I’m standing at the lip of “The Wailer” in Vail, CO, 20 feet above the landing below. It’s St. Patrick’s Day, and 11 members of the Ravinos just sent a train of backflips off the cliff. My heart pounds. Iconic flaming skull patches on cutoff denim jackets are all around me, worn proudly by the group whose legacy I’ve been chasing for years.
Nearly a decade ago, I stood on this same edge, with hopes of joining the mythical Ravinos. But what I didn’t understand then was that the Ravinos weren’t just about riding. I knew the Wailer was a rite of passage, and backflipping it was supposed to be my initiation into the club. I didn’t earn my patch that year. I left the mountain not just disappointed, but with a fixation on learning what made the Ravinos so special.
Original Ravinos member Buzz Schleper patching in a new member to the Vail, CO, snowsports fraternity. Photo: Carly Finke
Rob Bak and Buzz Schleper patching in Dillon Mailand. Photo: Carly Finke
My answers came years later, buried in newspaper archives and boxes of dusty slides saved by original members. They were part of a counterculture. A group brought together by community and pride in preserving ski town values in the face of gentrification.
It began in 1972, when no building in Vail was over two stories tall, and the streets weren’t yet heated. Jeff Van Tassel and his Midwestern skiers—many of whom had learned aerials at Rib Mountain—arrived in the Rockies looking for steeper terrain. They named themselves the Ravinos after a dive bar in Oshkosh, WI, The Ravine. Their home base became Vail’s Northwoods cliffs, where they hosted substance-fueled “Expression Sessions,” soundtracked by stereo systems smuggled up the lift.
Modern day Ravinos celebrating newly patched members. Photo: Carly Finke
Ravinos in 1972. Photo: Jack Young
The Ravinos were lifties, line cooks, bartenders and ski bums who wore aviator helmets and flaming skull patches on sleeveless denim. By the early ’80s, they became synonymous with Rocky Mountain counterculture and gained roughly 300 members across the country. Their annual St. Patrick’s Day party, The Wail in Vail, drew crowds by the thousands. It was both a showcase and an initiation—new members earned their stripes by throwing inverts off cliffs.
But what made the Ravinos famous—the inverts, the parties, the debauchery—would eventually get them banned. In 1978, the National Ski Areas Association prohibited aerial inverts; by 1986, Vail Associates shut down The Wail in Vail. As the Reagan era set in, Vail rebranded itself for international appeal. The Ravinos scattered. Their patches, stories and presence faded into folklore.
Since then, Vail Resorts has transformed into a pillar for corporate skiing. Independent storefronts have been replaced with national chains. Epic Pass tourism packs the lift lines. The cost of living has skyrocketed. “It’s Disney-fied,” says current Ravinos member John LaConte. “The corporatization has made it feel more like an amusement park.”
But in 2010, a new generation—led by Buzz Schleper and Asa McGee—dug up their parents’ old jackets, re-stitched the flaming skulls, and brought the Ravinos back. They weren’t just interested in flipping or parties—they wanted to revive mountain town culture. In an era of increasing resort monoculture, holiday experiences and the downsizing of terrain parks, their mission felt more urgent than ever. Their goal was never nostalgia but rather to rebuild community.
Colleen Okolski. Photo: Drew Balfour
As founder Jeff Van Tassel put it before his passing in 2018: “To become a Ravino, a person does not need to do anything different than what they are already doing. To be given colors is a compliment to the attitude and style of that person. There was no plan to evolve the way it has. It makes me feel good to see that the spirit still lives. Wail.”
Now, the crew has grown to more than 50 patched members—many of them coaches and mentors committed to protecting the local freestyle scene against the downsizing of terrain parks and pipes across Vail-owned resorts. “I’ve seen talented athletes forced to go elsewhere,” says Ravinos member and coach Dylan Kobriger. “The Ravinos are here to fight for locals.”
They’re visible on and off the mountain: sharing laps with groms, helping run competitions, and organizing community events. Backflips are still part of the tradition, but today the Ravinos are also seen as ambassadors of the mountain town ethos. “We really want the good, humble mountain ambassadors who are going to represent the patch well,” says current Vice President Dave Pleshaw.
The Wail in Vail has been revived and so has the tradition. Each year, the Ravinos gather to support the new “prospects,” who have been selected based on their values and how well they carry themselves in the community, as they attempt to land a backflip down the Wailer. Already patched members don’t need to flip again, but they all do, because leading by example is part of the culture.
This year, I was one of the few invited as a prospect, with the chance to attempt the flip again—this time with the Ravinos’ blessing. Standing at the top, staring out past the flat take-off and the valley below, it felt just as intimidating as it had a decade ago. But something was different. I could feel the tradition, the electricity of the crowd lining the cliff, and the echo of every Ravino who’d launched before me.
I spotted my landing, dropped in and let the Wailer swallow me whole. I rode it out. Soon after, my sleeves were cut off, the patch stitched on—and just like that, I wasn’t chasing the legacy anymore. I was part of it.
Members celebrating at the Wail in Vail afterparty on St. Patrick’s Day, 2025. Photo: Carly Finke