“When you’d go to any open breaking practice, there was a common practice, a ritual, if you will, that you would go around the whole room and say, ‘what’s up’ to everybody. And it’s frickin’ annoying when the practice is big. You’re running around the room and giving everybody pounds,” he laughs. “But I think that served a very important role. Even if somebody is brand-spanking new, or a parent that’s just watching their kid, you would go by and say, ‘What’s up?’ And when you left, you would go say, ‘take care’ or ‘peace’ or whatever. And from an inclusivity standpoint, to me, that’s the most important thing.”

“For Tsuo, a proud Asian American, welcoming hesitant newcomers and underrepresented groups into the backcountry—and snowboarding in general—is at the core of Weston’s mission”

Snowboarding, on the other hand, has historically greeted newcomers with cold shoulders instead of pounds. Sure, we’ll smile as newbies swipe plastic on new gear, but then we’ll chuckle as they learn how to use it–maybe snap a photo, send it to Jerry of the Day. And that smile disappears as soon as fresh faces ask for tips or, heaven forbid, follow a boot pack to a powder stash.

For Tsuo, a proud Asian American, welcoming hesitant newcomers and underrepresented groups into the backcountry—and snowboarding in general—is at the core of Weston’s mission. “People will always say, ‘You got to earn your respect’ or, ‘You got to pay your dues’ or whatever. But that’s a completely different mentality than making somebody feel welcome and that they belong. And sometimes, it requires the existing people in that community just to reach out and give somebody a pound. And then you’ve instantly broken down that barrier.”

In pursuit of a more welcoming and diverse snowboard community, Weston doesn’t subscribe to the typical snowboard marketing model—there’s no traditional team of marquee pros who promote the brand in contests and video parts. Instead, Weston supports the efforts of over 175 ambassadors who share Tsuo’s vision for building community, spreading backcountry safety, and fostering inclusivity.

Longtime backcountry users can also get possessive of public lands and powder, as if years of patronage to a certain mountain range gives way to ownership. Some see powder as a scarce resource, one they’re entitled to, and believe secret stashes are meant to be hoarded instead of shared, rivaling surfers in terms of hostility. Tsuo’s response to such arguments is pure gold: “Just go hike 50 feet further—you’ve already hiked 1,500 feet to get here. You can’t go another 50 feet over there? You hear people say, ‘Oh my gosh, there’s tracks in this place. Somebody knows about our stash!’ It’s like, ‘Dude, there’s a guidebook!’”

“Respectfully recommending newcomers engage in safe practices, learn to use gear in-bounds, hire guides, and take avalanche safety courses is one thing—cutting them down is another”

Should BIPOC skiers and riders hurdle these initial cold shoulders and barriers to entry, sign up for avalanche classes, and funnel energy into backcountry pursuits, the battle is far from over. “I was the only BIPOC in my Avy 1 and most of my backcountry tours my first year,” Yong recounts. “A lot of the times I didn’t feel a part of the group, I didn’t feel seen or heard at all.”

“I felt like I was outcasted and not welcome,” Yong says, recalling a painful memory–being left out of photos on a hut trip. “My first year, I thought it wasn’t for me. I wanted to give it up. But I love touring and I love how meditative it is, so it kept pushing me forward.”

“After the first year, it made me really want to provide a community where people didn’t need to feel the way I did,” she says. “A backcountry community with other individuals that looked like me, or individuals that look like my friend group in the city—because in the mountains, it’s a little different than the city. That’s what really made me want to create Backcountry Together—to fill in and make a community that I wanted to be a part of.”

As Yong wraps up Backcountry Together’s first full winter, it’s clear there’s a demand for her vision. The organization will host a total of 11 events this season, and “our community has been growing,” says Yong. “A lot of people have been volunteering to help out because they see the beauty of our community.”

“A backcountry community with other individuals that looked like me, or individuals that look like my friend group in the city—because in the mountains, it’s a little different than the city”

An informal meet-up at Winter Park was a highlight of the year for Yong, she says. “We had hot pot and Korean barbeque tailgating, and it was just normal—everyone’s like ‘I’ll bring this’ and ‘I’ll bring that!’”

“Some people went uphilling that day, and we did resort, too, and it was a nice fusion of both to introduce resort riders to the concept of Backcountry Together,” says Yong. “It was a great community event.”

That sense of community proliferates beyond the events themselves—touring partnerships blossom, and participants even link up to take avalanche safety courses together, so they don’t have to go through the same feelings of discomfort Yong did in her first year.

“We even got a group of four people taking an AIARE Avy 1 course together. I think it’s amazing to have a safe space and have other BIPOCs take an AIARE course together, especially at Bluebird—pretty excited about what we’ve done this year already.”

Vernan Kee and Wood For Life

In addition to supporting an ever-expanding team of ambassadors, consistent through Tsuo’s tenure at Weston has been an ethos of giving back. For years, Weston has donated a significant portion of proceeds from certain boards to causes near and dear to the snowboard community. For instance, proceeds from this year’s Eclipse collaboration with artist Brooklyn Bell funds AIARE avalanche education scholarships. For every Backwoods sold—a perennial favorite of Whitelines testers—Weston and topsheet artist John Fellows plant 10 trees.

“For years, Weston has donated a significant portion of proceeds from certain boards to causes near and dear to the snowboard community”

Next year, to celebrate a decade of board design, Weston is debuting its “Mission Series,” which continues the tradition of giving back by collaborating with artists on graphics that support outdoor-oriented non-profits. The launch is punctuated by a collaboration with Diné Navajo graphic virtuoso Vernan Kee, whose iconic artwork will be featured on the popular Ridgeline and Ridgeline split.

The collaboration is buzz-worthy for a few reasons. Firstly, because Kee himself, an ex-vanlifer who settled down on the Navajo reservation in New Mexico to give back to his community, is easy to love.

“Me and my partner, we decided to invest into a van and built it out. We only had two dogs at that time,” says Kee. “And we were travelling all over the reservation, visiting all these sites that we used to go to as kids and just spending time on our own land, exploring. But with that, we started seeing all this stuff going on: poverty, trash being dumped everywhere, meth, and alcohol. So we tried to help out and volunteered as much as we could. But the thing that really got us really volunteering was dog rescue.”

“These strays out here, every day these dogs are being dumped, there are dogs that are starving, there are dogs in the mountains,” he says. “Long story short, I have nine dogs now.” And the van? It’s been converted to a dog rescue mobile.

When Kee’s not on the trails or rescuing dogs on the reservation, he’s a graphic designer for Native Outdoors, a for-profit collective of Indigenous designers, athletes, business owners, and storytellers. He got connected to Weston through his work for Native Outdoors and social media, he says, and was excited about the Colorado snowboard brand’s artist initiatives, which would allow him to funnel proceeds from his board designs to a cause of his choice. “We talked a lot. It was a year-long process just to get that design like on the board,” he remembers.

The First Step? A Fist Bump

Snowboarding has been historically homogenous, rife with cliques and barriers to entry that make it difficult for underrepresented groups to find their footing. Led by Tsuo and propelled by changemakers like Yong and Kee, Weston’s leading the charge for inclusivity in snowboarding. In the process, the brand’s drummed up a cult-like following and become the second biggest splitboard outfitter in the world–clearly, a community-oriented, soulful approach resonates with snowboarders, from first-timers to grizzled vets.

“Everybody should be involved equally and able to enjoy it as much as the next person”

Tsuo, never one to shy away from speaking his mind, is tired of seeing empty efforts from fellow snowboard brands. While there have undoubtedly been increased conversations around inclusivity in the snowboarding industry, he says, it feels like snowboard brand marketing departments are putting signs out front that say “Everybody’s welcome here,” but when you walk inside, “it’s the same old, same old.”

“What I would rather do is take down the sign and just train everybody to make sure that you give people a pound when they walk in through that door,” he says. After all, it’s the people who make powder days special, and actions speak louder than words.

As for the rest of us? Members of the snowboard community who want to be a part of the solution rather than a part of the problem? Dani Reyes-Acosta, a Weston ambassador from Southwestern Colorado, offers a simple piece of actionable advice: “Just keep asking new friends to go ride.”