Fatherhood in 4-Lo: What Our Adventures Have Taught Me About Being a Dad
Some dads mark time in birthdays and report cards. I mark mine in trail miles, muddy boots, and the look on my kids’ faces the first time they saw the Milky Way from a campsite so remote it didn’t even show up on the map. Fatherhood didn’t come with a manual—but overlanding gave me one in its own, dusty, unpredictable way. This Father’s Day, I’ve been thinking about what these adventures have really given me: a front-row seat to watch my kids become capable, curious, and completely themselves—out there, off-grid, and often covered in peanut butter and trail dust.
LOGBOOK
The Nomad
6/15/20252 min read
1. The Trail Teaches Patience (and So Do Kids)
You can’t force a trail to dry out or a toddler to stop crying. Both require patience, snacks, and the occasional reset. I’ve learned to slow down, to be okay with a detour—whether it's a closed pass or an unexpected roadside potty break.
Some of our best memories came when we stopped chasing the schedule and started enjoying the story unfolding right in front of us.
2. Let Them Climb the Rocks
It’s hard to let your kids take risks. But something shifts when you're camped beside a mountain stream and your six-year-old wants to jump from boulder to boulder like a goat.
Overlanding taught me that confidence doesn’t come from playing it safe—it comes from falling sometimes, getting back up, and realizing you’re stronger than you thought.
3. Wilderness Builds Wonder
There’s something holy about watching your child catch a glimpse of a moose in the wild or sit in silence under a sky full of stars.
Screens don’t do that. Busy schedules don’t do that. But nature—wild, unapologetic, and awe-inspiring—does.
4. Simplicity Is a Gift
Kids don’t need fancy toys when they have sticks, dirt, and a creek to splash in. I’ve watched them build kingdoms out of rocks, laugh until they collapse in a hammock, and fall asleep to the sound of coyotes howling somewhere in the distance.
The wilderness strips life down to what matters most. And fatherhood, at its best, does the same.
5. Presence Over Perfection
I’ve messed up plenty. Lost tempers, forgotten snacks, driven a little too far past bedtime. But overlanding forces you to be present—no emails, no meetings, no distractions.
Just you, your kids, and the next stretch of road. And sometimes that’s exactly enough.
Conclusion
If you ask my boys about the best parts of their childhood, they won’t talk about toys or theme parks. They’ll tell you about a lightning strike at Clear Lake that sparked a fire and sent us packing in a hurry. Or the nights they watched fireflies dance through the mesh of a tent while we whispered answers to 1000 questions under the stars. Or that one epic night we rigged a sheet between trees and watched a movie on a projector in the middle of nowhere—snuggled up in hammocks, popcorn in hand.
This Father’s Day, I’m not thinking about what I’ve given my kids. I’m thinking about what they’ve given me: the chance to be fully present, to chase wonder, to learn patience, and to build something wild and lasting—one trail, one trip, one memory at a time.