ahahh well done dude!!!
i have to say i am damn jealous, i really needed a bag and to have a limited edition colab with snowboard-mag, is as good as it gets when it comes to bags....

ah well! congratulations to the winner!

About 8-9 years ago while working at a pizza shop in college, I was offered a chance to experience truly big mountain riding with a 5 day trip to Whistler. A fellow delivery driver said that if I came up with $500+ dollars I had the plane ticket. Doing everything I could to get the money together, (another story in it’s self) I finally had the cash. I was totally geeked. Friends had left right after high school for South Shore and Breck, and I was salivating at the thought of west coast powder. So the flight goes off without problems and we touch down in Vancouver around 4. My god, what a f**king city. I have been to a lot of cities in the NE, but I have never set my eyes on a city that beautiful. For those of you on here who live there...consider yourselves extremely lucky! When we arrived at Whistler it was puking! We hit Max Fish with thoughts of chest deep slashers the following morning. We were not denied! F**king epic! We started at the top of Blackcomb and work are way down. Around a turn somewhere at the bottom we came across a handrail near some slopeside condos. I immediately nailed it, but my co-worker, who was on some kind of mini ski’s twisted his ankle and the very end of it.....out for the rest of the week! Whatever, he was a toolbag anyway.

So now I am solo at the greatest resort in the North America for four days. Second morning in the gondola I ride up with 2 locals set on building a wedge somewhere in the boudaries of the resort. I described my situation, and they invited me to ride with them that day. Also with us was a younger woman from Osaka, Japan who barely spoke English but was also interested in hanging....Whatever, the more the merrier right? So these guys tell me that before spending half the morning building, they want to hike out across Piccolo to drop through some windlips....f**k yeah, whatever...I don’t even know what they are but I’m game. We hike farther than any bootpack that morning, get a little path going, and figure out where we are to go after landing. The experience? Let’s say it was one of those times when you senses are so overloaded, you do not recall hearing anything, total silence, all visual...epic for sure.

Now, getting my senses about me, I follow the cluster of pathes from the others as I asked to go last. Partly because I didn’t want to look like a idiot (never did anything like this before), and partly because I wanted all for myself. Now I’m cruising down and open bowl area (Flute Bowl Area?) and as I am following the others tracks I am noticing there are no other tracks, no people, no wildlife.....nothing but three other board paths! Getting this weird, worrying feeling now in my stomach, over a rise and 150 yards down is the rest of the group in the bottom of this little valley.....Thank God! So....I roll up and local dokel says we missed the boundary trail....we have to hike out to it! O.K. I think, they experience was defiantly worth the work ahead of us......yeah right. Starting with unstrapping and kneeling on our boards, we paddle for as long as we can before the landscape starts to rise. Time to start stomping out. By the way, the whole time we are doing this the Asian woman is saying nothing and I can see she is kinda scared. I tell her “Hey don’t worry, we’ll be outta here in a half an hour!” She smiles...boy was I wrong! Four hours later of taking turns kicking paths through the knee deep powder, crossing 2 fucking streams that were completely covered, and realizing I am an idiot for smoking cigarettes we hit the first groomed trail....I never thought cuorderoy looked so good. The four of us lay on the trail recovering, I make the two locals promise me a beer if I see them in the bar, they promise to keep calling me Pitts, and tell me to quit smoking, and the asian woman just gets up and leaves without saying anything....I think she was pissed. The mountain is closed or close to it, because on the way down I see no one. Legs feel like there is magma flowing through my veins, and I get to the room, shower and pass out with the biggest cheese on my face! This may not sound like a terrible backcountry experience, but for a kid alone, across the continent, this was the best and worst experience I have ever had in big mountain riding. Thank you Whistler, and thank you for reading.....

-Pitts

The only time I've gotten to ride "backcountry" was my 21st birthday at Vail. Since Im from the east coast so riding Vail was pretty big. I hit the bars a little too hard and got totally lost. No cell phone, no nothing. Me in my drunken self in the middle of the woods. I try to make the most of it and do my thing. After two hours of still having no idea where I was the sun started to get low and I started to get a little scared and thankfully a little sober. Maybe a half hour later, I stumbled upon this little "resting spot" that a few other snowboarders had made. One of them was my buddy, continuing the party as usual with a few randoms, and one was this gorgeous lil snow bunny, who is now my fiance. Thank You Vail. I will never drink and snowboard again, who knows, I could've just passed out and froze to death.

Luck of the Irish I guess.

Here In Ontario, we are limited to no backcountry shreddin. So hands up for the winner. Good luck.

I WENT IN THE "BACKCUNTRY" IN COLORADO (MONTAZUMA TO BE EXACT) AND REALIZED I FORGOT ME PIPE IN THE CAR! GOT GRASS AND LIGHTER BUT NO PIPE! WTF!!! TALK ABOUT SCARY! IF I HAD ONE OF THOSE BACKPACKS I'D HAVE PLENTY OF ROOM FOR A PIPE!

I’m going to have a hard time writing this "harrowing backcountry experience" using pure honesty. This is due to the fact that I don’t remember experiencing it, nor did I know what happened to me during my unconscious, state ten seconds before the accident and my semi conscious state one hour after the massacre.
The story goes; I was with two mates and we were heli boarding up at Revelstoke, BC during January. Therefore you can imagine the pristine conditions which were ready to deceive us. Being one lucky boy, it was my first time to ever get in a helicopter, and to be able to get out and have an endless array of hits and pillows neatly laid out before me. This choice of what I was going to huck, hit or slash was seemingly overwhelming in the knee deep gnarr of the Monashee backcountry.
Before strapping in, I could feel the shivers of excitement run up my legs and surge through my stomach. I felt just like a teenage boy about to loose his virginity to an Italian supermodel.
I started to visualize myself from 3rd person doing a floaty cab 360 tail grab off the first pillow of pow and landing in the natural cushion at the bottom of this hit. This visualization (or should I say fantasy) made me nearly cream my pants. It was truly orgasmic being in the presence of such a perfect shaped work of Mother Nature. I could see the mellow landing from where I was, but was too transfixed and stoked with this piece of art, to even start thinking about what I was going to pull after I landed.
In a rush I strapped in to make sure I took the first track of this virgin jib, I heard it calling my name and I could not even think about rejecting its seductive shape and letting its virginity be taken by the two ungracious knuckle heads I was with. From this point on I do not remember what happened and the memory was stolen from me when my poor face had made contact with the sly snow covered rock at the bottom of the ‘mellow landing’.
Apparently I came down the run like a fucking demon. I probably came into the hit with too much speed due to the fact, that it was my first day riding in such heavenly conditions and probably due to how stoked I was to be riding in Reveltsoke. I later learned that coming into the hit switch, with so much speed wasn’t a very smart idea. I had gotten told that I hit the hit perfectly and my cab 360 was “fucking ridiculous”. To my friends surprise I had over shot the landing and started rotating more and more, and floating further and further down the landing. I ended up doing a cab 450, landing on my heel edge and bouncing out of the snow, flying forward swan dive style.
I can imagine myself in mid air, with my face heading straight in to the ‘bottomless’ powder and not worrying about a god dam thing because of how deep I was going to sink. I thought the powder was going to absorb the shock of my face even more then a massive dive into a pool of deep water.
However to my surprise, I was in for hell of a nasty treat from this seductive and purely deceiving virgin. My face pierced the snow and traveled less then a foot before it bounced sharply backwards causing my goggles and beanie to explode off my delicate head, as if there was a land mine hidden beneath the snow that my face had triggered. This virgin had caused a fucking bloodbath.
My two mates, witnessing the carnage came riding down to inspect the aftermath. I was lying on my back as still and as limp as a bloody rag doll, in front of the now visible rock which lurked under snow cover. My goggles had split and cracked into a million pieces and were lying next to my engraved forehead, whilst blood oozed onto the white snow around me. I was clearly out cold, like a soldier with a bullet to the brain.
Unfortunately, my memory of this "harrowing backcountry experience" has been wiped clean from the slate of my mind and has never returned. But luckily for my two trusty buddies, I was put in a helicopter and taken to safety and treated at the local clinic. After I had regained consciousness from being rescued and tendered by two friends’ motherly touch, I was able to get a full account of the bomb which had dropped that perfect winter morning up at Revelstoke.

Me up at Revelstoke a couple of days later, not letting the bloodbath get in the way of the fun to be had.

www.snowboard-mag.com/usr_images/n43809050_30587469_6121-1-30216_468x351.jpg

So, i grew up riding at buck hill, minnesota. 200 feet of awesome vertical. last year i was a freshmen at montana state university, which suprisingly to me it snows in october. My roomate, my new friend steve (both skiers) and i decided to hike up bridger bowl one fine early november day. We are all midwest/east coast kids so imagine how stoked we were to be hiking up awesome powder in november. My roomate new of this cliff we could go jump off. it started at 60 ft, and as you traversed it got as low as 8 feet that we were gonna go drop. Well, after a long hike up, we made it to the top. 8 inches of fresh. We dropped in and got some sick turns. than we worked our way over to the cliff.
when we got to the edge of the cliff but, we realized that it had snowed so much that we couldn't hike up to get a good in run. we couldn't hike back because there was a 60 foot cliff. So we had to scale across the cliff. My roomate brett led the way in his skis. After a couple of close calls, we realized we were in trouble. He realized this fully and slipped out. he ended up rolling down the cliff, somehow not breaking anything. me and my friend steve looked horrified over the cliff to see he was alive and moving. It was incredible to see him still moving. in his words, the cliff was "at the perfect pitch so you didn't hit one rock and fall the rest. you hit every rock possible on the way down". now me and steve had to get down. unfortunately, the only way was to walk 50 feet on nothing but loose preseason snow to where the cliff was 8 ft tall. we used his polls to uncover rocks that we could step on. after several more close calls, we finally made it to the end. we jumped off the cliff into the freshies, and rode our way down. it was the second pow day of my life, and regardless of being scared shitless, it was awesome.

Once upon a time long long ago... actually fairly recent, I stumbled across a little place where the beer flows like wine. Where beautiful women instinctively flock like the salmon of Capistrano. I'm talking about a little place called Aspe…... wait no, that’s a different story. This story is about a place where earth tones and Mervin manufacturing rule the territory; Mt. Baker Washington. Not necessarily backcountry, but in terms of lift accessible terrain resembling the backcountry, Baker has it.
The ability to duck any ropes provided that you have proper equipment such as a beacon, probe, and shovel means you can explore the whole mountain. The thing is, most hardcore lines you can imagine while riding the chairlift have been done (like Terje cranking out a big turns on the arm off chair 1 scary close to the edge). But what do you do when you have the right equipment to go explore, but no fly SNOWBOARD/Dakine pack collabo? I know what your thinking… that some guy (me) is out in Washington camping out in an RV, at the mountain for 5 days with 6-8 feet of dumpage, yet is complaining about a busted old pack? Answer is yes… but not exactly.
The Pacific Northwest gets hammered with weather during the winter, and in places where the temperature is just right means serious snow. Indeed, lots of snow is a good thing, but how about dealing with wet snow? See in the Colorado most of the moisture gets drained before systems hit the Rockies, so we get that nice dry powder. However, Mt. Baker is near the coast and I’ve realized a few things: The first is a bluebird powder day here requires the stars to align just right, cause photo ops are near impossible so get up early. Second, is gore-tex is your very close friend. And lastly, when conditions get wet don’t leave cough drops loose in your pack, cause they soak/sogg/stick/melt/etc. into the fabric/zippers/etc. on your pack leaving it a gooey pain in the ass mess.
Now I’ve had this Dakine Heli Pro pack for what’s gotta be 8 or 9 years, and this thing has served me good. From sled trips near Red Mountain Pass, to Backcountry access gates in the Cascades, to just carrying my lunch up to Winter Park, Dakine packs kill it. I’ve been back to Baker since that trip in January using borrowed goods, and will continue to go venturing out into powder. Although, from now on cough drops are 86’d from my gear essentials.

If you want actual true real life harrowing tales such as the fabled Yeti near Highway 542 to Baker, that jumped out in front of our vehicle searching for what we thought was food (human bodies of coarse). Instead stole my Dakine pack leaving me with severe pack withdrawals and night terrors about Tony Little and his Gazelle… I would be happy to share such harrowing tales, but when the website was down I already got beat on my yeti story ☹.

Mt. Baker night shot...
Sean Sullivan photography

My friends and I would go to Galena Summet to build jumps and shred gnar. We built this one jump and sessioned it all day. I was throwing wildcats and boning my indys to the sky. Yes, I landed on my head a couple times. All was well until one of my friends skipped out and bashed his back off a rock that was covered by an inch of snow. There was no way to see the thing until it was too late. We had hit the jump so much and all of us were landing all around the one rock. Trever broke his back and was laid out, pain. We had to use one of our snowboards as a backboard and carefully take him down the slope, then cross a creek and accend another pitch to get to the road. All the while he was in blinding pain. He spent the next few months honing in his video game-game and effing all our heads up on Bond (nintendo 64). point is, I can't hit a kicker without remembering that one rock. I'm sure he cant either

One fine day in the confines of the Summit at Snoqualmie Hyak (home to the Holy Oly Revival, many mystical creatures, and numerous Lib Tech snowboards found slashing away powder days) backcountry, I came across something very mysterious.

Two of my friends and I were hiking into the mystical Hyak forest in order to access our favorite stashes, what we found was not local ripper Stacy Thomas, but the footprints of a large mythical beast. Some call him Yeti, some call him the Skunkape, but his true scientific name is The Northwest Sasquatch.

Being that the Snoqualmie area of the Mt. Baker National Forest is home to an unbelievably large frequency of reported Sasquatch sightings, we knew that this was no fluke. However, because of our respect for our Northwest neighbor, we moved along swiftly to our favorite abandoned shack, completed a successful safety meeting, discussed our findings in a haze of seclusion, and proceeded to slay the stash numerous times... face shots for days my friends.

Although we did experience some intrusion from the previously mentioned Stacy Thomas, we saw no more signs of our furry, beastly ally.

What I saw that day confirmed my previous beliefs in the magical creatures of my native land. He is real, he is peaceful, and he means no harm. Leave his species be and they will further protect the infinite powder stashes of the beautiful abyss we know as the mountains of the Majestic Pacific Northwest. From Baker to Bachelor they roam, protecting what we cherish so dearly, peacefully guarding the zones that make for our favorite pastime.

Sasquatch... EPIC

het man, stop complaining about living on the east coast! you probably live live at least kind-of clost to sime hills... i live in central freaking florida!!! i have no chance of winning

One day at the lovely Mammoth resort in california, my friend and I decided to go under the rope and cut through the epic powder then cut back in as we usually did. It was a nice ride through the trees and the powder, until we hit the road. We totally forgot to cut back into the park, so we were stuck next to a road in waist deep powder. First we tried to hitch hike with a car, but that didn't work. Then the only choice of getting back to the park was to hike up. We start hiking up away from the street in really deep powder. We could barely walk, every step we took was down a chute of snow. After an hour or so, we decide to stop and take a break and eat some food. Luckly I packed some gronola bars in my mini dakine backpack, or otherwise we would be starving and dead. Then after three more hours we made it back to the trail. This experience taught us to never cross the boundaries because if you do, you are completely asking for an avalanche or a whole day of hard core body aches.

Well, lucky for me, most of my harrowing experiences have resulted in nothing more than close calls and the occasional sluffy swim. One of the classics would probably be from Berthoud Pass in the back country near the sidecountry of Winter Parks front country. Out on a deep day with a few friends and my dog, we were enjoying a typical day on the pass. DEEP snow, NO people and plenty of zones to tear up. My dog no longer gets to get out with us as he was born sometime around the time humans managed to harness fire. But there was a day that he would romp in the snow for hours on end and terrorize any high alpine creature that he came upon. With that said, my harrowing experience came in the form of payback for all of the little critters that Blue (dog) had tormented.

While taking lunch on the east side of the pass, we noticed that Blue had been gone a little longer than usual. His although his tracks were easy to spot, he had covered some ground and it was tough to tell what the most recent set was and where they went. Some time passed and I was getting a bit pissed when we thought we had heard some type of barking. For another hour or so, we tried to figure out where it was coming from, but with no luck. Just as we were ready to head to the truck and see if he had beat us back, we came upon a sink hole in the snow and the source of Blue's cries. Inside the hole was my dog and an army of Ptarmigan. Ptarmigan are typically peaceful little birds that turn white in the winter and make funny noises. I believe that their only known predator was Blue himself and now he was out numbered. Blue was surrounded by some 20 or 30 of these little guys and by the noises he was making, I think he was more freaked out than excited. The snow that had collapsed had uncovered a maze of hollowed out shrubs that the ptarmigan had holed up in and I had to get Blue out. With Melissa holding Grahm and Grahm holding my feet, I was soon dangling in to try and evacuate Blue from what looked to be certain payback! Surrounded by purring/beeping birds, Blue was quick to put his own well being first and just about pulled me in while trying to escape. My friends on the surface seemed to think this was funny and laughed so hard that they dropped to the fowl below. Quick to my feet, I managed to toss Blue up to his rescuer above. Rather freaked out by the chanting/chirping that was now occuring in this dodo dojo, I was sure that I had only moments before these adorable little birds would cuddle me to death. From the light of day that shone from above, I was handed a snowboard tied to a snowboard, tied to yet another snowboard. I turned to the approaching masses of fluffy little birds, let out a noise I don't think I could ever repeat and climbed as fast as one would with a flock of ptarmigan nipping at their feet.

Free of the sink hole and grateful for our lives, we had just enough light in the day to drop into Floral Park and shred some much appreciated lines back down to the road below. On the ride down, I couldn't help but to check my hood and anywhere else a stowaway Ptarmigan might have latched on. I was really creeped out by the little guys.

We surivied, but I am sure that those very fowl are out there, just waiting for the next unsuspecting pooch to fall prey to their wintry trap. I once read that Ptarmigan naturally turn white in the winter, but I have since been brought my attention that it is human blood that will turn their ill-doing feathers white!

So, it is my hope to win this fresh little pack and fill it with as many White Killer Ptarmigan Carcas's as I can this winter. Hopefully, one day, no snow enthusiast or snow enthusiast's dog will have to worry themselves while venturing into the backcountry home of the cute little killers.

Ptarmigan virgin to human blood.

Ptarmigan pturned white (killer ptarmigan). These guys look alot like the ones that nearly had Blue and I.

If you look closely, you can see a little ptrickle of blood from their beaks.

Dude, that guy has been in one of the (if not THE) scariest situations I've ever seen. I thought we were going to have to alert search and rescue on where to dig for the body..

Hey Bergeron, I know you're lurking- let's hear the one about the avalanche in the Crested Butte backcountry!

I went band camp without a nice backpack and I stuck a snowboard up my p.............just kidding. Scotty- Make sure the winner paints the best visual picture to match that beautiful backpack- DAKINE RULES!

i want one!

OH...what do you say we discriminate against east-coasters because there never gonna make it...the west coast has everything, POWDER, backcountry, and abundance of mountains-lets just give them everything even though they already have everything. Forget about giving anyone else a chance, there would be way to many posts to read..Well guess what? Heres a kid on the east coast who actually needs a backpack, while i am currently using my friends' older sisters old backpack and on the verge of getting punched in the face because he wants it back. thanks A-LOT snowboard-mag...by the way sick backpack

I was at alpental one day last year, it had been pretty icy for a week or so and then had snowed 6 inches of really nice light powder. I wasnt thinking about the conditions and how much the snow would slide so me and a friend took a run in the backcountry. The conditions were sick, sunny bluebird days are few and far between in washington, and the snow was awesome in the mellow hills at the top but once we reached a steeper ridge things got sketchy. My friend noticed it was icy and managed to cut off to the side, but I was already over the ridge. I tried to stop but I couldnt catch an edge. Near the bottum of the ridge were some chutes that led to some 15 to 20 foot drops. Being early season though, january, there were open trees and rocks below the drops. I sat down to try and stop from sliding but I kept sliding down toward one of the chutes. By the time I was the near the drop I was sitting down sideways, trying with all my power to dig my edge in. Fortunately for me, the pinnacles on each side were shorter than my board. Rather than going over the edge my nose and tail caught the pinnacles on both sides, stopping me. At the same time though, I was stuck in an icy chute, with half my body hanging over an icy cliff with rocks in the landing. Took me about 30 minutes to unstrap and straddle my way up the side of one of the chutes. I felt lucky to get away until I went to the park later that day and broke my collarbone in 2 places. Tons of fun.
-greg

It all happened 3 years ago in the nice terrain of the whistler-blackcomb area. I hiked with my and our neighbor. It took 2hours to get to the spot and it took us another hour to build the jump. The session was super-fun and we could even jumped over a tree. Good times. Here is the funny part.. I was hiking to do the jump again so I decided to unzip my jacket. When I was almost ready to drop I tried to zip it but the zipper was broken. I (randomly) decided to drop anyway cause it was really fun. I ended up tumbling down the landing the jacket all opened. You can imagine the way down back home.. it was like -25.
That's it.