For a little over two years, I tried something that mattered deeply to me. I blended my IT trade with my passion by working for the National Park Service across the canyon country I love.
I left in September 2025 and did what I also do when I need to clear my head: I took a walk.
I am still processing a chapter that meant more to me than I expected. The work aligned with who I am at a core level. I worked alongside people who care passionately about the land and the public good.
Leaving brought a kind of grief I did not anticipate.
Five months later, I am still processing that decision.
From day one, the environment was difficult. When the original issues finally eased more than a year ago, national-level changes began rolling in late last year, followed by the IT consolidation plan you can read about here:
Interior Dept. moves ahead with IT consolidation plan across bureaus
In the meantime, I supported more than 170 people across multiple park districts over a vast stretch of the Colorado Plateau, from the Utah-Colorado border at Hovenweep to the far reaches of the Maze. I covered two local IT roles, part of a telecom role, and HR-adjacent duties that should never mix with IT. The load was simply too much for one on-site person to carry indefinitely. Under the new plan, the job I thought would let me balance my trade with my passion began to look a lot like the corporate work I once left behind.
I cannot pin it all on politics. My work ethic, both a strength and a flaw, meant I carried too much for too long and did not set boundaries until perhaps it was too late. When I finally did set them, people did not always receive them well. Joan deserves a husband who is not grumpy at night, short-tempered, or forever kvetching about work when we are in wild places. At the local level, some things were not handled as well as they could have been.
It breaks my heart to leave the NPS. I felt honored to support a mission I deeply believe in, despite its flaws.
This chapter reached a natural close for my mental, emotional, and physical health and for the person I care about most.
It is not hyperbole to say I found myself in grief.
For the first time, I balanced my trade and my passion in the same work. I did not keep my outdoor self in the shadows as I often did in corporate environments. That is why the disappointment cut so deeply. For many reasons, I carry an embedded distrust of institutions and a belief that, in the end, you rely on family and your chosen circle of friends. For a brief period, I believed this institution might be different. Instead, I came away feeling used up, with some long-held cultural suspicions confirmed again.
I want to leave on a positive note because the people I supported were among the most dedicated, passionate, and caring individuals I have ever met. I became part of something bigger, and I will always treasure those memories:
- Talking shop with scientists and archaeologists;
- Tagging along with the river crew down Cataract Canyon;
- Scouting the Hayduke with backcountry rangers who valued my past hikes;
- The sweet mail-room person who always gave me a holiday decoration in thanks;
- Busting chops with maintenance crews who reminded me of my buddies back East;
- Collateral SAR duty and the camaraderie I rarely had as a techie team of one;
- The Maze crew putting me up in employee housing, a three-hour drive away, after I got their Starlink running, and knowing the sunrise view of Cleopatra’s Chair from that apartment is a hell of a perk;
- The outstanding help from regional and national IT colleagues, whose encouragement, knowledge, and kindness floored me in the best way.
I was never just the IT guy to the people who really knew me. I was a backcountry person who happened to do IT.
I will always value my time with the Park Service. Maybe another chapter will be written someday.
When I left my job in 2017 to walk across Utah, I met Joan, and life has been pretty great ever since. I want to keep it that way.
I came to serve the public lands. In the end, I chose to keep the life they helped me build.