Backcountry Access: The Origins
The origin of Backcountry Access isn’t exactly the story of Apple’s Steve Jobs, Amazon’s Jeff Bezos, or Nike’s Phil Knight. The niche is tiny, and the numbers are minute. But to those who focus on the skiing lifestyle over fame or fortune, the story is inspiring. Born from two desperate “unemployables,” BCA evolved to become a critical player in the development of backcountry skiing, freeride culture, and snow safety-- categories that have exploded into the mainstream this decade. The success of BCA is a testament to the belief that if you do what you love and commit to it for long enough, success will eventually follow. Of course, you can’t ignore the importance of good luck and good timing.
In this five-part series, we’ll uncover the origins of BCA, how our products were conceived, the role we’ve played in our exploding industry, and where the path has led since our acquisition in 2013. Where will it go from here? Who knows? And we’re not going to tip our hand. But there’s lots of inspiration to be found in our past and in our present.
Part 1: Unemployables Unite
The founding partners of BCA met in the most unlikely of places: a campsite on Colorado’s Arkansas River, just downstream from Rapid #5. In fact, the origins of BCA all trace back more closely to whitewater kayaking than they do to backcountry skiing. The original founders, inventors, athletes, and opinion leaders were all somehow connected to kayaking, several of whom were instructors at Boulder Outdoor Center.
I met co-founder Bruce “Bruno” McGowan on his 30th birthday in May 1993 through fellow BOC kayak instructor Eugene “Euge” Buchanan.
“Yo, Edge, come on up to the Ark for the weekend. It’s my buddy Bruno’s birthday,” Euge lobbied. “We’re hitting the Numbers [a stretch of Class 3-4 whitewater], then celebrating his 30th at the Rock Bottom,” Denver’s hot microbrewery at the time. So I went, and we hit it off.
Bruno had just failed miserably to open a casino in Black Hawk, CO, where gambling had recently been legalized. Maybe it was due to the esoteric name, but the Cracker Factory was out of business within 24 hours of opening.
“I have just recently concluded the most horrendous experience of my life,” he lamented during toasts at the Rock Bottom. “I am basically unemployable at this point, so if anyone has any new business ideas, I’m all ears.”
I walked up to him afterward. “You know what? I’m also unemployable. Maybe we should do something together.” A few months later he was on my doorstep with a crude prototype of the Alpine Trekker. A few months after that, we were launching the product at the 1994 Outdoor Retailer Summer Market in Reno--not in our own booth, but at the Paddler Magazine booth, where Euge was the editor and had saved us some space at his table.