Hey guys, stoked you’re here!
I’m Bru Stars, founder of Nomad Arsenal, but more importantly, I’m a dad, a husband, and someone who’s always been obsessed with the mountains. My son, Mateo, is 12 and living for motocross—he’s a Supercross dreamer. My wife, Jourdan (or Jourdie), is the real MVP. She owns a cosmetics line, kills it on social media, is an online consultant, and on top of all that, she’s an incredible singer and musician and now the best step mom to my beautiful son. They’re my whole world.
Nomad Arsenal wasn’t something I set out to create—it just kind of happened. Humble beginnings are how this really started. I had the opportunity to live in the Squamish Valley with my buddy Mad Mike. We ended up at this French guy’s property. Life was interesting—super raw and real energy in the valley. Times were different; my life was just filled with basic needs. I loved it—simple yet satisfying—and I was so thankful to be alive in the moment. I’m a huge believer in the universe, and up until that point, I had been manifesting being a part of the pro snowboard community, though I had no idea how it was going to happen.
As the season went on, with winter approaching, I was excited to see how the universe would align with my dreams and intentions. I had lost everything, which is why I ended up living in the valley in a trailer in the first place. Frozen waterlines in winter, barely able to flush the toilet, rats in the roof, shopping at the dollar store, and cleaning up in the Squamish River. My two-year-old son was living with me at the time, and I kept thinking, “How can I get us out of this situation, build myself up, and become a part of this community?” The universe had placed me exactly where I needed to be.
A few months later, I discovered that my landlord—the French guy who loved building everything by hand—was the godfather of snowboarding, Martin Gallant. I was absolutely blown away. It felt like the universe was finally on my side, and everything started coming together. Winter showed her face early, and my energy levels just peaked. Knowing who Martin was, I started praying for the chance to ride with him.
Fast forward to January 8, 2016—Martin banged on my door at 6 AM, yelling, “Hey Bru, get up! It’s a bluebird day—30 cm of fresh snow. Let’s go!”
From that moment on, I’ve spent every winter in the Brandywine backcountry with some of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Martin taught me so much—how to slow down, be in the moment, feel the mountains, observe, think, and be thankful. I was beyond blessed for the opportunity, but I was still confused about how I would become a part of the community. I kept believing I would find my way.
I got to witness firsthand what the snowboard community was throwing down in the backcountry—it was insane. One day, I met DCP on the backside of Fee. He was throwing it down off this cornice—spinning, buttering off the top, and dropping this epic spot. I couldn’t believe what I was watching. He looked at me and said, “Bru, you should drop this thing.”
In my head, I was like, “No way am I jumping off that.” I didn’t want to get in the way. He was filming with Tifo, and I didn’t want to embarrass myself or get wrecked because I didn’t know what I was doing. But before I could respond, he said, “Bro, jump it right now—let’s go!”
That moment changed my life. I stomped it. So stoked! To this day, DCP is a solid homie, and though I’ve never told him, he’s been my idol since I started snowboarding.
Four years later, I was obsessed. I realized I hadn’t seen anyone camping in the backcountry, so I started doing it. It was an insane time in my life—so random, so unnatural, and kind of scary. People started calling me crazy, a Nomad—“the guy in the trees,” LOL. I’d show up with random gear, pieced together from different adventures, and someone would always ask, “What’s next for the arsenal, Bru?” At first, I laughed it off, but over time, it stuck.
One day, sitting around the fire after a long day of riding, someone said, “You should really think about making this stuff.” That’s when the lightbulb went off, and Nomad Arsenal was born. It wasn’t planned, but that’s what makes it real—it grew naturally from the life I was living.
It all starts with the prep—packing, double-checking gear, making sure everything’s dialed. Then it’s off, taking the ferry from Shawnigan to Squamish, stopping for fuel, loading up on rations, and getting my mind ready for the wild. Jourdie always makes sure I’ve got the best comfort food in my pack—exactly what you need when it’s -27°C, windblown, and the blizzard’s kicking your ass.
Basecamp, just before Avalanche Alley, is where it all goes down. 6 AM, the Valley Boys roll through, and the morning kicks off with coffee, maybe a puff, and staring out at the quiet wilderness, waiting for the first sledders. The silence doesn’t last long—soon it’s sled after sled, rider after rider, and the stoke is contagious. That energy? I f*ckin’ love it.
When the day’s done and the sun’s dipping behind Fee, we have a little sunset pow-wow—burgers and fries—then head back to Basecamp for some food, maybe a drink, and a solid campfire session. That’s when the real stories come out—talking about the lines we hit, sharing laughs. Feeling the pure silence after the guys roll out and the clock hits 8 PM is addictive. It’s just you, the stars, and the mountains breathing. The crackle of the fire and that thought of what’s next.
Nomad Arsenal was born from these moments—gear built for people who don’t just love the mountains, but live for them.
So, to everyone who rides, who braves the cold, and knows that the wilderness has its own rhythm—this is for you. I’m beyond stoked to finally share Nomad Arsenal with you this year. Let’s keep shredding, keep pushing, and never stop seeking those epic lines.
Your boy Bru