Harookz Photoset

The Story

Words by Jordan Carlson, Photos by Jordan Carlson.

I am sitting at work facing quite a challenge. I am attempting to build a spreadsheet for my boss (boring) and at the same time I’m trying to look at the new “NSFW” pictures of Disney hottie Vanessa Hudgens topless. I am almost in tears because every time I’m about to open the picture, another person walks by my cubicle and forces me to wait. This is my version of “risk taking”. It’s at this moment that I get a call from friend and photographer Haruki “Harookz” Noguchi. He excitedly explains to me that he has been invited to participate in the Saint Deep Summer Photo Challenge and that he’d like me to assist. A little background info on the contest: Basically, six of the sport’s best photographers were invited to come out and pick riders of their choice and compete over a set number of days in Whistler in shooting, editing and putting together a slideshow that was to be presented to the judges on Wednesday, August 12 2009 at a presentation at the Fairmont.

Harookz said that he had chosen two friends of mine, Ross Measures and Geoff Gulevich, as well as current king of MTB Brandon Semenuk as his riders. Add my other friend, Derek Dix, as another assistant and you have the team. Harookz sells the idea to me by describing his vision: we are a crew of hungry, talented up-and-comers, the underdogs with far less experience than our competitors but with that much more to prove. This all immediately sounds more exciting than crunching numbers in Excel and I agree.

The contest started officially on the morning of Friday, Aug 7 but I was unable to make it up because of work. A few texts back and forth with the team and I learn that they are working hard to get the shots (they were up the mountain for 9 hours and took 2 laps all day). I get the sense that we might be working harder than some of the other teams. I won’t name names here but a certain pro apparently describes in disgust to Harookz that he’s “over it, the fucking bike park is Schley’s game”. I feel good knowing that I lack this snobbery and am prepared to work my ass off all weekend. I get off work Friday afternoon and have my middle finger erected proudly as I exit the office en route to Whistler.

I arrive Friday night at about 7:00 pm and the crew is still out. They don’t get back for another hour and I realize that the following day will kick my ass. When they do arrive, we head out for a quick meal at Earls and we all head back to go to bed. This is, of course, for the exception of Harookz who stays up for another 3 hours to slave over shots.

We all wake up at 7:30 am the next morning ready to go. Dix whips up some smoothies and Harookz has the eggs on lock. We mow the shit out of this breakfast and head to Tantalus Lodge where we meet Andrew Shandro who hooks us up with 2 pairs of Nike 6.0’s each. One has to love that mutual respect for the bros that only MTB can provide. We thank Shandro and slide our kicks on. We also run into Jordie Lunn who is looking lean as ever coming in from a jog.

We head to Semenuk’s crib so Harookz can get some shots of his gigantic collection of bikes. Upon arrival, I come to understand why Brandon is in the great shape that he is. His house basically sits on a cliff that is about 80 feet over the road and there is a LONNNNG set of stairs leading up to his front door. In fact, the stairs are so gnarly that his entire NWD section is just going to be him riding down them. Harookz is satisfied with the shots he gets and we head up the mountain.

We head straight up to Garbanzo and make our first stop at a long table jump that is covered in an epic, gloomy fog. We set up the lights and have the bros doing whips all over the place. We then go further down and Harookz gets some wide angle shots of the boys ripping a curvy section of trail. 

What happens next gave us all quite a scare. We were set up at large berm getting some POV (point of view) shots. We had Harookz’s camera set up on some sort of fancy bionic arm that extended out to the right from Ross’ fork. The idea was to get a shot of Ross’ bike and Brandon behind him ripping the berm. All was going well until on one of the goes when Ross was midway through and I heard Brandon shout “NOOOO”, we all then watch in shock as Harookz’s camera falls off the arm and just bounces off down the trail. We are all too frozen to move. It happens in total slow motion and not a single word gets uttered. The camera comes to a halt and Harookz slowly picks it up. Somehow, both the camera and lens suffer no damage. Unfortunately, the receiver cable is broken which means we are done with the POV shots for the weekend. This is actually a pretty substantial loss but is still quite a bit better than having the camera be damaged.

We collect our shit and head down farther to a weird quarter pipe wall ride thing in a large tunnel. We set up the lights and get to business. Brandon makes quick work of this shit and we take off for the ever elusive “D1”. We begin to set up at the large right-turning hip that sits halfway down the trail. Now, this is where I begin to understand the art of what Harookz does. We basically spend a full hour playing around with the positions of the lights. When most people look at a picture, they just see a nice shot but they don’t really see the act of hiking around the woods, lugging 6 bags of gear, taking a shot, being dissatisfied with it, and then doing that over and over until you get something that will work. I got a little bored in all of this and decided to smash a bulging pocket of sap on a tree with a rock. I do this with vigor and the sap just explodes into my eyes. It burns with a ferocious intensity as if to say “Listen fuckhead, go back to work.” I scrape the sticky goo out of my eyes with a new sense of admiration for female adult film stars and continue setting up. We finally come to a good set-up and the boys go at it. All three of them are laying down some unreal 1 foot downside table tops. Harookz has them going again and again until Ross produces the money shot. We run into one of our competitors and we sense the fear in his eyes when he comes to the realization that we’re not playing games.

We bang off a few more shots and head to lunch. A couple poutine’s and burgers later and we’re back up the hill. We head to Ninja Cougar for some more wide angle trail shots and then it’s off to Crank It Up. This is where things get zesty. We stop at a large and steep roller where it becomes our mission to get some shots of the boys scrubbing the shit out of it. We get back to setting up the lights and commenting on every rider that passes us. It is here that we coin the term “Hardtail Hotties” for any babe (we use this term with substantial flexibility) that is on an HT. Amped up on the visuals the hardtail hotties have provided, the guys get scrubbing. Brandon and Geoff both bring a unique style to this move and shit gets bananas. We bang off 3 separate angles and get stoked. This spot proves to be the most fruitful of the day. You will understand when you see the shots. We’re talking bikes being sideways and inches off the ground.

We take one more run and get some quickies and then we pack it in for the day. We get home at about 8:00 pm: A cool 12.5 hour day for us. Bagged, we hit the showers. We walk over to the Southside Diner and get some comfort food. I highly suggest you check out this place if you got the time. We shared a pitcher of the always delicious Whistler Export Lager and Harookz picked up some meatloaf, Gully kept it real with schnitzel, and I was getting loopy on a Mexican-inspired egg dish. With our stomachs full, we head back to the cabin and prepare to take our portrait shots. The riders all get some pretty dope shots for the intro to the slideshow and we head to bed feeling good about the day.

We wake up early again on Sunday, the final day of shooting. We are all tired and sore. We eat and sit around the living room discussing our game plan for the day. We decide that we will spend the morning and early afternoon getting some shots at Brandon’s dirt jumps and pump track, and then head up the peak at around 4:00 pm for an epic evening session.

We lug our shit up to Brandon’s jumps and upon arrival our moods all pick up. The place is fucking sick. The pump track is very well done and has a few different lines and the jump is short but insanely kicky. It features a tricky in-run consisting of a berm, a hip, a roller, a long and flat gap and then a final roller. We begin to set up lights and Brandon, Ross, and Geoff all begin manicuring the jump. Harookz becomes concerned with the branches that stand in the way of him and some great shots. This is where Dix really shines. He scoots up the first tree with the grace of a youthful black bear and kicks the shit out of the problematic branch until it tumbles down. The second tree, however, looks much tougher. The branch is about 15 feet up with no branches below to provide a ladder. Derek stands on a bike and then jumps to the tree. He literally is just hugging it, throwing his well-being to the wind as he slowly climbs up, enduring gnarly chafing in the process. He reaches the branch and tugs and tugs until it miraculously snaps and falls down. We cheer and the session begins. Ross and Brandon immediately begin to kill it. Geoff has never hit the jump and it takes him slightly longer to get used to the complicated set-up, but soon he finds his groove and is sending it. Brandon of course was the creator of this jump and it becomes very apparent that he knows how to work it. Harookz was getting stoked as shot after shot got banged off. Brandon pops a gigantic 360 table that basically rivals anything thrown on a BMX. He then hikes back up and throws one of the most insane 3 whips I’ve ever seen and stomps it to pedals. His body was fully parallel with the ground. I feel privileged for witnessing all of this. Harookz then bangs off a couple more of Geoff sending some inverted 1 foot downsides and we take to the pump track.

Here we get some of my personal favorites. Harookz uses his wide angle and we snap some shots of all 3 riders on the track at once. It takes some work but eventually we get the timing down and the results are fucking awesome. We then decide to take a POV without the use of our receiver. We literally just strapped the camera to Ross and put it on a 10 second timer. It took a lot of trial-and-error but eventually we got an awesome shot of Ross following Brandon into a berm. Everyone was feeling good about what went on and we did this for another hour or so before taking a break to get some sandwiches.

Now, it is unfortunate that at this point I had to head back down to the city as I had prior commitments. From what I hear, the guys headed up the mountain in hopes of securing one of the last chair rides up the Peak. This is a pretty big privilege as not too many people are just allowed up there. Apparently, the mountain decided to close the chairs somewhat early as the weather was taking a turn for the worst. Long story short; the guys missed it. They made do with what they had and took some shots on the way down. Harookz had Ross in the pitch black with only the quick flashes to guide him. Ross describes the experience to me as “ actually pretty fucking scary,” and I am quick to agree with him. The boys decide to call it quits on the riding and head back to the place.

The next day becomes all about editing and putting together the slideshow. I am told that Harookz woke up after 1 hour of sleep and went to work. I call him a few times throughout the day and can feel the stress coming through the phone into my cubicle. Apparently, there were quite a few problems with the burning process and the final copy was actually made on the way to drop it off the disc. Harookz does pull through though and all is well. He heads home to sleep for an indefinite period of time.

Wednesday comes quickly and we all find ourselves back in Whistler at the Fairmont Chateau for the big presentation. We sip free beers at the reception and then head into the conference room for the big show. The crowd consists of 1000 people and all of the big names of MTB are there. There are 6 photographers in the contest and all receive lots of applause. I won’t start reviewing the slide shows because that would take too long but Harookz ends up in 3rd. I maintain my opinion that he definitely deserved 2nd. He is disappointed but we tell him to remember that these things are subjective and that we had some serious competition. I think we all had a great time when it was all said and done.

As I wake in a fit of Advil deprived headaches and confusion I abruptly arise to a startling realization. It is Sunday, Sunday May 17, 2009 to be exact. A few weeks earlier I had organized an event for this day. An event I was surely not ready for in in my apparent hung over state. Memories soon flooded my clouded head and I realised this was no time for games. Scrambling for my clothes I race home and prepare for what could only be described as amazing.

The vintage bicycles of various shapes and sizes came accompanied with their owners favourite outfit for the days adventures ,It was to be our second annual booze cruise. We were to pedal our sorry bikes across the legendary north shore from Horseshoe Bay to deep cove. The words of local band Spirit of the West’s “The Crawl” acted as an inaccurate compass as we caroused local bars in search of the next pint. The previous year was an outstanding success and this year looked to be no different. The athletes of this annual ride, or the self proclaimed “Wolf pack,” are a rambunctious group of tight knit friends and mountain bike alumni. It didn’t matter your skill, experience, age, the wolf pack is all inclusive and will certainly leave no wolf behind.

12:00 had soon rolled by and the wolf pack was scattered and behind schedule, an inevitable reality with such a large group. By 1:00 the first bike pile of the day had amassed outside “The Troller Pub” In Horseshoe bay. Without a single pedal stroke the Pints had begun to flow. Tyler Quarles, A virgin to the ride, had soon raided The Troller’s supply of Hot Rod meat snacks in search for much needed protein. Many others chose to fill up on carbohydrates and after a round of tequila shots we took off.

Well, they did. My bike had already gotten a flat tire. Without touching the bike I was already in dire need of assistance. The wolf pack divided and me and Tyler headed to the nearest bicycle shop to get my tube fixed in time to meet the gang. As we began our pseudo pub crawl via car, the rest of the crew began the most gruelling stretch of the ride. The road from the Troller to the Square Rigger is a long sober stretch, filled with hills and sweat. My absence riddled my conscience of guilt, as I was truly missing the essence of the ride.

I had fixed my tire and begin to drink some casual beers in anticipation for the remaining group that was nowhere to be found. Eventually we united at the Square Rigger for stop #2 and formed one of the highest bike piles of the journey. Onlookers began to take photos from the sunny patio and we were greeted with open arms from the middle aged clientele. Beers began to flow and everything began to feel what could only be described as drunk. Sam Honcharuk, a veteran to the ride, soon found himself infatuated with deer hunter and began to hunt some serious game.

The stack was swiftly deconstructed and the cranks began to spin once again. The route between “the Rigger” and stop 3 was a rough last minute decision and we found ourselves swerving through innocent dog walkers and elderly couples. Honcharuk, with jager flowing through his veins, felt it was important to politely compliment local runners on their god given gifts. Stop 3 was debated and turned into a pit stop of the legendary Earls restaurant. Our friend was unable to attend the ride due to work and we felt it necessary to show him the great time we were currently having. The stop was short and acted to refuel the wolf pack. We left our friend bitter, confused and bound to the walls of Earls.

The Roads soon began to blur, routes became riskier and speed was not slowing down. The Pemberton was on the horizon. A sudden “BANG!” soon came from ahead, Ross had popped his tire. We carried onto the bar as Ross took control and found a bike shop. Jager shots capped off this stop and we grabbed off sales for the journey ahead. Gripping my tall boy of Budweiser in one hand, and my handlebar in the next I pedaled through the streets in a blurry phase of enjoyment.

Sailor Hagar’s came as soon as I had realized what in fact I was doing. Drinks filled my sweaty palms and the seaside atmosphere provided the rough, gritty, grime necessary for such a day. I had never stepped foot in this establishment and found enjoyment in its rough and tumble middle aged grime. The patio provided sunshine and recluse as the drunken haze set in and we were now officially hammered drunk.

I don’t quite remember leaving this stop but we soon found ourselves a mere two blocks away at “The Rusty Gull”, a local favourite for longshoreman and reggae buffs. The staff didn’t appreciate our service and we headed off. Mike Reid, local photographer, had borrowed my bmx and came to realise he had succumb to a flat tire. A fit of madness reign rampant on the streets of industrial North Vancouver. Threats of suicide and denounced friendships could be heard from blocks away as we attempted to soothe the enraged child that was Michael Reid. This was the last we would see of Mike as he had to now bus to the raven to meet us for the final stop.

The drunken route to the Lynnwood brought us through a hiking path where Jordan Carlson, star of NSX7, found it necessary to ride a rather intimidating slope. In his drunken state he conquered the hill but soon met his old friend mother earth as he was flung over the handlebars upon victory. We hiked through the prickle bushes and, after a McDonalds pit-stop, found the Lynnwood. We chose to buy off sale liquor and hike the large pile of the dirt in which sits beside this classy establishment. Known for prostitutes and truckers, we sat in a gaze of the legendary Lynnwood sign atop this large mound of dirt. The details of this stop are of little to no recollection as by this point I was truly blitzed.

I don’t remember riding my bike to the Maplewood, but I was in fact there. This was one of the least enthusiastic stops as most sought rest. The pitchers once again began to flow and the ride was back on track. I then received my second flat tire. I began barking at ross, blaming him for my bad luck with little reason. I continued riding with my flat and somehow in my drunken state made it to the raven.

The final stop came abruptly. There we were, we had made it. Drunk and in one piece. Reid had been waiting patiently and we were welcomed with frothy mugs of cold beer in which sent us into a state of delirium. Then myself and wolfpack veteran Jim Keenlyside kept the party alive and bought twelve more beers for us to drink into the abyss.

THE END