Real Snowboarding Is Forever
The Soul That Got Lost in the Spin
Every true snowboarder knows the vibe. It’s not the blinding light of a prime-time contest, the associative technical chicanery of a 1440, or the marketing spin of a six-figure sponsorship (gone are the days). It’s the hype of hiking a line that has to be had, the collective wave of awe when a low-budget edit drops, and the simple yet sublime joy of a parking lot après.
Many of us watched snowboarding grow up, and somewhere in the rise from counter-culture movement to Olympic sport, the script flipped. Much of the DIY spirit became sterilized, the raw essence replaced by transaction—yet the understanding that style is not a metric, but instead a religion is still highly prevalent, ruling. And that real, genuine snowboarding is ever alive, always will be; as apparent and obvious, if, when, and where witnessed, on any given day.
This post is for the shred who knows, you know: the OGs, the diehards, try-hards, anyone who straps in, rocks about, can’t get enough, won’t quit.
The Philosophy: Style Over Score
If you want to understand the antithesis of the modern contest circuit—the anti-Winter X-Games wizardry—look no further than the man who defined simplicity: Roan Rogers.
His philosophy wasn’t just a mission statement; it was a pure approach to the canvas of the mountain: “Anything more than a 360, and I’m repeating myself.”
This is the central pillar of real snowboarding. It rejects the video game cheat codes, favoring mastery of the essential moves. The perfect example of this isn’t found in the park, but in the wilds: Sean Miskiman’s superized backcountry frontside 360. That single trick, crooked, grab held, with an acute air awareness and competent execution, may be the new gold standard of style and commitment.
It’s about the open jacket riding style; the low-slung, effortless flow that speaks volumes without needing a judge’s score. It’s why we celebrate steez that stays glued to the snow—the graceful, playful butters without leaving the surface. It’s why sometimes, the best grab off the jump is none at all—just pure, beautiful, float.
It’s the identifying of eclectic side hits, turning the resort runs’ unintentional bumps into a purposeful launch pad, a chopped up tracked out rhythm section—for a spontaneous moment far superior to a meticulously planned drop on perfectly sculpted transition.
The Spiritual Homes and True Tests of Flow
Real snowboarding doesn’t happen in stadiums, though we’ve seen a few such event showings—it happens where the lift tickets are cheaper, the vibes are loose, and the terrain is coveted, sanctuary set-ups to set off. Places like Bear Valley and Donner Ski Ranch are those, and there are countless others to explore, holding onto the independent spirit that megacorps otherwise smoothed over elsewheres.
The ultimate test of a rider’s ability isn’t a slopestyle course, it’s the banked slalom, a suped-up wiggle. These are the true cathedrals of flow:
The Legendary Mt. Baker Banked Slalom: The definitive event. It’s not about big air, but about speed, abandon, endurance, and finding the perfect, pumping line. It’s a rite of passage.
The Dirksen Derby: A modern staple that carries the same core ethic, emphasizing fun, community, and the connection between the rider and the terrain.
This spirit is also preserved in unique endeavors like Noboarding, the ultimate simplification, stripping the equipment back to the all but the board to feel into pure snow sensitivity, weightless wonder.
The Institutions and The Revival
The soul of this sport is sustained by the people and places dedicated to the culture. This includes the hubs—the local shops where you buy the sticker, the wax, and the sage advice: World Boards in Bozeman and Milosport in the SLC are institutions that represent the backbone of the community, where you go to get authentic gear and real talk.
And we must recognize the cyclical nature of culture. The past is never truly gone; it’s just waiting its timing. The recent resurgence of classic brands—Forum, Joyride, Shorty’s—isn’t just a nostalgic trend. It’s a collective desire to touch the raw energy of the years that built the foundation.
These are the archives and the pulpits of the true doctrine. They understand that the legacy is still bound up in the material past: the worn covers and cracked plastic cases of VHS and DVDs, and the sacred rituals of the premieres.
And we must say it: Mike Ranquet matters. Ranquet is the ghost in the machine, the style icon whose approach is still the yardstick by which true flow is measured. The visual legacy is just as important: seek the iconic Craig Kelly photo by Chris Brunkhart, specifically the shot of his boots steaming in a cold cabin outpost, captures the soul of the backcountry commitment better than any paragraph ever could.
The Legacy We Carry Forward
The foundations of this culture are also supported by the publications and production crews that keep the narrative honest: the Midlife Crisis platform, the FnRad Podcast, the Airblaster brand, and the beautiful pages of The Snowboarder’s Journal.
If you’re a real rider today, your loyalty is often to the Indy Pass. Why? Because it supports the small, independent, and soulful resorts that foster this exact culture. It’s an economic movement as much as it is a way to ride.
The core still knows: real snowboarding survives and thrives in the moment of that waist-deep, untracked stash, tweaked grab, the shared laugh while peeling frozen gear off your body, and the sacred ritual of being First chair ups; last chair closing. This level of commitment is fueled not by fluorescent, chemically-enhanced hype, but by simple, necessary hydration—water over energy drinks—a clean choice that rejects the corporate rush for pure, sustained energy. It’s the community, the history, and the quiet rejection of the spectacle.
It’s not in the score—it’s in the soul.
