The slots rise hundreds of feet upward, the narrows windy, twisty, sandy, muddy, straight, steep, flat, red, black, orange, grey, everything in between all those. These cleaving slices through the…
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A little bit less of a nomad now, Jared still likes to refer to himself in the third person.
Author’s Note: The November 7th of 2021 marks the 25th anniversary of my father’s unexpected passing. He was 46. In the 23rd year after his death I actively engaged with…
My tears take the long way to the pillow. They trace a line over my cheek bone and down to my chin, being slowed by week-old stubble, before depositing themselves…
The pandemic reinforced my love of tea and tacos. Here is the beginning and the end to 2021’s daily grind: ~ the pot: with Andy home it is a two…
I lost Luke twice. He was my first love. I remember the tears rolling down my cheek as I wrapped my arms around him. I buried my face into his…
I have no tattoos. That story is one of lazy summer days, friendship, and happenstance. But it is not for here. Here is where I tell you what tattoos the…
“Well, I’m not sure if this is helpful” I yelled, with barely competing decibels. . . “but this is probably one of the top five worst nights I have ever…
Editor’s Note: The author lives and writes from the current and ancestral lands of the Eastern Shoshone, Northern Arapaho, Apsaalooké, and Cheyenne. His direct ancestors landed at Plymouth Rock in…
Editor’s Note: I wrote this piece, taken from an interview with a NOLS alum, close to two years ago. The interview was done in the process of writing a NOLS…
March 27th 2021–I rose from below a juniper tree that morning. It would be hard to say that I slept or I awoke. Those didn’t come easy on this course. …
September 2017–I knew it was there somewhere. Deep in my second floor storage closet in the Noble Hotel was a rectangular, blue, Tupperware bin of tools. There was an…
“How many times have you done this?” Tim asks. “Oh, probably close to twenty” Ryan replies. Ryan is below us, wedged into a slot, rigging the green static rope to…
I walk with my boots tied loosely, laces sloppy within the confines of my gaiters. No blisters, just loose friction between the socks and the lining of the mid-weight…
I lean on the rusty pipe rail fence, watching a dance of equine and person. Within the confines of the sandy arena Des methodically moves a small black flag up…