Dave Short has always been a bit of a mystery. In a world where persona is everything and fame is the goal, Short has stayed in the shadows spending a decade of time and energy deep in the Whistler backcountry in pursuit of not just a pro career but also a ride that seeks something deeper. He is a tough guy to pin down but after false starts spanning multiple seasons, I finally tracked down Whistler’s most elusive pro halfway through his winter at the second stop of the North Face Masters during La Nina’s February lull.
We were riding Crystal Mountain’s new $5.5 million gondola, sharing Washington’s most scenic lift with Dave’s former TNF teammate Megan Pischke on a bluebird day with boilerplate conditions. Hers was an interesting story, but I was here to drop in on Short’s reality, which had trended from heli runs to high pressure in a few short weeks.
Like Short, the answer is complicated. But one reason is that he has twice been on the winning team of the contest with photographer Jordan Manley. During his career, Short has also landed on the covers of frequency and Snowboard Canada, appeared in the editorial pages of every major snowboard publication and developed a reputation for slaying lines in film segments that span nearly a decade, from his breakout in the 2003 film “Gong Show” to his reemergence in Alterna’s 2010 effort “Hello World” with a grassroots appearance in “ir 77” along the way.
Snowboarding has been his job and focus since he turned pro for Westbeach and DC in 2001, after buying his first snowmobile for $1,200 and immersing himself into Whistler’s backcountry scene. Since then he has been constantly on the verge of a breakthrough, but challenged by a style that defies easy classification and a motivation akin to a soul surfer tracking swells. His commitment is to the line and the ride, and as a result, Short has developed a reputation as both a bit of a wildcard and a bit of an unknown.
And like Sort’s season and trajectory, this segment doesn’t go according to the predetermined plan. I watch his run from the judge’s vantage and, while the other favorites play it safe to make the final, Sort drops in hot, charging the icefall and losing an edge upon impact. He straightlines through the finish flags and past the attractive sideline reporter. Without stopping, he ollies the fencing and rolls out, exiting to Whistler before the scores are even posted in the day lodge.
A decade ago, pro success hinged on video segments and cover shots, with team managers placing riders in the right places at the right times and literally buying them into the big films. The old formula of the chosen ones is still an effective strategy, but the template is now more freeform with avenues open to DIY creativity, and brands expecting their pros to find a niche, create content and build an audience-at the same as time self-managing the constantly moving parts of storm cycles, film crews, trip logistics, travel budgets and photographer invites not to mention the hasseles of sled ownership.
It’s the busiest weekend of the year in Whistler and our sled-less crew waits an hour for an upload at the Creekside gondola the next morning. But media crews leaves the other 26,000 skiers on the hill behind and follows Short’s mental map into the trees. Treetop Films footage from films such as “Clearcut” was Short’s inspiration to explore this zone-but Short is the new master of a maze of old growth, second growth, and pressure differentials. He leaves us at the entrance with the words, “Don’t get sucked left.”
But the four of us-writer, rider, blogger and photographer Brian Hockenstien-can’t stay on his swallowtail as I catch a tree branch and wreck at the junction and then unstrap myself into a tree well. Hockenstien was the instigator behind last season’s roadtrip to Tailgate Alaska where Short competed in the King of the Hill contest, but he knows from experience plans often shift with this crew. He stops as I claw out of the unconsolidated snow and look for a sign of Short’s line.
“Did he go left or right?” I ask.
“It’s Dave Short-you never know,” Hockenstien replies.
What Would it Take to Reach the Position of Canada’s Top Big Mountain Rider Now that Jonaven is Not so Much on the Scene?
I think someone to come from a big mountain background, because I think all the kids that get into snowboarding, they do it from a freestyle background. When I was getting into it, freestyle seemed to be more fun.
And I still love it, it seems like freeriding is an older man’s sport. And there are many reasons for that. One is natural desires; when you are young, you just want to huck yourself and be right on the edge. And then when you are older, you can’t go out and do double corks. You start realizing when you rag doll, it takes it out of you. When you fuck up a jump and slam, you are out and handicapped.
At the same time, there are more refined tastes when you are older. Some of those kids, I don’t think they appreciate the big mountain for what it is just because it is a realm that is harder to enter. Because the ski resort is tracked out and it’s hard to be a freerider on the ski resort-although it is the best training ground-and to get into the backcountry, you need a helicopter, a sled or a lot of energy.
Does it Ever Bum You Out that it’s Not Just About Who is Riding the Best Line?
No, that doesn’t bum me out. I know you have to work the angles, and some people are just naturally predisposed to have a better hand dealt, and some people just do it better and have those better relationships with better people. Who is to say, the world is not fair, nature is not fair, it stays true to itself but it is not fair. The snowbaord world is dog-eat-dog—everyone is trying to get your job.
That is the thing: A lot of people say if you are not pushing the levels, get out of the way for someone who will. At the same time, it’s almost an exploitive industry because they know that and they see that and they exploit the young talent and get them to work for free.
What is Holding You Back?
It is the opportunity cost of shedding almost-as-awesome mountains somewhere else. I am here and I have a tough time traveling and I hope it doesn’t hold me back because you see all these people migrate. But it’s your home, so why migrate when you are where you want to be? But there is a whole world out there.
But I hope to come back into a wintertime with the support where I can really get after it even more. And, hopefully, I want the givers of support to feel like it is worth it for them. I hope I am providing something for them, something for the big mountain realm.
That’s a Good Mission Right There.
Yeah, keep the dream alive.
The next morning is good timing for a slow urn, so we go for a split on Blackcomb. We take it easy after exiting the area, Short shuffling ahead on his Jones split. At the Y of indecision, we opt against Disease Ridge and instead climb to the top of a rockier face. Short had picked his line through a maze of rocks and chutes on the uptrack and I plan to follow as it rolls over into oblivion.
But the clouds stack in and, as we wait for a clear window, Shor keeps his calm while I psych myself out. When the clouds lift, he drops in and nails his line. But my follow line hits a rock hop to chute landing that is bigger than my confidence. I freeze up and snake around, finding a cautious exit and scraping, with absolutely no style, through the crux. At the exit, Short senses I was spooked.
“I’ve been in that situation a ton,” he says. “You just have to keep your composure and have confidence in the line you picked.”
We exit out the Blackcomb Glacier and roll back to civilization, but his words keep spinning in my head long after I leave. Halfway home on the 99, my stress about missed opportunities starts to fade. For a true backcountry disciple like Short, the riding is the easy part-it’s the rest of his professional reality that is tougher to navigate. But one layer removed from the intensity of this season, it hits that Dave Short knows his line-even if the rest of us are still trying to predict where it might lead.
