Camping

Experienced in solo and group backcountry camping in challenging environments, including below-freezing temperatures and extended stays. Skilled in bushcraft, navigation, fire-making, and self-reliance while hiking and living in remote wilderness areas.

Camping has always been a way for me to disconnect from the noise of everyday life and reconnect with the natural world. I’ve spent years exploring remote areas across West Virginia, particularly Spruce Knob, Dolly Sods, and Bear Rocks Preserve. These places offer the solitude and rugged beauty that I look for—dense forests, sweeping mountain views, and the challenge of self-sufficiency in unpredictable conditions.

I camp solo and with friends, depending on the trip. Solo trips allow me to focus on my own rhythm and survival skills without distractions, while trips with friends are often about shared challenges and building things together. Either way, I always take on a leadership role when it comes to planning, navigation, and safety, since I’ve built up a lot of experience over the years.

My camping style is minimal and focused on bushcraft. I sleep in a hammock with a tarp and underquilt, which keeps me off the ground and comfortable even in bad weather. I don’t rely on luxury gear. Every item I carry has to earn its weight—from my axe and silky saw to my 7-inch BK Becker knife. I’ve learned to do more with less and how to stay warm, dry, and well-fed with limited resources.

Food is always a blend of freeze-dried staples and wild protein. I bring a jet boil for quick meals, but most of the time I prefer to fish or hunt small game. Catching your own food changes the way you look at a trip. If I don’t bring anything in, dinner’s going to be light. That pressure keeps me sharp and active. It’s not just leisure—it’s a skill test every time.

One of my favorite memories is from a solo trip to Spruce Knob in October 2016. I spent two weeks camping with my dog, surrounded by the changing colors of fall. One morning I woke up to find the lake blanketed in fog, with golden light barely breaking through the trees. It was absolutely silent, and the whole scene looked like something out of a storybook. That kind of peace is hard to describe but impossible to forget.

Of course, the weather doesn’t always cooperate. I’ve dealt with days of cold rain, scorching sun, and freezing nights—sometimes all in the same trip. I’ve had to dry gear over fires, keep warm without insulation, and move campsites when water levels rose. On one trip, I sliced my finger to the bone and had to stitch it closed myself. I’ve also hiked out with sprained ankles and kept moving through pain when needed.

But I keep going back because I crave the quiet. There’s no signal out there, no buzzing, no alerts—just the wind, the trees, and the work in front of you. Every moment requires focus and presence. That kind of silence resets me in a way nothing else can. It’s one of the few times I feel fully grounded and alive.

Camping forces me to be alert and adaptable. I constantly problem-solve, whether it’s deciding how to hang a tarp in high winds or figuring out the best time to fish a cold mountain stream. The mental stimulation is part of the draw. Nature doesn’t care about plans—you have to work with what’s in front of you.

Over the years, I’ve become more confident and capable because of the time I’ve spent outdoors. I’ve learned how to handle real danger, how to improvise, and how to stay calm under pressure. That self-reliance has carried over into other parts of my life. I don’t panic when things go wrong—I assess, adapt, and move forward.

Camping isn't just a hobby—it’s training, reflection, and challenge all rolled into one. Every trip teaches me something new about nature and about myself. It’s helped shape my work ethic, my mindset, and my ability to lead and survive, even when the environment turns against me.