Chloe and I lounge slumped into two oversized couches in the basement apartment of a ski-in, ski-out house. We followed our friend Madeline’s directions to get here: “It’s the basement suite of a pink-ish house. There are two sleds in the driveway. There isn’t exactly an address for my place … pretty end of the road at Castle.” We don’t have cell service to double-check, either. A wall of luggage, ski boots and touring gear sits between us and the door. We laugh, imagining anyone else walking into their home to be greeted by our great wall of overpacking. It’s the delirious kind of laugh that comes after a 13-hour drive through a winter storm.

Chloe and I set out from Salt Lake City, in a truck packed to the gills, on a two-week road trip to visit four friends we know from our summers guiding on the Middle Fork of the Salmon River in Idaho. Our friends lead adventurous and creative lives year-round, and we can’t wait to finally experience their winters instead of just hearing about it the following summer. The first stop is Castle Mountain Resort, Alberta: a massive ski area with a tiny operations team at the end of the road and the entry to a provincial park.

Our doubts are alleviated when Mads whirls through the door. The adrenaline, excitement, and exhaustion of a day heavy with avalanche control work are worn on her face with a huge smile. “Woah! That was a crazy day! I was team lead … there were so many routes to run … everything was sliding.” She launches into it in the way that only true friends can, skipping the catch-up and getting to the meat of it.

Madeline Martin is a river guide, ski patroller and avalanche educator. She’s adventurous, ambitious, driven, kind and fun. From June through September, you’ll find her guiding weeklong wilderness river trips on the Middle Fork of the Salmon. She introduces people to wilderness living with care, knowledge and grace. From late November through April, she’s a lead ski patroller at Castle Mountain. On the side, Mads teaches youth avalanche education courses for Avalanche Canada and is preparing to start her Canadian Mountain Guide certifications.

After a night of catching up at the little town’s only restaurant/bar, we head out early for a full day in the backcountry. The trailhead is a kilometer from the house—just far enough to warrant driving. We drop the truck into low gear to blaze a path through the unplowed parking lot. A few minutes later, a little Subaru carefully traces our tracks into the lot. Madeline knows the driver, which we’ll soon realize is a trend around here.

It’s amazing to finally experience the place I’ve heard so much about in the summers. From our ski tour’s high point, Mads tells us about the canyon from her point of view. “See that cliff band? And there’s the clear ski path above it. Last year, a guy skied off the back of Castle, triggered an avalanche, and was swept just to the side of those cliffs. He had just enough cell service to ping an SOS. We ended up touring up to him, zigzagging through those cliffs; we had to spend the night out with him before he could get heli-lifted in the morning.” I have heard this story before, but the rugged scene before me colors it in a new way.

The skiing is fantastic—both on our tour and the next day, when we go cat-skiing with Castle Mountain Resort’s attached operation. Castle’s Powder Stagecoach offers big ski lines and effortless access, with the kind of hearty, happy guides you would expect in a one-bar town. The crew includes an ER doctor, a writer and a graying golden retriever, all of whom clearly adore Mads. With every break in the snowfall, they point out their ideas for expansion and gauge her thoughts.

The skiing is so good that we follow our morning of cat-skiing with laps at the resort. Before we know it, the latter bell on a bell-to-bell day is rung. On our skate from the snow safety office to Mads’ house, we pass a few friendly folks throwing tennis balls for the dogs from slopeside Adirondack ski chairs.

The next morning brings a layer of heavy snow at mid to low elevations, turning the snowpack upside-down. Our prospects for another day of touring evaporate with the increased avalanche danger. We head to the resort instead. Lower elevations offer wet precip, but the skiing off the top double chair is terrific, even if there’s a wind hold every so often.

Castle is a tight-knit community. We stand in line for the double to the top while it’s on wind hold, again. A couple of older dudes start a conversation with us: “We heard you guys are from the States!” In the fifteen-person lift line, all the locals recognize us. “Oh, you’re Madeline’s friends, right? From Alta?”

We’re sad to pack up and hit the road the next day, but we have plans with our friends Lara and Tara in Stanley, and Madeline is headed north for a six-day ski traverse.

As our visit comes to a close, we search for our next rendezvous. “I have a Denali trip in May. Do you want to go?” Mads asks. I can’t help but think how proud I am of my friend. She spends her summers sleeping on the river bank, winters are ski-in, ski-out, and her breaks between work seasons are chock-full of adventure. I probably can’t join for a Denali trip, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t planning for other climbing trips come fall…