The first time I encountered snowboarding was watching a TV show highlighting a "crazy new sport" emerging out of Vermont. Watching these riders (the early Burton team) carve and surf down the mountain was pure bliss, I was fascinated and instantly hooked.

As a determined but shy kid, I spent weeks calling every ski shop in the region, relentlessly searching for a snowboard I could finally see in person. After countless calls, I finally found one of the few snowboards in the entire NJ / NYC metro area—a wooden Burton Performer Elite. It glistened a fire-engine red, reeked of epoxy and laminates, and was the coolest thing my 12-year-old eyes had ever seen. I combined some money I saved with every cent of Christmas money from my relatives to buy the board—it was finally mine.

Alone, at the top of a hill that gave me battle scars, snow falling, mom’s voice echoing across the neighborhood -

"Shawn, get home - it's dark out!", she yelled.
"Just one last run!", I replied.

Determined to squeeze in one last try, it was this last run when something clicked - instead of straight-lining like I had for weeks, for the first time I managed to link several consecutive turns and effortlessly surfed and floated down the entire powder covered hill.

Standing proudly at the bottom, a wooden dynamo strapped to my feet, emotions and adrenaline pumping. It was an eye-opening experience illuminated by the glow of a ski resort where snowboarders were not yet welcomed. As if the snow, the board, and my surroundings had woven into a tapestry of rebellion and liberation. A strange blend of adrenaline, accomplishment, joy, and a touch of sadness overcame me. Snowboarding was so new that my friends and family dismissed my new obsession as just a passing fad, unable to understand or share in my excitement. They were all wrong - even at 12 years old I knew snowboarding was going to be big.

The accomplishment itself was overshadowed by a feeling of wonder and a strange sense of belonging. That night, after that run, I had found a passion that would shape my life in ways I couldn’t yet understand.

Now, 40 years later, I reflect on what an important life-shaping moment it was standing at the bottom of that hill in 1984. Just an overjoyed kid, grinning ear-to-ear, hopeful but unaware of just how much bliss snowboarding and the mountains were about to bring. 

To this day, at the end of every day on the mountain, I put superstition aside and always call "last run" as a quiet tribute to that night in 1984.

In the winter of 1985, snowboarding was still in its infancy and I found myself among a unique group of 5 or 6 snowboarders. Hidden Valley ski resort in New Jersey began allowing snowboarders and we were a small group that took to the hill on a nightly basis. We weren't all friends at first, but but we shared a common bond and level of respect - this was unchartered territory for all of us.

The slopes at Hidden Valley were steep and icy. A blue, windswept ice that mid-Atlantic skiers know all to well. Quite often, we would go home smelling like a mix of diesel fuel, motor oil, and hydraulic fluid. The resort did it's best, but our beloved slopes were often the victim of mechanical failures which included leaks from snowmaking guns, snowcats, and even chairlifts. Adversity aside, we had a place to ride, fun times to be had, and Hidden Valley is where the sport of snowboarding got its start in New Jersey.

In the early winter of 1986, our small group of riders would hike up and ride the snowmaking piles at Vernon Valley Great Gorge before the mountain opened for the season. At the time, this mountain didn't allow snowboarding yet, but we befriended mountain staff and did our best to convince them that the sport was safe and could coexist. Soon after, Vernon Valley Great Gorge (now Mountain Creek) opened it's lifts to snowboarding. This was the biggest resort in the area - we were in!

Those early days were fun, but brutal. Vernon Valley was the perfect storm; truly a melting pot of New Jersey's finest. Skier vs snowboarder, elite vs ruffian, old vs new, Taylor Ham vs. Pork Roll... Vernon Valley had it all. Recent documentaries about Action Park only touched the surface of the hijinx and shenanigans that took place at this renegade resort. The documentaries were entertaining, but a deeper dive would have revealed even more incredible characters, plots, and storylines.

1986 - 1990. There were only a handful of snowboarders at the time at Vernon Valley. We were outnumbered, ski racers hated us, there was a love/hate relationship with mountain staff, and 'Joeys' from NYC sporting rental skis, jeans (often Cavaricci's), and NY Jets and Giants Starter jackets, tried to fight us on a daily basis. As outcast teenagers, we we stood our ground, always had fun, and remained thankful that the resort allowed snowboarding.

Like many kids in North Jersey, Vernon Valley became our dysfunctional home away from home. Since the resort had night skiing, many local parents (and schools) would drop off their kids for the night. Without exaggeration, imagine nearly 1,000 kids showing up every Thursday and Friday night at a ski resort with very little supervision. Kids came equipped with angst, their skis, and some with a bottle of their parents borrowed alcohol. To make matters more interesting, most of the staff running the chairlifts, lodge, and cafeteria were also high schoolers. The lunatics were truly running the asylum, but I couldn't ask for a more fun and interesting childhood.

We were the original group of snowboarders in New Jersey and played a small, but integral part of the evolution of snowboarding on the east coast. The Vernon Valley area produced many great snowboarders, most notably 2002 Olympic Silver Medalist, Danny Kass.

Watching early snowboard videos like The Western Front (1989) was an inspiration to leave the Garden State for bigger and snowier pastures. It seemed many videos at the time were filmed at Squaw Valley and watching pro snowboarders like Terry Kidwell, Shaun Palmer, and Damian Sanders shred massive cliffs and cornices was a part of the sport we would never experience on the east coast. Those guys just looked like they were having a blast and took snowboarding to a whole new level - getting to Squaw became my new obsession.

During that period, I had been competing on East Coast for the a few years with solid results in regional freestyle and alpine racing competitions. At age 17, with just few hundred dollars to my name, I was ready for new experiences and headed west to test my mettle.

The transition from riding East Coast hills to West Coast mountains was quicker than expected and I was fortunate to pick-up additional sponsors almost immediately. I netted a spot on the Cross M Team, and eventually earned a very small salary. With a place to stay in Truckee, free snowboard equipment, and complimentary season passes to almost every resort in Tahoe, mountain life was good.

My success as a pro was limited, I accrued a handful of top-3 results in California and a top-10 at the National Championships, but I knew early on that life experience and spending time in the mountains of Tahoe was my true reward.