Mad Dog Ridge

Choosing where to set up a backcountry basecamp can be one of the harder choices in life. It's a big world out there and the options seem endless. So why would somebody like Chris Davenport choose to go back to a place others have been? Including himself? Bella Coola was put on the skier's map by a film production doing helicopter-assisted shooting in the early 2000s. Others had skied in Bella Coola before, but this really made it famous. Chris Davenport was one of the skiers and he saw the endless potential of the B.C. Coast Range. Others like Seth Morrison and Wendy Fisher were also filmed skiing couloirs in Mad Dog Col.

Since then many other film productions and a few other groups of skiers have made Mad Dog Col their home for both camping and helicopter skiing. In March myself, Chris Davenport, Griffin Post and filmers Chris Christie and Cameron Sylvestor decided to make Mad Dog Col our home. The goal was to camp and ski as much as possible. Mad Dog Col sits at 1,830 meters and a few kilometers from the small idyllic town of Bella Coola in Northern British Columbia, Canada. This ideal camping spot is immediately surrounded by two huge rock-spined peaks in the midst of B.C.'s giant Coast Range. All around the col, the mountains and glaciers stack up like pages in a book. Standing on top of one you can't help but look out at the endless possibilities.

After assembling our truckload of gear we made quick work with a short weather window between violent squalls of wind, rain, and snow and squeaked into the moon-shaped, boulder strewn Mad Dog Col. Immediately our large cook/dome tent was put up. Quickly the wind decided to up its intensity from really windy to "I wonder if this will blow us all away" intensity. The kind that drives fear deep into your being. Almost as fast as we could get gear into the tent, our bags were buried by the wind drifts. With a heli-assist to get to camp we had grand intentions of first class winter camping. One dome cook tent, one dome sleeping tent, and two smaller tents for the filmers.

As the five of us were holding on to the second dome tent attempting to bring it up, I saw tent poles starting to bend, some snapping in the wind. It was an easy decision for us to sleep in the cook tent. The two filmers managed to get their smaller tents up and then had the fun task of digging them out every few hours. The first day whipped by with naps and jokes at the wind. By the fourth day, nobody would say anything, but you could tell the tension was starting to escalate. After endless random stories, 24 quesadillas, three bottles of Scotch, eight radio weather checks, one attempt at getting more that 30 meters from camp, and endless blocks of snow melted for coffee, you could suddenly talk without yelling. It almost sounded normal outside.

Still the granular snow stung your face as wind whipped it around, but this was normal wind. It meant we could put our ski boots on. And it meant we were here for a reason other than making the best cup of tent coffee. Even though the storm was still bathing the mountains in clouds, we deemed it necessary to begin assessing the snow and terrain just a stone's throw away. The snowpack had been unusually bad for Northern B.C. and the lurking fear of avalanches was our next priority. One short thin couloir only 30 meters below our tent led us to the lower valley where the majority of couloirs ended. Quickly we got to work probing and testing the snowpack. Tentatively it was becoming clear that the snow was good.

Powder with pockets of wind effect, but mostly ideal conditions. With careful steps we made our way across the valley to another slanted two-meter wide couloir. Finally we were starting to do what we came for. As I shot photos of Chris and Griffin dropping in, I realized I also would get to ski. This was a dream come true. For me it was an iconic location. Skiing where some of the best skiers in the world had been before. Getting back to camp later that day you could see the relief in everybody's face. We had a reason to enjoy the Scotch now. The next three days were a blur of boot packing, eating, applying sunscreen, and shooting. Chris' and Griffin's enthusiasm quickly showed when there wasn't even talk of when to start and finish the day.

It was simple: ski all day. The sun was out, the avalanche risk was low, and we were in the perfect spot. Maybe it was part pent-up energy from sitting in a tent for four days, or maybe it was the endless possibilities of epic skiing. But I had never seen so much boot packing. Choosing where to ski the first sunny day was easy. The most classic line had to be checked off the list. A giant 500-meter couloir off Mad Dog spire. The couloir was sided by big rock walls and flanked up top by huge monolith spires. It held perfectly smooth powder, just warmed up enough to keep the wind crust from affecting the turns. Griffin dropped in first and made quick work with less than eight turns for the 500 meters.

As many lines were ticked off as Chris' and Griffin's fast feet could get to without skiing in the pitch dark. Steep and thin, wide and fast, hop turns and GS turns. Big spines and powder bowls rounded out the experience. All the while with our campsite in sight. In spite of Chris' and Griffin's pure enthusiasm, many lines were left untouched and waiting for the next set of legs. After four days of questioning our sanity in the wind and three days of pure mountain bliss, it became clear that this dot on the map truly was a special place. A coordinate that lined up the perfect symmetry of rock, snow, peaks, and valleys that create paradise for a skier. The balance between distance and descent with mighty mountain aesthetics. Mad Dog Ridge deserves to be hiked and skied over and over.