatness Dangy has been kind enough to bring us.

Tres Hard from danyale patterson on Vimeo.

Winning: Mexican dominates Utah!

Brown people in white snow among white people with dark hearts, warm magic underwear!

I am a sucker for snowpeople of the Hispanic persuasion. I’m especially a sucker for my Latin snowpeople hailing from the state of Utah. Brown people in white snow among white people with dark hearts, warm magic underwear, and 3.2% beer. Talk about an overcoming adversity. That’s why it’s great to see guys like Jesse Martinez crushing the rail game all over the “Industry” state.

Reminds me of a summer when I housesat for my brother in the heart of the Wasatch. Some Saturday morning, I’m greeted with a knock at the front door. At his house, with no less than three temples within a square-mile radius, I was pretty sure that, as the lone confirmed heathen in that mile radius, whoever the fuck was knocking was knocking for my salvation.

Fuck it, turn the TV up.

Another knock, louder, more urgent.

Fuck it, turn the TV all the way up.

Full scale banging on the door ensues. Enough to startle or enrage.

With only the option of putting on porn at full blast or answering the door, for whatever reason, I chose the latter. Hand on the doorknob, count to three, open quickly and hit ‘em with my opener:

“You guys wanna talk about JEEEEE-ZUSSSS???”

The best defense is a good offense, right? Next question, had I gotten there, was which Catholic Saint had the best ass. The right answer would have been Mary Magdalene but…

Nary an evangelist in sight. I was dumbfounded, a sea of juvenile eyes upon me. Before me I found an entire baseball team of Mexican kids in full gear with a “Gracias Señor [Retracted]” cake, a twelver of Negra Modelo and a hefty bottle of El Jimador.

“Oh no!” Moaned a pudgy kid. “I think he joined the church!” Turns to his homie, “Te dije que lo iban a agarrar, mormones pendejos…”

Turns out, only dude in the ‘hood to donate money to the spring baseball fundraiser that year was my brother, recently relocated from the Northwest and happily an outsider to his LDS neighbors.

Rewind to March. Crew of kids were selling candy. The ultramarathoning, 150-snow-days-a-year, vertically inclined backcountry hardass that is my brother could give a fuck about some Kit Kats. As he later recounted, he asked little dudes how the sale was going.

Not good, answered the pudgiest kid in the crew. Our English ain’t so good. The church people only give money to church people. We sold a few down by the college, but we got all this left, flashes a coupla hundred candy bars at him. Season starts soon. Sponsor from last year, dude from the taquería, got deported. Kid over there, plays shortstop, that’s his nephew. No sponsor to get our uniforms made this year. We’re mostly related, all of our parents are from the same two towns, Acaponeta and Huajicori.

Bro asks how much uniforms were. Some nominal amount, less than a full snow rig. Closes the door. Comes back with a check for double the amount. Tells kids to stay in school, not to take no shit from nobody. Don’t eat all the fucking candy, especially you fatty, yeah you, fat shit, I know baseball’s not exercise, but damn, have some self-respect. Nods to the den mother chaperoning the team, good luck, vayan con Dios, and closes the door.

Back to my summer Saturday. Turns out the team of little sluggers from Los Estados Unidos Mexicanos had bested their Cache Valley competition for the under-12 title. The parents wanted to thank their sponsor; they’d made some stylie uniforms. The team name? The “L.N.” Dodgers.

“¿L.N.? Isn’t it L.A.?” I asked. No, they answered. L.N. means Logan-Nayarit. Sick!

They totally confused me for my brother, but the gesture, unforgettable. I offered a drink to the parents, some cake to the kids. They declined, just stoked that I was stoked. Little fat kid looked at me as they left: “don’t eat all the fucking cake, mister.”

The element in common between JM’s season recap, the L.N. Dodgers, and housesitting? That family tip.

JM’s short flick is produced by hermano (¿o primo?) Edson Ramirez. And while I’m not gonna lie, I’d need to be pretty fucked up to be feeling this soundtrack, the guitarwork is by Jesse’s other bro (¿o primo?), David.

Snow’s currently flying here in the Sierra. Here’s to rolling this 2016-2017 with familia like the Martinez crew and the L.N. Dodgers!

Help: “My wife’s ex-husband is a pro!”

Who once front-flipped a moving train (I think).

I married a legendary professional snowboarder named after a Greek goddess who turned men to swine. She jumped off cliffs, out of helicopters and once pulled a challenger’s pants down and then punched her in the nose.

If that is not enough, her ex-husband is an even more legendary professional snowboarder who front-flipped a moving train, modeled for Ralph Lauren and is current snowboard mogul champion of the world, having held the title for 25 years and counting.

I am pretty ok. Probably exactly average.

Like, I can now ride powder but a make-a-wish kid once thrashed me the first time I tried. In front of my wife.

And ummmm I cannnnn ummmmmmmmmmmmmm like…….. I don’t know. Not fall off when the chair reaches its end.

What if you got showed up by your woman’s ex every time you touched snow? How would you feel?

I can show you.

Film: “Raw, homemade, feral!”

Sound like wonderful porn? Maybe it is! And feat. Nick Russell, Wyatt Stasinos, Cory Stasinos, Jeremy Jones, Forrest Shearer + more!

Snowboarding movies matter only to us. Only ever have and only ever will, despite the best efforts of energy drink purveyors and extreme sports TV broadcasters. This intangible “general public” or “crossover enthusiast” is a figment. People hate cold weather & snow shovels.

So predictably negative, I know. Please disagree citing the need to “grow the audience” with “relatable” content. Parrot that old industry refrain, “it’s a lifestyle.”  But also, ask yourself: if you were flipping through the channels, would you randomly stop scrolling to watch an hour-long, action-based golf movie?

How about bowling?


It of course follows then, that those rare and rarefied, overhyped and over-produced big budget snow films can only fall flat. The heart, soul & truth of snowboarding snuffed out by lofty cinematic ambitions. Extinguished by expectations. By pandering to those who don’t get it.

So then. The alternative becomes obvious. Let’s see the raw, the homemade, the pure. FREE, is a good example; a homegrown and homemade analog snowboard film from a crew of feral adventurers that includes Nick Russell, Wyatt Stasinos, Cory Stasinos, Jeremy Jones, Forrest Shearer & some friends. It’s shot all on beautifully crusty 16mm and Super 8 film. Japan, Chile, Alaska.

No bullshit. Just a group of pals in far-off lands wearing funny hats and pillaging powder.

See the World Premiere on October 27th in Tahoe City, California

FREE- Trailer from Wonderberry on Vimeo.