This May I’ll boat on two different multiday rivers, spend nights in six of my favorite cities and river towns around the West, drive and fly way too many miles, move out of… Continue reading
Wherever I am, with that first verse I’m sitting by a campfire watching orange light hit the fretboard of a river-battered guitar. I’m sticking my head out a truck’s window to catch a breath of syringa infused, backroad Idaho air. There’s something in that song that catches me when I’m not “on”.
But those wild places, they come with risk. It’s not always a powder day in love. Sometimes, the skin track is icy. And your binding breaks. And your dog eats a block of ski wax and vomits in your boots…
No need to manically dance around in your pajamas to beat the winter blues when you have… fishing!
It’s pretty great to wake up each morning and say to the love of your life, “What adventure do you want to get into today?”, isn’t it? Good – make that plan, then call me too.
If what makes a trip special isn’t bacon, what is it?
Most stories – they bury themselves in the sand. They drift lazily up and down eddy lines. They climb into cracks in the sandstone, limestone and schist. They poke into a driftwood pile and settle in for the winter. Feelings wander up side canyons and don’t come back. Heart-words sit on debris fans and decide not to leave.
I want to open myself up to whatever that water moving downhill needs me to know. That river doesn’t need me to try to tell it stories (I’m SO FUN and SOCIAL! I’m a RIVER GUIDE! I’ve GOT THIS) and my ears are a little more open than they’ve ever been before.