CLEARED FOR TAKEOFF

words :: Feet Banks photography :: Jimmy Martinello

Up on Goat Ridge, just south of Squamish, a steady wind blows snow into Alenka Mali’s face as she pats the snow down to form a small jump atop a 77-metre (250-foot) cliff. The in-run is set, the jump looks good, and if that wind ever pisses off, Alenka intends to jump this sucker.

Of course, the 25-year-old Squamish snowboarder/ climber/BASE jumper is no stranger to having a bit of air under her toes. “I can clearly remember crossing a river on a zipline under Cerro Torre [in Patagonia],” Alenka says of her childhood. “I was six years old, or five.”

She comes by her mountain lifestyle naturally. Alenka is the daughter of alpinists—her parents both climbed professionally. Her dad, Klemen, is now a mountain guide and her mom, Monika, continues to climb and ski most of the year.

“They were chasing rocks and they brought my siblings and me with them,” she says. “My mom is Argentinian and my dad is Slovenian, so we were raised in both cultures. Summer was the priority, going from hemisphere to hemisphere to avoid winter. It’s funny because now I chase winter like crazy.”

As a kid, Alenka had near-endless energy and started skiing and snowboarding as soon as she could walk. Independent and headstrong, young Alenka had a knack for figuring things out for herself and would often end up leading an entire pack of other climbers’ kids on whatever adventures sprang into her mind while the adults were on the rocks.

Raised by her mother after her parents divorced when she was six, Alenka decided to join her father in Squamish when she was sixteen, and immediately formed a deeper passion for snowboarding. “I’d never ridden powder on a snowboard before,” she says. “Then one of my dad’s friends took me up on a snowmobile and said, ‘Ride this.’ When I got to the bottom he was blasting music on a speaker and it was so cool. I thought, This is what it’s like to be a snowboarder! and started spending more and more time outside in the backcountry and beyond the piste on the resort. Then I started looking at freeride comps and thinking, I can do that. It’s not that easy to get on the world tour; there is a ladder you need to climb when it comes to qualifiers, getting invited, etc. I just started at the bottom and went up. Like anything.”

That straight-ahead attitude—which Alenka credits partially to her European roots as well as being the oldest sibling to three younger brothers—mixes with a quiet patience, in both action and conversation. “I never look too far into the future,” she says about planning, goals and time in general. “I make lists and I focus on the goals in front of me. Anything is possible with determination and persistence.”

Honed in on big-mountain snowboard competitions, last winter Alenka pivoted that persistence and focus into a film project set in the Coast Mountains. “I love being in the backcountry and having the freedom to do whatever,” Alenka says. “Competitions are very structured—you get one run, it’s usually on shitty snow and you need to show your style but there’s one chance to do it. Usually I’m nervous and there’s a lot at stake. They are good for my progression, and it is a great way to meet and connect with the community. We’ll see where it takes me, but really I just want to ride mountains.”

Alenka’s new film, The Beginning, started as a backstory about her unique, mountain-based childhood. However, with a slow start to last winter, her ideas began to shift toward making a film about her journey to complete a snowboard BASE jump (riding your snowboard off a cliff so large you need to pull a parachute/canopy to float down and land safely).

“I don’t know of any other women who have done that on a snowboard,” Alenka says. “I know some guys who have, and Spencer [Seabrooke—her BASE mentor] did it a few years ago, but it seemed like something new to try.”

Alenka has more than 180 standard BASE jumps under her belt. “That’s still a rookie in the BASE community. But I liked the idea of combining my two favourite sports. And sometimes when you’re looking up at a mountain and you see a really cool line but it doesn’t have an ending… With snowboard BASE I feel like those kinds of lines become possible.”

South American Cristóbal Ruiz joined the team as director, and Alenka’s mother, Monika, spontaneously flew from Slovenia to film some mother-daughter shredding in the iconic Tantalus Range. The film was underway, but with just half a winter to get an entire movie shot—as well as pull off her first snowboard BASE jump— timing was tight. And the season was shaping up to be one of the least snowy in memory.

But there are always opportunities. “It snowed in Squamish, so Spencer and I went up the Chief on a snowy day and did a practice jump together. It was my first snowboard BASE so I felt quite nervous. Plus there was a camera crew and other people up there using the same exit. So it was loud and crowded and still quite technical, not the best environment. But once I left the edge it felt amazing. Once you’re in the air, you’re on your own.”

Besides her role as subject of the film, Alenka produced it as well, organizing everything from the budget, transport, safety and scheduling while also managing a crew, meals and more. “Cris [Ruiz] and I did a good job of setting boundaries and working together and we got to know each other on a deeper level,” Alenka says. “Having someone else control your story was a challenge for me. I had to let go a bit, but I am very happy with the end product. This is just a moment in time in my life, it’s not the full story.”

“I always bring a tent instead of snow caving—my tent is 1.5 kilos, so it's not much to carry, and there’s nothing better than unzipping the tent in winter and seeing those first rays of sun hitting you in the face. It warms you up and just… it’s so beautiful. I recommend everyone go winter camping at least once in their life.”

In early May, a weather window arrived and conditions looked favourable for Alenka’s primary winter goal—snowboard BASE. She assembled her eight-person camp-and-camera crew and helied up to Goat Ridge, just west of Sky Pilot in behind the Sea to Sky Gondola zone with four days to get the shot. Originally, Ruiz was hoping to film the jump at sunset, but safety was everyone’s top priority.

“I told him, ‘Get that out of your mind. We are jumping when the weather is best, not when the light is best.’ I’ve never had an issue with people not listening to me—I say what’s on my mind. So yeah, he had to let some artistic ideas go for safety reasons but that’s number one, everybody’s safety.”

Which isn’t to say close calls can’t happen. BASE (and big mountain snowboarding) carry a certain level of risk, even when all precautions are taken. In June of 2023, Seabrooke suffered a late chute opening and some twisted lines while BASE jumping off Siyám Smánit/Stawamus Chief. He had only enough time to twist and grab onto bushes as he slammed into the near-vertical rock wall. Helmet-cam video of the crash shows him immediately pulling out his phone to call Alenka as soon as he knew he was safely stuck on a ledge.

“None of those situations are easy,” Alenka says, “but that’s part of it. You just navigate them as they come. I was watching when that cliff strike happened, and as soon as he called I knew he was okay. He called really quickly, but you have to, right? He knew we were watching. But you can break your neck going down an icy driveway or die in a car accident at any time. You can’t really live your life fearing these situations. My parents experienced it; I remember going to their friends’ funerals as a kid, people they had lost in the mountains. And they always answered these questions the same way I’m answering now—you can die anytime, anywhere.” Up on Goat Ridge, the wind was howling on day one. Wind creates inconsistencies for BASE athletes—there’s an increased chance of a wall strike—so the crew dug in and built snow barricades to protect the tent while Spencer and Alenka investigated the exit—the exact spot she’d leave the snow and launch into the ether. “You want a bit of stiffness there so you can go in with speed,” she says. “We built a little kicker to help get some separation out away from the wall, but not so far that I’d be too close to the opposite side of the gully.”

That evening, near sundown, the wind suddenly died—perfect conditions for jumping. “But we were exhausted from building camp,” Alenka says. “And I would have still had to climb back up the gully in the dark. We decided to wait.”

The next day was even windier. Regret and doubt swirled with the spindrift. Had Alenka missed her chance? She spent the day practicing the inrun while wearing her BASE rig (the harness and pack that hold the canopy) and securing her ice axe to her board between her bindings (for the post-jump ascent back up the steep chute). And then, at about 6 p.m., the wind began to falter. The camera crew got into position, the filming drones took to the air, Alenka strapped in, ripped the inrun with perfect speed, and launched.

“It felt really good. Everything went perfect. I cried at the bottom. Everyone was freaking out on the radio. Then Spencer jumped right after me and we climbed back up together by headlamp. We’d gotten the shot at sunset, just like Cris wanted,” she says.

The Beginning showcases the world’s first female snowboard BASE jump (or at least the first recorded one) but Alenka says the accolades are not the point at all. “It’s about combining two things I love to do,” she says. “And it’s about time and solitude in the mountains. Go out there, have fun, survive and come home. That’s it.”

The Beginning will screen at the Whistler Film Festival December 4 to 8, 2024 and will see a wider release later this winter. Catch a full conversation with Alenka on the November episode of the Live It Up with Mountain Life podcast. Find it where ever you get your pods or at www.mountainlifemedia.ca/podcast

Or so the adage goes. And yes, generally this timeless bit of wisdom is meant to inspire resilience in those struggling through difficult times: “Keep going; it’s bad but it’s almost over.” Taken literally it works, too: The final hours of night, particularly during a coast mountain winter, are the coldest, darkest, least-hospitable hours of the year.

And yet there are those who just can’t get enough. Those hardy souls who awake in the night, don the extra layers and venture into the snowy peaks—by snowmobile or on foot—to be ready when those first golden rays of winter sun finally crack the horizon.

We reached out to a few of them, the photographers and athletes most comfortable amongst the deep blues of pre-dawn and the uncluttered pink silence of a fresh morning atop a powdery white wall. Why do they do it? What drives that hunger? How does it feel out there on the perimeter, meeting each day head-on? What’s life like on the dawn patrol? – Feet Banks photo & words :: Mason Mashon riders :: Joe Lax & Joe Loverin location :: Pemberton Backcountry

“Joe Lax likes to get up psycho early. Wake up at 3 a.m. to get to the trail by 4:30 to be in the alpine by 5 and get on top of these heater lines before anyone could even get there with a helicopter. I mean, he’s not wrong.”

“I despise alpine starts, but this is quickly forgotten as the sunrise lifts over the horizon and the changing colors bring incredible energy to the day ahead. Cold digits are quickly forgotten as the landscape changes and shadows of the mountains fill with light, revealing the day’s objective. I’ve never regretted a sunrise in the mountains. And that is the first thing I remind myself when the alarm goes off way too early.”

"I'm big fan of early morning dawn patrols. Winters at Mount Baker don't see too many sunny days. Often, the first light of the day can be the only few minutes of sun we get, so taking advantage of those early moments is important. It’s also nice to be skiing back down knowing you had a great session when the rest of the world is just starting to show up at the hill to get your sloppy seconds."

“We got up at 3 a.m. or something, drove up, and sledded in on frozen crust. Around 4 we hit the alpine, tandemed up to the glacier in the dark and had to hike for about an hour along a techy corniced ridge just as the sun started poking up. It was hard and shitty in a way but so fleeting and ethereal at the same time. Alpine starts are like that, you sneak in before the mountain wakes up and when it all comes together you’re dropping in bathed in golden morning light. It seems otherworldly.”

“I’d choose sunrise over sunset every time. For clarity of mind can be found in the peaceful moments before dawn, uncluttered by the buzz of the day. I love it. Mornings like these remind me of the power within that comes from the union of purpose and passion. How easy it can be to kick off the sheets or slink out of the cozy sleeping bag into the cold, when the waves are firing or there’s a mountain objective on the schedule. Dark starts are the best starts.”