FEATURED POST

Mike Hattrup, ripping it up in Alaska, circa 1996

I still remember the first time I saw a Seattle Sombrero.  It was during the early nineties, and just like disco left an embarrassing stain on the otherwise irreproachable history of rock ‘n’ roll, the light pollution of neon was brightening the world’s ski slopes.  So K2’s poster of team rider Dan Donnelly, six feet out of a halfpipe doing a mute grab, and sporting a chocolate brown, full-length, Aussie Driza-Bone jacket, and royal blue Seattle Sombrero pinned up on one side Aussie style, certainly grabbed your attention.  Not many guys could get away with that get-up, let alone snowboard in it during the neon years, but Donnelly made both look cool.

Within a week I was in the original REI store on Capital Hill picking out a Seattle Sombrero.  I had no delusions of looking as cool as Donnelly, but I was always partial to the Aussie cowboy hat, and with fleeting natural sun protection, was constantly on the lookout for a spring ski hat that protected my skull and was more functional than a baseball hat.  The Seattle Sombrero fit the bill, so to speak.  It was waterproof, provided great shade, and the chin cord allowed me to ski fast without continually sidestepping back up the slope to retrieve it.

Clearly, the Sombrero was not designed for skiing, but neither was the Marmot Ronald McDonald ice climbing suit that I occasionally skied in.  When I was just discovering the mountains beyond the lifts, it wasn’t easy to find technical clothing that was also suitable for resort skiing.  So I often opted for the technical features of more mountaineering designed clothes even though they lacked the ski features I desired.

The Sombrero is what put OR on my radar, but the variety of technical headwear and gloves, along with gators, or rather, Crocs, and more ditty bags than one could ever use, sealed my interest.  Moreover, it was a local Seattle brand whose headquarters were a short bike ride from where I grew up.  Although I found some of the products a bit high in “gwerb” factor (an actual self deprecating term used by OR employees at the time, to describe the lack of styling found in some of their “function first” products), I sent them a proposal and we began a relationship.

Ironically, after 15 years my desire for technical, more functional ski clothes is what drew me back to OR.  Technical backcountry clothes—minimalist jackets and pants with good venting, technical fit and bomber protection are relatively easy to find, as are good resort ski clothes.  But for that space in between, the sidecountry or lift access backcountry, I couldn’t find the right blend of technical features and resort features in one garment.

For riding lifts and hiking in or out of bounds, or dropping off the backside, I wanted resort features like comfort, great freedom of movement, protection while sitting on a cold, wet chair, and pockets that were ipod compatible, goggle friendly and roomy enough for skins or an extra hat—after all, my jacket was essentially replacing the pack I might not be wearing.  But I also needed backcountry features like breathable fabrics, efficient venting, bomber protection, and a helmet compatible hood that could be taken on and off easily.

So if you’ve been suffering the same quandary as me—having to decide between backcountry features or resort features, fit and styling—stay tuned, we’ll have some functional designs that should satisfy your adventurous spirit, no matter how big or small your ambitions.

**Check back for more episodes from the Hattrup Channel, posting to VertiCulture soon.