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For nearly forty years, my life has been defined by the pursuit of balance. Not the kind that comes from standing on a board or wading through a fast current—though those certainly play their part—but the deeper balance that comes from building a life out of the things you love most.

When the warm months arrive, I step into the river and into a role I’ve cherished for decades: teaching fly fishing. There’s nothing quite like guiding someone through their first perfect cast, or watching their eyes open to the subtle science of a river in motion. Every season brings familiar rhythms—hatches I’ve come to know like old friends—and yet there’s always something new, some quiet reminder that the river is alive and ever-changing. I miss that when the season winds down.

But the shift never feels like a loss. As autumn sharpens into winter, I feel that familiar excitement rise again. The mountains call. Snowboarding takes over, and teaching on snow becomes its own kind of joy. The energy is different—faster, colder, sharper—but the reward is the same: helping people find confidence, flow, and presence in a challenging environment. Stepping back into snowboarding each winter is like flipping a switch, and I welcome the change every time.

Loving both pursuits equally might sound complicated, but for me it’s the very thing that brings balance to my life. Too much of any one thing—even the things we love—can throw that balance off. The seasons create a natural rhythm, a cycle that keeps me grounded, grateful, and always looking forward to what’s next.

I’ve been lucky—not just to fish and ride for a living, but to build a lifestyle around the ebb and flow between them. Every transition brings a spark of newness. Every shift makes me better at what I do. And after all these years, I’ve learned that balance isn’t something you find once and keep—it’s something you live, season after season.