Fringe Elements Videos: The Evolution of the Splitboard

By Fitz Cahall; Video still by Bryan Smith

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In the last year, splitboarding has reached a tipping point. Ski movie stalwarts Teton Gravity Research released Deeper, which featured snowboards that transform into skis, to much fanfare. In the last three years, several snowboard companies have begun aggressively marketing these backcountry boards. Splitboarding may seem like a new sport, but in actuality, it’s been sitting on the fringe of snowboarding for almost 20 years.

 In the late 1980s Brett Kobernick began tinkering with boards. He hand-cut standard snowboards in half to fashion skis for uphill movement and slapped a set of adhesive climbing skins to the bottom. At the top, a rider could simply remove the skins and reconnect the board for downhill riding. In 1992, Kobernick partnered with Salt Lake City, Utah, ski manufacturer Voile. By 1994 the hardware to split a snowboard hit the market. At first, snowboarders looking to hit the open backcountry away from resorts had to purchase the Voile kit and chop a snowboard in half on their own. For a lot of consumers the

Eventually, Voile began marketing factory-made splitboards for the small market. Snowboarding giant Burton offered a version for a few years, but discontinued it. In the last three years, as the pull of the backcountry has hit the masses, there are now a dozen or so splitboard manufacturers who produce different shapes and sizes to suit a rider’s ability, style, and size. The new boards are smaller, lighter, and more maneuverable than the previous generations. A few companies have begun to create bindings specifically designed for splitboarding, and now snowboarders can keep up with skiers. The sport is evolving rapidly yet the concept remains the same. Ski up. Shred down.

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What It Takes to Compete in Alaska's Iditarod--Jamaican Musher Dances to Keep Warm

By Tetsuhiko Endo; Photograph by Bob Hallinen, Landov, see more adventurers in our Ultimate Adventurers gallery.

The long, cold winter is winding down for most of us, but in Alaska, they are gearing up for one last hurrah. That’s right, the 86th Iditarod kicks off March 6. The dogsledding race goes from Anchorage to Nome, a distance of over 1,150 miles, passing through every kind terrain and weather that America’s 49th state has to offer—deep forests, desolate tundra, frozen rivers, mountain passes, windswept coastal plains, rain storms, snow storms, and the occasional gale-force wind. It may not be the last great race, as it is sometimes called, but it is certainly one of them.

“It's rich history is what makes it unique among dogsleding races,” says four-time Iditarod champ Lance Mackey. “The Iditarod Trail has been used as a route between villages for ages, for supplies and for travel during the Gold Rush days. When the diphtheria outbreak hit in 1925, the Iditarod Trail was used to save the lives of the people of Nome. You can’t help but think about this when you’re driving a team on this route.”

Alaska-Yukon Expedition: See Andrew Skurka's Story in National Geogarphic Magazine

Photograph by Michael Christopher Brown. See the story, photos, and map in the March issue of National Geographic Magazine.

About a year ago, Andrew Skurka embarked on the hardest expedition of his life—4,679 miles of skiing, hiking, and packrafting in wildest Alaska and the Yukon. You probably recall his thoughtful blog dispatches on this website. Though the 29 year old had logged some 25,000 miles on foot since 2002, this expedition challenged Skurka like nothing before it. We're pleased to announce that you can read about his experience in "Circling Alaska in 176 Days," by Dan Koeppel, in the March edition of National Geographic Magazine, on newsstands now. Here Skurka reflects on Alaska, on understanding the wilderness, and why even elite adventurers watch The Bachelor.

You have said this expedition was your hardest ever, by far. How do you feel about Alaska and the Yukon now?
Andrew Skurka: This trip put me on edge, from start to finish. There were very few times when I was not out of my comfort zone—the conditions were usually tough, there was always uncertainty about what was ahead, and the consequences of making a mistake could easily have been catastrophic. My earlier trips, I realize now, were always in a very controlled environment; this one was not. I’m strongly risk adverse, and I have wondered whether a thrill-seeker would have handled the stress and uncertainty better than I did. I think this may be true, but I also think that my cautiousness explains why I came out alive, and successful.

Do you think the difficulty of this expedition has changed or matured your connection to the outdoors?
AS: I certainly have a much better understanding of true wilderness, due in large part to the final third of the trip across Yukon’s Arctic and Alaska’s Brooks Range. This included the 657-mile, 24-day stretch without crossing a road or seeing another human. I was so unnerved by the first two-week stretch, between Dawson and Fort McPherson, that I called Roman Dial for assurance. “Roman, I’ve never felt so exposed or vulnerable before. I might even say that I was scared.” His response was perfect: “True wilderness is not a place where you will ever be comfortable. Just look at the animals that live out there—they are constantly looking over the shoulders, always on edge, just trying to make it to tomorrow. We’re no different than them.”

What's your normal, non-expedition life like? We know you are a huge fan of The Bachelor.
AS: I’m almost ashamed to admit that I’ve become a The Bachelor junkie—it’s my guilty pleasure on Monday nights, too entertaining to miss. Overall, I think my “civilian” life is pretty average. I spend most of my day working at my computer. In the afternoon I try to get out for a run. On the weekends I usually go skiing. After my trip was over I was intentionally unproductive through the New Year, so that I could recover and reenergize again. I preoccupied myself with training for a 50-mile ultra-marathon in California’s Marin Headlands in December. My finishing time of 8 hours 8 minutes was respectable in light of the course’s 22,000 feet of vertical gain and loss, but I definitely don’t have the speed that I used to.

What's next?
AS: I’m excited about this year. Over the last seven weeks I have been writing a book on backpacking gear and technique; it should be available in May or June. I’ll start a book about the Alaska-Yukon Expedition soon thereafter. Next week is the first of about 35 presentations and clinics I have scheduled through October. And this summer I’ll be guiding a few trips in the High Sierra and Alaska. I’d like to get out on a short personal trip too but I may have to wait until 2012. I may have a dream job, but I have economic realities like everybody else.

The Wild Within TV Host Steven Rinella on Adventuring to Eat (Video)

What if you could use your philosophy toward food to fuel a life of adventure? And we don't mean digging around in your veggie garden. How about hunting octopus off Maui, crabbing in Alaska, or even gathering snails in San Francisco's sprawling Golden Gate Park? For consummate outdoorsman Steven Rinella adventuring to eat is a way of life. The Brooklyn-based writer and his family only eat meat he has hunted himself. It's a noble idea—if you can't kill it, why should you be eating it? Rinella's culinary exploits take center stage in his new show The Wild Within (Travel Channel, Sundays at 9 p.m. EST). Whether you are ready to bowhunt for peacock bass in Guyana or track buffalo in the Badlands, it's pretty amazing just to be along for the ride. Here Rinella tells us about his greatest adventures, the gear he can't live without, and the benefits of truly "eating local." —Mary Anne Potts

Your eating philosophy—to only eat meat that you have hunted yourself—guarantees a lifestyle with adventures in the great outdoors. Is having amazing adventures big part of it for you?

Steven Rinella: Absolutely. I love wild game for the simple fact that I love to eat healthy, high-quality food. But there’s an added element that wild game carries with it: the adventures that went into harvesting and preparing it. I view my freezer as a repository of these memories, almost like a bank. I fill it up with adventures when I’m flush with them and then make small, one-pound withdrawals on a daily basis. It’s a wonderful way to live. And it’s a wonderful way to eat.

How do you pick your locations? By desire to experience a part of the world or by craving for a certain type of meat?

SR: When it comes to locations, there are almost too many considerations to list them all. Novelty is important to me, but then so are routine and tradition. We filmed an episode of The Wild Within in Guyana, a place where I’d never been before. One reason I was drawn to the region is that many of the Amerindians still fish with handmade bows and arrows on a daily basis; they feed their families with these weapons.

Andrew Skurka Answers Your Questions on Expedition Planning, Grizzlies, the Ladies, More

Here Andrew Skurka answers your questions about his 4,700-mile Alaska-Yukon Expedition.
See a photo gallery from the expedition and watch for the article in National Geographic Magazine in spring 2011.

1. What would you do without your mother? -- George Eichman III

My mother is certainly an integral and critical part of my trips, though my father should get some credit, too. My mom’s most functional role is serving as my logistics coordinator: She ships me food, supplies, and fresh gear; acts as a messenger for sponsors and media; and resolves things that I can’t from the field (e.g. purchasing my flight home). Over time I have learned how to reduce her workload. I do more things before I leave, e.g. box up my maildrops; I do more things from the field, e.g. blog; and I have plugged her into simple systems for tasks that need to get done, e.g. USPS home shipping. On short trips (less than a month), I can coordinate my own logistics. But on longer trips it’s definitely helpful to have someone else involved. My parents play two other important roles, besides coordinating logistics. First, they are my safety check. I call them every opportunity I get, in order to update them about where I am, where I’m going (if it’s different than the itinerary I left them), and when I’ll call next. Second, they serve as emotional outlet for me, since as a solo traveler I don’t have a regular opportunity (i.e. a travel partner) to talk through my stresses and feelings.

Alaska-Yukon Expedition: Three Ways the Expedition Changed Me

By Andrew Skurka, written from Boulder, Colorado, after finishing his 4,700-mile Alaska-Yukon Expedition

See a photo gallery from the expedition and watch for the article in National Geographic Magazine in spring 2011.

This past weekend, just two weeks after finishing my trip, I moved back to the exceptional city of Boulder, Colorado. My life does not appear to have changed much since I left seven months ago: I’m living in the same house, hanging out with the same friends, and running the same trails; I still don’t get recognized by employees or other customers at REI; and my net worth is still laughable because I still have the same “job.”

The Alaska-Yukon Expedition (AYE) was not my first time at the rodeo and I suspected beforehand that it probably wouldn’t be a game-changer in terms of my personality, goals, opportunities, or outlook on life. If, before this trip, I had been an overworked desk jockey going through a midlife crisis, or a disillusioned youth with overly romanticized ideas about Alaska, the potential for radical transformation would probably have been greater. However, just because the expedition may not have been life-altering does not mean that I haven’t changed—it just means that the changes are more evolutionary than revolutionary and/or that they are simply boosts to longer-term trends. This type of change might be better described as personal growth and development, which I’ve found is accelerated by the intentional stepping outside of my comfort zone, whereby I’m forced to adapt to new realities and to acquire new skills and knowledge.

Alaska-Yukon Expedition: A Few Words on Finishing - Chocolate, Bears, Feeling Humbled (Photo Gallery)

On Monday Andrew Skurka finished his epic Alaska-Yukon Expedition, covering 4,700+ miles and finishing a few weeks early, even! We'll hear more from him later in the week. Until then, here are some of his initial thoughts on finishing. Check out our photo gallery with highlights from the expedition.

THOUGHTS ON FOOD?

After six months of eating the same stuff, my favorite food items during this trip were anything that contained chocolate. My least favorite items were anything that didn’t contain chocolate. Next time I go on a long trip, I’m only bringing chocolate, at least for breakfast, snacks, and desert. The sesame sticks, Bear Valley bars, peanut butter-filled pretzels, and summer sausage will not find a way into my pack.

WHAT CAN YOU TELL US ABOUT BEARS?

Number of bears that I scared the crap out of, literally: 1. Quick story: It charged from across a braided river, I saw it last-minute and threw my trekking poles at it because I didn’t have time to reach for my bear spray, it was so rattled by the throwing and the yelling that it took a 90-degree turn and ran away. It pooped itself as it went.

CAN YOU SUM UP THIS TRIP IN ONE WORD?

The most appropriate one-word wrap-up of the expedition is...humbling.

Alaska-Yukon Expedition: Wilderness Redefined

Follow adventurer Andrew Skurka as he skis, hikes, and rafts 4,720 miles through eight national parks, two major mountain ranges, and some of North America's wildest rivers in Alaska and the Yukon from March to October. Read his blog updates here.


I grew up in a Masschusetts suburb where I found "wilderness" in abandoned gravel pits and marshy wetlands that had escaped development. Later trips to New Hampshire’s Presidential Range and Maine’s Mahoosuc Mountains made my childhood playgrounds seem tame, and through high school they set my standards for what constituted wilderness. But the goal posts continued to move in synch with the magnitude of my adventuring: North Carolina's Blue Ridge Mountains, Colorado's Indian Peaks, the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, and the Colorado Plateau all seemed as wild as it could get, until I found something that was wilder.

Alaska Heli-Skiing: EpicQuest's Vertical Guarantee

By Greer Schott

Heli-skiing in Alaska can be epic, but so can the weather—there’s always the risk of being grounded. When you’re making the trek all the way to Alaska, the last thing you want is your adventure vacation to turn into a sit-in-the-lodge vacation.

That’s where EpicQuest’s new Ultimate Flex Package comes in. It’s like travelers insurance for skiers, and when you tack it on to your Girdwood, Alaska, heli-trip for a few hundred extra bucks, you’ll get guaranteed snowcat or Alyeska Resort skiing if your helicopter can’t take off. If bad conditions don’t let up, just try again next time–you get credit towards skiing on a re-scheduled trip at a later, hopefully calmer, date. It’s based on vertical, so you’ll be sure to get your 50,000 feet, now or later.

“Nobody’s ever thought of it this way before," says Chris Owens, EpicQuest vice president of operations. "We had to scratch our heads and ask ‘Are we crazy? Is this really the right thing to do?’ And the answer is, it is the right thing to do. “ Even so, “This kind of flexibility is unheard of in Alaska's heli-ski industry.”

And when you’re paying a few grand for the experience already, the flexibility is definitely worth the extra dough.

Need to Know: $5,250 for a 5 day heli ski package with Ultimate Flex add-on, http://www.epicquest.com/trips/snow/alaska/girdwood/

Photograph courtesy of EpicQuest

Alaska-Yukon Expedition: 5 Tips For Hiking With Vicious Swarms of Mosquitos

Follow adventurer Andrew Skurka as he skis, hikes, and rafts 4,720 miles through eight national parks, two major mountain ranges, and some of North America's wildest rivers in Alaska and the Yukon from March to October. Read his blog updates here.

The section between Dawson City, YT, and Fort McPherson, NT, will be memorable for several things. It was the first of my huge pushes: 390 miles long with two weeks of food. This leg was also great training for the upcoming Brooks Range: conditions were cool and damp, my pack was heavy, the route was mountainous, and willow was the best material with which to make fire (no trees). But the most memorable part of this leg will probably be its living up to one of the names that was jokingly suggested for this expedition, “The Great Mosquito Loop.”

How bad were they? It’s all relative, of course, but they were certainly the thickest and most aggressive that I’ve ever experienced. For many consecutive days my ears were filled with a constant high-pitched whine, to the point where I took notice of the rare moments it was absent. I had a string of “worst bugs ever” situations--I thought my campsite had been bad until I dropped into a creek the following day, and I thought the creek was bad until I tried taking a break near a lake, etc. There were nights I stayed moving until 2 a.m., just so I didn’t have to stop and make camp. And I took many impractical routes (i.e. not the path of least resistance) just to minimize them.