We found some wood and started to fire and dance even though there wasn't any music.

I went to meetings, I wrote the letters, and pretty soon I wasn't alone.

Get out of the truck when you hike through this field with your surf boards.

I'm like, there's no way there's going to be waves here.

At Patagonia, we are climbers and skiers.

We are surfers and anglers. We're activists and dreamers.

Stories of the fabric of our share culture and we're proud to sponsor the dirtbag diaries.

Visit us at Patagonia.com

There's no way around it, writing wasn't going well.

After two years of making connections, scoring a couple of features, the paychecks dried up.

My bank account was about to resemble a dry river gulch.

Five months had passed without selling a single new piece.

When two of my closest friends, Aaron and Amanda, offer me a job as a climbing guide out at Smith Rock for the summer.

I thought about it for a few minutes.

Envisioned staring fruitlessly at a computer screening for another three months.

And immediately said yes.

I put in a formal application to the guiding services owner.

And two weeks later, I was talking terrified boy scouts of roots.

I fell into the easy rhythm of my younger years.

Early starts, strong coffee, lots of laughter.

Evening swims in the cold water of the deshoots river.

Two cans of PBR followed by a warm sleeping bag in the back of a truck.

...