Disconnect on purpose. Return with direction.
Custom backcountry immersions, nature connection, and executive coaching across Utah's mountains, deserts, and rivers. Human-powered. Built around your edges, not your comfort zone.
Why Wilderness
You can scroll past the moment. You can swipe away the feeling. You can bookmark the mantra and never live it. But you can't skip the silence that settles in on day two of a trail, when your phone is dead and the only feed is the river beside your camp. That silence is where the real work starts. It's the one thing you can't scroll past.
People have always known this. Every era has had its version of stepping away. Walkabouts. Vision quests. Pilgrimages. Different languages, same instinct. Go far enough out that the usual voices can't reach you. Stay long enough for the truth to.
Go far enough out that the usual voices can't reach you. Stay long enough for the truth to.
I didn't invent the idea. I trained in it. Through the Earth Based Institute, I studied nature-connected coaching, a practice rooted in wisdom traditions and increasingly supported by modern research. Extended time in wild places changes how you operate. Attention restores. The nervous system downshifts. The part of the mind that makes meaning finally gets room to work. In a culture that slices your attention into fragments, that isn't a luxury. It's a corrective.
Still, the science isn't the point. The point is what happens to you. Wilderness doesn't fix you or hand you answers. It removes everything that's been in the way. The voice you catch in rare quiet moments, the one that knows the distance between where you are and where you meant to be, finally has space. I think we all carry that voice. We just haven't been somewhere quiet enough, long enough, to hear it.
That's what happened in my own life. I had the career, the title, the calendar so full it felt like proof I mattered. None of it was wrong. It just wasn't the whole story. The wilderness didn't hand me an answer. It gave me enough silence to hear the one I already had.
You'll hike long days with a full pack. You'll sleep on the ground. You'll be cold, or hot, or both. You'll eat simple food cooked on a camp stove. None of this is punishment — it's the minimum viable condition for something real to happen.
Because here's what I've learned: when you carry everything you need on your back and walk into country that doesn't know your name, something shifts. The performance drops. The managing stops. You start making decisions based on what's actually in front of you — the weather, the terrain, the next mile — instead of what's in your inbox. And that practice, the practice of being present with real stakes and real effort, turns out to be transferable. You come back and the noise is still there, but you're different inside of it.
Somewhere in the middle of all that — usually when you least expect it — the thing you came to figure out gets very clear.
That's adventure. That's awe. That's adversity. Not as ideas on a page. As the ground under your feet.
And some of the best work happens between people. Around a fire. On a long approach. In the unhurried conversation that only shows up when you've been walking together all day with nothing to check and nowhere to perform. I've learned as much from the people I've shared trail with as from the land itself. We figure things out in community — asking questions, listening, sitting with what comes up. That's part of the design.
Choosing to go somewhere uncertain on purpose. When the trail turns and you don't know what's next, you find out who you are when the script runs out. Adventure isn't recklessness — it's the deliberate decision to trade the known for the possible.
The moment your carefully managed life stops feeling like the whole world. A ridgeline at sunrise. A storm rolling in across a valley you've been hiking through for three days. Awe resets your sense of scale — what matters, what doesn't, and what you've been too busy to notice.
Friction that reveals what you're actually made of. Carrying a heavy pack up a mountain is a metaphor for everything you're working through. It's also just carrying a heavy pack up a mountain. The difficulty is the teacher.
Every engagement starts with a conversation. I don't run packaged retreats or pretend to have it all figured out. I design experiences around what you're actually working through — and trust that wilderness, honest dialogue, and good questions will do what they do.
Custom-designed backcountry experiences for individuals or small groups. Pre-trip coaching to set intention, days in the wilderness doing the real work, and post-trip integration to carry it home.
For organizations ready to invest in their people with something that actually sticks. Calibrated to your team's edges — where the growth is. Real wilderness, real stakes, real change.
A structured program for building a daily relationship with the natural world. We dismantle the habits that keep you indoors and build new ones rooted in attention, place, and seasonal rhythm.
Individualized coaching for executives and leaders in transition. Grounded in nature-connected practice, with the option to take the work into the backcountry when you're ready.
Certified Nature-Connected Coach, Earth Based Institute. 315+ ICF coaching hours, PCC in progress. 15+ years of executive leadership, including co-founding and scaling a narrative strategy firm inside the Stagwell network. When I say I've been where you are, I mean it — I've run the teams, managed the P&L, navigated the politics. And then I went looking for what was missing.
If any of this landed, let's talk. I'm not interested in a hard sell — I'm interested in whether this is the right fit for where you are right now.
Start a Conversation