135/108/124; 191 cm only; $999; movementskis.com The first generation had splotchy orange top sheets. That can’t compete with other ski graphics, like skulls vomiting blood. Then I noticed the inside of the thick-as-a-burger sidewall. Written on it was “Fight the power. Ride the powder.” I got the part about powder, but whose power am I to fight? I attributed the sidewall missive to cross-cultural dissonance from Movement’s native Switzerland and clicked into the demos. My first run was during a spring dump in Whistler. I opened it up on a steep bowl and skied as fast as I could. I bent them, looked down, and saw them not floating so much as steamrolling, the tip looking back at me above the snow. Then I sank deep into a super-G turn and stood on the downhill ski. Really stood on it. Tried to break it. But if skis could make a “That’s all you got, son?” smirk, these would have. That was it. I needed a pair. Skis obtained, I screwed on some Barons (see page 82) and took them to the Chilcotin, twice to the Andes, and up a fourteener or two. These metal-free, poplar-and-okume-cored beasts slashed powder, smoothed crud, shattered surface crust, and railed hardpack when there was nothing else to do. Fight the power? No. Embrace it.