We ended the year quietly, on purpose.
My wife and I dropped Surrey off with extended family, loaded the dogs into the truck, and drove up to a tiny cabin tucked into the woods. No cell service. No noise. Just a small pond cold enough to take your breath away and a woodburning sauna that required time and patience.
No parties. No countdown. Just space.
The goal wasn’t rest. It was intention.
For the first time, we slowed down enough to ask the questions we had been avoiding.
What do I actually require to be at my best?
What does Heather require?
What does our daughter need from us?
We laid out a real three year plan. Not vague goals or hopeful thinking, but tangible steps. A financial review that did not pull punches. Trip planning rooted in seasons instead of impulse. Calendar planning that protected what matters instead of filling every open slot. Clear non negotiables. Honest conversations about ideal states at home, at work, and in our bodies.
We visualized the life we want to build and the people we need to become to get there. Not in a mystical sense, but in a practical one. If you can’t clearly see the life you are building, you will default to the one handed to you.
We had never done that before. Not like this. Sitting across from each other with no distractions. It put everything into perspective.
It also reframed the year behind us.
After moving from Colorado to North Carolina, we thought we had finally landed. Instead, we discovered the house we were living in had toxic mold, penicillium aspergillus, and Heather was severely allergic. We were not just uncomfortable. We were unsafe. We had to leave quickly.
We eventually found what looked like a dream. A rental on over twenty acres with a stocked pond and room to breathe. What we didn’t know was that the property carried a deeply tainted history.
Three moves in less than a year. No grounding. No stability. Just adaptation.
January of 2025 still opened with a highlight I will never forget. Attending my first Great American Squirrel Derby and getting a real taste of Virginian squirrel hunting culture. Cold mornings, shared fires, and a reminder that the most meaningful traditions are often the simplest.
That trip ended with the most unsettling chapter of our lives.
We became wrapped up in a situation involving the property owner, what authorities believed could be a hitman related plot, a suspected Chechnyan operative, and the very house we were renting. For three weeks, we lived under full police security detail, bouncing between Airbnbs, constantly on edge.
We seriously discussed moving back to Colorado. The only thing that stopped us was our daughter. Pulling her out of school felt like letting fear dictate our future. So we moved to another nearby rental. Eventually, the situation passed. Slowly, life steadied again.
By March, we found our groove. I joined a hunting club and had one of my best turkey seasons yet. In April, we brought home our second dog, Rook, after Link nearly died from a severe reaction to flea and tick medication. Link later recovered, Thank God.
Around that same time, we met Ronald and Ellen, who quietly became our North Carolina grandparents. Proof that family is not always inherited, sometimes it’s found.
May was bass fishing with Surrey. Just the two of us. It was also when I finally met James Eaker, who introduced me to Appalachian native brook trout on a three weight. Small water. Light tackle. True adventure.
June was spent chasing blue lines in Western North Carolina and traveling to Maryland, where I caught a massive sand tiger shark from the beach and brought home seventy pounds of yellowfin tuna with my mentor and one of my best friends.
In July, Surrey spent time with family in Louisiana. I went down to pick her up and spent a day fishing with Jarid Serigne of Outside the Levees, a longtime family friend. Giant catfish. Alligators. Chaos. Later that month, I took Surrey to her first concert at Beech Mountain and watched her see the world a little bigger.
August brought dove season with Mike Hagerty and his family from Outdoors Dad Life. Both dogs worked. Early season hunts, kids running around, and the reminder that this is supposed to be shared.
September through December blurred into one long whitetail season. I logged thirty seven sits between the stand and the saddle, several of them all day. I killed a solid eight point early, then got selective. When the big deer disappeared, Heather told me I had one hunt left.
On that hunt, I killed another good eight point.
I passed three very large deer. Only one of them still keeps me up at night. More than anything, this season taught me about patience, restraint, and the cost of obsession. Not just in the woods, but at home.
We spent Halloween in Texas with my grandmother, now living in a senior care facility. Her health is fading. Time with her mattered more than any hunt.
In November, my friend Drew came out. He had never hunted before. Getting to guide someone through that experience reminded me that mentorship is the future of this space.
December was a sprint. One year earlier, I was washing windows to make ends meet. This year, we made real strides financially. Not because of luck, but because of consistency and discipline.
When you are in hard seasons, it feels like they will never end. But looking back, those seasons often shape you the most. They strip things down. They force clarity. They reveal what actually matters.
We have big decisions ahead in 2026. I am committed to scaling Wilderness Father into what it was always meant to be. Not just a brand, but a vehicle for impact. My goal is to contribute meaningful resources to causes that inspire and cultivate the next generation of outdoorsmen and women.
If you are reading this and feel behind, scattered, or overwhelmed, hear this. You don’t need a perfect plan. You need an intentional one.
Take a day. Take a weekend. Turn the noise off. Ask yourself what you require, what your family requires, and what you are willing to say no to so the right things can grow.
Do not let another year happen by accident.
Build it on purpose.
And if my words have helped you slow down, reflect, or choose a harder but better path, thank you for being here. Your support means more to our family than you know.
FIELD
Squirrel hunting pro tip: Sit more than you walk. Pick a tree, stay still for ten minutes, and listen. Cutting shells, rustling leaves, or bark falling will give squirrels away before you ever see them. Watch the backside of trunks and branches. Patience puts more squirrels in the bag than movement ever will.
MINDSET: The Intentional Year System
A year does not fall apart all at once. It drifts. This is how you keep it on track.
Define the Year
Set your non-negotiables, priorities, and financial targets. If it is not written down, it is optional.
Quarterly Check-In
Every ninety days, zoom out. Ask what is working, what is not, and what needs to be cut. Adjust the plan, not the vision.
Monthly Reset
Once a month, review the calendar and finances. Are your weeks reflecting your priorities or your habits. Course correct early.
Weekly Alignment
At the start of each week, choose three priorities that move the bigger plan forward. Protect them. Everything else is secondary.
This is how intention becomes structure and structure becomes progress.
It is not enough to be busy. So are the ants. The question is what are we busy about.
Henry David Thoreau
If your children lived the life you are modeling right now, would you be proud of where it leads them?
