Subaru x She Explores

Always, there can be something said of the open road. The contact of dirt to skin, of night fall captured with eyes and ears instead of through a window, through walls. The great American road trip is one of the west – of exploration and of necessity. I often find my trips to have some tune, a theme of what I want to see and do and be and experience. But this time, when Subaru sent me west with two faces I’d yet met, I didn’t have an expectation or a theme, or a clue as to what these miles would feel like.

The Route:

The goal was simple – photograph on film what I experienced on the road. Subaru offered a dream job for someone who’s medium is pretty much obsolete. They encouraged me to use this opportunity to explore my creativity with film and my relationship to it. I destroyed a few rolls before I flew from Florida to Denver, completely unaware of what the magic that would come, both in my work and through the women I met.

Nic, Sarah and I bonded over a breakfast of runny eggs and toast and donut holes. I threw up on a pull off on 285. “This is bullshit,” I remember saying while a migraine seized my entire face/body/eyesight and when they laughed, I felt at home.

For four days we drove sometimes in silence, sometimes with everything to say. When we made it to Marfa for the event hosted by Subaru and She Explores, I felt like I’d always know these two women. In Marfa I met nine additional ladies, each brilliantly talented and passionate with great offerings. Some I’d admired from afar for a very long time (talking about you Jules) and some I had only just met but felt kindship to instantly.

The magic of the desert is palpable and here Gale of She Explores created a solid space for us to feel comfortable to share our ‘dreams,’ what that term even means, and if we’re allowed to change them.

A little background on Hello America this past year: Matt recently and for the first time publicly, shared the heartbreak of the last 12 months and our ultimate decision to move back to Florida. After losing is father to cancer in July, we decided to move from San Diego to Destin, where we grew up. Matt has now started a fishing charter with his brother, something his father always wanted to do with his boys. I have to note that Kevin, Matt’s dad, was my favorite and I must speak to the genuine character of this gentle and bright man. He was so good and he taught Matt how to be good and I miss him every day.

Leaving California wasn’t a difficult decision. It was ours and it was right but I know me, and I worried that a year from now I would be itching for California. I feared the longing to move that would creep in and the loathed the guilt I’d know I’d feel for wanting that want. I became a storm. These thoughts consumed everything I touched. I destroyed and left a trail of debris in my reckless path. This was my reality in the months leading up to Marfa and since I was here now, in the middle of the desert with strangers and still internally bleeding with this madness and because I didn’t know what the hell else to do, I started talking.

As I poured into different women over the next few days, they helped me realize I kinda like, maybe even love living in my hometown. I talked about the healing properties of water, and my family and the sand and the oak trees and moss. Greta Gerwin’s break out film Lady Bird really captured this spirit. When the 17-year-old protagonist is reviewing her college essay with her Catholic school teacher, the nun confirms, “it’s clear how much you really love your hometown” and as was Lady Bird winces, and explains that she was just paying attention to the place, the nun suggests that maybe they’re the same thing.

The opportunity to go to the desert, with ultra-talented women, and to talk about the ever-elusive shape shifter of ‘dreams’ is a total luxury that most simply aren’t afforded. I’m thankful and humbled for the opportunity to learn and listen and stick my face close to the Earth, counting time of her heart beat and mine and to shoot the grain and grit of travel while taking home a new piece of myself. 1,000 times thank you to Subaru and Gale and all the women I met in Texas.

Hello Thailand

We flew into Bangkok in the morning (after two glorious weeks in Vietnam) and were on an 18-hour sleeper train to Chiang Mai by 7 pm. We rented bikes and wandered around the city. We ate everything.

Matt found a ride north by local bus for $2. We grabbed our oversized packs and rode four hours to Chiang Dao. Our bed that night was in a hut with a floor mattress, the going rate of $5 a night. We spent Thanksgiving hiking in the national park, conning our way on to the trail, begging the guard to let us go even though we didn't have a guide (he let us through.) I fell so many times, muddied my clothes and cut up my hands. Shoeless guides swiftly passed us, luggage of tourists' carried on their heads.

That night we ate at Chiang Dao Nest 2, a Thai take on Western food. It did not disappoint our very southern pallets.

During our time in Thailand we took an uncountable number of sleep trains, broke down local busses, scooters, bikes, planes and sailboats. We almost missed our bus back to Chiang Mai, the comedic sight of our reflections in the passing store mirrors as we ran with fat packs on our back to make the bus that was leaving us is ever engraved in my mind.

We hung out in Chiang Mai for a few more days, taking a cooking class and visiting temples while continuing to eat everything.

Our flight to Krabi was a quick hop. We booked a quaint guesthouse with two beds in the room as Matt's brother was meeting us in the famous city.

We rented scooters and hopped around the surrounding villages. Wanting to spend some much needed time in the water we found a local spot that rented kayaks for 1/3rd of the price we had seen in adjacent towns. A tiny man lay asleep in a hammock underneath a picnic table and we realized we were in the right place.

The water, already severely low was dark as night. We made our way into a crooks and caves, battling the ever changing current.

We spent 45 minutes watching the local monkeys swing from limb to limb, calling at one another in playful tones, perhaps even giving us the show we so eagerly wanted.

On our way out, again and again we slipped quietly into the mud, dragging our kayaks through what felt like quick sand, eager to surface out of the now waterless oasis that sang buzzing songs of rock and mammal.

Our first longtail trip came on a Tuesday. Matt had been eager for it, desperately excited to ride the boat that uses a second hand truck engine as a motor and has mastered the delicate line of functionality and beauty.

The tide was high and even so, we climbed into the cave at the end of Railey beach, ready to see what magic it held or did not hold. The lagoon was a vision, light poured through rock cracks and we watched, plotting a way to scramble down the sharpest rocks we've ever seen to land in the lagoon of waves and wonder.

That day we ate grilled corn from a longtail. The beautiful women cooking offered deep lined smiles and friendly greetings. It was a day well spent and we burned like lobsters despite the cloud coverage that rolled in.

The next day I woke before the boys and wandered around until I found a quaint coffee shop called May & Marks. I fell in love with their handmade ceramic mugs and the owner sold two of them to me for $4. We took the scooters back to Ao Nang and waded across the water until we reached the tiny island with coves and caves. A few people were naked and I thought it's that lovely, and we all floated through the rocks as rain began pouring in.

**Women's Cloud Cap Lightweight Rain Jacket**

And then it rained for three days straight. That lead us to eat more food and drink more beer.

As Mike headed north we made our way south to get on the long awaited trip with the Sailing Collective, eager to ramble through the Andaman Sea for seven days straight.

Hello Vietnam

I said it in the last post but I feel it important to say it again here... this trip of a lifetime, yes a lifetime was made possible by Eddie Bauer. We were sent to work and play and be alive in spirit and adventure - they gave us the open ended opportunity to create our own itinerary, to move freely through countries and place as well as offer the unimaginable freedom to create our imagery the way we best see fit and therefore in its truest form. It was an experience I will always be thankful for and it is one we do not take lightly.

Eddie Bauer Women's Movement Performance Shorts

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We arrived in Vietnam after 34 hours of travel. I remember not knowing what day it was or really what time it was and that to me was ok, better than ok really because the disorientation was necessary to experience this trip in full. I needed a clean slate, to be a blank sheet of paper that would leave with ink blots, scribbles and eloquent nonsense written in every margin and on every line after five weeks in Southeast Asia.

Hanoi is sound and color. Scooter horns overpower any conversation. It is its own language too, indicating, "I'm here, watch out" instead of the western, "move out of my way." It's a form of courtesy, a means for safety. Observing the streets of Hanoi is to witness organized chaos at its highest level. The congested streets of NYC are infinitesimal in comparison. We walked around for hours, getting lost down back alleys, stopping for 25 cent coffee and $1 fruit smoothies. We found the night market, a mile long street market selling everything from light bulbs to underwear. The air was thick, almost swimmable. Vivid blues and greens appeared in everything from the plastic stools we sat on to the street signs.

The next morning we woke at 5:30 to catch a 30 minute cab to the local bus station. The Hoang Long Express took us two hours to a mini bus that took us another two hours to a ferry. The second we were on the ferry it took off, possibly leaving behind some poor fools who took the opportunity to use the bathroom. 45 minutes later we were on another bus to our destination, Cat Ba Island.

Cat Ba is a vision. "We're in Jurassic Park," I whispered to Matt, over and over again. The road to the island snaked up and around vines, lush greenery, endless plants and trees. We were in a globe of those greens and blues - for miles and miles this was my only reference of colors.

We checked into a modest room leaving everything we owned on the bed and made quick to find the cheapest scooter rental. For hours we rode around the island. I sat close behind Matt, squeezing his legs with my own, my fingers on high alert snapping photos of the treasures at every turn. Over the next few days we explored the lesser known island by foot, scooter, wooden boat and kayak.

The floating fishing village caught me off guard. I've never seen so much life on such a small portion of water. Kids playing in their floating homes, satellite dishes on top every roof, power running from cords secured to the sides of cliffs. People were eating and sleeping and fishing and cleaning at every glance. No one bat an eye at us. What does it feels like to be looked at with such curiosity, to be ogled as if you're in a fish bowl? Does it feel like anything at all?

Wearing Eddie Bauer Woman's Radiator Fleece

That afternoon we made the hike back to Hanoi, from bus to ferry to bus to bus to taxi. That night I slept like a baby, the sound of the city my comfort.

Our  Favorite Eddie Bauer Flying Squirrel 40 Degree Sleeping Bag — Our Favorite Eddie Bauer Flying Squirrel 40 Degree Sleeping Bag

Journal entry for November 14th: 9 PM on 13 hour sleeper train to Hue...

"I lay in my top bunk as the train coo's. There is a light outside and then it disappears. Again, and just as quickly it is gone. We slither by towns, villages and jungles in the moonlight. Shadow's play on the door to our cabin, our bunkmates fast asleep. For 13 hours we watch a country that is not ours inch by our window. We listen to the trains' work song of metal and rubber. It's our Vietnam lullaby and it is dangerously beautiful, as it has made me never want to leave."

We arrived in Hue around 10 AM. Our guest house fed us generously and we took to the city exploring street food, markets and the Citadel. It was a warm day, the kind of day that has you sweeting from every body crease but I didn't mind because I was in a new city in a new country across the world - everyone I knew and loved was back home, dealing with the fallout of an election and my only worry was the blister on my big toe.

The following morning we rented a motorbike and took off for Hoi An via the Hai Van Pass.

Eddie Bauer Men's Expedition Flannel Shirt — Eddie Bauer Men's E xpedition Flannel Shirt

The 145 KM journey was a dream. We rode through villages where men were making boats, Noah and the ark scale colorful wooden boats. We watched women tiny to the ground, crouched over boiling pots of meats and herbs feeding whole communities. We saw goats, chickens and cows roam freely on the dirt road's we were navigating. We rode up Hai Van, an epic collusion of lush green mountainside and ocean and maybe I cried as I sat on at the back of the bike from the overwhelming beauty of it all. We stopped for a coconut at a tiny local hut. We rode over bridges, highways, jungle villages and alongside ocean side resorts (the latter a sad sight.) We arrived in Hoi An and took off by foot to stroll every side alley and dirt path.

Our first week in Vietnam I experienced all the feels. Initially I had this sense of sadness lurking over everything. On the surface it appeared that everyone was living in poverty. That people were forced to sit on tiny stools on the sidewalk and cook their meals outside because they don't have proper ventilation. That grown men are cleaning shoes because they have to, that people are riding scooters because they can't afford cars. I told Matt about my concern and he looked at me lovingly, but slightly mortified.

"Don't you see!" he said, "Don't you get it? This is their culture. This is the good life. They're sitting on stools drinking tea together because they are communal people. They are enjoying their city the best way that exists - close to the ground. They are not hungry, they are not dirty. Look at their smiles. Smell their food! Look at their hands. Look at their eyes. This is a culture of tradition and beauty."

My blind was gone after that conversation. I began to see to and to think that these are the values I should put stock in. I should do more with my hands, be closer to the ground, sit eye level with my neighbor, watch the day turn to night on a bench in my city. Why not right?

The rest of our time in Vietnam was a beautiful blur. We experienced intimate moments of laughter, swam in new bodies of water, indulged in local cuisine. Matt even got a suit made. We exhausted ourselves and yet we barley touched a pinky toe to the surface of the terrain that is Vietnam.

On the Taxi ride to the airport en route for Thailand I wondered when I'd see this place again. How many years will it take me to make my way back here? There are still so many places I want to go that I've yet to see, will I make a repeat trip before I'm thirty, forty? Will tourism change the social climate and am I a contributing factor if it does change? These rhetorical questions have always been in conversation - they are, more than likely, a large part of why we explore. The goal in all of this, I think, though this position will change 123214 times, is to be present and let whatever you may feel or not feel be your authentic experience. Just lean in to your adventure.

The thing about travel...

Here's the thing about travel... I've seen many cracks, crevices, water ways, sandstone, mountain ranges and faces on American soil. It's been a luxury, I am aware, to have traveled the States so wildly as a young person in my early 20s. I also rode around Iceland, in a van, in the dead of winter for fifteen days with the man I love. These experiences, though not wholy unique to my generation, are precious memories. They are the delicious nectar I carry with me always and for them I am thankful.

This is all to say that I am not well traveled. Not really. Not in the slightest. Matt spent his high school years skating around Europe, running around countries like a hooligan, enjoying cuisines, monuments, religions, and museums. He often reflects on these memories, especially as he's gotten older. Though he didn't appreciate his exposure to travel at 13, he is hyper aware of the shaping it played in every aspect of his life.

Before November 2016, I had not seen another culture (omit Iceland) in its native land. I had not enjoyed gelatin pigs blood, flown over 6 hours or better yet flow over an ocean at all. I had not slept on local busses or faked Vietnamese just to get by, or stood on hole-in-the-groud commodes. I hadn't set foot on soil so ancient, so rich with history and war and love lost and folklore and looked at buildings older than my country until, ironically, the day after Trump was elected.

I note all of this because I think it's crucial in understanding the tone of our five week trip to Southeast Asia. We were en route to LAX and we were a walking dichotomy. How could I synthesize deep-belly joy and devastation? How could I be so thrilled for this trip of a lifetime - yes a lifetime because Eddie Bauer was sending us to work and to be alive in spirit and adventure and had given us an open ended stay and free movement through countries and place and the freedom to create and share our imagery in its truest form... I mean, the dream - I'm not familiar with another brand that is pushing for this kind of work - the opportunity was unique by all definitions. So while we were overwhelmed with gratitude and excitement we were also paralyzed by the steamroller of threats heading towards many of our values. We were in a weird emotional place.

We travel, like all, to see. To understand. To learn. To remember. To feel vulnerable, so vulnerable. To dream. To not repeat mistakes. To make new mistakes. To push our comfort. To share. To revere. To gain religion. To lose faith. To forget and create and appreciate the undeniable beauty of the human spirit and nature. Always nature.

Southeast Asia was a mirror. It pushed me to take inventory of my bones, my marrow, my most unflattering quirks and personality flaws. My insecurities were on full display, sometimes for an entire boat to witness, and no matter how embarrassing, I'm thankful. Because if we don't have that mirror, if we refuse to look at the person staring back we might never understand our neighbor, or their work or our opposition or our purpose in it all.

We travel to be but a stitch on the handwoven fabric that is the human experience.

The Place we Call Home with Bote Board

Home is undeniable. It is the call of what was once wild within, the scent of salt and burnt skin. We find ourselves home more often than we thought we would considering we're two people who live across the country.

What is it that calls, that echo's and pulls us back to the horizon?

The light? Sure. Of course. It's in the colorless sand and the transparent waters. It is also the drumming of an old heart, the memory of youth who once were. And it's our families. Our mothers and fathers and brothers and grandmother and nieces and aunts and cousins. And it's our other family, those bound not by blood but choice.

There will always be Thailand, Iceland, Vietnam. There will always be the places we want to go, South America, BVI's, Burma, New Zealand... and those places will be beautiful to touch, to taste. But home, our place by the edge of the ocean, no matter how how I might try to deny it, will forever be our epicenter.

One day, perhaps, if we're lucky to stay put for longer than 6 months or a couple of years, perhaps we will start to build a new sense of place - a new version of the 'home' our parents and the land curated for us. This idea brings me comfort. Maybe it we will land by the ocean. Or in the woods. Or side a creek, or on a backroad going to the sun. Who knows right? who can tell?

I suspect though, if I'm to be honest, that it might also smell of salt and burnt skin. Perhaps we will run barefoot and sun kissed with the family we might create like we did when we were young. Perhaps it will be all or none of these things.

I find comfort in the unknown. It use to paralyze me, but now, and maybe this feeling should be attributed to the high brought on by traveling across the world, it is a point of comfort - that understanding that the bad will pass and the good should be relished for as long as it stays.

Eddie Bauer X Hipcamp Summer Campouts

Hello America had the honor of attending 4 Eddie Bauer x Hipcamp Summer Campouts. From Joshua Tree to French Gulch and Cuyama Badlands to Mare Island Preserve we induldged in California's varied terrain. We learned to fly fish, exchanged road stories with van lifer's, participated in a deeply rewarding land stewardship and survived a heatwave in the desert. It was a flawless California summer for two southerns.

These days were full. They were intoxicating. A 'come as you are spirit' was so palpable you could taste it in conversation with strangers, in the attention to detail from workshop leaders and in the care of inspired camp meals. Quickly it was clear these events were not only about capturing charming landscapes. Substantial conversations on conservation, travel, preservation, technology, the balance of a corporate life and call to the wild were all happening. Civil discourse lead to agreed upon solutions. Ideas were lubricated. Bonfires served as the medicine for disagreement and shared hikes were spent brainstorming. Young minds were deciding to solve problems in the wild and the wild served as a mighty ally.

Eddie Bauer sent us to capture the charm of these campouts. We received a souviner well beyond pretty pictures. These weekends provided opportunity for new skills, community, conversation, understanding, and wild motivation. For that, we are indebted.

Below are images of our weekends spent at these summer campouts. We hope Hipcamp continues these important events and that you find yourself outside.

JOSHUA TREE, CA

FRENCH GULCH, CA

CUYAMA BADLANDS, CA

MARE ISLAND PRESERVE, CA

Welcoming Winter with Eddie Bauer

It sings sweet, my winter.

We make it to Hanging Lake, mid-day. The air is cool but not wet and we start the hike in. It’s a steep one and we’re slipping with each step up the 1,020 feet in elevation along the trail that follows Dead Horse Creek.

I can’t shake the terrible Christmas jingle in my head as Matt walks about twenty yards ahead of me. We make it to the mecca; the opening of Hanging Lake. It is frozen, untouched. It is perfect.

We walk around the sides, making sure to stay on trail and honor the fragile ecosystem.

There, the wind whispered the season a welcome. The song hung, and remains.

As Lord Byron so eloquently put it:

“There is pleasure in the pathless woods,

there is rapture on the lonely shore,

there is society, where none intrudes,

by the deep Sea, and music in its roar:

I love not Man the less, but Nature the more.”

We are outfitted in the warmest jackets ever placed on our bodies. These are she & him Eddie Bauer Superior Down Parkas. Our cold Colorado bones are thankful.

Christmas Tree Hunt with Ninja Suit

Third times a charm...

Attempt One:

Bound northeast from Steamboat to Winter Park on a sun-snowed road. Pink sticker in hand, the one that grants permission to cut down a tree of choice in National Forest land so long as it’s over 100 feet from any road or trail. We arrive around 2pm on the backcountry trail already losing light.

Southern traditions teach well, but in the ways of winter they do not provide. I know nothing of tree picking. Matt is a little better off than me but not by much.

Confident we will find our tree today we walk into the woods and stay for hours. Pines now like the familiar faces of friends, I realize choosing the ‘one’ is going to be less of “picking the one” and more a task of patience. Falling thigh deep and face first into the cloud-snow piles I decide to welcome winter’s cold kiss.

We abandon our first attempt at finding our first Christmas tree as the sun takes shelter for the night. We grab $3 margaritas from a local family owned restaurant and head an hour and a half back to Steamboat.

Attempt Two:

We take snowshoes this time and head for Route National Forest. It’s a 10-degree morning, something I’m adjusting to but am not use to, not yet.

The sky is a blank canvas. Solid white covers the horizon to the sun to twenty feet in front. We hike the snow globe for hours, deciding and then not deciding on our tree. Matt spots a beautiful meadow and we hike in. My toes are now past the numbness and onto a burning sensation. To warm up Matt suggests we make coffee. Once I get the water boiling the very thing I've been fighting throughout the hike happens. I'm so cold I just began to weep.

To be calm and kind, to not complain or cause issue, to be full and strong, this is the mantra playing on loop in the back of my throat as my eyes begin to well with salty tears. I don’t know why I feel failure like a hot branded iron but it comes in through my skin and it stays. And I can’t shake it. And sometimes, in the worst times, I can’t do anything but wallow in it.

On the surface I’m crying because I’m cold. In the belly the tears are out because I’m embarrassed, mad at myself for wearing boots that are not insulated and gloves that when wet are as good as water, annoyed at my baby status – I believe I even called myself a, “baby bitch” at one point but who knows, I can’t really remember. But my core is warm and that brings me hope and I begin to laugh at my tears like a wild animal. All the while Matt is calm, kind and helpful. He knows me like a fox knows the snow. Intuitive to my next move he speaks with care as he suggests that maybe, on a day that isn’t below 0-degrees, we try again. I agree.

Attempt Three:

The morning is cloudy. We leave around 8 AM, this time for Buff’s Pass. We see no one as we set off on the trail. The morning is cold but not unbearable and I’m wearing insulated boots.

Matt leads the way. He spots a forest of pines across the river. We follow the trail down and around that opens to a tiny bridge. As we step into moose territory we see the one, the perfect golden nugget of a tree that is destined to be ours.

Once we cross the river we traverse through knee high snow making our own route to the tree.

I fall forward into the snow too many times to count and soak my camera in the snow but I don’t even care because finally, here it is. What we’ve been waiting for. We both hoot a little, and laugh and hug and are far too excited but it’s ok because who cares! We did it.

Matt takes his hatchet to the base and after about few blows she’s down and we’re hauling her a mile and a half over the river and through the woods back to the truck.

We take turns carrying it back. I take a break, take my snow pants off, Matt also starts shedding layers.

The sun showed up right when we needed him, right in line with our unabashed joy. It's the little things, the time together in the woods, the hunt for our winter tree, the newness of a state and a season we've been anticipating.

Pits sweaty and three layers shed we make it back to the car and load up our prize. Three attempts for the perfect tree. She's a bit small but she's ours and the work to get her feels well worth it. We might keep her as long as we can - decorate her for birthdays, future holidays. The hunt taught us, among many things, patience. I find that the theme of this season - that and learning how to dress warm.

Ninjasuit outfitted us for this adventure. Without them the crying would have been more intense, the cold far, far colder, the colors less Christmas. Thank you Ninjasuit. It is always a joy to work together. We are wearing their merino wool Ninjasuits. Kristen's blue ninja is the Airblaster X Polerstuff collaboration this season.

Live Your Adventure - On the Road with Eddie Bauer

Headed West. Always headed somewhere.

On to new terrain, faces, temperatures. There is an abandon we cradle. It calls us to hold on and inch a little further. It comes in waves, like summers heat. We didn't know where we were going this winter until we knew. Immediately we contacted Eddie Bauer about our trek West, and true to form they helped us make it happen in both miles and by outfitting four of our friends in gear.

We drove from the panhandle of Florida to Austin, Texas to gather our buddies. Piled in with no room left we set off for Big Bend.

Big Bend is a sphere unto itself. The entrance to camp was a two-hour drive. Deeper and deeper into the National park we went and with it a slew of excitement surfaced. Anticipatory for our first Big Bend sunrise, hike and meal we settled in to a night of catching up and cheers. The six of us had never all been together. Some were new friends, others siblings, others might as well be family.

David, our bud and absurdly talented videographer, brought homemade tortillas from Mexico. That morning we woke and Matt cooked the finest tacos we'd ever had.

Our neighbor Jack fished green slime from the bed of his truck for my botched tire. The boy’s mountain biked along the border of the U.S. and Mexico.

Big Bend provided the dichotomy of life - allurement and the unwarranted. We got news of a brilliant friend who passed far too young. It left us sick, stunned. Right in front of us was a landscape so vast and entrancing and yet, and yet.

While I stepped foot in front of the next on Lost Mine Trail I thought of the people I love, of the land under my boots and of the dirt I’d like to stick my face in to both scream and cry.

There was only time and the movement we clung to on that today and the many days to come. There is only the love that sweet human left and our thankful hearts for knowing him that keeps us going.

We pack up a few days later and keep on West. White Sand Dunes is the next destination.

When we arrive we pack our gear on our backs. Our hike is simple but the views are a riot.

I rip off my clothes and b-line for the highest dune. Natalie follows my lead and is quick at my heels. I do this because why not and also who cares? In the desert it all goes.

No fires allowed so Mike takes our headlamps and puts on the red beams.

All three lights go in a plastic bag and like the idiots or the geniuses we are we watch as the moonsets. The temp settled in the 30s. Matt, Natalie and I snuggled in our Eddie Bauer tent and sleeping bags.

I woke to the sky screaming. Flashes of lighting crept across the dunes. I shake Matt awake and fumble, “There’s a massive storm coming. What do we do?” He says, “That’s awesome” and rolls back to sleep. I’m so angry and amused that I sit in the midnight silence, waiting out the storm, counting the seconds between flash and boom. The tune of the sky rocks me back to sleep. I don’t wake up until 7 the next morning.

We make coffee and goof off. Some of us eat, some of us don’t. David is breaking out in hives and we realize Avey (his pup a Korean Jindo) has fleas.

Next we go to Santa Fe. The goal is to camp at some hot springs for a few nights. Then we plan to head to the Great Sand Dunes in Colorado and onto Steamboat Springs. Here’s the thing about being on the road. You can’t predict the weather.

When we hit New Mexico the rain is relentless. The temp drops to a beloved 15 degrees. Our plans are quickly thwarted when we learn that all of the campgrounds have been closed for the season.

Those days though, those moments with people we deeply love, who often drive us nuts but continue to teach us, have made us new. Our travels are centered in nature. We learn from the pines and the dirt and the magic of the wind. But we’ve realized as we keep traveling and going outside a keen part of “living our adventure” is living it with the people we care about.

It is experiencing the earth side them no matter their quirks, no matter their differences. Our greatest adventures have been arm in arm with those we want to know more. We are able to go deeper into the terrain and also the human condition. This is how we live our adventure.

We have immense respect for Eddie Bauer as they continue to support numerous young artists like ourselves. We were able to bring people we love into terrain that required proper warmth and gear. This opportunity has allowed us deep growth in both spirit and talent with people we care for. There is no question we are honored to be brand ambassadors for Eddie Bauer this winter season.

Welcome to the Keys

We drove from Destin to Gainesville, Gainesville to Key Largo.

The November sun was fire, burning us from the inside. I expected Florida in November to be mild. That's what I remember of my childhood. This week provided different.

We arrived in Key Largo already dripping with sweat and a stench of cigarettes and old clothes. Setting up camp provided easy as we were three deep in layered hammocks.

That night we ate at a local bar where the dive instructors take a load off. We had tons of Conch and Snapper and drank rum and cheap beer.

I slept naked in the tent because the weather wouldn't let up. Every night it was the same thing, drink just enough that when you wake up you're soaked in your own sweat but don't care enough to move.

Over 3 days we dove six times, each better than the last.

We saw sharks, a Goliath grouper that something had taken a bite out of, sea turtles, eels, stingrays and an array of fish that I can't remember the names of. Matt took the nikonos and had field day with the underwater film shots.

Our last night poured buckets. Jimmy's raptor snores were drowned by the rain. Everything was damp and smelled sour but it was ok because we ate sunny food and then ralphed because we were seasick and cried because we were scared and smelled horrible for a week but we got to watch each other grow and enjoy so like every messy trip, it was worth it.

We took these images with a disposable camera and an underwater nikon camera.

When the road is on the other side of the country

We are packed early.

I sit in the passenger seat, Matt in the drivers', Mike in the bucket. The road to Asheville is 8 hours. It's an easy haul as 12 and 16 and 18 hour trips have become the norm.

It's the first time we're really using Matt's truck-camping system and we're happy. Happy because the weather is cooling off, happy because soon we will see the people we've missed for so long, the friends that might as well be family, the family we long to have with us during these 18 months on and off the road.

There is freedom on the road; an undeniable immunity to creature comforts of a home and those responsibilities that follow. To live simple is easy. It is welcomed. But there are people you leave behind, moments and occasions that you miss. And that "miss" leaves you longing - it leaves you heartsick for the people who made you.

When we get to Asheville the temperature has dropped to a chilled 30 degrees. We are bundled head to toe drinking bourbon and eating deer chili. There are smiles and farts and the sound of the railroad wailing in the background. We brush our teeth with river water. We skip showers and wear the same clothes over and over. All together now. We are all finally, finally together.

Every day continues like this. In laughter, in pounds of food and beer and doubled sleeping bags and pots on pots of coffee. We listen to Megan sing sweet lullabies around the campfire, to Mike's snores, to Lydia's five year old laughter and we think to ourselves, "God it's been so long, but damn. It's good to be home."

A note to the cold - I almost forgot my outerwear on this trip. Temperatures got down to 29 degrees. I lived in my Eddie Bauer Lodge Down Parka these 6 days. I actually did not remove it. Not once. Matt also kept his BC Ignitor jacket on, even when mountain biking. Megan wore my Storm down jacket on our Black Balsam Knob hike.

The Weather Outside is Weather

Packed down we head West on an old beachside road in pursuit of trails. The air is thick. Thick enough to swim in, to drink. That's the humid Florida heat and even in all this rain it continues to wrap its arms around every living thing.

We find our trailhead and get to work. Quick assembly of our mountain bikes and we're ready for the mud. Head to toe we are soaked, dripping with the rain this area has desperately needed for months now. No other soul is around, just us, in the thick of the trails, the rocks and the trees our comrades.

The early Fall downpour is something we've begged for. A day doesn't need to be singing with birds and the dripping sun to get us out. In fact, it's days like these that have us in great reverence for nature. The days we are uncomfortable are certainly welcomed. They teach us the lessons of the wild. They leave us exhausted. They make us stronger.

There is something to be said for the dirt. It is where we came from and it is where we will end up. How precious is the fact that when we depart we will be among the land. Days like these, when the rain is thick, the humidity unbearable and the ride is long, we find solace in these very elements. They are the good. They are the other parts we must endure. We happily welcome the gritty part of life and nature.

Eddie Bauer outfitted our day on the trails. Their lightweight rain jackets, breathable athletic pants and durable boots made our muddy day possible.

Eddie Bauer

Seldom do we come in contact with a brand who's history we are so taken with.

When Eddie Bauer flew us to Washington earlier this month we hadn't an idea who the man behind the brand really was. Our flight from Florida to Washington landed and we immediately made way to headquarters for a tour of the archives. Photographs as well as down jacket after down jacket lined the glass walls, including the outerwear of the members of the first American attempt to summit Everest, custom made by Eddie Bauer.

Do you know who made the first down jacket? Ole' Eddie did. Eddie Bauer was on the forefront of cold weather outerwear. We quickly learned he was a pioneer with undeniable passion for the outdoors... our kinda guy. The kinda guy we want to have over for dinner, sipping our whiskey while he tells us the story of how he ended up the innovator, the visionary, the enthusiast.

We spent the rest of the weekend with a group of passionate outdoorsmen and women learning about the brand, hiking and eating delicious food. It was a trip that came and went far too soon.

But it's not over, not really. With great and genuine pleasure we announce we will be brand ambassadors for Eddie Bauer this winter season. We plan to take some of that Eddie made outerwear in to the cold winters out west to show the world what it's made of.

We're excited, we're ready and we can't wait to represent a brand that we are totally and completely taken with. Here's to the next adventure!

Swimming with the Blue Whale X Sperry

I sit holding my hands, knuckles white. Matt is drinking instant coffee and eating instant oatmeal. We are on the Seahorse moving west, leaving Mission Bay Marina.

I do not want to be on a boat in the Pacific Ocean searching for whales to swim with. As much as I try to psych myself up for the unique week ahead this dread remains. It is the honest and depressing truth. I am abashedly afraid.

The day is pleasant with a cool breeze only California can claim. I look beyond the boat railing for land but the waves kept rolling, forming that slanted horizon of earth and sky. When we slow down forty-five minutes later I am unprepared.

To a rational person the fortune of swimming with the blue whale is a delicious opportunity. To me it is a death rattle. Anxiety ebbs and flows through my body. I realize there is no preparation in confronting my one fear. There is only fear, and the doing of that fear.

We trolley and listen for that fatal exhale of our first whale. In the fill time we gear up. I struggle to relax under the weight of my bulky 7 ML wetsuit, forehead painted with the sign, “This-is-my-nightmare-get-me-out-of-here-now-please-and-thank-you.”

Matt is my antithesis. His grin is luminous. He is the first ready and the first in the water. He is sipping the sweet nectar of life and basking in every morsel. He deals with me calmly, kindly. He understands the depths of this fear I’ve carried with me from pre-adolescence but makes no excuse for me. He extends his hand. An invitation. I accept and dive in to the Pacific Ocean. We board sea kayaks and the search begins.

Slowly, quietly we paddle in the direction of the first blow. We wait.

Seven minutes, eight minutes, nine minutes, ten…. and she releases.

“Whoosh!” the air soars violently. We know her location. This train with no tracks continues to barrel her way through the deep blue. She is very much alive and mammoth. Her skin is coarse metal.

I shriek and cry a little, or a lot I can’t remember. I don’t know if the two come from fear or the beauty. Perhaps both.

We follow. Paddling quick and vigorous we inch closer, closer… luck lands the terrified woman-child right on top of our first whale. (That’s me. I’m talking about myself.)

“Get in the water! GET IN THE WATER!” screams each person stuck on the Pacific Ocean with me. Panicked by the elated yelling I find my own arms betray me as they lift my stiff body into the frigid water. I am face to face with a 100 foot blue whale.

There is a line in Beasts of the Southern Wild that has stuck with me for years. Hushpuppy, the five-year-old protagonist says in voiceover, “When it all goes quiet behind my eyes, I see everything that made me.” This plays on a loop in my head during my first encounter with this beast.

This thing? This enchanted creature… why have I been so paralyzed? THIS magnetic and graceful creation is delicate, pure. Her elegance consumes my eyes, ears and fingertips. With each ticking second I am drawn close and deep. I hold my breath. I do not leave. All that exists in the big, big universe is my rapidly obliterating fear and me.

She didn’t wave at me. She didn’t linger for a quick, “Hello dear, how are you?” or send me on with a symbolic head nod or clever wink. She kept to course, moving swift and fluid, dissolving into the 2,000-foot deep ocean floor.

Perhaps she knew I needed her. Perhaps that’s why she blew right under my kayak, of all the kayaks and square inches of the Pacific Ocean. If I’m to be honest with myself I can’t tell you if I believe her instinct brought me to her or vice versa. Maybe it was merely a serendipitous force uniting us, our union raw and honest.

We continued this pursuit everyday for the next 5 days. I’d be untruthful if I told you I overcame my anxiety. In fact, each whale encounter left me more nervous and anxious than the last. I experienced a routine flush of stress when waiting in the kayak even up to the last day. The fear albeit less vocal still lingered, whispering, teasing my courage. Each time I would muster the nerve to propel myself back into the daunting waters. Yet like the first encounter when I laid eyes on the whale for those fleeting moments, I would melt back into her trance, fated to relish in fervor and gratitude, forever changed by the wild.

The River in September

I went to the river I love.

It smelled like the river of my dreams. It is the place I sang "buddy," the place I can't feel lonely. I went with the good people. I rode on their laughs. I pocketed their smiles.

I watched them jump off all things and find ways to climb unclimbable dirt. I listened to them scream. I tasted the September air. It was messy and blurry and drunken and good.

On the river in September you don't say goodbye. You just wave farewell until the next season or year or life when time brings you right back to the lips of its fresh water goodness. You find yourself thankful because today you loved every inch of the water and the water loved you back.

Waking in Iceland - Morning Series

We decided we were going to imagine a life lead simply. That imagination came to fruition.

Our ten days in Iceland were spent waking to new terrain. Our toes toasty, our fingers numb and our minds cleared by the crystal air. These mornings, etched in the fibers of my skin, were the best damn mornings of my life.

Hello Pacific North West

God how you are alive, you pacific northwest.

Your land, your people, your enduring cold.

There is a magic in your geography... a willingness in your dirt to nourish with greenery and lush.

We met you on a cold summer day, with wide eyes and shivering teeth. We set up camp in a tiny forest in Oregon. We traveled through the potholes of a dirt road, waved to the yippie people and their charming babes camping in the woods next to the natural springs. We undressed and sank into the thermal heat, the soothing minerals of a bath in the woods, with nothing but the sound of the river to guide our minds.

We made it to Portland after the morning of breakfast made with fresh farm eggs and potatoes, a simple and delicious meal with the Stewart's. Our new and dear friend Chelsea showed us the Portland we'd always heard of - the Portland with people who dig everything, a city of magic and inspiration. She opened her home to us dirty, dirty folk and we learned the ways of this little vagabond.

Continuing north we landed in Tacoma, Washington. The very place our sweet Ashely told us to go for one reason and one reason only - to spend a night on her mama's boat.

Joyce, mother of Ashley, captain of the beloved Seawillow, is a woman like no other. We found solace in her love for life. Through shared beers and a many shots of Whiskey we learned the ways of this electric woman - her time in the force in Germany, her plan to move to Ecuador on her 60th birthday, the enduring love she has for her child. So smitten with Joyce, we stayed an extra night. Not ready to say goodbye and desirous to learn more about the ambition of a brilliant woman, we took an afternoon cruise throughout the Washington harbor. We sang and drank and ate like kings. We made videos and talked travels and laughed and shouted through laughter, the energy was so contagious. After sad farewells, we continued north.

Onward and up we took a ferry ride over to Olympic National Park. Two wet and sleepy nights in an old growth rainforest had us in heaven - we road bikes along the coast, let the waves crash into on the shores of an old local peoples blessed beach and together we breathed deep and firm, felt the ground between our toes and the sand in the threads of our jeans.

Ever moving, taking in each moment with sturdy hands, we enjoyed the drift wooded Rialto beach and the misty hurricane ridge.

A quick dip in Vancouver (to eat plates and plates of sushi for $10 and bike Stanley Island) we left 4 hours later and headed east for the first time on our odyssey.

Yes the east, to Montana and Wyoming and the spirit land that is ours that we never knew but soon learned.

Traveling with the wind,

Kristen

Where are we??

Portland - Tacoma - Olympic Peninsula - Montana - Wyoming - Colorado

From the West Coast to the East Coast - and everything in between

Portland
- 7 days in this wonderful city
- We made new friends and thought we may have found the city that we loved most
  - And then it rained
    - Rained some more
- Chelsea Parrett of Snow Peak took us Rock Climbing and showed us the town.
  - Portland really is a great city
- Spent a couple of days in the famous gorge at which you can see multiple renowned waterfalls within a few mile stretch
  - One of those days at the gorge happened to be Memorial Day
    - Bad Idea to drive to the falls that day
- Kristen did A Day in the Life with The Growlers in a neat old theater in NE Portland
- Our favorite restaurant was Harlow
Washington State
- We were invited by a new friend's mother to spend a night on her 30 ft boat called The Sea Willow
  - Joyce was the captain's name
  - We enjoyed it so much we stayed 2 nights
  - We sailed the Seattle waters on a 3 hour tour
- A ferry ride over to Olympic National Park
  - 2 wet nights sleeping in an old growth rainforest
  - Rialto Beach - Drift wood lined beaches in the upper most westward tip of our country
  - Hurricane ridge - A top view of the vast and enormous landscape that is the Olympic Peninsula
  - A ferry ride back to the main land
Montana
- Wow
- Glacier National Park
  - First night in bear country
    - Scared us right out of our first campground in the middle of the night
  - I read that 88% of the the people that visit Glacier each year don't venture more than 300 yards from their vehicle.
  - First thing we did was a 3.5 mile hike to Avalanche lake
    - 3.5 miles in I broke my sandals in the slippery mud
    - 3.5 miles out barefoot
      - Ouch
  - Logan pass which takes you directly over the continental divide was closed still due to snow
  - Spotted a black bear eating on the side of the road
  - We made the best of the west side of the divide
  - Headed south
Wyoming
- Wow Wow
- Yellowstone NP
  - No other place like it
  - Mammoth Hot Springs
  - We camped at Norris Campground for 3 nights
    - Directly across from Norris Geyser Basin
    - Bison regularly stroll through the campground
  - Spotted a black bear within an hour of being in the park
  - Grand canyon of the Yellowstone
  - Eggs every morning
    - Starting to become a camp cook master!
  - NO SHOWERS EVER
- Grand Teton NP
  - Somewhat unexpected, but so graciously welcomed
  - Every view within miles of this mountain range looks like a painting
  - We canoed Lake Jackson just beneath the Tetons
  - Found a campsite right on the lake and enjoyed our last night with The Stewarts
    - Drinks were drank, stories were told, and laughs were had
    - Sad to part ways with these two
  - Final community breakfast
    - Eggs
    - potatoes
    - Coffee
    - And Franks hot sauce of course
- Bye Josh & Meg!
Colorado round 2
- Coming back was bittersweet
  - Colorado has been a home to me, many times. I enjoy every visit
  - But this also meant that we were through with the West
    - A new frontier for us
    - No longer undiscovered
- We weren't leaving the west without a week of activities
  - We were invited by LadyAustin (from Instragram) to go sailing just south of Denver in the Chetfield Reservoir
  - Hiking with friends in Boulder
  - A second visit to The Great Sand Dunes
  - And of course a visit with some of the most generous people we know - Peter and Valarie
- We took showers
- We had a little bit of rest
- We were ready to say goodbye to the West, for now

It was time to head back across the country. Where life is a little bit more familiar. Nebraska, Wisconsin, Michigan UP. We are excited to say hello.

See y'all somewhere!

- Matt

Hello Northern California

So this is what happens when we’re on the road –

Time gets away, quickly. Too swift, like a bandit in the night, it steals the dawn and the day, asking for more and more, relentless in its pursuit to collect, not willing to let us catch our breath.

To experience the land is but a wild desire and writing about it has been near impossible. Every down moment we use to set up camp, cook, hike and sleep. I am thankful for this crunched time, it has allowed me to reflect. But now it is time to share.

Since Southern California…

Highway One, the giant pacific, home ignited in my heart. To date, Big Sur was my fondest experience. Our buddy Timmy drove up the coast from Los Angeles and met us late one night on a dirt pull off. As we all woke to the pacific, I recognized how lucky I was and am to be experiencing my country in this year of 2014. It is not Kerouac’s Big Sur I was living; it was my Big Sur, my own, a first hand account of the magic the pacific air ignites.

We decided to day hike, 12 miles of Big Sur’s ridges, rivers and tree giants. Timmy slept in the hammock by the river as Matt and I rest our heads in the tent. We were limited on food and water - we didn’t mind. We were, for the moment, in the elements with our dearest companions. After we hiked out we feasted, said farewell to sweet Timmy and drove higher up the coast.

On to San Francisco…

We met up with a fellow wanderer, a beautiful human being named Ashley who invited us into her home in Oakland. We shared stories of the road, learned of her heart for people and community as well as her newest project. This child is gold - one of the first involved with Invisible Children who currently works at camp held for adults in the Redwoods coined “digital detox” and who has also been robbed at knife point in Ghana.

This sister is a fellow road dweller. One day, she was browsing Craigslist and found a trailer for sale for $50. A few phone calls later, she owned a run-down, beat up, 1970’s pull-along Chinook trailer, and an idea was born. She decided to combine her love of thrifting, writing and the road into a mobile retail store, so she could be self-sufficient while traveling. She wants the shop to serve as a traveling community space, where people can hold workshops, share stories and engage in conversation. Her moving shop, called “The Living Room,” will be on its route along the West Coast coming soon.

She’s a legend; a light and we were instantly inspired by her life-lust. Little did we realize she would lead us to another great adventure…

San Francisco’s energy was full but saturated. I understand why many flock and have flocked to its port. It is tasty and golden but it wasn’t for us. A place we thought we would one day call home ended up being just a blink of our eye in staying time. That, we’ve realized, is OK. It’s better than OK actually, it is good. Our expectations have no hold on reality and by allowing the life of experience to flow through we are able to be present.

The Redwoods are rooted giants and all who wander should make his way to the forest.

We continued up the coast and made our first crossing into Oregon.

Oregon was a treat, and we have much to share about it.

Until then, headed north,

Kristen

Where are we?

Big Sur - San Francisco - Arcata - Umpqua Forest

Big Trees + Big Waves + Big Rocks = Northern Calirfornia

Hopped right on to Hwy 1 from LA
Big Sur
- The first night we found a nice hideout right off of Hwy 1 and waited for Timmy (A friend from home who is living in LA. It didn't take much convincing, but we talked him in to coming out to Big Sur with us)
- Woke up to a view of the Big Sur Coast
  - A quick morning stretch and we were on our way
- We heard rumors of a hot springs ten miles in to Big Sur starting at the Ranger station.
  - We parked, loaded up our bags, and hit the trail.
  - I had 55 lbs
  - 7 miles in - we hit a wall
    - We took naps
  - Found a nice spot on the river
  - Set up the tent and hammock
  - I drank some of the river water
    - oops
  - Had a fire and fell right to sleep
  - 7 miles back to the car
  - We came out of Big Sur with a few new blisters and a layer of dirt covering our skin
  - We said bye to Tim and went north
Found solace in Monterey, California.
- Washed ourselves and tended to our blisters
- Kristen and I took a bike ride and shared a plate of Fajitas
- We slept well
San Francisco
- Dropped our film off for developing
- Bike ride through Chrissy Field - view of the Golden Gate
- Grabbed some Panini supplies, and headed for our new friend Ashley's house in Oakland
  - Backyard party with some whiskey and local brews
- Haight and Ashbury to see where it all happened
- A tasty pesto egg scramble
- The Sutro Baths are worth checking out!
  - I recommend walking through the tunnel to the rocks on the other side.
    - A perfect sunset spot
- Whole foods for dinner of course
- The next morning we picked up our film and headed north.
Point Reyes Lighthouse
Napa Valley
Glass Beach
Arcata
- Great city with amazing local eats!
Redwood Forest
- Kamp Klamath
- Enormous beach break
- Bike ride
- Standing beneath the biggest trees I've ever seen
- Kristen stood nude on a fallen tree
Umpqua Forest
- Toketee Campground
  - Tent Camping
  - On the river
- Lots of wood chopping and a fire
- Vodka
- Big campfire cooked breakfast!
- Axe throwing
- 2 hour hammock nap
- Umpqua Hot Springs
  - 7 hot pools overlooking the Umpqua river below
  - Just a quarter mile hike and its free!

Heading north to Portland for a week filled with activities and new friends!

See y'all somewhere!

- Matt