Snowflex…the ultimate backcountry experience
Nick– This is the future of our global hotbox: 400 vertical of white astroturf complete with buffalo-wing fingerprints and nacho cheese smiles. Coming to a mall near you…
Snowflex
Fly fishing with the river god's
The verdant miracle of life
Nick– When I saw Taro’s uncle casting a line on the local version of ESPN, claims to the Japanese fishing thrown were instantly legitimized. He’s not the type to brag about pedigree, but Taro comes from a long line
of fish types. As a kid he took off on trains to fish rivers by himself, to escape the evil ways of metropolitan Tokyo. Grandpa Tamai used to say, “We fish seasons in Japan, Taro. We must change our style to go after different fish.” One day the child became a man, the man became a snowsurfer, and his January layback carve differed from the mash potato variety in May.
The Rocketfish, The Bigfish, The Superfish– these are the boards in Taro’s quiver, and the other day I took to the local rivers to cast some flies with the grey-haired child. True to Japanese form, size 8 wading boots were the only around to borrow, so I bound my USDA prime-rib 11′s into these child kicks for a few hours of Japanese water torture. Cut off your toes and try to walk on marbles, and you might understand this unique mixture of pain and impaired balance.
Signatures World Premiere date: September 19th
Nick– A tale of two cities: one a divine mountain mountain hamlet, and the other a poutine-eating euroville behind organized Quebecoifia crime lines. Yes, mon amie, the date has been set for Signatures, Sept 19th, splitting our proud family between Aspen and Montreal.
Our last effort Hand Cut premiered at The Wheeler Opera House in Aspen, and we’re stoked to bring our wagon train back to their
Wheeler Beauty
lovely joint. Local athletes Nick Devore, Jacqui Edgerly, Will Cardamone, Adam Moszynski are the bedrock of Sweetgrass action footage, from fast and furious telemark lines to overhead pow, and it’s always good to come through their home town. Short and sweet, we love Aspen, and the folks take care of us there.
Meanwhile, same night, same time, the other half of Sweetgrass will be doing there best to behave themselves in a city known for evil smut and immoral characters. From Sept. 17th to the 21st, Montreal will host the International Freeski Film Festival, or IF3. A little different
Le Frog
crowd from our normal routine, but we’re ready to make new friends, to spread some Sweetgrass love up into the northern country.
More to come on tour date specifics, but 40 shows are on their way to CO, NM, UT, WY, MT, ID, Alberta, British Columbia, WA, OR, CA, AK, VT, MA, NY and, of course, JAPAN! Check back for exact details.
Likewise, if you’re interested in hosting a tour stop, email Nick at Sweetgrassp@gmail.com for more info. Pinatas, face paint, slip and slides– we’re open to new ideas.
Niseko mountain biking: a fat-tire tour of local snacks
The udders
Nick— The custard, the pudding, the donuts, the tofu. I could taste the exercise on my tongue. 29inch wheels underfoot, I knew that ripped quads look good with man breasts, and I set out on a three hour tour of the local creameries and tofu fry shops, past rice paddies and dairy farms. For every tractor there’s a mom-and-pop cottage, and I like looking at the udder of the cow that gets the tug to get the churn to get the scoop. Green-tea ice cream tastes damn fine after a big hill, and nothing screams “I aint here to buy” like thumbing cheese samples in bike spandex.
Hokkaido surfing with sharks
Ken Miyashita
Nick—I had a gash on my big toe, and I could not be sold on Teddy Cirilo’s birthday beach party. I had just seen Jaws at the age of 5, and I was sure that teeth would take to my toe like chum the minute my foot hit the salty sludge of Far
Taro Tamai fresh from Sumatra
Rockaway Beach.
My relationship to the ocean still hovers between wet and poop my pants, despite it’s beauty, and inspiring energy. A dangling toe and a dark abyss still bring images of an ultraviolent demise and vain attempts to cauterize my leg with, say, the tailpipe of Taro’s Defender 110.
But I rarely say no to bobbing around like a drunk seal and slapping at the water in attempts to propel. I do my best to drink as much saltwater as I can, and I take pride in the burps, coughs, and gags that follow. This is not my natural play place, but it’s much more relaxed than most of the turns I lay down on snow. It’s hard to have an ego when eating waves.
Your humble narrator
My squid, hungry dog
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- Taro Tamai fresh from Sumatra
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- Ken Miyashita
FBI Lanes: Bowling with the Hokkaido State Champion…of 1983
Nick– A photographic tour of the same sport we play in middle America and on 5th Avenue alike, minus the pitchers of Bud and Journey on the jukebox. FBI Lanes: the cutting edge of pin killing at Family Bowling Iwanai:
Ken refused my offer to snatch him a teddy
Aya-chan bowling her way towards a 36
Gentembowl: Ken Miyashita digging in
A Midsummer Night's Pow Dream
Jamie Laidlaw deep as
Nick– As film folk, we live in a world of fantasy, of day-and-night dream, where snow falls without cease. We watch snow films on a daily basis, from Maltese Flamingo and the original Winterstick film to Yokonorizm, Harvest, and Sick Sense. Maybe 5 or 6 a week. Call it market research, but between these
Adam Mosynski fresh from lunch
flicks and our own brainchild, summer exists in body, not in spirit. The taste of January flakes is on the tip of the tongue, and the more we edit Signatures, the more we drift into overhead turns, watching friends dig themselves out from ridiculous falls with powder-caked mugs. If you listen quietly, you can almost hear the laughs: we have arrived once again in the deep trenches of winter.
When the only snow exists on the big screen, we are the purveyors of fresh pow video produce that keeps you well fed. While the Japanese folks stress the yin to the yang, fall-winter-spring-summer biz, when you are forced to watch such disgusting, foul-rank, powder funk with the setting of each and every sun, your perspective becomes a bit skewed. So here’s to your midnight morsels or your daytime wanderings, to living in the not-now and dreaming big:
Shun-Kun Kikuchi
Caroline Gleich
Guy time in the Tune Shop: Part 2
Nick– Pre-Hokkaido, my family unleashed no less than 15 Japanese dictionaries between my birthday and Christmas. The thought only counts for so much, and I packed my bags later that afternoon with two editions: the timeless Oxford and Get Dirtya guide to the underbelly and armpit rot of Japanese vernacular. While every book, tape, and software program teaches you to shake hands and sign contracts, here was a book with some more practical phrases, and a RIDICULOUS amount of cross-cultural humor. A cure-all for awkward silence, and an instant hit amongst the tune shop crowd.
Here’s some gems:
Pick-up lines for femmes and bros
You look kind of like a Japanese Brad Pitt.
anata wa burapi no nihonjin ban da.
You would be super popular in America.
amerika ja zettai moteru yo ne.
Check out my sixpack!
hora fukkin wareteru daro
Various gems for various occasions
Your momma’s bellybutton is an outie!
omae no kachan debeso daa!
Don’t you think this booger looks like you mom?
kono hanakuso tte teme no kachan ni nitene?
I am a pathetic bed wetter.
watashi wa sho mo nai oneshu desu
Why do I so relish the smell of my own farts?
jibun no onara no nioi ga kon’nanimo konomashi no wa naze de aro?
Give peace a chance, man.
heiwa ga ichiban sa
It’s a biker cop!
shirobai da!
Seriously, we’re eating poo.
unko da ne maji de
Guy time in the Tune Shop: Part 1
Nick– Click-drag, click-drag, view, click-drag, grab-impale. With 3700 separate video clips and 4,000 GB’s of blood, sweat, and tears, organizing the edit is a tax audit with visuals. Numbers, reels, in points, out points, date– sorting the month of March took 9 hours alone, and it is a game best handled with a good soundtrack and some cold suds.
While I work on my carpal tunnels, the kind tune shop guy next door has been working day and night polishing, shaping, sharpening, and waxing boards sent in boxes from Hokkaido to Toyko. At $150 a tune, this Ferrari-worthy service is the craft of Gentem-guru, Hideki Takeda. “Most customers are presidents,” he explains, but from my perspective this kind of board love is not unusual here in Japan. It’s rare to see a dull edge or a scuffed topsheet, and Gentem rides are always carried around in cases like $100K cellos. They spend more time tweaking their boards than they do riding them, all in the name of the perfect turn.
The Japanese locker room
When Takeda and my hands and minds tire, we catch up for a coke– he brings the Japanese coconut cookies, and I supply the maple peanut butter from back home. We talk about life, we talk about riding, and, on this rainy June day, we talked about women. With Signatures rider, and freshly married, Ken Miyashita in tow, we asked each other questions echoed in the wax rooms of Jackson and Chamonix: how do you balance your riding and a life outside? There is a purity to a simple life, fueled by deep powder turns in quiet woods, and a desire in most of us to keep pushing further into that silence, where there are fewer friends, and even fewer women. The Silverton’s and the Pemberton’s: these are places where people have sacrificed vegetables and more to live in riding brilliance. But bad cases of “the crusties” creep up on the best of riders, and no one wants to be the 55 year-old trolling the Miner’s Tavern bar with ski boots on at 10pm.
As Taro explains, “There are places with steeper terrain, bigger mountains, maybe deeper snow than Niseko. But here there are friends, family, artists, musicians– there’s a real community.” Married at 44 and currently riding waves in Sumatra, Taro might be the model of efficiency, balancing 3-year-old Tenma, the Gentemstick business, marriage, and a 6 -day-a-week snowsurf/surf habit.
That said, stay tuned for Japanese pick-up lines from the tune shop for the trolling 55-year-old in us all.
MUSIC NOTES: The National, Boxer EP & Brushfire Records Holiday Album
Chow Time With the Tamai's
Nick– Taro’s already in Sumatra by now, sipping the sweet nectar of perfect barrels and endless sets. As a send off dinner before his salt water frenzy, the family Tamai invited Yuki and myself over for some Shabu Shabu, or Japanese fondue, as I call it.
Buffalo brains
Yuki-san
When your stomach is tempered in meals that cost less than $3, these occasions taste extra delicious: food is meant to be shared with others, not just a camping stove and rustling fabric yurt walls. There is a cro-magnon element to the circular ritual around a boiling pot or fire, something timeless, communal, and warm. Before the television, stories were told, pipes were passed, and whale blubber was shared in games of hot potato. In the prairie lands of Taro’s living room, I wore my Kevin Costner smile, and they shared their beating bloody buffalo heart with me.
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