Get Shorty

Remember ski blades? The first time I saw the Bigfoot, my brain popped. Circa 1992, I was skiing on huge Elans when some kid with the sides of his head shaved skated up on what looked like bare boots. Under his boots were the first popular skiboards—pink toes on two feet of black laminate, with raised tips and flat tails. I bought my own pair a few years later, double-tipped Salomons that were about twice the length, with little bulb-headed aliens (remember aliens?) on the tails. I used them just a few times—as far as I know, they're still in my mom's basement.

I hadn't thought much about them until I watched James Cleavenger jump off a cliff last spring. I looked down from the upper lift at Mount Hood Skibowl to see a guy in a leisure suit bombing Calamity in what looked like bare boots. In fact, he had a pair of Salomon Snowblades not unlike my own rusty-edged set.

A pro skier celebrating a late Gaper Day in disco garb and vintage equipment? Nope.

"Although I'm often mistaken for one, I've never been a pro skier," Cleavenger says. "I did race for two years on the University of Oregon ski team when I was in law school. If I could do my life over again, that would certainly be the goal."

Cleavenger is actually a 30-something lawyer who works for the U.S. District Court in Eugene. Turns out, he skis in that leisure suit throughout the winter. And he does it on the descendants of Bigfoot. When I caught up with him at the bottom of the hill, he made a compelling case for living the dream of the '90s here in Oregon.

WW: How long have you been skiing on stubby skis?

James Cleavenger: First of all, we have to define what we're talking about when you say "stubby skis." I call them "shorties." But there are a lot of names for the type of skis I use. The overarching term in the industry for these things has become skiboards. But there are really two different categories, which I would describe as the traditional skiblades versus the newer and much wider models that I would call skiboards. I've been skiing since high school, but I've only been rockin' what I like to call "shorties" for about five years. It started quite by accident. I bought my first pair—which I still have because you can't really "outgrow" them—in Chicago on a lark. I call them my "candy canes," but their brand name is Salomon Buzz 90 Freeglide Snowblades.

What's the history of those things? I remember them being huge in the '90s, but it seems like they all but disappeared.

They still make these bad boys—the most prominent manufacturers today are Summit and Snowjam. In fact, there are about 20 different models to choose from if you venture online. A brand-new pair retails for a mere $300. And that is the maximum you'd have to shell out, which is way better than the insane prices we've seen for decades for "normal" skis. But you certainly don't have to buy new, because the design has not changed much over the years, especially in regard to the original "snowblades" style. I own four pairs—I rotate them based on conditions, just like everybody else.

What are the advantages?

I firmly believe that shorties are the optimal skis for our wet and heavy Pacific Northwest snow. With shorties, you can bust right through the crud that you would otherwise try to avoid on regular skis. This is because with shorties, you are cutting a much deeper groove and are literally skiing at a deeper level.

Also, there's no torque. Although most of the bindings are nonreleasable, you don't have to worry as much about twisting a knee because the skis are so light and you can correct really quickly. Because of their light weight, your legs don't get tired on the lift or when carving, since turning them is almost effortless. I don't mean to brag, but I ski first chair to last chair every day I go up; I don't eat lunch, I don't ski anything less than a black diamond and I don't get tired. And as much as I'd like everyone to think this is due to my vampirelike prowess, the real credit goes to the equipment

Plus, trees are easy. I always say that I feel like I'm cheating in the trees because I can turn or stop on a dime. The same goes for moguls. This allows me to ski the trees at much faster speeds because I don't have to worry about whether or not I'm going to have enough room to make a turn, have enough time to slow down or stop. So while it may sometimes look like I'm skiing out of control, I'm really not because I can stop in an instant.

Because I'm skiing deeper, whenever I'm in what others would describe as "a few inches" of powder, I'm always up to my knees in it. And yes, I'm having a better time too!

What are the disadvantages? Are there times you won't ski on them?

The nemesis of skiboards is deep powder. By "deep," I mean anything over a foot of fresh snow. When it gets that deep, I'm pretty much stuck and have to dust off my normal skis.

But we live in the Pacific Northwest, so how often does that actually happen?

At first, most skiers find them to be quite "wobbly" because the shorter length provides less stability and every twitch of a muscle can start a turn. But once you get used to them, they are amazing.

Another drawback is that it is hard to actually land big jumps. By "big jumps," I really mean cliffs, which I love to do. When you land from a jump of 20 feet or more—or my favorite, that 30-plus-foot cornice at the summit of Mount Bachelor—you tend to go so deep into the snow that you often flip head over heels. But this is OK! Because you are landing so deep, you are also dispersing so much powder into the air that it acts like a cloak, disguising your actual landing (or lack of). The trick is to just continue rolling until you find your feet again, and then just carry on down the mountain like nothing happened, or that you meant to do those somersaults!

Sound impossible? Remember these have nonreleasable bindings, so anything is possible.

Why the leisure suit?

I've been skiing in vintage 1970s leisure suits for about as long as I've been using the shorties. It seemed as ridiculous as snowboarding, so the two seemed a natural fit. And to be clear: I always wear a leisure suit, even when it is minus-20 degrees, snowing, raining, whatever. But the number of layers I wear under my leisure suit varies based on conditions.

And it's not that crazy. Take a look at the tag inside your new North Face jacket. What does it say it's made out of? I'm guessing it is 90 percent polyester. Well, ha! I ski in 100 percent! It actually is pretty incredible material. The only drawback is that it is highly flammable, which I learned the hard way a couple years ago when I used two lit tiki torches as ski poles during a session of night skiing at Willamette Pass. 

WWeek 2015