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…
Author: admin
A little bit less of a nomad now, Jared still likes to refer to himself in the third person.
“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…
I knew there would be some choice words for the cars in front of us whenever we next stopped, but the truth is I am glad we were going twenty…
Editor’s Note: This was written in late May as I tried to settle into a pandemic routine at NOLS’ Three Peaks Ranch. Andy met me at the Steele House…
The phone rang. I looked down at my desktop and saw a 307 number–Wyoming–but not one I recognized. I picked it up. Three weeks earlier in mid-March, NOLS had…
Jeremiah was born in a holding cell and raised in prison. He never walked shoeless through rolling, windswept sage and greasewood; his hungry stomach never ached for saltbrush or winterfat…
Editor’s Note: a compilation of various things I have written in the past mixed with new material, this is posted here today in honor of what would have been my…