The backflip mute was, of course, a stunt popularized by JP. The trick is steeped in historical context; performing a backflip mute is as much about the pure fun factor as it is a nod to the origins of freeskiing. Organizing a contest in honor of the maneuver was a natural choice for the Armada faction that organized the happenings.
Once again, we went “all in” to kick things off. O’Connell said to the group, “We’re going to make this a yearly occurrence for as long as I live,” and the statement was met with an assortment of “Hell yeahs!” and “Fuck yeahs!”
We must have seen upwards of 200 backflips during the hour-long stretch. And among ’em, more than a few were “first-evers.” Kim Boberg, Phil Casabon, Sven Kueenle, Jacob Wester and a couple of The Bunch members (just to name a few) incorporated the mute grab into their backflips for the first time.
We also witnessed Åre, Sweden’s own Joel Anderson attempt a number of backflips whilst shredding a green, shiny GT Racer. He endured slam after slam before finally stomping the trick, drawing raucous applause. This too was a special tribute to JP; many skiers will remember the pioneer’s segment from Poor Boyz Productions’ Propaganda (2001), in which he performs a handful of stunts on a GT Racer, including a backflip. I myself attribute Propaganda with largely defining the direction of my life—I chose skiing first and foremost. And a certain French Canadian, brim-beanie-wearing lad had more than a little something to do with it.
We saw tandem backflips. We saw 10+ skiers attack the jump in train formation. We saw jean jackets. We saw neon jackets. We enjoyed Tuborg [beer] after Tuborg. We high fived. We cheered. Some shed tears. ‘Twas an incredible afternoon. It was relaxed, fun, fitting.
To close the session, the group gathered inside of Lappis, where a heap of scrumptious lasagna was consumed.
Rik’s Grandson
Come Wednesday, without an official event on the roster, the group split up and conquered. The options for skiing in this place are seemingly limitless. There are currently six helicopters (by my count) stationed near the hotel—they come and go all day long, carrying skiers to and fro. Snowmobiles are aplenty, and are also a popular means of accessing the surrounding terrain. Then, of course, there’s the ski touring. Many Scandinavians refer to Riksgränsen (referred to regularly on social media this week as Rik’s Grandson) as an AT Mecca. Still, despite the hype, only a select-few make their way to this place each year; its remote location likely discourages most from pulling the proverbial trigger on a visit. A quick note to folks who fall into that category: you’re blowing it!
Phil Casabon, who’d been skiing here for two weeks leading up to the event, told me plainly, “There’s shit [read: features] for days… so many wind lips.” He recounted designating a certain peak as a destination, but never making it there, because he found three worthy features along the way—too good to pass up.
Casabon plans to stay here with a small crew through the end of May, posted up in a couple of tents on the hillside, out of eye-sight and ear-shot. Still, the zone is only a short march away from the base of the chairlift.
This camp was a haven, of sorts, so they were gracious to invite any and all wanderers to the site this week. We frequented the spot between the hours of 2:00 and 5:00 a.m. after the Grönan bar, situated inside of the hotel, closed down for the night. Bonfire-side chats, fireworks and abundant beers were the norm in this place. In the daytime, Phil and co. constructed jibs in the area and proceeded to slay said jibs on skis. A jump was constructed for Joel and his GT Racer, as well. In addition to stomping multiple backflips, he bagged a 360, an impressive Superman stunt and a front flip, too.
Up the hill a short ways from Casabon’s campsite was another tent—this one quite large. It was a temporary home for The Bunch, the ever-popular Swedish skiing clan. Magnus Granér, one of the group’s most prominent names—after securing the title of Level 1 Superunknown champ in 2013—said to me about Riks, “It’s the land of features all over.”
Along with Clay Bryant, 32, who’d ventured to Riks from Breckenridge, CO, I had the privilege of spending a few hours inside The Bunch residence on this Wednesday afternoon, May 6. The tent was nestled up against an old, ruined stone wall, providing shelter from the elements. An assortment of pots, pans and plastic bins littered the campsite, along with dozens of skis. A smaller tent was reserved solely for smelly ski boots. And a pink, menacing, silver-backed stuffed monkey hung from a flag pole as a warning to all visitors: you’re entering strange turf.
Pulling back the two felt flaps that marked the entrance, we ducked under, exiting the blindingly bright landscape and entering a nearly pitch black space within. I felt as if I’d stepped into another world all-together. Life certainly moves at a different pace with these young men.
My eyes soon adjusted, and I took in the scene: A single steel support rose from the center of the space—a wood stove lay at its base. At the top of this pole was a circular steel ring, which served as an anchor for a make-shift drying rack. Chains extended downwards and outwards from the mount, fastened to wooden supports, comparable to broom handles. Damp clothes, socks and ski goggles hung from this chandelier-esque contraption, absorbing the heat given off by the fire burning below. Fifteen or so sleeping spots formed a ring around the tent’s center, and I believe we were 11 persons at the time of our visit. Sleeping pads and bedding were (in most cases) elevated off of the somewhat-wet floor by way of wood pallets. And flaps in the felt ceiling could be opened to allow more light.
I roasted hot dogs above the stove, while Granér heated a pot of soup. Others rolled joints. The quiet strumming of a guitar and the chatter of conversation were omnipresent. The boys showed Clay and I a rough-cut of their new “Breckenridge edit” (dropping soon), and we saw photographs documenting their recent trip to the Norwegian coastline—absolutely stunning.
We spoke about Riksgränsen. The Bunch regard this place with an air of humility. There was a clear satisfaction in their voices and on their faces when speaking of the endless possibilities for skiing; there was probably nowhere they’d rather be. Tobias Sedlacek explained how the masses who reside in the southern portion of Sweden prefer to stay close to home, when it comes to skiing outings. “Fine by me,” he said, content to keep the place all to himself and his pals.
I inquired about when they might pack up the tent and move on: “Whenever we decide we’re ready to go,” said Pär “Peyben” Hägglund. This was skiing culture at its finest, I thought to myself. The visit with these vagabonds was certainly a highlight of my trip.
Power to the People
It is, after all, the energy emitted by The Bunch that is easy to tap into. And this week, The Bunch were just a few of the many jubilant souls who celebrated the life of JP.
The week culminated with an awards banquet / 90s party on the evening of May 6; together, we celebrated the individuals who elevated the event, either through skiing talent, positive spirit or (in most cases) both. Tyler Hamlet of Poor Boyz Productions (PBP) arranged a screening of PBP’s earliest flicks, of which JP was a star. The group sat spellbound through Degenerates, 13, The Game and Propaganda, prior to the presentation of the awards.
Eventually, the trophies were presented in the following order:
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Best Quarterpipe Hit – Phil Casabon
Best Quarterpipe Straight Air – Fabien Maierhofer
Best Backflip Mute – Clay Bryant
Best Photo – Hjalmar Andersson
Best Hair – Linus Lagnestig
Most Fun Award – The Bunch
Send It Award – Joel Andersson
Each of the recipients stood before the group and shared a few words about JP, plus their experiences of the week. And each winner was more than deserving.
Casabon’s quarterpipe performance was nothing short of amazing. Then, he’s humble as can be when you give him kudos.
Maierhofer donned the Salomon Ten-Eighty, and sent ‘er sky high, over, and over, and over again—it was simply a pleasure to watch.
Clay Bryant told me post-awards, earning the trophy was the best thing that had happened to him in his life. He was overcome with emotion to the point that he was unable to complete sentences, and resorted instead to hilarious hand gestures. He’d traveled 4,447 miles to honor JP. Amid the competition, he said to me, “When I heard there was a backflip mute contest, that alone was worth traveling all this way.” That passion shone in his skiing, and he was rewarded in kind by his peers.
Andersson, a local, captured stunning images throughout the week. His photograph of Sebastian Karlsson airing our of the QP into an orange sky was deemed “best in show” by Rönnbäck and O’Connell.
Lagnestig busted out the mohawk — a perfect tribute to JP.
The Bunch were The Bunch. ‘Nuff said.
And Joel Andersson’s GT Racer antics were a standout highlight of the week. Huge props to the man!
With the ceremony said and done, we took on the Grönan bar—again. We’d sent it relatively deep the night prior amid the 80th birthday celebration of a local celebrity named Ulf, otherwise known as Mr. Ski.
I shared a drink (or ten) with Bruce Brodie, 35, a video game developer from Northumberland, UK. A novice skier, he was a fan of JP; he was so thrilled to be in attendance, you couldn’t have wiped the smile from the man’s face no matter how hard you tried. On May 5, he went ski touring for the first time. On May 7, he skied switch for the first time—I saw him bust through the doors of the hotel after having accomplished the feat, and he planted himself in a seat beside me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen someone beaming in a similar fashion.
He explained to me, “I got back into the lift line [after my first switch skiing foray], and the lift attended asked if I was OK. And I was like, ‘Yeah, of course, why?’”
The liftie replied, “Well, because I heard you screaming the entire way down the mountain.”
I wasn’t lying when I mentioned tangible passion.
There were guys on-site like Conor Waller, 21—a Baltimore native who now attends school in Trondheim, Norway. An avid skier and fan of JP, he made the trek north to join in on the fun, and was ecstatic to meet some of his favorite pros.
“Is that Jacob Wester?” he asked me under his breath, shortly after we arrived at the hotel on the first day.
“Sure is!” I couldn’t help but smile—excitement levels were maxing out all around me. I was also pleased to hear Conor’s entire family subscribed to FREESKIER magazine—mom and dad included. Keep up the good work, Wallers!
Wester was but one of many pros on-site. Not yet mentioned in this article, we saw names like Harlaut, Regnier, Leboe…
And I was so pleased to meet Ingrid Sirois, JP’s girlfriend and the mother of JP’s son, Léo. Her strength and charisma became quickly apparent, and we were blessed to share her company. In addition to enjoying the various events, calling them a success, and noting, “See you next year,” Ingrid also exclaimed that she experienced the best ski tour of her life.
Ingrid’s honorary guide on said tour was none other than Sandra Fransson, sister of the late Andreas. It was an absolute honor to meet Sandra this week, as well. She’s an avid artist and adventurer in her own right. It was fitting that Sandra and Ingrid should share a photo together in front of the hotel—their own recreation of the photograph previously referenced.
I was thrilled to spend time with so many kind folks—too many to recount here. I’ll remember fondly the discussions we shared over beers in the hotel lobby; we talked about travel, we shared skiing tales, we spoke of JP. These chats often lasted until 3:00 or 4:00 a.m. It’s certainly easy to lose track of time when darkness never falls.
When I began writing, I mentioned that our crew was dispersing. Having read this far, I hope you’ll appreciate that the word “family” would have been more fitting. For those who experienced the inaugural JP Memorial, that’s just a plain reality—we’re family now. And I can only hope the family grows next May. I’ll be back for round two, that’s for damn sure.
I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the folks at Armada, who went to great lengths in order to see this event through to fruition. Thanks also to Oakley and to Giro for their generous support of The JP Memorial. Thank you, Ingrid, and thank you, Sandra for sharing in the experience—you are so strong. Thank you to the hotel staff for putting up with our mötley crew. Thank you to the resort staff—especially those who helped arrange photoshoots after hours, and to those who spent many hours digging and shaping the features. Thanks to all those who traveled all the way up to Riks to partake; I’m always humbled to spend time with individuals as kind, fun and venturesome as yourselves.
And thanks to those who continue to honor JP’s legacy—ski hard, ski often, have fun and take the best care of the people around you, loved ones and strangers alike.
All in for JP!
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