Words and Captions Alex Yoder Photos Wade Dunstan S 054 cotland’s historical blanket has but one thread of romance woven into its complicated pattern. It’s not a must-visit location for the avid snow-sports enthusiast. There’s no developed scene, just scat-tered and tattered locals with passionate apprecia-tion for the place they call home. They’ve been shaped by the wind and rain as much as the mountains. through dinner. Instead, I let the water god rock me to sleep. When I woke up, we were minutes from England’s Port of Tyne, just an hour south of the Scottish border. I had devised a loose plan for the first two days of the trip: Go to Aviemore, one of the few proper ski towns in the Scottish Highlands, try to get info about snow conditions, maybe ride the resort, and take it from there. By the time we met Lauren MacCallum, we’d spent a couple of days riding low-tide groomers and day two was in its waning hours. Lauren is a Canada-born, Scotland-raised and Scotland proud 20-something snowboarder (among her other talents). She approached our group in a pub called the Old Bridge Inn. She recognized Marie and unabashedly declared her to be one of her heroes. Marie blushed. Then, without a sliver of hesitation, she asked, “What the fuck are you doing in Scotland?” It was a fair question, one that became nearly as common as the gusts of wind throughout the trip. I explained that we were interest-ed in Scotland’s right to roam law and our only plans were to meet people, learn and snowboard. Lauren was so genuine, intelligent and passionate that it felt like I got to know her well after 10 minutes of conversation. She quickly outlined for us the nuts and bolts of Scot-land’s history and the right to roam. How do I know this? It started when I bought a Volkswagen camper van that happened to be parked in Europe. It was too good to pass up. Turbo diesel, 4x4, big enough to live in with a friend or two, but small enough to park anywhere. It was love at first click. My optimism for having the dream machine shipped across the Atlantic was led astray down a few roads we don’t have time to discuss at the moment. So leaving it across the pond had me poised for a whole slew of new adventures. It took almost a decade of dreaming for me to go snow-boarding in Japan, just shy of that to finally get heli runs in Alaska. I never dreamed of riding in Scotland, perhaps the least romantic snow-boarding destination in the world. But with a mobile home across the pond, why not? The journey to Scotland began in Amsterdam, where I picked up my creative compatriots Wade Dunstan and David Cleeland along with Marie France-Roy. From there, we took a massive overnight ferry to Newcastle, UK. The three of them could have just as easily flown to Edinburgh. I could have ferried the van over solo, but selfishly I com-manded their company. They thanked me by having a waitress bring me a frosty Smirnoff Ice to enjoy in one throat-searing chug just as the ship left the harbor. Old Poseidon must have been angry that night because it takes a lot to get a 200-foot boat rocking. I didn’t make it THE SNOWBOARDER’S JOURNAL
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