Jeremy Jones first spotted the Crazies on a summer drive years ago. Last year the Crazies had a record-breaking amount of snowfall, which was what made the whole expedition possible.

RELATED: Ode To Muir available for Rental and Digital Downloadįor Far Out, TGR knew we wanted to do a segment based here in the Rocky Mountains, but it couldn’t be wilderness because of permit limitations for filming. Cross those gates and you’d be trespassing. There’s technically more but they’re gated. Right now there are only two points of public entry that PLWA knows of. For those who attempt to venture out there, they do so at the potential risk of hefty fines. The politics surrounding the region have become so muddled that it’s nearly impossible to discern what the public can access and what is considered off limits. In order to build the track, the Federal government compensated landowners with parcels of land some have made their way back to the National Forest, but much of it is still privately owned. It’s easiest to think of the area as a convoluted checkerboard of private and public land, which was a byproduct of Northern Pacific Railroad. Established back in the late 1800s, the area is administered by two National Forest Districts: the Helena-Lewis and Clark National Forest and the Custer Gallatin National Forest. It’s a messy and complicated history, according to the Public Land/Water Access of Montana (PLWA). TGR Photo.ĭisputes between landowners and recreationists have plagued the area for years. One of the many fresh lines Mark Carter carved during their expedition. One of the most contested spots in Montana’s geography, these mountains are a pocket of public land immersed in a network of private property. Aside from inconsistent snow conditions, the Crazies are also so mysterious because they are so difficult to access. While technically part of the greater Rocky Mountains, they’re less of range and more of an island of mountains in a sea of farmland. The thing about the Crazy Mountains, which are simply referred to as the “Crazies”, is they’re a bit of an anomaly in the state’s southern central landscape. The view felt like a mirage the Crazies manifested out of nowhere and they were the only ones going to be riding there. She estimates that their crew could have traversed it in two days-Jones by himself could probably do it in a couple of hours, she thought. They were unusual, and what particularly struck Van Gyn was their size, which was most evident from the top of the range. She gawked at the Crazies, and it almost felt like whiplash. Then, while driving, they appeared out of nowhere. Not once had she spotted anything rideable. From there they convened at a farm to gather their belongings, yet Van Gyn couldn’t quite shake the lingering skepticism. Van Gyn eventually linked up with Carter and cinematographer Dan Gibeau, and followed them to Livingston, Montana. Robin with her tent at the team's basecamp in the Crazy Mountains.

She hails from the land of deep powder and pillow lines, and when she accepted an invitation to join Jeremy Jones, Mark Carter, and TGR’s production crew for a foot-powered expedition in the Montana wilderness she didn’t quite know what to expect. “Why not?” she tentatively asked and got the answer no snowboarder wanted to hear: those mountains don’t typically get much snow. They existed “but no one really goes there,” they told her. It wasn’t until she reconnected with a few friends at Spark R&D, the splitboard binding company in Bozeman, that someone had an idea of what she was referring to. RELATED: The Far Out Ones - Robin Van Gyn Van Gyn walked back to her car perplexed and continued with her drive. The clerk responded with bewilderment, no one seemed to know what she was talking about. Confused, she eventually pointed to the map underneath the clerk’s counter and inquired about the elusive range. She thought it was a fluke at first, but it kept recurring. Her destination, the Crazy Mountains, was nowhere to be found on any of the maps at the gas stations along the way. Driving from her home in British Columbia to Montana, Robin Van Gyn noticed something peculiar.

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