For a while now… I’ve had this goal sitting in the back of my mind.
To ride all the way out to Wonder Lake… under my own power… and see that view for myself.
The north face of Denali… rising above the tundra… with the lake laid out in front like glass.
It’s one of those iconic scenes… the kind people travel across the world to witness. But I don’t just want to see it… I want to earn it.
This trip didn’t get me there.

But it got me closer.

And now… I know exactly what’s waiting out there.

It’s a wild place… the kind that keeps you on edge the whole time. And honestly… that’s part of the draw.

This trip started off a lot like my last one. I used the park’s shuttle system to get deep into the interior and got dropped once again at the East Toklat Basin… right near the Pretty Rocks Landslide.

Back in 2022, that landslide shut everything down. Melting permafrost destabilized the mountainside right where the park road crests the slope… and the whole section gave way. Since then, that’s been the end of the road for most people.
But not all.

If you’ve got a mountain bike… you’ve got an option.

You can drop down into the basin and take a detour… about two hours of rough travel, weaving your way across the braided channels of the Toklat River… or more specifically, the East Fork. It’s not easy… loose rock, shifting water, route finding the whole way.
But if you make it across…
Everything changes.

Once you’re on the far side of Pretty Rocks, you’ve got something rare… something almost no one gets anymore.
The road is yours.

Roughly 45 miles of dirt road stretching out ahead… no maintenance, no traffic, no crowds. Just an abandoned ribbon cutting through the Alaska wilderness… all the way out toward Kantishna.

Fall was in the air… everything cool, crisp.
The clouds hung low and heavy… and it had been weeks since I’d seen a true bluebird day… or even the sun for more than a few minutes at a time.

But even without it… this place was unreal.
And I pressed on… into new territory.
Now I’m riding that closed stretch of the park road beyond the Pretty Rocks Landslide… and almost immediately, I notice it.
Bear signs… everywhere.

Scat every 50 feet… fresh, scattered right along the road.

Look closely
Way off in the distance… a large grizzly working its way up a hillside.

My senses go into overdrive. Every sound, every movement… amplified. And as I’m rolling along on my mountain bike, covering ground fast, I’m not gonna lie… I’m nervous. Really nervous.

Out here… you’re not just visiting.
You’re part of the food chain.
Still… mile by mile… I keep going.
And even with that tension riding alongside me… I can’t help but look around.

The Polychrome Mountains open up in a way you just don’t see from the other side. The colors… those swirling bands of chocolate and coffee… layered across the hillsides like something painted.

It’s wild… and beautiful… and a little intimidating all at once.
Eventually, I pull off the road and find a spot to camp.
Same routine… bear canister and stove stashed a hundred yards away from where I’m sleeping.
Out here… you don’t cut corners.

The next morning… I wake up and go to check my gear.
Bear canister… still there.
All good.
But my stove?
Gone.
Just… gone.

It had been packed inside a nylon bag… nothing fancy, but still. Disappeared.
And I’ve got a pretty good guess what happened.

There was a porcupine hanging around camp the night before… kind of chubby, kind of bold… just lurking. And those little guys love chewing on anything with salt… straps, gear, whatever they can get their teeth on.
I’m betting he made off with it.

Out here… even the small stuff keeps you on your toes.
I kept moving the next day… saw plenty of caribou drifting across the landscape… calm, steady, completely at home in a place that still had me on edge.

And somewhere along the way… I made one of my favorite trail snacks.
An “Alaskan cheesecake bar.”
Simple… a slab of cream cheese spread over a Nature Valley oat bar.
Not pretty… but out here?
It’s perfect.

Losing that stove… it hit harder than I expected.
No hot coffee in the morning… that alone was rough. And yeah, I still had food… but now everything turned into cold soaking meals. If you’ve ever done that… you know.
It’s not great.
Honestly… it’s pretty gross.
And just like that… morale dipped.

I was already on edge with the bears… and now I’m rolling through this place solo, nearly silent, cruising at 20 miles an hour on a bike. It’s hard not to think about it… coming around a bend and suddenly there’s a sow and her cubs right there.
That thought just kept looping.
Over… and over.

Out here, your mind can run wild if you let it… and I let it.
Bit by bit… I started psyching myself out.
What was supposed to be a three… maybe four day bikepacking trip… slowly unraveled into something shorter. Simpler.
Safer.

By the time I made peace with it… I knew this was turning into an overnight.

My turnaround point ended up being the Eielson Visitor Center.
An abandoned one, at least for now.
It was surreal rolling up to it… this big, built out space meant for crowds of visitors… and there wasn’t a soul around. Bathrooms, structures, walkways… all just sitting there in the middle of this vast, quiet landscape.
Empty.

Here’s my trusty steed… leaned up against a bench at the Eielson Visitor Center.
This was it.
As far as I made it.
The road ended for me right here… and honestly, this photo says it all. Quiet… empty… a little haunting.
I didn’t take many other pictures of the place… which I kind of regret. But maybe that’s part of it.
Some moments just live better in memory.
Because it was eerie.
Not in a bad way… just that strange feeling of standing somewhere built for people… and realizing you’re completely alone.

So in the end… yeah… it would’ve been nice to have a friend out there.
Someone to share the weight of it all… the decisions, the nerves, the unknown.
But if I go back… and I plan to in 2026… even if it’s solo again, I’ll be better for it.
I’ll bring bear bells… stash my gear smarter… make sure that stove isn’t going anywhere next time.
Lessons learned.

And yeah… part of me wants to call it a failure.
But it wasn’t.
Not even close.
Out there… you learn to listen to something deeper. And if it doesn’t feel right to keep pushing… then you don’t.
Simple as that.
No summit… no mileage goal… no plan is worth overriding that instinct.
So I turned around.
And I’m good with that.
Because the truth is… the trip was still spectacular. Stunning. Raw in a way that sticks with you.
The kind of experience you don’t forget.
And maybe that’s the whole point.

One journey… one vision… at a time.

I’m pretty lucky to have a solid setup of both backpacking and ultralight bikepacking gear. It’s really the same gear—the only difference is how you pack it and carry it. But this time, I had my heart set on getting deep into the wilderness and backcountry via foot , with one goal in mind…to check out the beautiful Polychrome Glacier.

To make it happen, I had to stop by the ranger station in the park, get a permit, and lay out exactly where I planned to camp. From there, I booked a shuttle out to the East Fork of the Toklat. It was about an hour and a half, maybe two hours, deep into the park before they dropped me off…completely alone, nobody else around.

With all the logistics during the day, I didn’t actually get started until around 7 p.m. But honestly, that just added to the feeling of stepping into something wild and unknown…exactly what I came for.

There are hardly any trails in Denali National Park, so most of what you explore is completely off-trail…a true choose-your-own-adventure. For this stretch, it was a fairly easy hike down the Toklat drainage—wide open terrain, long sightlines, and plenty of space if I happened to run into a bear.

And yeah…that was very much on my mind. This is active bear country, and even within the past week, there had been reports of tourists being charged by a grizzly in the area. So I stayed on high alert.

I started making my way down the basin alone, senses dialed in, fully aware of every sound, every movement. Out there, it feels like anything can happen…and you have to be ready for whatever Alaska decides to throw your way.

Right off the bat, I was treated to some wildlife—one of my favorites, the Arctic ground squirrel. It’s kind of like a groundhog, but with some phenomenal adaptations for life in the Arctic.

These little guys burrow down and hibernate through the winter, but what makes them truly incredible is how far they can push the limits of survival. Their body temperature can drop to around 27 degrees…that’s about 5 degrees below freezing. Through some wild molecular adaptations that basically turn their bodies into a kind of natural supercoolant, along with occasional shivers to keep things in check, they somehow make it through. At their lowest point, their heart rate can slow to just one beat per minute.

It’s one of those moments out there where you stop and realize just how tough—and how perfectly adapted—life in Alaska really is

It’s late July, and I was treated to an abundance of dwarf fireweed. It was popping up everywhere, adding color to the landscape…and it’s actually edible, a solid source of vitamin C.

Before long, I had an onlooker. A caribou was watching me from a distance—just standing there, calm and curious. Look at that gorgeous rack. What’s wild is that both male and female caribou grow antlers.

As I continued down the Toklat Basin, the views opened up into something sweeping and spectacular. My senses were still dialed in—sharper than normal. Everything felt heightened.

My eyes were picking up more detail, my ears catching every sound. It almost felt like a superpower as I moved through these valleys.

Eventually, I set up camp in the basin. I was tired—it had been a long day. I pitched my tent, then moved well over 100 yards away to eat and stash my food protected in a mandatory bear proof container. Out here, nothing with a scent stays near your sleeping area.

On my way back to the tent, I noticed it…bear scat. Probably a day or two old. Well, there it is. Bears are nearby. But I was exhausted, and I decided to stay put.

Luckily, I slept great. No problems.

The next morning, I headed out to grab my bear can—and it turns out I had a guardian. Another caribou was standing watch over it.

I gave a quiet thanks for the “protection,” but I needed my food back. After some hooting, hollering, and clacking my hiking poles together, it finally got up and wandered off.

After another full day of hiking—through tough river basin crossings and off-trail tundra—I finally made it within eyesight of the Polychrome Glacier

The Polychrome Glacier is actually a series of five glaciers tucked into the Polychrome Mountains… “polychrome” meaning many colors. I like to think of it as swirled coffee and creamer… but in reality, it’s a slow moving mix of rock and ice.

With the glacier in view, I set up my tent and settled in for the evening. The weather started to turn… clouds rolled in, the drizzle came first, then steady rain. The temperature dropped into the low 40s, and yeah… it got cold.

Still, I wanted a closer look.

I hiked deeper into the valley and made my way right up to the toe of the glacier. It was beautiful… rugged, raw, and every bit as mesmerizing as any glacier I’ve seen. Just different. I didn’t stay long though… I was tired, cold, and dinner was calling.

Back at camp, I wandered about a hundred yards out to cook, same routine as always. But this time, the sky opened up. Cold, sloppy rain poured down, and I found myself hunched under a bush, shoveling down a freeze dried meal as fast as I could… just dreaming about my warm, dry tent sitting up the valley.

That moment stuck with me more than anything else from the trip.
The next morning… I woke up.
And I had made it.

Ten solid hours of sleep… something about that soft tundra and a decent air pad just hits right if you can find a level spot. But overnight, the weather danced right along the freezing line… rain, snow, back and forth.

When I stepped outside, I stopped cold.

Fresh snow blanketed the glacier and the surrounding Polychrome peaks. Completely transformed… quiet, white, surreal.

Shivering, I packed up quick and made my way back down the valley. It was still cold and soaked, but I moved fast  took zero breaks  and reached the park road without much trouble. One of the best parts of Denali National Park… just flag down a camper bus, hop on, and ride it out.

Ah… what a relief.

I can finally let myself relax.

I’ve made it to the East Toklat Basin stop, just before the Pretty Rocks Landslide, and for the first time all day, I feel that weight lift off my shoulders.

There’s a small structure here too… a warming hut used by park rangers in the winter, when this whole landscape transforms and they patrol the park by dog sled. Hard to imagine standing here now, soaked and muddy, that in a few months this same place will be buried in snow and traveled by sled teams.

Boots off… pack down… just breathing it all in.

There’s something about reaching a road after being out there that shifts everything. The wild is still right in front of you… but you know you’re on your way back.

Now all that’s left to do is flag down the bus, toss my gear underneath, and take that slow ride back through Denali National Park.

Home is waiting.

And when I rolled into camp, I was greeted by something else entirely… a perfect rainbow stretching across the sky.

Did I mention Alaska has the best rainbows?

This one looked like it was rising straight out of my trailer… the place I call home.

When in Alaska, especially working seasonal jobs, you’ve got to do road trips with friends—and that’s exactly what we did. We made our way down to Seward, Alaska, about a six-hour drive from the interior where we worked, but every mile was worth it. The open road, the mountains, and the endless wilderness made the journey as much of an adventure as the destination itself.

We started the road trip on an absolutely beautiful day in Denali and had great weather all the way down.

We made good time to Anchorage, and when we hit Turnagain Arm, we had to stop at Beluga Point for the obligatory photos and selfies with my friends and coworkers Nikki and Jo from Florida.

Once we got into Seward, we had a kayak trip planned with Worldwide Outfitters. These guys were fantastic.

Here’s me and Luc, one of our best raft guides.. kicking off some paddling with a waterfall behind us—not a bad start.

After a while, we had to cross some open water. It was a little sketchy, but we were all competent paddlers and moved quickly.

Our guide led us to beach our boats for a short land excursion through a lush temperate forest.

He knew of a big waterfall tucked away in this incredible setting, and we stopped for a group photo with the falls as our backdrop.

The guide had his game on—he even made us hot chocolate to enjoy in the base of the waterfall.

We wrapped things up with some amazing shots of Exit Glacier.

Just think—these walls were packed entirely with ice not many decades ago.

Seeing the scale and change up close really puts the power and pace of Alaska’s natural forces into perspective.

Do you ever dance with the devil in the pale moonlight?

That’s exactly how it felt kicking off our midnight fun run. It’s not uncommon in Alaska for rafting trips to do a late-night run with their crews down their assigned river. For us, it was the canyon section of the Nenana, which has some pretty gnarly class 3 and class 4 Alaskan rapids. We launched the boats at 12:05 a.m., and the silvery twilight was absolutely beautiful, setting the perfect mood as the river carried us into the wild

I was having too much fun to take pictures going down the river, but we did camp on this sandbar, built a huge bonfire, and fired up a sauna.

If you look closely at the picture, you’ll see a red igloo fishing hut. Inside, we heated granite stones until they were glowing red, then dragged them into the hut. Pouring water over those stones created an incredible, silky sauna experience. And when your body got too hot, you took a quick plunge into the river…what we called a “Nenana plunge,” ha ha. There’s nothing like that mix of heat, cold, and laughter to make a night unforgettable.

It was now 3:15 a.m., and we were still having an incredible time, with the fire rolling and the river roaring all around us. What a night with great friends. I think I slept about 30 minutes that night—some of us had to work the next day, some didn’t—but I’ll never forget those silvery skies, the laughter that echoed across the canyon, and the glacial river splashing on your face as we ran the rapids. It was pure, unfiltered adventure…one of those nights that makes life worth living

Renaissance has returned. This is the second season at Raft Camp—yes, feels completely different. Last season was overwhelming—trying to take everything in was a challenge, and then there was the ankle. You might remember I broke it badly and ended up having surgery mid-season.

But this year, I came ready. Fully equipped, with the right attitude, determined not to let anything go wrong and to experience everything I missed out on last year. I kept a clearer head, drank less, stayed out of trouble, and focused on the prize.

Now, I’m here to take in every inch of beauty, every stretch of river and scenery, every delicate sound, and every piece of nature I possibly can.

Here’s a beautiful example of lupine, usually blooming in early June.

Moose were everywhere, and as far as Alaska wildlife goes, they are the most dangerous. I was actually charged by a moose my first season—it was one of the scariest wildlife encounters I’ve ever had. Moose are Alaska’s number one killers when it comes to wild animals.

On a lighter note, I managed to catch a picture of this amazing bush plane—look at that polished aluminum! I loved seeing these planes every day while living on the airstrip.

And of course, there was the smaller side of nature too…like this sandpiper flitting along the shore, or a mama moose cooling off on a hot June day. Every moment felt alive, every corner of Raft Camp offering something incredible to notice.

And then there was this Renaissance photo. I didn’t even really realize what made it a Renaissance picture until Marcus and Ian pointed it out. This was such a great rafting trip—a fun run with friends in small boats down the upper Nananana River. I snapped this shot while we were taking a break, and everyone loved it. It captured the moment perfectly…the calm of the river, the light, the laughter…everything about that trip just felt alive.

Here’s me on the sticks of a small cataraft. I love this little boat, and if I ever get my own raft, it’ll be something like this—light, nimble, perfect for small trips. The only problem is they’re expensive, and getting one up here is no small feat.

And then the last photo I’ll include from this trip is just a beautiful shot of Panorama Peak as we floated north on the upper Nenana. The view was breathtaking…everything about that moment felt like the perfect end to a perfect run.

We took our group photo early this season, and what a crew it was. This really was one of the best groups of staff we’ve had at Denali Raft Adventures—a team full of energy, skill, and good vibes. After so many amazing runs on the glacial Nenana River and days spent sharing laughs, stories, and stunning sunsets, that photo is a snapshot of a season I’ll remember for a long time.

A shout out to Demetrius—he’s on the bottom left—for taking all the dads out to a super nice dinner on Father’s Day. There’s me, Jimbo, Barry, and Jim, who is Demetrius’ dad and also the owner of the company. Moments like that made this season feel even more special…a mix of adventure, camaraderie, and just enjoying the people around you.

Here’s a cartoonish-looking sunset. Fires were blazing all around—which is pretty much the norm for late June in the interior of Alaska. The sky glowed like a painting, and the heat from the fires added this surreal, almost otherworldly feel to the evening. Moments like that remind you how wild and alive this place really is.

Like I said, I’m taking it all in…even the smoky moments. The haze from the fires mixed with the sunset light made everything feel alive and raw, a perfect reminder that being here is about experiencing it all, not just the easy or pretty parts.

I rolled out from raft camp… our little pocket of employee housing… and started making my way up the Parks Highway toward the entrance of Denali National Park. But right out of the gate… a major snag. Heavy construction on the highway stopped me in my tracks, and before I knew it, I was loading myself and my fully packed bike into the back of a pilot car. Not exactly how I pictured starting the trip… but hey, it made for a story.

Once past that short detour, though… I was on my way. I pedaled into the park surrounded by incredible scenery, the kind that immediately reminds you why you came all this way.

What made it even better… I had left in the evening, and with nearly nonstop daylight this time of year, there was no rush at all. Time just kind of… opened up..

I didn’t see a ton of wildlife on this adventure… but I did come across a couple of really cool birds. Here’s one of them… Mr. Willow Ptarmigan just hanging out, completely unbothered.

They’re funny like that… they really don’t seem to care if you’re nearby, and usually won’t even think about flying off unless you’re just a couple yards away. Makes for a pretty special, up-close moment out there.

Had to pull over for a quick photo stop at the beautiful Sanctuary River… one of those places that sucks you in. Definitely putting it on the list for a future backpacking trip.

Later on, I took a dinner break at the Teklanika River stop… and had the whole place to myself. Out there, after about mile 15 on the park road, it’s shuttle buses only… no private vehicles. The only other way through is by foot or bike… which made it feel even more special having the road all to myself.

Had a little moment out at the Teklanika River stop… sat down for dinner on the wooden deck, enjoying the quiet, when somehow my backpacking spoon slipped right through the slats and disappeared underneath. Gone… just like that.

Now every time I go back, I can’t help but think about it… my spoon still down there somewhere, tucked beneath the deck… like a tiny piece of me that never left.

Then around 11 p.m.… one of my favorite wildlife encounters of all time. I came across this incredible Golden Eagle. I’ve always wanted to see one… and yeah, I’ll admit, I’ve definitely mistaken vultures for golden eagles before… but this time, I’m pretty darn sure I got it right. We just stood there… staring at each other for a good half hour. One of those quiet, unforgettable moments.

It felt like I had the whole 6 Million acre National Park to my self..

After that, I made my way to Igloo Creek, where I had a permit to camp for the night… and it felt perfect. Beautiful, peaceful… exactly where I wanted to be. By the time I got camp set up, it was around midnight… and still plenty of daylight lingering in the sky.

I slept great, and the ride back the next day was absolutely stunning… crystal clear skies, everything glowing.

Not far from camp, I came across some fresh evidence of a bear dig… the ground torn up, earth scattered, a clear sign that something big had been working the area not too long ago.
It’s a subtle reminder out here… you’re not alone.

There’s something really special about Denali National Park… just that raw simplicity and rugged beauty that sticks with you long after you leave.

This area is what’s called an ecotone… a place where two worlds meet, where the tundra gradually blends into the boreal forest.

Most of these trees here are Black Spruce… hardy, resilient, and perfectly suited to this rugged, transitional landscape.

After an incredible winter in the desert southwest… I was more than ready to head back to Alaska. Truthfully, it’s been on my mind the whole time. This place has completely stolen my heart… I’ve fallen hard for it.

Flying in, I caught a glimpse of Denali out the airplane window… and wow. Seeing it from the air is something else entirely… just massive, unreal, and humbling all at once. At 20,310 feet, it’s the tallest peak in North America, and with over 18,000 feet of prominence… it’s considered the most prominent mountain in the world. That’s the vertical rise you actually see… and nothing prepares you for it.

Once we all arrived.. the whole crew linked up and headed straight out for some team building in Denali National Park. And just like that… total contrast from the desert.

The park was still covered in snow after a big winter while I’d been soaking up dry heat down south.

A shot of the crew gathered near the Savage River…

Demetrius just taking it all in…

A couple of Willow Ptarmigan hanging around too, right in that in-between phase… their feathers shifting from white to brown as the seasons start to turn.

It felt so good to be back at raft camp… surrounded by those tall spruce trees and breathing in that crisp, fresh Alaskan air. And right on cue… the bush planes were back, coming and going like clockwork… that familiar rhythm of the place settling right back in.

Evenings fell into their own routine just as easily… a bonfire out front of the cook shack, cardboard crackling in the flames while everyone gathered around… swapping stories, laughing, unwinding from the day.

It’s simple… but it’s everything. And those sunsets… they just don’t quit. Night after night, the sky puts on a show that never really ends.

Early season has its own personality… snow still blanketing the ground, but melting fast… like you can almost watch the landscape changing day by day.

This time around, I brought my custom hardtail mountain bike… something I didn’t have my first season… and I was stoked to finally have a little freedom to explore and get around on my own terms.

And how do you catch a raft guide…? With a cookie, of course.
Here’s my buddy Marcus a Teacher from Cali in the off season… kicked back and resting after a tough early season day on the water… earning every bit of that downtime.

So here’s a new post about when my son treated me to a trip to Meow Wolf Denver… and we just had an incredible time.

It’s one of those places where reality kind of bends a little… rooms that don’t make sense, stories hidden in every corner, and just pure creativity everywhere you look.

At one point, I even ran into a “psychic” who, somehow, seemed to read me… like she knew I was about to head out on another big adventure up in Alaska.

And sure enough… I’m getting ready to head back north for round two with Denali Raft Adventures. But before I go, it meant everything to spend some real, quality time with my awesome son, Seth… just being present, sharing laughs, and making one more great memory before the next chapter begins.

I’d highly recommend checking out any of the Meow Wolf locations… I’d love to see all of them if I ever get the chance. Each one is filled with stories, mystery, and absolutely mind-blowing art.

The entire place feels like one giant living, breathing piece of art… something you don’t just look at, but step inside and experience.

Before making it to Madera Canyon, I had a few stops and errands to take care of. I caught up with some friends in Mesa, Arizona along the way… always good to see familiar faces. I camped out in the cactus forest… an absolutely lush desert environment that completely blew me away.

I also rode some of my favorite trails down in Tucson… the Star Pass area, part of the Star Pass trail system, where the cacti stand tall and majestic against the sky. The Sonoran Desert near Tucson is just unbeatable… pure magic.

And of course, I couldn’t skip a night or two at the trash pit. It has its own kind of beauty… rugged, chaotic, and utterly captivating. I love it.
And with that, here we go… next stop… Madera Canyon

Madera Canyon sits in the Santa Rita Mountains just south of Tucson, and it’s one of those places that delivers every time. I found a great campsite on public land just outside Green Valley — free camping, legal for up to 14 days, and close enough to town that resupply was never an issue. The sunsets from camp were something else, with long views out over the valley that made it hard to go to bed.

My friends Gary and Kiki were out here with me for a good stretch of the trip, and we made the most of it. We hiked pretty much every day — working up ridgelines, dropping into creek drainages, and eventually knocking out a summit that still had snow on it. Great views, great company, and the kind of hiking where you feel it the next morning in the best possible way.

I also squeezed in a solo overnight, hammock camping right along the creek. No agenda, just the sound of water and the tree canopy overhead. Those simple nights are sometimes the best ones.

I got out on the mountain bike too, working through terrain studded with cool granite formations. The riding out here is underrated — varied, scenic, and just technical enough to keep things interesting.

The birding in Madera Canyon is world class. It’s one of the premier birding destinations in the entire country, drawing visitors from everywhere hoping to spot species found nowhere else in the United States.

On one of my final hikes I got lucky — an elegant trogon stepped out into the open, vivid and unmistakable. A great way to close out the trip

Good friends, good trails, good camping. Madera Canyon never disappoints.