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Intro

 

By Cira Riedel

 

 

 

We have never met Jeff ourselves but several sources recommended his work. And we came across his name so often during our quest for talented authors that we knew he had to take part in the project.
Jeff is the editor of Frequency The Snowboarder’s Journal and The Ski Journal. He lives in Bellingham, Washington, with his wife Jessie Lu, who is art director of the magazine. He has been snowboarding on Mount Baker since 1986, which brought him into contact with a unique group of influential riders which had been involved since the very beginning of snowboarding. He was editor of Snowboarder Magazine for several years before moving to Sun Valley, Idaho in order to concentrate on writing. He then returned to Washington, where he founded Frequency in 2001. His writing has already been published in Time, Rolling Stone, Men’s Journal, Surfer and Powder, but he claims that he would rather go fly fishing, the old cowboy.
His text is a reflection on the current state of affairs rather than a personal fantasy and conveys a feeling of a lack of freedom.

 

www.frequencysnowboarding.com <http://www.frqncy.com/>
www.theskijournal.com <http://www.theskijournal.com/>

 

www.jeffgalbraithphotography.ca

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The Flight of the Honeybee or the Hills have Eyes

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By Jeff Galbraith

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Photography: Roger Baumer

Rider: Simon Abt

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For years I have spent time watching the mountains. Now, I sense they may be watching me.

We have the fortune of being located a short drive from the snowboard Mecca of Mt. Baker, WA, which is located a few miles below the Canadian border. As a teenager, I began making trips nearly every weekend to the ski area to snowboard and be free. It was a heady time, when Craig Kelly, Mike Ranquet and others were teenagers as well, and we knew we were building something significant and with total latitude. Like Dylan said, we had no direction home.

We were already home.

There was always something tremendously liberating about turning those last few corners and driving, seemingly, into the sky, surrounded by 10,000 ft. of volcanic peaks, mountain goats, wildflowers and, in the winter, lots and lots of snow. There was also always something very private, very quiet about arriving there. Like a room you had to yourself as a child or a moment of complete solitude in an ancient chapel.

Much of this, unfortunately now, has been destroyed.

With the events of 9/11 and more importantly, the hyper-paranoid reaction to it, for the mountains, the wildflowers, the mountain goats and especially the U.S. citizens who collectively own the National Forests, it is becoming more and more challenging to find the freedom and liberation we were able to experience as kids snowboarding at Mt. Baker.

Two summers ago, a good friend of mine and his girlfriend were up fishing a creek in our mountains. After a while, he noticed his dog was barking and agitated and so poked his head into the bushes to investigate. They were more than ten miles from the nearest paved road, on public land, fishing with proper licenses. When he finally cleared a line of sight through the huckleberries and fir boughs, what he saw was a very nervous and frantic young man pointing a handgun, first at his dog and then at him, screaming, “Get your dog under control; get control of your animal!”

The man holding the gun was a uniformed Homeland Security officer. He appeared to be about 21 years old.

My friend, being an old-school redneck, simply scratched his chin and said calmly, “Son, you better put that gun down. We all got guns up here and you are going to get yourself shot.” This seemed to put things in an entirely different light and soon the young gunman had holstered his weapon, stopped shaking and effectively admitted that he had no reason to bother them.

My friend, his girlfriend and their dog have quit fishing this creek.

The over-exuberant, over-armed and under-experienced Homeland Security officers are only part of the issue: There are also all the electronic eyes.

A few winters ago, an unmanned drone crashed on the side of Mt. Baker for all to witness, until the authorities came and dragged it away. There are more cameras, vibration sensors, and infrared surveillance devices than one can imagine up there now, tracking individuals as they try to “escape” to the woods.

And then there are the bees. They’re going away.

Another good friend of mine who lives up near Mt. Baker, a grizzled Czech immigrant who raises his own bees and makes plum whiskey with the honey, is befuddled. His bees, like countless colonies across North America and Europe, are disappearing, dying off from parasites and virus that never previously affected them.

A German group did a study linking the microwaves from cell towers to an increase in bee disorientation, but it was quickly attacked and discredited as the reason for the Colony Collapse Disorder (CCD). Perhaps the cell towers are not responsible. However, I have to think the combined microwaves from cell, satellite, and military surveillance equipment have an aggregate effect. My friend, the beekeeper, shares my opinion.

We know that various governments in the world have actively experimented with satellite-based radio and microwave technology in altering both regional climates and human behavior to a degree of “success” (for example, in well-documented programs like HAARP and ELF, under secretive US defense initiatives). And it’s hard to believe that when young government agents are paranoid enough to draw a gun on a barking dog ten miles deep in the middle of the woods that the collective government would hesitate to utilize any and every “control” option they have.

After we decided to call our publication frequency: The Snowboarder’s Journal, I began to take a personal interest in frequencies in general. I had a fascinating conversation with a blind man, who also took a keen interest in frequencies, as he had learned to substitute sound for light waves. I read up on fractals and quantum physics. I began to learn of some of the darker applications of frequencies in the world today. And the more I learned, the more cameras, cell and satellite towers I noticed around me. The more I felt the mountains watching me back.

I still fish the creeks and drive to the mountains and I don’t really worry too much about what anyone may see, hear, or record. I’m a bit of a redneck myself, and often have my shotgun in the truck from grouse hunting and don’t think much of it. I can’t, and I wouldn’t change the way I do things anymore. I still love being alone on a dirt road with a Willie Nelson song on the radio and the sun beating down on the dust hanging in the air behind me and Willie. And the smell of the stream. And feeling like the friends I’ve lost to the mountains are somehow with me again.

And I sense the teenagers today, the next generation of Craig Kellys and Mike Ranquets aren’t losing too much sleep over any of this. They are too busy being free and being kids, as they should.

But my hope is this: That like Kerouac believed, the mountains are sentient beings whose language we simply have yet to learn. And like some early “Star Trek” episode, one of these days, a big piece of Mt. Baker granite is going to open its mouth and say something like, “Jesus H. Christ! What’s with all the cell towers and the satellite towers and clear cuts and mind-control microwave beams? It’s getting too damn hot! And when the hell can I get my honeybees back?”

And more importantly, I wonder, what will we say?

The mountains are watching. They are watching us watch ourselves.

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Martin (McFly) Winkler

By Corinne Tâche- Berther

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We heard him for the first time around four years ago in a suite at the Hotel Julier Palace in Silvaplana during the Engadin Snow Contest. His voice seemed to emanate from every pore of his body. Without any amplification system he filled the room, transporting us all into a trance-like state, this fabulous performer named Martin Winkler!
And not only is this Austrian a friendly guy and a heroic skier, no, he also has the inner strength required for great achievements. We asked the organisers of Hike & Ride to allow him to play on the famous closing evening at the Mascotte club and shortly afterwards he was invited by Chris Bachmann and Suddenrush to their legendary summer barbecue. His talent was also recognised by the organisers of Xtreme Verbier, who allowed him to appear with his skiing friends Luis and Oska. He still plays at home and has just composed two songs (ours is the second). We sincerely hope that he will be discovered one day and that others outside our scene will also get to enjoy his talent.
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Lyrics:

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„Only Hils Can See“ by Martin ‘McFly’ Winkler
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Nose on the window, 12 years old
Over the pass a place of my own
Forgetting all what I’ve been told
Made me see where I was going.
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There I noticed we are out of reach
Not in a cave, not on a leash
Now they place for no one to see
Eyes right up my favourite tree.
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But I am still me
Free to be
Only hills can see
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Who do you think you are?
What do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
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A house of cards with a wide open eye
Going down by the stroke of a fly.
When they see its all been based on a lie.
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The greatest teacher once clearly said
To love your next like you do yourself
What is left of those few words
Ivory eyes on the top of the shelf
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Towers fall and ships go down
All behind the face of a clown
Performing on the biggest stage
Queuing up for the homemade cage

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But I am still me
Free to be
Only hills can see
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Who do you think you are?
What do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
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A house of cards with a wide open eye
Going down by the stroke of a fly.
When they see its all been based on a lie.
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Will go by
Like a star
In the sky
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Who do you think you are?
What do you think you are?
Who do you think you are?
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A house of cards with a wide open eye
Going down by the stroke of a fly.
When they see its all been based on a lie.
When they see its all been based on a lie.
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