Scroll Call: An End of Season Chat With Ben Ferguson
We sat down with Ben Ferguson, #BurtonTeam Rider to catch up on a season of pushing his body and the boundaries of backcountry snowboarding.
After two seasons chasing lines through Japan, Canada, and the raw spines of Alaska, Ben knows the feeling of fear and flow better than most. The rehab grind is real—but so is the pull to get back to the mountains and finish what he started.
How’s LA been treating you?
It’s been pretty chill. Mostly gym time to take care of the knee. There’s not much else I can do right now—just rehab and work on the tan. The pool’s been nice though, and Grace and Luke are around, so I’ve got some good company. Can’t complain.
What happened with the knee?
It started acting up around March—just sore after contests. But I kept riding, we were filming for a new project coming out next year, and I didn’t want to stop, so just kind of kept romping on it and on the last storm, last potential powder of the year. We built a jump in Whistler and found an old bomb hole and just really did her in, really finished her off. It was not completely destroyed but pretty messed up. The surgeon said my tendon looked like seagrass—so yeah, it was bad. But I got surgery pretty fast, and PT’s been going well. Should be back on snow next year.
So what’s been keeping you sane during recovery?
Honestly, just putting all my energy into healing. Hitting the gym, staying on top of nutrition, taking it all seriously. Outside of that, I’ve been reading—just finished Master and Commander, which was sick. And I’ve been drawing a bunch, getting into some art stuff too. It’s been a good way to pass the time.
Let’s talk about the project you’ve been working on. How long has it been in the works, and where have you traveled for it?
It’s been about two years now. We kicked it off in Japan—me and Mikkel were there for almost two months. It was epic. By the end, we were definitely ready to leave, but now I’m just itching to go back. I’m hoping the knee holds up so we can return next year.
The rest of the time was mostly spent in Canada. We basically didn’t leave. It was nice, actually—we needed that. And then both years, we wrapped things up in Alaska. We got lucky up there with good snow and sun, and really crushed it. It’s been a wild ride.
Alaska looks insane, what is it about it that makes it feel like the final frontier for snowboarders?
It’s the biggest, gnarliest riding you can do. Even if you’re taking it chill, everything’s just massive. One open panel can give you 50 untouched powder turns—super fast, no problem with speed. It’s wild. It’s the fastest I’ve ever gone, the most scared I’ve ever been—and when you make it to the bottom of a heavy line, that feeling is unreal.
Do you think that fear is part of the appeal?
Totally. But it’s a good fear—a healthy respect. You’re taking on risk, sure, but it’s about managing it smart. If conditions are sketchy or your guide’s not feeling it, it’s okay to say no. It’s about reading the terrain, reading the snow, and not letting ego drive the decision. You can definitely ride Alaska safely if you’re willing to walk away from the wrong line and wait for the right one.
What goes through your head when you’re about to drop into something that gnarly?
There’s always that inner voice saying, I don’t know about this, but then there’s also that drive—we’re doing this, and getting there is a mission on its own. Sometimes the heli can barely reach the line—you’re strapped in, doors off, your board’s in the backseat, and they’re hovering over this tiny safe zone. No cornice, no exposure, just enough room to land.
Even that part is nuts—probably the scariest part. Then you’re dropped off, hunkered down in the snow, and as the heli pulls away, it’s dead silent. That’s when it hits. You’re like, Why the hell did I agree to this? Everything looks steeper and scarier in person. But then you breathe, trust your prep, trust your ability, and drop. And when it works out—when you ride away clean—it’s unreal. There’s no feeling like it.
You rode NST again this year. What keeps you coming back?
It’s tough—it’s a gamble with conditions—but they really try to run it in the best snow possible. This year dropping into that course, especially the first run when there was no tracks, it was some of the best snow I rode all year and even just that's epic for a contest to ride amazing pow in a contest is pretty fucking awesome. I honestly just think it’s the evolution of snowboarding. If you can lace a top-to-bottom run in freeride terrain, throw in tricks, and make it look smooth, that’s kind of the pinnacle. It shows your mountain knowledge, your backcountry chops, your contest background—it’s all of it rolled into one. That’s what makes it special.
What’s that feeling like—landing a run at NST compared to stomping a line in Alaska?
Super similar except with more pressure. You’re being filmed, judged, and riding against the best dudes out there. When you land something and get a good score, it’s super fulfilling. But if you blow it, it sucks—and that’s what keeps you hungry. You want that redemption.
You've been on the scene for such a long time. What keeps you chasing it, year after year?
I still haven’t filmed my perfect part. That’s probably what keeps me going—you’re always chasing it. I don’t think you ever really feel satisfied. There’s always that what if—if I’d just landed that one thing or cleaned up that one clip. Every season you’re trying to outdo yourself and do something new. Going back to the same jumps gets stale. It’s about the adventure, finding new stuff, and pushing it further than the year before.
Do you go into the season with a plan or just follow the snow?
You always have ideas, but the snow totally dictates everything. You might have a list of dream shots, but it all depends on where the snow is, what conditions line up, and if the jump you’re hoping for even exists that year. You just try to be ready for those moments when it all comes together.
