Jeff Galbraith is a longtime publisher, editor and writer from Bellingham, Washington. He is the principal behind The Flyfish Journal, The Ski Journal, The Snowboarder’s Journal (which used to be frequency), as well as many short-form documentaries and one-off media projects. Over the years, his work has appeared in Surfer, Powder, The Drake, Rolling Stone, Outside, Time, Men’s Journal and Snowboarder. He learned to fish on his great-grandfather’s split cane bamboo rod; a sea-run cutthroat was his first fly-caught fish. Jeff holds a degree in Communications and Journalism from Western Washington University, and is a graduate of the Stanford Professional Publishing Seminar.

Can you give us a quick bio–who the hell is Jeff Galbraith and why are we talking to him?

Sure, I’m Jeff Galbraith–the publisher of Funny Feelings LLC. We do three publications, websites, social media, AV and all of that good stuff. We publish The Flyfish Journal, The Ski Journal and The Snowboarder’s Journal. We started the Snowboarder’s Journal in 2001. My wife and I, Jessie Lu, our creative director, founded that at that time. I suppose I should back up and give you a full bio. I was born in Seattle, and my family is from the Northwest. My father’s side came out in the 1880s or something like that. And my great-grandfather and his father owned a timber company outside Mount Rainier–a mill logging company. My mom’s side were Jewish immigrants from the coast of Turkey, and they worked in the Pike Place Market during the 1920s. So, I’ve been here for a minute and was born in Seattle, growing up in Snohomish County, a little rural area outside of the city. We started fishing bass ponds, creeks for sea-run cutthroat, as well as salmon fishing with my grandfather and dad in the Puget Sound. Also, a lot of trout fishing. I did some fly fishing as a kid, my dad did some and my grandfather and my great-grandfather also fly fished. But probably more gear fishing up until I was a teenager. Once I started fly fishing, I didn’t really spin fish much after that.

I went to college at Western Washington University, which had one of the better journalism programs, and I knew I wanted to be a writer, journalist, or something in the editorial space. Snowboarding was kind of blowing up at that time–the late 80s, early 90s. I had grown up skiing, and my grandfather on my dad’s side was one of the founders and owners of Alpental Ski Area in Washington. So, I grew up on the slopes and started snowboarding in high school when everyone started seeing it. After I graduated from college, snowboarding was having its first boom period and I did an internship at Transworld Snowboarding–they ran Transworld Skateboarding and Transworld Snowboarding. I wrote for a number of action sports magazines, then got hired by Snowboarder magazine and moved down to their Surfer publications in Southern California–they ran Surfer magazine, Snowboarder magazine, Powder and Bike magazines, and I worked in those offices for about five years.

I went to the Olympics in Nagano, Japan, the first snowboarding Olympics, and got to do some coverage for Time magazine, Rolling Stone and some other people too. Then at some point, Surfer started getting leveraged and went through a bunch of buyouts and was just changing. I also was out of house at that point on retainer, and wanted to get back to the mountains, so I moved to Ketchum, Idaho in Sun Valley for about three or four years. One of the companies that had purchased Surfer wanted to do a journal type publication for snowboarding based off of what The Surfer’s Journal was doing and the success Steve Pezman was having with his new publication–he also was (previously) the editor at Surfer magazine. So, we both kind of came out of the same building and they contracted me to do it.

We developed edit plans and wire-framed the whole first issue–had it all done. And then Jessie Lu, my wife, and I were driving across Eastern Oregon and I got a call from my boss at the time, Steve Hawk, Tony Hawk’s brother, who said it wasn’t his call and that he was kind of bummed, but: “Hey, they’re not doing the quarterly.” I was bummed too, because we already developed the entire concept. After driving another 20 minutes, I turned to Jess and said, “Let’s do it.” We’ve got it all specced out, why wouldn’t we do it at this point? One of my lawyer buddies looked over my contracts and said, “There’s nothing holding you back. You’re free to do it.” So, we launched the first issue in January of 2001 at the trade show.

This was frequency, correct?

Yeah, it was called frequency, originally. Then we added the subtitle frequency: The Snowboarder’s Journal. At some point, we wanted people to be able to find us online, so we changed it to The Snowboarder’s Journal. Like I said, we launched at the trade show in January 2001, and we were getting ready to close the books for advertising on the second issue (which we were putting out in the fall), and I remember getting up to go have a phone meeting with Burton and Jess calls to me and says, “Oh, take a look. It’s crazy, but there are planes flying into buildings on the TV here…” Once we got through the September 11 attacks, all the attrition in print and got that issue out–that was also right at the peak of the first dot-com 1.0 craziness–I realized, “We can do this.” If we got through that, we can get through the rest of it.

What attracted you to The Surfer’s Journal and Alpinist print models–was it simply a deep appreciation for curation, where every decision matters? I remember when I started working for you guys, way back in the day, I was struck by the overall attention to detail–every word, cover photo, inline photo, caption and copy edit mattered. It feels like such a cliché, that “everything matters,” but with you guys, it was true, and that’s pretty hard to find today.

I was definitely motivated and inspired by what I saw Steve Pezman do at The Surfer’s Journal–his story was amazing. He was the publisher at Surfer and came in after John Severson, the founder and first editor, and maybe one other editor–during the golden era of skateboarding and global exploration of surfing in the 70s. He was buddies with Gerry Lopez and Miki Dora and people like that. But I guess he kind of saw the writing on the wall when things started to change both in publishing and at that publishing group. When he bolted to start the Journal, most of the company thought it was the most ridiculous model–that you could be heavily supported by subscribers and way less advertising. How much was it going to cost per issue to do that? I guess as part of his employment settlement, they gave him the entire subscription list for a one-time drop, which they blasted out for the first issue. They had no idea what was going to happen, there was no internet at that time–they just rolled it out there to everyone’s mailboxes and over the next six weeks people sent him $100,000.

It was probably like, “Okay, well, I guess we’re doing this.” Both Steve and Debbee, his wife, took a liking to our publication early on. They were really free and open with giving us advice and came up here and visited a couple times when we were up in the Northwest. Steve is older now, I haven’t talked to him for a while, but we definitely owe them some gratitude. Reaching back even further, I think he looked at Gray’s Sporting Journal as the idea of doing something perfect bound like the magazines in the 30s and 40s, even though they faded out as the newstands became the driver for everything. He loved that old look and feel.

In a way, you both seem to be fusing an old circa design type with “today’s” content–like Bud Lilly was doing back in the day with his Tackle Catalog and Handbook for Western Trout Fishing.

We definitely do a lot of research with different magazine design styles. I remember there was a publication, I’m not sure if it’s still out there, but it was fairly mind-blowing: The Double Gun Journal. It was for collectible shotguns–exclusively side-by-sides–like quarter-of-a-million-dollar Belgian guns with gold inlay and all these amazing hunting stories to go with the guns. Pieces about shooting band-tailed pigeons in the coastal forests of Oregon that none of the other hunting titles would touch. They had these ornate gold leaf and faux leather covers and I used to geek out that someone was actually making these things.

I grabbed an old quote from The Flyfish Journal 2001 media kit: “Since 2001, we at Funny Feelings LLC have both grown our ‘organic media farm’, and headed to the water at day’s end. In creating two of the world’s top sporting journals (frequency: The Snowboarder’s Journal and The Ski Journal), fly fishing has kept us motivated and meditated. From steelhead in the mainstems, to bass in the farm ponds, brookies in the high country, or an excursion to warmer climes–this world has drawn us in as strongly as the mountains. We are committed.”

One of the things that has always struck me about the Journal has been its ability to thread an incredibly narrow path through both high and low culture–high-end photography, design and writing, but the subject matter never had to feel stuffy, right? There could be stories about bass ponds, crappie, sunfish and catfish. I think there’s always been that tension for me, which I’ve loved–the art school aesthetic paired with subject matter that can live in the dirt. You guys were light years ahead of the “trash fish” culture.

Hopefully, all of our titles reflect that tension to a certain extent. I remember Pezman saying something similar at one point–he was trying to meld two approaches: both highbrow and lowbrow. I don’t know if I necessarily cultivated that from him, because I think it’s more a reflection of the culture itself–you see it when you’re really looking (winter cultures as well). You’ve got dudes in fly fishing that can fly their own G3s to the Bahamas to go hit Andros, and then you have guides that have sold their last three rods they own to get there, sleeping in a pup tent next to the guide shack. And they both have the same drive to be there. On one level, they’re both living vicariously through each other. We always look at the mag that way: the classic dirt head is sleeping in his truck by the side of the Big Hole and sees this amazing photo of some high-end trip to the Seychelles, but he still has the same vibe and level of stoke for the G3 dude, who is simultaneously seeing the photo of the guy sleeping in his truck by the side of the Big Hole, completely unencumbered with meetings or payments or whatever. They both are living through each other. It’s both aspects and everything in between that make up the culture. We want to reflect the whole thing.

The culture of fly fishing is the sport’s throughline–not money, gear, marketing or Zoom calls. You listen to those VC tech interviews and the guy is always talking about going back to his one-room efficiency at Stanford and sleeping on a futon– that’s when he was at his happiest, right?

Well, think about it, man. What do those G3 guys do with their money? They go to Alaska and spend $15,000 for the week, just so they don’t have to talk on Zoom, right? They’d rather swat away insects the size of Canadian honkers than deal with another week of Zoom.

And the guy sleeping in the dirt? He wants the plane, but doesn’t realize how good he really has it.

They both are envisioning the access…

And both audiences are whom we’re speaking to, because the more affluent readers with disposable income love the quality, but if you do it well and make it compelling enough, especially if it’s a physical, tangible object that somebody wants to keep, collect, or pass along to somebody else, then even the guy bartending at the casino bar in Ketchum will shell out his last 50 bucks to drop into what we’re doing.

Skiing and snowboarding have also wrestled with these divisions beneath the larger “snow” tent–were there lessons learned before you dove into the fly fishing category?

I believe Flyfish was 2009, and when we did the ski title, I always figured in the back of my mind that fishing was a possibility. As far as snow, I’ve always done both (skiing and snowboarding) and never quit skiing–maybe for a little while. But for the most part, even when snowboarding was first coming up, there was a little anti-skiing attitude and vice versa. There were a lot of mountains where you couldn’t snowboard, but I always thought skiing was still cool and loved it. I used to ski race as a kid, so, honestly, I always thought the whole thing was more a function of the media than the hardcore skiers and snowboarders at Mount Baker, Snowbird or Stowe. Those guys were always hanging out together–to me, it was never antagonistic; it was a more friendly, giving-each-other-shit kind of thing.

At some point, I also realized, okay–we’ve got K2, Rossignol and SMITH Optics, and all these people are in winter sports, across the board. And there wasn’t a ski publication like us out there, and there clearly was a demand for that curated kind of thing. So, we dropped into that (The Ski Journal). K2 was our first advertiser, and we were really trying to figure out how to get their attention. We had a great relationship already through snowboarding, but at that time, there were a lot of players in ski media and K2 was the biggest brand. Everyone’s beating them up for money, and I was like, how can we do this in a way that’s going to get them to take us seriously, but do it in a way that’s unique and fun, because all they do are crazy promos and events. They were on Vashon Island at the time, which is a ferry service island off West Seattle–kind of a pain to get there (a couple hour drive, then a ferry).

I did a little research and realized all those islands have air strips, and we all were thinking, well, we don’t want to spend all Friday afternoon traveling, especially coming back up because it was the Ski To Sea Memorial weekend. Ski To Sea is this 50-year-old multi-stage race up here that they’ve been doing forever: somebody skis down Mount Baker and hands off to a runner, who hands off to a cyclist, who hands off to somebody that canoes the length of the Nooksack River, who hands off to somebody that sea kayaks across the bay. They’ve changed the events over the years, but the town really grows that weekend–an additional 30,000 people. It’s a big deal. And nobody wanted to go down to K2 and hump it back.

So, I reached out to my buddy who was a pilot and instructor at the time and said, “What’s it going to cost for us to fly down there for the day?” and it wasn’t bad. I’m sure it’s three times that now, but it was $400 or something for a couple hours, and I figured that’s money well spent. That’ll get their attention. They’ll think it’s fun. So, I called my buddy Jeff Mechura, who was the VP at the time, and said, “We’re coming down on Friday, but I’m going to need you to pick us up.” And he was kind of pissed because he thought, “What? You’re too cheap to bring the car on the ferry?” I said, “No, dude. We’re coming in on the air strip.” He says, “Oh, that’s cool. We’ll see you out there.” About three hours before we’re supposed to fly there, my pilot buddy calls me up and says, “It’s a grass strip, man. It’s the only grass municipal strip in the state. You can’t make me land there.” And it was a little tricky, too–a short strip and at a bit of an incline with trees at the end. He says, “I can’t believe you’re making me do this.” I’m like, “Dude, I’ve landed on skis in Alaska and skidded across glaciers. I’m not worried about it, man. Don’t be a wuss. Let’s go.” He finally gave in and said, “Yeah, no, we got this.” When we landed the K2 guys thought it was awesome. They picked us up. We went straight to the Vashon Tavern on a Friday after they were getting off work and we drank Rainiers and they signed the contract and we got back in the plane and flew back up. I said to myself, it’s on. We’re doing this.

When you were in Sun Valley did you also see the cultural crossover between skiing and fly fishing?

Definitely, all my snowboarder friends in Sun Valley were the guys I fished with for the most part, and they loved fishing. I lived walking distance from Warm Springs, the little stream that flowed through town that everybody thought was the cute kids creek, so no one really fished it, which meant there were a lot of really nice fish in there. I could walk 50 yards to the creek, I could walk to the golf course and I could walk to the chairlifts. That was my “guy in a van” moment.

I’m trying to remember the whole chain (of events) at that time. I hadn’t even started frequency yet. I was still working for Snowbooarder and other magazines. I wrote some stuff for Powder and some others. I even wrote my first fly-fishing piece for The Drake–Tom Bie ran a piece and it must’ve been their second issue. The first Drake I saw, I said, “Yes, this is sick.” I give Tom a lot of credit for what he built. I’m sure he got his hackles up a bit at first, because I would too, but once we got to know each other, he’s always been cool to us, and I have a great deal of respect for what they do.

I wrote a piece for him about fishing (in town) in Ketchum. It was Rob Elam who turned me on to The Drake, a friend from Seattle who was a designer that my wife knew from doing stuff for Smith. He was a big telemark skier and fly fisherman and also way into bull trout. I think I may have written two pieces for them in total. I can’t remember. But I did keep it in my head that a journal fishing title would be a cool thing to do.

Later, after we moved up here to Bellingham, I was still fishing, mostly in small trout streams in the North Cascades and bass ponds and stuff, and I got to be friends with Justin and (now) Kate Crump. They worked at the local fly shop in town, H&H. Those guys were starting to shoot some video and were snowboarders and saw what we were doing. They said, “You’ve got to do a fly fish title. Everyone will eat up what you’re doing.” But I didn’t really know anybody in the industry like I did on the winter side. That seemed a little daunting, but they were really gung-ho and helpful.

Didn’t you meet Deeter at some point, after we had published Castwork?

I think the connection was Kate and Justin, and they introduced us to Romano. I think that’s right. And then Tim introduced us to Kirk. He was in Seattle and wanted to check out what we were doing. He actually came out and it was a Monday Night Football Game in December and it snowed–the Seahawks beat the Broncos. It doesn’t snow all that much up here, but it snowed a bunch and it was crappy driving, but he still made it up here in all that snow and brought me a pair of duck hunting waders from Cabelas I was stoked on, just to be cool. He gave us lots of inspiration and said, “You guys can totally do this and you should do this…”

I remember Deeter came back from that trip and said, “I met a guy on the West Coast and we need to talk to him–get Romano and you and let’s talk about helping him make a magazine.” I said, “Well, we should all talk, but we’re not doing the 10 greatest flies for whatever river…”

But Kirk was super helpful. He came in, honestly, to give us the faith and introduce us to people like Chris Santella, Monte Burke, Dylan Tomine, Greg Keeler, yourself.

I also remember there was a really interesting talent crossover, because you guys had connections to all these writers and photographers that were outside of the fly-fishing world. I was rereading the Malibu Creek piece (“The Ghosts of Malibu Creek,” Volume 2, Issue 1) by Ben Marcus last week and had forgotten what an incredible writer he was. You could do a whole podcast just on Ben. Yvon Chouinard’s daughter Claire even wrote for us, but we could never get Yvon.

I doubt he’d remember, but I actually had a brief interaction with him outside of Ketchum years before I did the title. Patagonia was having a sales meeting somewhere down by Silver Creek and they were up over Trail Creek Pass on these streams that are just gorgeous–it’s a special place and he was out there by himself and we were also fishing. We had been upstream of him on this little trib with a bunch of beaver complexes, and we see this guy slurping water below a big beaver complex. And my buddy says, “Should we tell him that he may want to think about that?” We just thought it was some random tourist, so my buddy says, “Hey, I just want to let you know there’s a shitton of beaver lodges up there and it may not be the best drinking water.”

And he turns around and says, “I’ve had giardia before. I’m fine. I know what I’m doing.” We said, “All right, man. Good luck.” And I remember telling that story to Dylan Tomine years later. He wasn’t an asshole or anything–he was just a little crusty. Dylan said, “Oh, that’s him. That’s spot on. He loves to go sleep in the dirtiest part of the dirt, drink directly out of the stream, because he’s convinced it fortifies him.” And you know what? He’s in his 80s and still fishing. It probably has fortified him.

End of the day, Patagonia has been one of our strongest partners over the years, which has made it a lot easier for us to keep conservation as a high priority. It can be so easy to get completely focused on the fishing and the targeting of the fish and the angst and the FOMO surrounding the act of the fishing that you ignore the reality of needing the fish there in the first place. Ideally, some solitude and land access goes along with that and having Patagonia as one of our main partners has helped drive that.

Simms, Sage/RIO, SA, Howler Brothers, YETI and plenty of others have also been incredible supporters and great allies. I’m just appreciative of everyone that has helped to support us over the years.

All of these outdoor communities, but specifically fly fishing, have so many people that care. It’s a very committed group despite all the in-fighting and differences. Fly fishing does strike me as a lot like surfing–it’s just very territorial. But the one thing everyone can agree on is defending the resources. That’s the whole thing. You have to take care of the water. And you have to take care of the land around the water.

I think part of the value we also bring is being a conservator of the culture–putting Joan Wulff or Flip Pallot on the cover, so the sport’s face of Mount Rushmore continues to be there. Probably one of the most rewarding things I’ve done recently was writing a review for Riverhorse Nakadate’s new book that’s coming out called Water Lines. It’s really really good, as you would expect, and maybe half the pieces were originally from The Flyfish Journal. To be associated with him from the beginning and having brought so many of those stories to light was a really rewarding feeling–to know we had a hand in that.

Playing for TFFJ is a big lift. The music analogy must be like playing CBGBs. You haven’t made it (yet), but it’s one of those first passport stamps you want. If you’re a fly-fishing writer, you need to be in the Journal, right? And it’s hard. It should be hard. You should get rejected a few times, or a bunch of times, before you get in.

I think we have a really good stable of writers now, too. We’re headed toward the 18th volume. Is that crazy or what?

That is crazy.

174 is our next issue.

How many editors have you had? (I also asked AI for a surprise.)

Okay. Let me think. You were the first. You did the first issue, right?

I did the first two or three years. I can’t remember.

Deeter was the shaman figure lingering around and he said I should pass it off to you. He said, “You should have this guy do the heavy lifting–he can do it.” So, you came on. Romano was the photo editor. He stayed on for a little longer. I think at some point you said, “This is a lot of work, man.” And I said, “It’s definitely a lot of work and not a lot of money, exactly as I told you.” But it wasn’t like you were quitting in a raging ball of fury.

We don’t need any of that.

Then Ben Romans came on after that for another two years. Then Steve Duda did it for a while. Duda did seven or eight volumes, something like that. And he did a good job. We had different personalities and clashed at times over things, but overall, I’m appreciative of what he did. I like him as a person and he did good work for sure. Then Jason Rolfe after that. And Jason’s been here by far the longest–he’s done 10 volumes now or something I think. It’s all been kind of a blur. I think it’s four editors. What did AI say?

Here’s what the AI compute kicked out:

The Chief Editorial Lineage

Andrew Steketee (2009 – 2011). Role: Founding Managing Editor / Editorial Overseer. Impact: Steketee laid the groundwork for the publication, editing the monumental Volume 1, Issue 1. He established the magazine’s initial focus on long-form, literary storytelling and counter-culture angling art before eventually moving on to edit MidCurrent and later co-founding Flylab.

Ben Romans (2011 – 2013). The Mass-Media Heavyweight: While Romans acted as a critical “crew member” and backend editorial contributor for The Flyfish Journal’s early years, his massive accomplishments lie in commanding the mastheads of traditional, legacy outdoor publications.

Steve Duda (c. 2013 – 2020). Role: Editor / Editor-in-Chief. Impact: Duda is widely credited with cementing The Flyfish Journal’s signature “soulful, punk-rock, non-traditional” identity. His seven-year tenure elevated the magazine into a highly respected cultural fixture. He later transitioned to Patagonia to manage content for Fish Tales and authored the book River Songs.

Jason Rolfe (2019 – Present). The Tailgate Podcast. Role: Editor / Editor-in-Chief. Impact: Taking over right around the magazine’s 10th anniversary, Rolfe stepped in to guide the Journal into its second decade. He continues to maintain its standard for unexpected, deeply human angling narratives and anchors the brand’s community presence through its podcast.

That’s pretty good, actually.

Not bad, although the machines always sound as if they’re about to burst into uncontrollable gonzo journalism. Speaking of gonzo journalism, is Ben Marcus still working for the Journal? I remember his pieces would come in at 10,000 words and we’d have to get them down to 3,000.

He is a force of nature. I probably still get ten emails a week from him.

When we’d fight about cutting the 7,000 words out, the emails themselves would be 4,000 words.

And he’d be writing in his van outside of a gas station in Malibu until his batteries would run out. That would be the only thing that would shut him off, you know? He’s still Ben and still doing the same thing. He’s pretty rad and so funny. He’ll get out to people, especially famous individuals or actors because he lives in Malibu, and ask them crazy questions. He’ll see them in town and hunt down their general emails–it’s crazy the number of replies and conversations he engages in, with people you’d think would never bother to respond.

Occasionally, he’ll loop me into this madness with a BCC, and I’ll be having conversations with AC Green, Al Cowlings or Anthony Scaramucci–Al Cowlings was the guy who drove the Ford Bronco with O. J. Simpson and also played for the San Francisco 49ers. Scaramucci was Trump’s first Communications Director and lasted eleven days or something, and I’ve had this ongoing conversation with “The Mooch” now for the last 10 years. At some point we gotta go hang out on Long Island or get steaks in Manhattan.

Can you talk a little bit about technology–how you think about your media integrations and what the future looks like with AI. Will you continue to hold your guns on a paper magazine in a fully digital world, which I think is awesome.

Well, I’m not afraid of technology and I’m not deterred by it at all. We’re fully engaged in our social media sites. The AV is a bigger and bigger part of what we do every day. The digital issues are as significant as our print issues. So, the print has become the fulcrum point of the brand and people see that–it’s the face of what we do in a lot of ways, but increasingly, as clichéd as it sounds, we’re a content company. So, the same vibe that we reflect in the publications, we should be reflecting in our films and social media content. And we’re doing more and more of that kind of thing.

We just did a collab with Arc’teryx this last winter called Women of Winter–a whole installation from all these women skiers and photographers in the heart of Whistler. We also did a gallery showing in Mammoth, and it was super successful. It was cool to do something that was different from what we’ve historically done–both digital, an event and brick and mortar. I see us doing more and more of that kind of thing, while still keeping the publications at the same level of quality and commitment. The journals should anchor the brand forever.

In terms of the amount of attention to detail you were talking about earlier–I’d like to think we put that into every aspect of our decision making about the brands. The amount of ridiculous back and forth our staff takes to consider our next winter hat, as just one example. We’re about ready to have a MMA match over a trucker versus an unstructured hat–but, you know, we give a shit, and that’s reflective of the people.

As far as the tech goes, Jessie Lu gets the credit for how it all looks, and now she oversees our art director, Jess Gallagher. Jessie Lu keeps everything consistent with the content, so our design and products look cohesive. Jess Gallagher now does the day-to-day hands-on design. But I have to give a ton of credit to the ladies that are involved, starting with Jessie–she just walked us through a whole web rebuild. (We moved our whole merch side over to Shopify and we’re still getting through it.)

But the tech is all part of it. It’s not like we could produce this beautiful print publication and do it in a vacuum. We have to be engaged in social media and some AV to back it up. It just seems ludicrous that you wouldn’t do that now, you know? And I like it. I dig making the films. I like what Jason is doing with the Sidechannels podcast. We had David James Duncan on a podcast last season. How cool is that?

David James Duncan The Flyfish Journal Episode

In a way, you just have to stop fighting the technology and lean into it. You might not like it all, but you find the mediums you think are cool and that get you excited. You also don’t have to do everything at once.

Exactly. We probably should put some effort into Tik Tok, but, no pun intended, we’ve got other fish to fry. So, it’s endless–the tech. That’s one thing I’ve really learned over the last 20 years. The tech is constantly changing. Don’t get too emotionally wrapped up in Napster or MySpace, or even Instagram or TikTok, because it’s going to be replaced. In five years it will all change.

What’s on the Journal horizon for the next 10 years?

Going fishing with my kid more, ideally.

Copi is the other person–I haven’t even talked about him really (or Colin Wiseman too), but he really deserves a phenomenal amount of credit for where we’re at in our success. We’ve only had two photo editors as you know. He’s a sage and a fly-fishing monk. Copi’s belongings consist of some rods, two Toyota trucks (about the same vintage) and a bunch of waders and some more fly rods. On the occasions I get to fish with him, if he hasn’t stuck something in the first ten minutes, I figure there’s nothing in that body of water.

The snowboard side has been pretty stable the whole time because Colin’s been there–he’s our content director for all three, and snowboarding is his provenance. Colin does an amazing job of keeping the content kosher across the board.

Matt Wibby is another crew member, our sales and marketing director who’s been with us forever and kept it fresh the whole time. Whether it’s been print ads, short films, podcast sponsorships, etc., Matt has stepped up and kept the dollars flowing. Especially as we’ve started doing more films.

And I want to broaden what we’re doing in film. I’d like to go a little deeper, and make some more meaningful, richer projects. And also lean into our partnerships: Simms, Patagonia and Sage. Maybe we can do some events.

The next stage for me is also bringing in the next generation–hand some things off to some younger blood and kids. That goes a long way with me.

We just brought on this younger kid, Spencer, as our AV–he’s in his early 20s. He’s super fired up. Wants to drive his beat up Toyota to Mexico and catch roosterfish and everything in between. Increasingly, I want to turn it over to the next generation for them to reinvent it for themselves.

Keep the dream going. Keep pushing it down the road.

I appreciate you doing this with me, Andrew. Just send it over and I’ll add some f-bombs and send it back.