Research suggests that many folks do not spend enough time outside.  This is particularly true for the younger generations.  Kids are spending more time indoors, using technology and engaging in generally sedentary activities.  want to change that.  It is recommended that children get at least one hour of physical activity every day.   I want to see our kids being active and engaging in the outdoors.  Playing in the outdoors is a natural way to relieve stress, be active and to experience the world around you! 

This past summer a friend of mine and I, through our collaboration with a community based nutrition and activity program, launched a program for Yamhill County youth called Get Active in Nature this Summer (GAINS).  The program was offered through the Student Nutrition and Activity Counseling for Kids (SNACK) program and was supported by a grant from the Nike Community Impact Fund.  We had an awesome summer. Every week we offered kids opportunities to be active, outside in a local park or up in the hills and canyons. We had a run club where kids worked up to participating in the Portland Bubble run 5K. We offered kids and their family’s boot camp style activity sessions at local parks.  It was great to see the parents running the ladder activities alongside their kids.   We offered cooking classes for families. We organized hikes – starting off short and ending in an overnight experience on Mount Hood – hiking on the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT) and learning about shelter building and knot tying.   We aimed to provide kids with the opportunity to remain active over the summer months without organized sport or expensive equipment. 

The leaders of the GAINS programs are all students from Linfield College. They are student interns charged with engaging kids with opportunities to eat healthy and be more physically active.  My favorite part of the whole program was hiking the PCT with the kids and Interns.   The farthest these kids had hiked before our adventure was a couple of miles.  That day, we hiked nearly seven miles, all at 6,000 feet, around the base of the majestic Mount Hood.

The kids in the GAINS program ran, swam, hiked, hoped, bear crawled, climbed and had a blast in nature!

My first attempt at running 100 miles was at The Yeti 100 on the Virginia Creeper Trail. The Creeper Tail is 33.4 miles long and spans from Whitetop Station to Abingdon. On the way there it passes through the town of Damascus, VA at more or less the mid point. The race consisted of three laps of the trail starting at Whitetop going to Abingdon, back to Whitetop, and finishing back at Abingdon.

I arrived in Damascus with one of my pacers Brandon Thursday night. Our first stop was the packet pickup where we were greeted by the very friendly RD Jason Green. Looking around at all the runners began to get me very excited about this race for the first time in a few weeks. I should back up a bit and say that for the past week and a half I did not think that I would be here for this race. I had an issue with my knee that popped up 10 days before race day which left me hobbling around kind of depressed wondering how after nine months of healthy training for this race could I now get injured? I iced it, stretched a lot and went to see Wes at Antifragile PT. He assured me that it was not an issue with my MCL or meniscus but that because of a tight hamstring and quad, my knee bursa was irritated and inflamed. He stuck me with a few dry needles and sent me on my way. It still hurt to run so I continued babying it with ice and stretching over the next few days before the race, not running at all. When I showed up at the start line I still had no idea if I could even run 100 yards much less 100 miles. I couldn’t stand the thought of not showing up and at least trying after all of the training time I had invested into preparing for the race. I had let both of my pacers who are also good friends of mine know exactly what was going on with my knee and told them that I completely understood if they didn’t want to devote their entire weekend to a race that very possibly might not even happen. They both responded that they would be there. True friends!

It was still dark when Jason the RD wished us all well and sent us on our way at 7AM on Friday morning. I was full of excitement and worry about what was going to transpire over the next ten minutes. I figured by then that I would know one way or another how my knee was going to respond to running again. Brandon was going to meet me at the first aid station to see what the verdict was. I told him that I would either see him in an hour and a half or in three hours depending on my knee.

As the clock struck 7 and Jason said GO, I watched as the front runners trotted forward and then I proceeded to do the same, only with my fingers crossed. What I found amazed me. No pain! At all! I said thank you, thank you, thank you out loud!

The first18 miles are downhill going through a beautiful forest of hardwoods with their leaves just beginning to show the first signs of fall. The trail follows and crosses several streams numerous times on 47 trestles and at one point crosses Holston lake on a beautiful and very long trestle. I focused on keeping a slow pace over the easy terrain in order to conserve as much as possible for the coming long hours through the upcoming night. I chatted with a handful of runners on and off for the first section going down and in what seemed like no time at all I was in Damascus feasting on an enormous bagel that Brandon had procured for me and filling water bottles. I felt very good at this point and was still riding the high of actually being able to run. It’s very true that things are a lot sweeter if you have been without them for a while. I changed shoes because the Altras that I started the race in were apparently a half size too small causing my toes to jam into the front of the shoe on the 16 mile decent. I switched out into a pair of Nike Pegasus and immediately my feet felt better. Up next was a flat section of trail all the way to the Holston Lake crossing followed by a 7 mile climb up to Abingdon and the turn around point. At this point the sun was out in full force and I could tell that it was zapping my energy. Realizing this I began to drink more water between aid stations and at aid stations. I feel like this was a crucial element to my ultimate success as I have read over and over again about runners getting behind on hydration and nutrition in 100 milers, not realizing until it’s too late and then not being able to get caught back up in time. In terms of nutrition for me in this race, I ate EVERYTHING and my stomach was feeling great pretty much for the entire 26 hours. So much food! Pro Bars, bagels, grilled cheese, quesadillas, gels, tailwind, cookies, avocado and sea salt sandwiches, trail mix, oranges, bananas, PBnJ, ramen noodles, and gallons upon gallons of water. I made it up to Abingdon and got to see my crew for a few seconds before turning around to do it all over again in reverse only now I knew exactly what to expect on the second of three laps. The trip back down to Damascus was fairly uneventful aside from seeing some poor cyclist have to get carted away by EMS after a crash and I had to stop to take care of my feet. It felt like instantly and out of nowhere I noticed pain on both feet in the same spot (just behind and to the side of ball of foot). I felt no hot spots. Just BAM, blisters. I stopped, sat down, took off my socks and shoes to asses the damage. On both feet were quarter sized blisters filled taught with fluid. I wasted no time in grabbing a safety pin from my race bib and draining those suckers. I also enlarged the drain holes I had made so that they would continue to drain throughout the remainder of the race. Lastly, before putting my socks and shoes back on, I slathered both feet with Bag Balm to ensure that this would not happen again – and I’m happy to report that it didn’t! Looking back if I were to do this race again I would definitely wear gaiters to keep out the minute limestone pebbles that make up the surface of the entire trail. I would estimate that I had to stop to empty my shoes at least a dozen times before the finish. Gaiters would have prevented this. Around mile 42 I picked up Dalton who was my first pacer. He was with me for the next 25 miles all the way back up to Whitetop through the black night. Running at night is something that I have done before and somewhat enjoy but running in the dark after running for 13 hours through the day was an all new experience for me. I began to slow down considerably and adopted a run 5 minute/walk 1 minute strategy that seemed to be perfect for my current mental and physical state. It allowed me to still make decent forward progress but also have time to recover. We did this all the way up to Whitetop at mile 67. I have never run with a pacer in a race before but I now have huge respect for them. Dalton was awesome in his self appointed duties of keeping track of my 5 minutes of running and 1 minute walk breaks, letting my know when to go and when to stop. We talked the entire time about everything under the sun and before I knew it we were at Whitetop with 66.8 miles on my feet! I felt great. I had noticed that the temperature had dropped but with the constant movement I was plenty warm in just my T shirt. That changed quickly as soon as I stopped to fill bottles and grab some food. I began shaking uncontrollably. Once again my pacers came through for me with a long sleeved shirt, jacket, and gloves. I was ready to rock and roll the last 33.4 miles to the finish and I knew if I kept my current average pace that I would get there in under 24 hours. Oh, the things I did not know!

I switched up pacers before heading down the mountain. Brandon would be joining me all the way in. I knew that if there was anyone in the world come hell or high water that could get me back to Abingdon, it would be Brandon. Turns out that sure enough, he was the man for the job.

I’m not sure of what time it was when we left the aid station but it was very dark and the stars were plentiful. It was beautiful and somehow I felt great. Brandon and I talked about what an awesome experience this was and how it compared to our days on our AT thru hike. Life was great! We resumed the run/walk strategy for a few sessions and then I decided to turn on some music to run to. This got me all fired up and gave me an adrenalin rush. I was ready to GET IT! I felt great. We ran straight through three songs and passed a handful of runners because of it. Then, the bottom fell out. I lost everything that I had. I was 71 miles (16 miles further than I had ever run before in my life) into a 100 mile race and at that point it was everything I could do to shuffle my feet forward at 2mph. I was truly creeping on the Creeper Trail. Everything hurt. Especially my feet and the tendons on the top of my feet. I had been riding an adrenalin high and once it was over, it felt like everything was over. I got passed over and over again. I was frustrated that I could not move any faster. Come on Bryson! It’s just walking! I said to myself. Walking felt impossible. Through what turned out to be 7 miles of my “creeping” we finally made it to the Damascus aid station where I had to have assistance negotiating the slight decline to the aid tent. It was bad. At the aid station I sat down and enjoyed some hot Ramen out of a solo cup while listening to the music that was pumping through the speakers. Brandon and Dalton were running around gathering up everything that I might need for what would undoubtedly be a very long 17 miles to the finish. I’m not sure how to explain it other than running for 21 hours straight will break down some barriers within you, but I began to feel overcome with emotion. Overcome with gratitude toward Brandon and Dalton for devoting their weekend to my goal. And overcome with gratitude just to be here now in the moment feeling so alive! I left that aid station feeling much better mentally and physically than when I had arrived. I still hurt badly and still thought that I could not run but I knew that it was all going to be just fine. Upon exiting the aid station I happened to glance over at the huge red ticking clock over to the side of the course. It said 21:30. I started doing calculations in my head. I had 17 miles to go and 8.5 hours to get there. If I continued on at the pace in which I had entered Damascus I could just barely make the 30 hour cutoff time. I decided resolutely in my mind that I was going to get it in gear and give absolutely everything that I had for the rest of the race. There was no way that I was going to miss the cutoff.  I think that I surprised Brandon when I shared my plan with him. It was like a walking zombie telling him that, okay, now I’m going to run! I asked him to keep track of 5 minutes for me and I took off. Don’t get me wrong I was not breaking any speed records here but I was also moving considerably faster than I had been in the previous 5 hours. I immediately felt better. I still hurt pretty much everywhere but mentally I was golden. I knew that I would make it to the finish. We ran 5 minutes and power hiked 5 minutes through the last of the darkness of night, through the sun rising up for the second time since I had started running, through the early Saturday morning joggers and bikers out enjoying the trail, and through the burning fatigue coursing through my body. We ran over each trestle that I silently thanked that I would not have to run over again. Honestly both Brandon and I became a little giddy, laughing at anything and everything. Be it delirium or impending accomplishment I’m not sure but we were some happy fellas!

A sight that I’ll never forget as long as I live is rounding that last bend in the trail and seeing the finish line where Jason stood open armed to welcome me to mile 100.2 and the end of this adventure. He hugged and congratulated me and handed me my first 100 mile belt buckle. My beautiful wife Erica was there to give me a kiss and a huge smile. Everyone was so happy and I felt pure joy. I have never been so broken before but I’ve also never felt so alive.

It was a truly unique thing to have so many people gathered together to take part in what most folks think of as a quite insane self imposed task of running 100 miles. Many people that I told of my plans to do so met me with questions of why would you want to put your body through that? Are you off your rocker? Is that even possible?

I did it simply because of the challenge that it presented to me. It was new territory and a complete unknown. Up until I crossed that finish line I honestly could not even fathom covering 100 miles in one push with nothing but my own two feet. Is that even possible? For me?

I did it because it required unwavering commitment and strengthened my perseverance. I did it to see how strong my will and my body had become over the many months of training. I did it to test my character. I did it because if I never tried I would never know. I, along with all of the rest of the world only have this one life to live and I don’t want to miss out on any adventure that comes my way. This is one adventure that will always be with me and I am so thankful to have had opportunity to give it a go!

For the 8th year, the Riverside Education Center enlisted families from their program to cook for the Taste of Riverside fundraiser.  A popular event, the Taste of Riverside raises money for important programs for kids and teens. It’s also one of the best opportunities for the local community to enjoy a home-cooked traditional Mexican meal.

The Riverside Education Center is an after school tutoring and enrichment program for students in grades K-12. The mission of the Riverside Education Center (REC) is to provide structured tutoring and diverse extracurricular activities for academically and financially qualifying students. Each year, REC serves 140 students. 86% of these students receive free or reduced lunches and 92% are from a minority background.

For 6 years, my sons volunteered as after school tutors for elementary students at REC. Without a doubt, this experience has one of the most valuable they had in high school.

Other REC programing includes a middle school program offering tutoring, skill building and service learning opportunities and a high school program offering tutoring and college and scholarship application assistance.

This year, the Taste of Riverside served 225 guests and raised almost $50,000, an all-time high. Mountain Khakis participated in the silent auction and did its part with the donation of two gift cards.

Reflecting on this year’s event, Executive Director Joy Hudak shares the following.

“The Taste of Riverside is a great fundraiser for us each year.  Not only because we meet our fundraising goals, but because it is a time to bring our families, students, staff, board, and other community volunteers together.  It’s not just one person or one group trying to reach a goal.  It is different people across our community coming together to help impact kids who need it most with academic and extra-curricular activities.  It’s a great time for us to build community supporting kids.”  

Riverside is an historic, unique neighborhood in Grand Junction. Well-established, with a lot of community pride, some families have lived in Riverside for generations. Many of these families are Hispanic and very active in the Grand Junction community.

The historic Riverside school and the Dual Immersion Academy School (a public school with teaching in both Spanish and English) anchor the neighborhood. The historic school is also the home of the Riverside Education Center.

The last leg of my trip was located in the Wise River Valley in south west Montana, twelve miles off the highway.  After I crossed the meandering Wise River, I pulled up to the Big Hole Lodge that is beautifully tucked in the base of the Pioneer Mountains.  Founder Craig Fellin bought the scenic piece of property surrounded by National Forest in 1984, originally accommodating two clients.  Today, the lodge has grown to hold 8-12 guests and has won Orvis Endorsed Fly-Fishing Lodge of the Year in 2017 and a finalist in 2016.

I was shown to my accommodations in the Beaverhead Cabin, a rustic lodge pole duplex that overlooks the dining area. The Beaverhead has a large outside deck, perfect for enjoying a cigar or sipping on wine that is provided in the mini fridge.   Once I was settled in, I headed over to enjoy happy hour.  I met Craig on the back porch; we shared fishing stories over a Big Sky IPA, fresh homemade salsa and chips followed by a fantastic dinner.  

My first day was on the Big Hole with my guide, Travis.  I had the intention to fish streamers until we started to see noses sipping tricos.  It wasn’t long until I put the streamer rod down and picked up my rod rigged with a ten foot leader.  The trico hatch was earlier than we expected it to start, not that I was complaining.  As we floated through a nice run, with a half of dozen fish to the boat, the hatch was in full force.  Travis let down the anchor in the softest section of the run and I started looking for rising fish.  For the next hour and half, we never picked up the anchor.  There were so many rising fish, that if you got a refusal at the beginning of the drift, at least two other fish would give it a look or eat.  After a tremendous morning trico hatch, we switched to terrestrials.  Hoppers and ants were the best bet the rest of the float. 

After a perfect dinner I talked to Wade, Craig’s son, to get an idea of what he had in store for me the next day.  We decided to make the two hour drive to the West Fork of the Bitterroot.  Wade had fished it a couple of days before and referred it was “bonkers.”  The drive to the river went by in a flash as we compared and contrasted what our home fisheries are like.  Wade has a similar story as myself, when it comes to fly fishing.  Wade grew up on the water, being taught by his father, which I can relate to.  Most adults think of fly fishing as an older generation sport.  We both agreed that is not the case.  There is a new generation of fisherman, who are willing to push the limits and think outside of the box.

Once on the water, it took some time to figure out what the fish wanted.  With Wade talking up his float from a couple of days, I thought this was going to be a “should have been here yesterday” moment.  We eventually strung up a pair of dries that got the job done.  Later in the afternoon after a great morning we pulled over for lunch along a small feeder stream, as we pulled in a herd of elk crossed just 30 yards from us, it was a sight to see.

The remainder of the float was full of action, Wade and I lost count after getting 20 fish to the boat.  As the take out came in view and the best fishing day of my trip came to an end, I realized that the fishing was only a portion of what made this day on the water so great.  Wade and I are close in age but not close in location, we both had one thing in common.  Our fathers introduced us into fly fishing at a very young age and because of that, we could share fishing stories and why we love spending time on the water until blue in the face.  This was Wade’s first year taking over the lodge from his father and I am glad I got to spend a day on the water with him.  I was honored to be able to fish with Wade now that he manages the legacy that his father passed on to him.  It was a perfect way to end my travels.

While Newport, RI might hold the title of “Sailing Capital of the World, for sure the city is identified hosting the America’s Cup races for decades. Newport is known for the summer mansions of America’s 19^th century rich and famous, the Tennis Hall of Fame and sailing. From 1958 through 1983, the International 12 Metre was the sailing class used in racing for the coveted “America’s Cup”. To keep it short, the 12 Metre formula is not a length formula, but a set of parameters set off against displacement (weight) and sail area, all divided by 2.37. Whatever! So these yachts end up around 67’ in length, weigh about 60,000 pds, 90’ masts with a sail area of 1800+ sq. ft. To be sure, racing these yachts is not a contact sport, but it happens. None have been built since the 1987 “America’s Cup” in Australia, but many restored 12’s race throughout the Baltic, Mediterranean and New England. One of the largest fleets in the World calls Newport home.

Over the last weekend of September, Newport held the 12 Metre North American Championship. Which closes out a long sailing season of racing including Nantucket, Edgartown(MV) and Newport. While Hurricane Jose blew into town on Thursday and Friday, racing resumed with great weather and breeze the final two days.

As with and team, crew work is key. The race crew on each of these 12 Metre yachts is 16. Some of the 12’s are owned and raced with owners and some are chartered with amateur crews. By all accounts, it’s racing pieces of history, great camaraderie and fun. Since my profession and business is owning and chartering the yachts, I headed up the crew on “American Eagle”. She was built as a defender for the 1964 America’s Cup and then after her Cup days owner by Ted Turner. Turner converted her to an ocean racer and set records in some of the most prestigious races, including the Fastnet and Sidney-Hobart Races, two time winner of the Yachtsman of the Year Award and the World Ocean Racing Championship.

Our team was comprised of men and women sailing amateurs and business professionals, ages 26 to 72, who race smaller boats during the season. A few times during the summer, they all join talents and muscle on American Eagle.  After great competition, post-race beers, regatta parties, and even blood & sweat, we ended up in 2^nd place. A solid result with room for improvement as we look to next season, winter boat refinements and skiing.

This lake is gorgeous all year round, too. I just recently hiked (October 7, 2017) here, and the incredible fall colors were in full effect. I like to call it “Larsh Madness” because the tree colors are a gorgeous yellow color. The day my husband and I hiked this trail, it was a bit of a chilly day. We bundled up in our puffy jackets and headed up the trail around 9:30am. The entire hike was draw dropping- fall colors everywhere you looked. I felt like I was hiking so fast because I wanted to get to the lake to see how amazing the fall colors were!

We got to the lake around 11:30am- there was a small breeze that made it VERY chilly. It also started snowing a bit, which made the scenery that much more beautiful! I added a few more layers on before sitting down and having some lunch. I sat there in amazement, and felt like a little kid in a candy store. The yellow trees were my absolute favorite! My husband and I finished lunch, took some pictures (OF COURSE!!), and headed back down around 12:30pm. If it wasn’t so chilly, I would have wanted to stay there all day and adventure around the lake a bit….but at this point my hands were numb! We got back to our car around 2:00pm, turned on the heat, and headed home. I sat in the passenger seat looking through all the pictures we had taken with a huge smile on my face. This place truly is my favorite place on earth!)

A couple weeks ago, my annual work conference was held in Denver, CO. After finishing up all my meetings and seminars, my wife flew out to Denver to meet me so we could spend a long weekend exploring the area. By the time the weekends was over, I was begging her to let us move there from our home in South Carolina!

As we do on most of our trips, we piled in as many adventures as we could in 2.5 days. If you have never been to Colorado, I highly recommend making the trip. It is absolutely beautiful being surrounded by the Rocky Mountains. Our first stop was Red Rocks Amphitheatre, the famous outdoor venue for many concerts that sits right in between incredibly large red, rock mountains. We hiked around a little there and then we made our way over to Boulder, CO. We did not waste any time finding Flatirons Park and jumping onto the trail that was said to have the best view at the summit. What I neglected to tell my wife was that even though this trail has the best views, it is also rated as the steepest and most difficult in the park. She started picking up on this about halfway up the treacherous incline and was not too happy about it. Thankfully when we reached the top, the view made it all worth it as we looked out over hundreds of miles of landscape along with the University of Colorado Boulder’s campus. Our priorities did come into play after the hike as we quickly descended and made our way into downtown Boulder to find a place to eat and watch the Clemson football game!

The next day was the best day of the whole trip. We made our way over to Rocky Mountain National Park and Estes Park. It lived up to all the hype. As soon as pulled in

to the park, we were greeted by over 50 wild roaming elk. I quickly threw the car into park and we got out and were able to follow them all the way down to a lake that they waded across. It was one of the most surreal things I have seen in person. We spent the day hiking trails like Bear Lake, watching herds of elk, and taking in the views of the Aspen trees with their bright yellow leaves.

Our final day included a hike at Garden of the Gods, touring the Air Force Academy, and unfortunately getting on a plane back home. We had a great time hiking and enjoying all God’s beautiful creation, but it would not be right for me to share this trip with you without briefly mentioning the best places to eat. If you ever find your way to Colorado and you need some good pre or post-hike meals/drinks, be sure to check these out: Denver Biscuit Company, Blue Moon Brewing Company, Avanti, Snooze, and Little Man Ice Cream.

It was a great adventure for us out in the Rocky Mountains and we hope to be back soon to go snow skiing!

Once JB graduated high school, he focused on college and transitioning to that busy life. I too had refocused my attention to my new job and at a different school. Our paths slowly grew a part as we were both focusing on new chapters in our lives. However, from time to time we would check in on each other, asking about fishing reports, sharing pictures, and just talking about life. He was doing great! He got in the swing of things at college, and is dominating the student life.

Recently, I texted him about a lake that he and I frequented while he was with me at the high school. He said he had just gone out there and caught me up on the report. Towards the end of our conversation, he mentioned he went fishing with guys from the local fly shop. I thought “cool, glad you are buddies with those guys. Wish I could still be able to spend time with him.” Then, JB dropped a line on me that I could not believe. “Mr. Mattick, I am the newest employee at the Fly Shop!”

I may have gotten a little teary-eyed when I heard that news. JB had gone from a student in my math class, to an employee at the local fly shop. He had the knowledge, skills and personality, why wouldn’t any fly shop hire him?? I was so proud of JB. Then what he said next really made me smile and a tear did indeed roll down my cheek. “Mr. Mattick, I have a lot to thank you for, that’s for sure!”

I couldn’t wait to go visit him at the shop the next day! There I found JB, proud as all can be. He was so dialed in to the shop’s routines and was helping customers as I walked in. He just looked up and smiled. Next thing I knew, JB was helping me! Life had come FULL CIRCLE. He was picking out the bugs I needed for my next outing and giving me all the details of the fishing report. I was now a student of my former student.

This is why I do what I do. Inspire. Teach. Educate. Build relationships. With kids of all ages. In hopes that they might tap in to their dreams and passions and explode as amazing human beings. In this case, JB happened to find a passion that we shared. Fly-fishing. And to know that I inspired him, educated, him, bonded with him, and he has grown into the young man he is today, is priceless.

The sound of a calving glacier is difficult to describe. It starts with a loud crack, like the land itself is clapping, but then quickly becomes a low rumble that you feel more than hear. It’s a sound and a feeling that seem to unfold in slow motion. It’s haunting. It’s powerful. It makes you realize how insignificant you really are.

It was only our second day in Alaska, and it was already earning its reputation as one of the most wild and beautiful places on earth. Leaving from Resurrection Bay in Seward, my wife, two teenaged sons and I were on a boat tour of the Kenai Fjords National Park, which covers an incomprehensible 587,000 acres. The calving of the 30-story Aialik Glacier was the icing on the cake. That morning, we had already witnessed Orca whales breech and swim under our boat; Humpbacks rise, spout and disappear; sea lions sunning themselves on island rocks; otters playing for the crowd; and black bears foraging along the steep cliffs of the off-shore islands – all the while surrounded by mountains capped in whites and blues and more glaciers than we could count. It was easy to get lulled into the idea that this was all part of some carefully choreographed show – until the cold wind would rush down over the glacier, you’d hear a loud crack and the hair standing up on the back of your neck assured you that this was indeed real, raw and very powerful.

Our trip was over a year in the making and now finally a reality. Alaska is so expansive and, in many areas, inaccessible that exploring it thoroughly would take the better part of a lifetime. We had just 10 days, so we had to hit a small sampling for our highlight reel. We would fly into Anchorage, rent an SUV and then travel down the Kenai Peninsula to Seward. After two days of exploring in Seward, we would make our way further South to Homer for two more days. We’d then journey up through Cooper Landing and on to Palmer for two days of recovery before we would push up to Talkeetna and on to Denali for our final three days. Along the way, we would hike, fish, raft, eat, drink, explore and soak up as much of the wildlife and jaw-dropping mountain views as possible.

The scenic village of Seward is located at the terminus of both the Alaska Railroad and the Seward Highway. Flanked by rugged mountains to one side and the sparkling Resurrection Bay on the other, this charming town of 2,700 is 100% Alaska. There is fantastic hiking nearby, including access to glaciers, a quaint downtown with shops and eateries, and an active marina brimming with fisherman. Overshadowing Seward is Mount Marathon, the scene of one of Alaska’s most famous and challenging foot races. On our last night, we sat out by the fire at our cabin, listening to the stream meander past, occasionally interrupted by the splashing of a salmon making its final journey upstream.

From Seward, we traveled Alaska Route 9 North to meet up with the Sterling Highway, where we made our way west towards the coast of the Cook Inlet before bearing south to the city of Homer.

Calling Homer a city feels kind of off, but knowing exactly how to explain it is difficult – it seems more like an experience than a place. Affectionately known as the Cosmic Hamlet by the Sea, Homer is one part fishing town, one part hippie enclave, acting as both the Halibut Capital of the World and the end-of-the-road for people who just want to set up shop in a VW bus and go off the grid. It has a vibrant art scene, bustling docks, cloudy mountains jutting straight out of the ocean and broken down buses (and boats) reconstructed by those with a vagabond heart. An article published by The Seattle Times quoted that Homer is, “… a sort of Key West in a parka” – and that may come the closest to anything else I’ve heard.

In Homer, we spent time wandering the desolate beaches, exploring the local art scene and, of course, fishing. Our Halibut charter included a tranquil two-hour ride to the fishing grounds, followed by intense fishing for another two hours before heading back.

Halibut fishing is different than any type of fishing I have done before. Halibut feed near the bottom and we were fishing in 170 foot of water. The rods are short and very stout and use a 3-pound weight to get the bait, attached to a very large hook, to the bottom. From there, it’s three cranks up to wait for a strike, which typically happens within 30 seconds or so. Then, the arm-burning retrieve begins as you retrieve both the fish, which were running in the 12 to 25-pound range, plus the weighted sinker, from 170 feet of water. It’s work, but it’s loads of fun and some of the best-tasting fish anywhere in the world. We took some of our catch to Patty’s out on the Spit where they prepared it fresh for us while we watched eagles tussle over their dinner on the beach.

The next morning, we were up early. We were slated for a long travel day up to Palmer, broken up by a half-day fly fishing float on the Kenai River out of Cooper Landing. Cooper Landing (population 289) is located at the confluence of Kenai Lake and Kenai River and immediately felt like a place I could call home, with its beautiful aquamarine rivers, rising slopes and laid-back mountain-town vibe. The town was first settled in the 19th century by gold and mineral prospectors, and has since become a popular summer destination thanks to its scenic wilderness location and proximity to the world-class salmon fishery of the Kenai and Russian Rivers. But we weren’t here for the salmon – we had our sights set on chasing wild Rainbows and Dolly Vardens. Though we were a little early in the season for the gigantic rainbow trout that follow the salmon spawn and have made this upper section of river famous, Cam from Alaska Troutfitters was able to put us on some great fish and we brought 18 of them to hand in our 4-hour float. We grabbed brisket and beverages at Sackett’s Kenai Grill, a local favorite, and then hit the road again.

Palmer lies on the north shore of the Matanuska River not far above tidewater, in a wide valley between the Talkeetna Mountains to the north and the Chugach Mountains to the south and east. It’s a beautiful little town and the last real “city” between us and Denali. We rolled into town in heavy cloud cover and a light, misting rain. While we took some short hikes and spent time moose-spotting and glacier-chasing, we mostly used these two rainy days to recover in our cozy two bedroom cabin, play a few games, stock up on groceries and eat more of the halibut we brought with us from our fishing in Homer.

From Palmer, we took Hatcher Pass as we made our way to Talkeetna and Denali. Hatcher Pass is a beautiful and rugged 22-mile gravel mountain pass through the southwest part of the Talkeetna Mountains. It is named after Robert Hatcher, a prospector and miner. The pass divides the alpine headwaters of Willow Creek on the west from Fishhook Creek and the Independence Bowl on the east side. To the east, the road drops and follows the Little Susitna River canyon downstream, and south, some dozen miles to the abrupt mountain front at the edge of the broad Matanuska-Susitna Valley.

Once through the pass, we were on to Talkeetna, which sits at the convergence of three glacier-fed rivers: the Susitna, Chulitna and Talkeetna. Talkeetna began in 1916, when the area was chosen as a district headquarters for the Alaska Railroad. The core downtown area is classified as a National Historic Site, with buildings dating from the early 1900s, including Nagley’s General Store, Fairview Inn and the Talkeetna Raodhouse. Talkeetna is the base for expeditions to Denali and certainly plays the part of old mountain town perfectly. Tourists travel to Talkeetna to fish, raft, mountain bike, camp, hunt and go flightseeing. On clear days, some of the best views of Denali and the Alaska Range can be seen right from the end of Main Street. The town is an eclectic mix of railroad workers, bush pilots, guides, oarsman and tourists from all over the world. We soaked in its charm, hit up the Roadhouse for their famous cinnamon rolls and grabbed some lunch and beer (root beer for the boys) at Denali Brewing before getting back on the road.

For our time in Denali, we had rented a cabin in the town of Healy, just outside the National Park and Preserve. The cabin owner, Mike, it turned out, was a Michigan native, hailing from Grayling (population 1,900) who moved to Alaska to escape the “crowds” and traffic. Like all the Alaskans we met, Mike was a generous host with the kind of inner resilience needed to call this place home. Mike’s father was a famous builder of Au Sable River boats – unique boats found only in Grayling Michigan that have been used on the Au Sable and Manistee River Systems for the last one hundred and thirty years. With this connection, both geographically and through the addiction known as fly-fishing, Mike and I had a lot to talk about, until I finally relented so he could get back to his never-ending list of chores.

For our first day, we had planned a canyon-run rafting trip through Denali Raft Adventures. The trip promised two hours and 11 miles of scenic adventure through class III and IV rapids in 33-degree glacial waters. We would hit famous runs like: “Cable Car”, “Coffee Grinder”, and “Ice Worm”. We donned dry-suits, neoprene boots, life jackets and helmets over our insulated layers. The expectations were running high. Maybe a little too high. While the scenery was amazingly beautiful and our guide, Jamie, was both knowledgeable and a lot of fun, the rapids (given the current flow levels) were a little more tame than what both my wife and I, and certainly our two testosterone-laced teenaged sons, had anticipated. It was enjoyable nonetheless, and set the table nicely for our first course of Denali.

When we finished rafting, we piled back into the SUV and headed into Denali National Park proper. There is only one road in to and out of the park and, despite that fact, it felt relatively un-crowded when compared to places like Smokey Mountain National Park, Yellowstone or Yosemite.

Denali Park Road is 92 miles long and parallels the Alaska Range while traveling through low valleys and high mountain passes. Along its route, beautiful landscapes can be seen at every turn, and there are many opportunities to view Denali – if the normally cloudy skies permit. Wildlife can often be seen too, though sightings are not guaranteed – they are, after all, wild animals roaming an unfenced 6-million-acre chunk of public land.

From late May through early September, private vehicles may drive the first fifteen miles of this road, to a place called Savage River. Anything beyond that requires a bus. The road to Savage River is paved, and features numerous pull-outs to stop and snap pictures. “The Mountain” can be seen as early as Mile 9, if the day isn’t too overcast, which is roughly 30% of the time. So, this was our plan – drive into Savage River, do some hiking, hopefully see some wildlife and maybe get lucky enough to be part of that rare 30% club.

Our afternoon adventure checked all the boxes. On the drive to Savage River we caught quick glimpses of something tall and white peaking above the clouds. Could this be Denali? When we arrived at Savage River we found a trail ascending out of the river valley up to higher elevations and, of course, we took it. As we wound our way higher and higher, the views kept getting better and better. Soon, we spotted a slow-moving bus coming down the road out of the park and, upon further inspection, realized that the bus was following, at a careful distance, a large Caribou that had apparently decided the road looked like an easier route than anything else. Eventually, he dropped down into the riverbed and was joined by others. As we kept working our way higher we saw it: Denali, the Great One. Completely open and utterly breathtaking. We had officially joined the club.

We left the park that evening thoroughly worn out but amazed at our luck. We stopped for dinner at The Bake. The Bake is an endearing ramshackle place with legendary slanted floors and a kitschy laid-back atmosphere. We opted for fresh seafood, elk burgers and local beer. After our long day, it hit the spot.

On a tip from a seasonal railroad hand, we had made plans to take an early morning departure on the Green Bus the next day into the Denali Eilson Visitor Center (mile 66) and back. We knew this was an 8-hour commitment at a minimum, but the only way to truly access the wilder areas of the park, have a shot a seeing more wildlife and even better views, weather permitting, of Denali.

We were up early the next day to catch our bus. On the short drive from our cabin to the park, we passed a female moose and her two calves lazily feeding in a roadside pond just yards from our car. In any other place this would likely cause a pile up of roadside gawkers, but this was Alaska and just another typical Saturday. It’s amazing how quickly you get used to seeing wildlife in a place like this. Nevertheless, I took it as a good omen for what lay ahead.

The Green Bus is very much like a school bus—if your school bus was traveling a gritty single-lane dirt road 66 miles long along steep mountain cliffs into a 6-million acre wilderness and surrounded by things that could eat you. It has seats for two and those sliding windows that go up and down. No food is provided on the trip, so we had packed lunches just like those days in school. The protocol on the bus is simple. The driver drives, watching for buses coming the other way on the single-lane mountain road, working out, by some mysterious visual cue or secret system, which bus will slide as far over as possible and which bus will squeeze past. The passengers alertly watch out the window for wildlife or anything else that might be exciting. When something exciting is spotted you simply yell “STOP.” The driver will stop and you can get out (if the situation allows) or slide down your window to take your pictures. We were warned ahead of time that we would be seeing abundant wildlife (i.e. don’t yell for every caribou or 8 hours would easily turn into 12). At any point during the journey you could also give a shout and simply get off the bus. You could wander into the bush and, hopefully, make your way back to the road at some point and catch a ride out. For the most part we opted to stay on the bus and out of the bush until we got to Eilson.

Despite the school bus feeling, the drive is truly staggering as you climb and descend along the dusty road. You witness changing landscapes, navigate blind corners and cross braided rivers. And yes, you see wildlife. We saw numerous caribou and Dall sheep along the first part of the journey and had our first sighting of a Grizzly sow and her cubs. Though they were a fair distance away, it was easy to distinguish the size and power of these magnificent creatures from our green roadside perch. Along the way, Denali appeared in several places – larger, whiter and closer than ever. I fought my urge to yell “STOP” at every sighting, but had a hard time believing that we were going to simply pass by these once-in-a-lifetime views. Nobody else seemed overly concerned, including our driver, so I anxiously bit my tongue, assuming it would somehow get even better.

It did. As we rounded the last corner to the Eilson Visitors Center, Denali and a portion of the Alaska range was laid bare before us – no clouds to offer even a scant shred of modesty. I literally lost my breath. I have been all over the country and have seen and hiked in numerous remarkable mountain ranges. I had seen pictures of Denali. I had read books and watched documentaries. Nothing prepared me for this. The mountain, all white, appeared like a powerful resting giant, alive, naked and breathing, daring any to awaken it – all within, it felt, arms reach.

We left our green school bus and reveled in the magnificence of the vista. Eilson offered the opportunity for hiking both on and off trail. We opted for the Alpine Hike, which travels up Thorofare Ridge some 1,000 feet in two miles. The hike was strenuous on this warm and sunny summer day, but delivered breathtaking views of Denali. When we reached the plateau of the ridge, I stopped to take it all in (and catch my breath) while my boys wandered on a little further over the green slopes. That moment, that image – my nearly grown boys heading up the viridian hillside, silhouetted, with Denali powerful, majestic, unmovable in stark white contrast behind them – will forever be burned into my memory of this trip.

We eventually made our way back down the ridge and wandered a few more trails at lower elevation as small clouds slowly began to clothe the mountain. We ate our lunch in the shadow of the mighty peak, overheard other guests talking about the bears they had run across on their hike and then boarded a green bus for our ride back. We saw many grizzlies as the afternoon drew on and we traveled the 66 miles back out, some as close as 15 yards. Occasionally, we caught fleeting glimpses of The Great One when we rounded bends. This would be our last night in Alaska and I could already feel a tinge of sadness, despite such a memorable day.

We slept in a little on our last day, packed up and prepared to make our way back to Anchorage for our flight back home. We made one last drive out to Savage River, were rewarded again with stunning views and up-close wildlife. We turned out of the park to head south, catching snapshots of Denali here and there in the rearview mirror, as it slowly became more and more clouded in, silently fading as our time together ended. Overwhelmed by the grandness, wildness and power of this place and this special time with my family, I grew reflective on how truly diminutive man is and how, if we choose, blessed we are to have this brief communal with the raw natural world, building memories with those with love.

The mountains have always called me. When given a choice of ocean or mountains, I will always prefer the latter. I like feeling small in the shadows of peaks as much as I like the freedom and awe I feel atop them. Standing in a valley not being able to see what is on the other side as much as I like standing in awe before an incredible expanse of land laid out before my eyes.

No matter how many times I go up, the world I enter does not lose its wonder. The crystalline waters, the twisted and gnarled trees, landscapes uniquely beautiful in their barrenness, the different taste of the air, shorter seasons (noticing touches of fall in August while there is still snow from the previous winter). It is as easy to imagine myself on a different planet as it is hard to fathom the diverse nature of the one we live on.

What is the draw of high places? Why do I always go up? There is the challenge and growth; mental, physical and emotional. There is the joy of place; free from concrete, crowds of people and computer screens. There is also something more basal, primal and real. Being on top of things affords a unique perspective, one that provides different insight, inspiration and a sense of grounding each time. Something I have yet to find anywhere else.