Meet some of the Coast Mountains BASE crew.
words & photography :: Jim Martinello
Ravens floating over mountaintops. Eagles soaring high amongst the clouds. Peregrine falcons diving at speeds of up to 320 kilometres per hour along ocean cliffs. Whether inspired by these incredible creations of nature or by daydreaming of cartoon superpowers, humans have always held an interest—and passion—in the quest for flight.
Over the past 25 years, I have had the privilege to spend time with and document a number of people who have turned that passion into action, stepped off the edge and soared. On human wings of fabric, I’ve seen them drop from massive walls and mountains, soar amongst the clouds, and thread a fine line of risk, commitment and desire.
Pushing limits and fate, each decides how far they want to take things and how close to the sun they want to soar. Watching and photographing these adventures has been a true emotional rollercoaster—listening to the sound of their breath and watching as they take that first step off the cliff: a single moment of transforming their drive and intensity into pure aerial velocity.
A close friend who is no longer with us named Sean Lawson once told me, “We take these risks not to escape life, but to prevent life from escaping us.” With those words in mind, and because most of us will never experience these feelings of flight, I rallied a few good friends living here in the Sea to Sky corridor—all very driven and inspiring individuals—to learn a bit more about their own personal quest for flight.
“Believe anything is possible” – Dean Potter
Spencer Seabrooke
A childhood skateboarder and snowboarder turned rock climber and slackliner once he moved to BC from Peterborough, Ontario, Spencer Seabrooke set a world free solo highline record in 2015, walking a 64-metre line nearly a thousand feet off the ground.
“That led to a few years of traveling the world for highline events,” Spencer says. “But after knee and shoulder injuries made hauling heavy highline gear less appealing, I transitioned into sky diving and then BASE jumping.”
BASE jumping as much as possible since 2016 (it beats walking back down after a climb), Spencer adds that his favourite part of it all is finding and opening new exits (places to jump from safely). “From scouting the cliff from below to figuring out the approach and landing zone, that whole process still excites me more than anything else.”
Mountain Life: What goes through your mind before a jump?
Spencer Seabrooke: Before jumping I’m constantly focusing on the conditions and my gear. Visualizing what I’m going to do on the jump is key, but part of the equation is also visualizing it going wrong and what my reactions will be. By the time I take that last step and push off the cliff, it all feels like second nature.
ML: With 830 jumps behind you, including the odd tense moment (Spencer got hung up on the wall of Siy̓ám̓ Smánit/Stawamus Chief in 2023), you’ve started taking others under your wing. Who were some of your mentors when you got into BASE jumping?
Spencer: I was lucky to have Treehouse Mike give me my first couple jumps. When he passed away I went to Moab, Utah, with my own rig, and Jimmy Peterson and Sketchy Andy [Lewis] got me started with the essentials to come home and start learning. I’ve been fortunate to have had some OG local jumpers looking out for me at the start.
ML: What’s next? Any dream trips or spots on the checklist?
Spencer: The cliffs of Madagascar have been on my radar, but there’s also so much to explore and open up here in BC. I hope to keep finding and opening exits here for a long time.
“By the time I take that last step and push off the cliff, it all feels like second nature.”
Alenka Mali
A climber and professional snowboarder raised in the Slovenian Alps and spires of Patagonia, Alenka Mali moved to Squamish in 2015 at age 16, when she got her first taste of snowboarding in powder. She’s the founder of Lux Snow, an all-women backcountry and climbing organization established to help women thrive in the environments she knows and loves. Alenka began BASE jumping in 2022, and in the spring of 2024 she became the first documented woman to do a snowboard BASE, just south of Squamish. (The jump was featured in Alenka’s first film, The Beginning, and featured in the pages of Mountain Life.)
“Snowboard BASE is about combining two things I love to do,” Alenka said at the time. “It’s about time and solitude in the mountains. Go out there, have fun, survive and come home. That’s it.”
Mountain Life: What are some of your favourite or most memorable jumps?
Alenka: Some of my most memorable moments in BASE are connected to jumps I have done only once and probably won’t be repeating. I went with an awesome crew and ventured off into the fjords of coastal BC to jump a mega big jump, for example. Or I opened a few of the semi-legal exits in Patagonia that took days to get to and a lot of work. It’s something beautiful when a simple jump takes multiple days of planning, approaching, studying and executing. That makes it worth it even more.
ML: You’ve done around 375 jumps now. What is your internal process like right before a jump?
Alenka: I run a checklist through my mind of every step I took to get there—checking conditions, the wind at the exit and at the LZ [landing zone]. I run through the [parachute] pack job, making sure it was done correctly. I also check in with myself—is my heart rate fast? Do I feel calm? Is my breathing deep and slow, or fast and shallow? If I don’t have a good feeling about something, it’s usually for a good reason.
ML: And then, despite doing everything right and feeling good, sometimes shit happens. What’s it like when things don’t go as planned?
Alenka: I had a close call in January 2025, off the Chief. It was a combination of decisions that put me in that situation, including my pack job and the weather. When I leaped off a cliff, my parachute opened in 180, facing the wall. I hit the wall many times and was just waiting for the final impact that would end my life. All of a sudden I was dangling, suspended 200 metres above ground. The second my parachute got caught on a tree I like to say I received a second chance in this beautiful life. I survived an accident by a miracle, and I’ll be forever grateful for it. As much as we try to avoid death, when it’s not our time to go, it’s not our time to go—as simple as that.
“All of a sudden I was dangling, suspended 200 metres above ground.”
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Graham Davey
A Sea-to-Sky-based wingsuit pilot and BASE jumper, Graham Davey has completed more than 1,200 jumps in the mountains over the past dozen years. A lifelong skier, he says one of his earliest memories of being inspired came from watching a film premiere in Whistler, Seven Sunny Days—starring the late ski BASE legend Shane McConkey.
“Shane’s segment, wingsuit ski BASE jumping and learning to fly with the Norwegian crew, completely blew my mind,” Graham says. “Seeing people step off massive cliffs and actually fly like that… I remember thinking, I have to do that someday. It was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. Turns out it still is.”
ML: With more than a decade of experience, your BASE rig and wingsuit have probably taken you to some pretty cool places. But you say Squamish remains one of the most special—why is that?
Graham: I’ve been lucky to jump in some incredible places. For wingsuiting, Italy is hard to beat. They have amazing terrain, big mountains and, honestly, good food doesn’t hurt. For slider-down [lower height, faster canopy-opening] BASE, Moab is pretty special—classic desert jumps and endless options. But my local, the Stawamus Chief right here in Squamish, will always mean the most. Having a legal jump like that in your backyard is pretty rare. I can leave home, go wingsuit or go slider-down, and be door-to-door back in just over an hour. These days, as a dad, that kind of access is everything.
ML: That access! Exactly. Squamish bikers and climbers say the same thing. You and your partner both BASE jump. Has that changed since becoming parents?
Graham: We actually met through BASE jumping. But yes, a lot has changed since becoming parents. There’s less time for big trips, but we still make time where we can. For me, there’s a lot more on the line now. I definitely fly more conservatively, and I feel like I’ve reached a place where my jumping is sustainable long-term. Early on, when I was pushing harder, my mindset was more about progression: flying better lines, improving performance. These days, it’s shifted. It’s about executing cleanly and as safely as possible so I can keep doing this for a long time.
“Having a legal jump like that in your backyard is pretty rare.“
Brooke Dawson
A commercial heli pilot and record-holding freefly skydiver, Squamish-based Brooke Dawson grounds her flying and jumping in precision, presence and a deep connection to the landscape and mountains she calls home. In her first year of BASE jumping, Brook did more than 200 jumps—“Way more than I expected,” she admits, adding that it was a combination of flight, the beauty of the Stawamus Chief as an exit and the community of local BASE jumpers that drew her to the sport with such passion.
“I already loved flying,” Brooke says, “but BASE felt different. It’s more intentional. You’re not just exiting an aircraft, you’re choosing your exit, reading the terrain, understanding the conditions and fully committing to the line. That level of presence—the connection to the environment and to the mission—is what inspired me to start.
Mountain Life: A lot of people see BASE as a risky endeavour. What are your thoughts on risk and the learning curve of the sport?
Brooke: In this sport, you don’t need a major incident to learn something; small moments can teach you just as much. Even when they aren’t your own close calls, you’re constantly exposed to the experiences and mistakes of others and you learn through that as well. One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned is how important it is to listen to subtle signals, weather shifts, fatigue and, most importantly, my own intuition. BASE doesn’t reward ego or rushing; it rewards patience, awareness and respect. I’ve learned to walk away when something doesn’t feel right, even if everything looks good on paper. Those decisions are just as important as the jumps themselves. I keep a small jar filled with rocks, one for every time I’ve chosen to hike back down. It’s a quiet reminder that progression isn’t just measured in jumps, but in the discipline to listen, to pause and to choose longevity over impulse.
ML: When it does line up and feels right, what goes through your mind before a jump?
Brooke: It’s actually very quiet. By the time I’m at the edge, most of the thinking has already been done: gear checks, conditions, exit choice, everything. What’s left is a calm, controlled focus. There’s a moment where you acknowledge the risk, respect it and then let it go. After that, it’s silence. You can’t carry hesitation into a jump. It becomes about trust—trust in your preparation, your experience and your ability to execute. Then it’s simple: breathe, commit, jump.
“BASE doesn’t reward ego or rushing; it rewards patience, awareness and respect.”
ML: Tell me about the local BASE community here in Squamish.
Brooke: In BASE, knowledge is entrusted. It carries weight. The mentors who have shaped me most are the ones who lead quietly, by example. They are skilled, patient, humble and intentional in everything they do. I’ve been incredibly fortunate. The people who take the time to guide others are shaping safer, more-aware jumpers. I carry a deep sense of gratitude for those who have invested their time, experience and trust in me. Their influence is present in every decision I make, long before I ever step to the edge. Then there are the moments shared with friends, the quiet energy of hiking in before sunrise, the banter along the trail, standing on an exit point laughing and connecting. Later, landing and realizing you just experienced something wild and meaningful together. Those are the moments that stay with you, the ones that make you feel truly alive.
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