My journey to Alaska with Odin, my loyal dog, was a deliberate departure from the structured world of professional sports, a move toward the untamed beauty of the Last Frontier. Before this, my life was a whirlwind of production shoots, content strategy, and esports management with the Detroit Pistons. It was a career that demanded precision, creativity, and a knack for navigating the digital landscape. It was eating up my time. I was spending more hours in front of screens than around campfires, and with Odin getting older, I realized we needed a serious change of scenery.
That yearning for open spaces wasn't a sudden impulse; it was a return to a feeling I'd known since childhood. My mother understood the importance of outdoor exploration and got me camping when I was five, setting the stage for a lifelong appreciation of nature. But life has a way of pulling you in different directions, and as my career with the Pistons took off, I found myself spending more time indoors than out. It wasn't until a family trip to Rocky Mountain National Park in 2017 that I remembered how much I missed hiking, camping, and the simple act of sitting around a campfire under a star-filled sky. After years of crafting narratives for others and hearing too many stories of "I wish I'd done this sooner," I knew I needed to prioritize my own experiences. Inspired by a quote I saw, 'I'd rather die with debt and memories than riches and dreams,' I decided to make a change. I needed to focus on having a life full of memories rather than a life planning to make memories at some point. So, I made the decision to relocate to Alaska, finding a position that allowed me to live as far north as possible while still maintaining access to essential amenities—and, of course, the strategic use of my Delta SkyMiles.
The journey north was different this time. When I first made the drive from Detroit to Fairbanks it was as an outsider. Someone on vacation that was simply passing through. This time the drive was as a future resident and the roads north were looking familiar. The only major difference being the season in which I was driving north. If you have a desire to drive to Alaska I highly recommend enjoying the trip in the months of May and June as the roads are clean, the wildlife is out, and the temperatures are mildly comfortable. In January....none of the above is true. We reached temperatures of -30°F and spent several nights on the side of the highway in a pull out catching a few hours of sleep and waking up every 45 minutes or so to turn the truck back on to get a bit of heat before we froze. Not exactly prepared for this trip was I?! . The long hours of driving gave me time to think, time to reflect on what I truly wanted from life, and to appreciate the simple beauty of the journey itself.
Arriving in Fairbanks in early January is weird. It was below zero, the ground covered in snow, and no one in town had winter tires big enough for my truck let alone time to winterize it. I spent the first month living in a dry cabin (No running water) while getting used to my new role as the Creative Director at the University of Alaska Fairbanks. The position allowed me to leverage my skills from a professional setting while maximizing my time in a place I'd only ever been able to visit for a few days at a time previously. When not figuring out how to survive without running water and getting lost in town I was able to see the Northern lights on an almost nightly basis. Now a foundational memory I'll never forget.
My life in Alaska extends far beyond the office. Odin and I have embraced the Alaskan wilderness, exploring its vast landscapes with a sense of adventure. We've hiked through dense forests, spent countless nights chasing the aurora and midnight sun, and camped in some of the most bucket list worthy locations imaginable. Each expedition is a chance to connect with nature, to challenge ourselves, and to find inspiration in the raw beauty of the surroundings.
Alaska demands respect and failure to give it means you can end up in extremely dangerous and sketchy situations (I’ve had 5 near death experiences since moving here because I underestimated the situation and was not properly prepared for what I might encounter). It's a place where you learn to adapt, to be resourceful, and to appreciate the simple things. There’s a certain freedom that comes with navigating the trails, because there are no trail maps. The state of Alaska lacks the level of coverage you’d find in the lower 48 from companies like OnX and GaiaGPS. It’s a reminder of why I spent 10 years planning the first trip up and why I returned for a second time and ultimately moved here. It's about testing your limits and finding a sense of peace in the wild. We've had to learn to read the aurora, to always be prepared for the unexpected, and to go as soon as the opportunity appears.
My Jeep has become a symbol of our journey, a less than reliable companion on our explorations. It carries us through diverse terrains, from rugged mountain trails to snow-covered tundra and has a history of breaking, leaving us without transportation for months at a time. But as is the case with most family members, it’s irreplaceable. It's more than just a vehicle; it's a tool for discovery, a means of connecting with the vastness of Alaska. It's our basecamp, our shelter, and for 8 weeks this past fall our home. We've learned to rely on it, to trust it, and to appreciate its quirks. We've had to learn to fix it on the fly, to understand it's going to have dash lights on 24/7 and a radio that doesn’t work consistently, and to always keep it ready for the next adventure. We’ve learned that sometimes, the journey is not what we had planned but instead what gets thrown at us and that is always more important than the destination.
Now just because I live in Alaska I can’t be expected to stay in Alaska when there is still so much to see and do in the L48! On average I drive 38k miles a year with the last 12 months seeing us make three separate journeys to the L48 from Fairbanks including an 8 week long road trip from Fairbanks to Overland Expo East and Overland the Red in Kentucky. Sure I moved to a state that takes more than 24 hours to drive from north to south and takes 3 full days of driving just to reach another state, but why should that keep Odin and I from exploring the rest of the PNW?!
Through my work and my adventures, I’m learning to blend the human interest stories with the desire to thrive in the wilderness (So long as I have WiFi 😂 - thanks Starlink). I’m finding a balance between the digital world and the natural world, between planning and spontaneity. That usually means doing a deep dive on an area 6 months before I’d actually have the ability to go and then the week before the trip trying not to forget a spoon for my backpacking meals. Sometimes that means changing plans on the fly due to weather (This includes space weather and cloud coverage). Sometimes it means just stopping and appreciating the moment, the silence of Alaska, and enjoying the peace I can give Odin as he runs around. I’m learning that flexibility is key.
The seasons in Alaska are a constant reminder of the power and beauty of nature. From the long, dark winters to the vibrant summers, each season brings its own unique challenges and rewards. Not dissimilar to content creation and the seasons we go through in our journey to craft a story but also become comfortable with the vulnerability of doing so. I’ve spent 20 years creating and telling the stories of others. I’ve been behind the camera and switchboard for so long I had forgotten how to tell someone about my own adventures. And that is what I’ve found in Alaska. I’ve found my own story and a way to tell it that doesn’t make me cringe. A way to tell it that doesn’t make me regret sharing or feeling as though it's inauthentic. The long days of summer allow for endless exploration and the opportunity to try and fail at new ways of bringing strangers into my adventures. Having a sun that never sets gives you hours of golden light to shoot that same sequence 15 times and not have the video seem as though it skipped ahead a few hours. I’m learning to appreciate the raw style of capture and share that has become fun. Compared to the polished content I was trained in, this is a lot harder to get comfortable with but in doing so it's helping me explore different avenues of story when I do hop back into the producer role and get to tell someone else’s story again.
My journey to Alaska is a process of self-discovery, a chance to redefine my priorities and find a deeper connection to the world around me. It's about crafting a life that feels authentic, meaningful, and true to Odin. Odin, the most important thing in my life (Hence the handle DOGandajeep), is by my side every step of the way. We are crafting our own story, one adventure at a time. We are living a life that is both challenging and rewarding, a life that is deeply connected to the land and to each other. We are home, and we are constantly exploring the meaning of that. The feeling of driving down a “road” that few others have seen, or seeing an animal in its natural habitat is an experience I will never take for granted. It’s about more than just seeing, it’s about feeling a part of something larger. It’s about understanding that we are all connected to the natural world, and that we have a responsibility to protect it.
