"It is not enough to fight for the land; it is even more important to enjoy it. While you can. While it is still there.
So ramble out yonder and explore the forests, encounter the grizz, climb the mountains. Run the rivers.
Sit quietly for a while and contemplate the precious stillness, that lovely, mysterious and awesome space."
- Ed Abbey
About Mike
Adventure is in my DNA. So is faith. And possibly the lingering scent of wet socks and crushed Fig Newtons.
I grew up on family camping trips packed into a big green station wagon, with a heavy canvas tent lashed to the roof like a military-grade burrito. The tent smelled like a mix of wet poodle, granola bars, mud, and adventure. Our sleeping bags matched the car—forest green and fleece-lined with elk and pine tree patterns, like a flannel fever dream. We prayed before meals, before hikes, and occasionally when the brakes failed.
Later came the Boy Scout years in the Rocky Mountains near Denver. I may or may not have snuck a bulky old black bear costume from the basement into my pack and used it to scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting campers after dark. (No scouts were harmed. Mostly.)
College took me to Brigham Young University, parked smack within the Wasatch Mountains and at the veritable doorstep of the red rock wilds of southern Utah. It was a wilderness playground—and I played hard. My motto: “You can always retake a class, but you can’t retake a powder day.”
Then came the corporate years. A successful digital marketing career working with Fortune 500 companies. But behind the spreadsheets lurked a dirtbag heart. My lunch breaks were trail runs through forests of hardwoods and ferns. My weekends? Let’s just say that I’d limp back into the office on Mondays after brutal but blissful backcountry trips. Then I proceeded to crush deadlines with the same intensity I crushed Clif bars.
Through it all, faith has been my compass. A steady, guiding force stitched through every stage—from the flannel sleeping bags of childhood to the solo sunrise hikes of adulthood.
Now? Things have changed out there. The gear is better. The trails are busier. Everyone with an SUV, a sandwich, and an iPhone is heading into the wild. Nature is more accessible than ever, and somehow… harder to truly experience.
Finding peace, healing, awe—even God—in the outdoors these days? That takes intention. And maybe a little guidance.
I’d like to help with that.
Adventure is in my DNA. So is faith. And possibly the lingering scent of wet socks and crushed Fig Newtons.
I grew up on family camping trips packed into a big green station wagon, with a heavy canvas tent lashed to the roof like a military-grade burrito. The tent smelled like a mix of wet poodle, granola bars, mud, and adventure. Our sleeping bags matched the car—forest green and fleece-lined with elk and pine tree patterns, like a flannel fever dream. We prayed before meals, before hikes, and occasionally when the brakes failed.
Later came the Boy Scout years in the Rocky Mountains near Denver. I may or may not have snuck a bulky old black bear costume from the basement into my pack and used it to scare the living daylights out of unsuspecting campers after dark. (No scouts were harmed. Mostly.)
College took me to Brigham Young University, parked smack within the Wasatch Mountains and at the veritable doorstep of the red rock wilds of southern Utah. It was a wilderness playground—and I played hard. My motto: “You can always retake a class, but you can’t retake a powder day.”
Then came the corporate years. A successful digital marketing career working with Fortune 500 companies. But behind the spreadsheets lurked a dirtbag heart. My lunch breaks were trail runs through forests of hardwoods and ferns. My weekends? Let’s just say that I’d limp back into the office on Mondays after brutal but blissful backcountry trips. Then I proceeded to crush deadlines with the same intensity I crushed Clif bars.
Through it all, faith has been my compass. A steady, guiding force stitched through every stage—from the flannel sleeping bags of childhood to the solo sunrise hikes of adulthood.
Now? Things have changed out there. The gear is better. The trails are busier. Everyone with an SUV, a sandwich, and an iPhone is heading into the wild. Nature is more accessible than ever, and somehow… harder to truly experience.
Finding peace, healing, awe—even God—in the outdoors these days? That takes intention. And maybe a little guidance.
I’d like to help with that.