Philmont Scout Ranch, northern New Mexico · near Baldy Mountain (summit 12,441 ft) · late 1990s
Coach Leighty · Where my long game started
The trail I was raised on.
Nobody walks the long game alone. Two very different men put me on this trail, and I see both of them in the way I live and look at the world. Mom was the rock under all of it.
What I carry
Two men. Two ways to play the long game.
Grandpa Jack
The open door
- ◆The open garage doorEvery kid in the neighborhood was welcome. Long Game is my open door.
- ◆Quiet workSix days a week, and never a word about his military days.
- ◆Slowing downHis garden and bonsai. Mine is the backcountry, the coast, dog time, my bike (no spandex involved) and, more and more, my motorcycle. Going so fast, but everything slows down. No phone, no music, just food trucks and the woods as I ride by.
- ◆Silly songsHis jingles at the card table. Mine for my own kids.
My dad
The leader of his people
- ★Go see the worldA career that traveled, and the miles that sent our family on vacations.
- ★Backcountry know-howCar camping to deep in the woods, with the right gear.
- ★Lead, and still do the groundworkRunning the bigger picture while camping, teaching and trading patches.
- ★Find your peopleShare what you know with them, for the greater good.
Grandpa Jack
Who taught me the long game.
My Grandpa Jack was my life hero. He came through Ellis Island as a baby, with some of his family, from the Portsmouth area of England. I tracked down the ship manifest page with his name on it and bought a copy.
He worked six days a week at a grocery store, after whatever he went through in the military, which he never once mentioned. He loved his A's and Raiders, his books, his pipe, and his backyard: strawberries, lemon trees, vegetables in the ground, flowers everywhere, and his bonsai on a little wooden shelf by the sliding glass door. Quiet. Peaceful.
I've heard he was the fun one too. He'd be out at the workbench with the garage door open, and every kid in the neighborhood would come and go.
“Because Jack was the best.”What I’ve heard, and I believe it
We played cards at the checkerboard table he built, an eight-sided one with a note underneath: “For Michael, made by Grandpa, patterned after a table in Oakland Museum.” Whenever he laid down a diamond in Crazy Eights, he'd sing “Diamonds Are a Girl's Best Friend.” I have that table now.
He passed away when I was in seventh grade. The photo of us with the sports page was, as far as I know, the last picture ever taken of the two of us, and it was taken on purpose, as a nice final picture. It has followed me my whole life, from my college townhouse bedroom to today.
I didn't get to grow older with him. But I carry him every day: the quiet work, the slowing down I'm still learning, and the silly songs I make up for my own kids without even thinking about it. That open garage door is my goal. Long Game is my open door.
Same photo, framed in my college townhouse bedroom. It still goes everywhere I go.
At the checkerboard table
Deal yourself a few of Grandpa Jack.
Tap a card to turn it over.
Crazy Eights with Grandpa Jack.
When I was little, this was our game. Maybe that's why my favorite number is 8. You're playing on his table.
My dad
Who showed me my people.
My dad was the super scout. He spent his whole career at GE Nuclear Energy, and the travel that came with it meant airline miles and hotel nights, so our family got to see the world, Australia included. I know how lucky I was.
He grew up in rural New York. His dad drove a truck full time and was gone a lot, and Scouts and the YMCA were a big part of his childhood. Lots of ping pong.
Scouts is where we were together most often. He was right there with me, just never hovering. Picture a soccer league where your dad is sometimes the coach, but more often the guy running the district: leading a big piece of the bigger picture, and still out there doing the groundwork, camping, teaching, trading patches, and sharing what he knew with his people for the greater good.
My first National Scout Jamboree was in 1993 with Troop 618. It was in Virginia, so we did a whole tour of the Eastern Seaboard. I already knew a lot of the guys, and a lot were new. My dad always prioritized this kind of thing, long game style.
At Camp Royaneh in California, probably my first year, Dad was the leader, of course, in his Achewon Nimat hat to show he was a true scout. I was the coolest kid around in my red shirt and, I think, an SF Giants hat.
He taught me all things backcountry: car camping to deep in the woods, small groups or large, in California or far, far away. We were both into gear, so we had the best of it. One day, leaving the North Face outlet in Berkeley, we passed a parking-lot popup for a new company called Mountain Hardwear and came away with matching grey and black jackets. Those jackets traveled the world with us.
Our long games ran side by side: pinewood derby cars, soccer travel tournaments, Scout trade-o-rees, and Scout-o-rama, where I sold enough candy bars to be the top salesman in the entire San Francisco Bay Area Council.
When I graduated college, we celebrated at Ruth's Chris. That's the picture of the two of us I'd pick.
Writing this, I can see that's what I'm doing now.
“I'm surrounded by my people, and I feel it in every cell of my body.”Me, at a pro soccer match, even on my own
That's what I want to live, and what I want to help others find.
- Eagle Scout
- Philmont trail crew
- Top seller, SF Bay Area Council
The flag on the back of my pack
The first time I went to Philmont, it was with Troop 948, and I was the crew leader. As leader, I got to hang a small American flag off the back of my pack the whole way. I still have it.
It has orange stains on the white stripes. One night I forgot to take the powdered Tang out of my pack and put it in the bear bag. By morning, under the dining fly where we kept our packs, a raccoon had paid a visit. Maybe twenty. Nothing was damaged, because you keep your pack unzipped for exactly this, but the flag took the hit. It's a good story now.
Since that trek, the flag has lived folded in a fireproof safe. It means that much. Long Game is launching, and the flag is coming out: it goes on the back of my pack every time I hike.
How Philmont works, as I remember it. Crews hike from staffed camp to staffed camp with everything on their backs, and most nights have program at the camp: climbing, horses, blacksmithing, trail work. Every few days you reach a backcountry commissary, hand in your trash, take on fresh food, and keep going. Weekly trucks bring the supplies in and take the trash out.
Cribbage, our game.
My dad and I played cribbage. Deal a hand: toss two to the crib, peg to 31, count your hand. First to 121.
Mom
My daily rock.
She was always my go-to daily rock. She was there for my sister and me, and she made sure everything we ever wanted or needed was there.
When I got hooked on lifting at 24 Hour Fitness, before I could drive, she drove me there and back more times than I can count.
“I just never knew how cool she was, because she was Mom.”She had the mom hat on, holding down every single thing
Now that I'm older, I get the rest of her. She's funny, and we have a blast. She has a ton of friends, volunteers just about everywhere, mostly at our hometown library, and travels all the time with her longtime girlfriends from her Cal Poly San Luis Obispo days. She gets up to Portland to see me as much as she can.
She's working on her long game too, and she's having a blast doing it.
My second family
Two extra sisters.
My two cousins grew up with my sister and me like extra sisters. Every family event and celebration, some vacations, away games, boating and cabin days: all of it with my second family.
Good people.
The trail so far
How their long games became mine.
- The beginningEllis IslandGrandpa Jack arrives as a baby, from the Portsmouth area of England.Grandpa Jack
- Early daysOn his lapMe as a baby, in his armchair.Grandpa Jack
- First yearCamp RoyanehDad leading the troop in his Achewon Nimat hat.My dad
- Growing upScouts, derby cars and trade-o-reesTop candy bar salesman in the SF Bay Area Council at Scout-o-rama.My dad
- Seventh gradeThe sports pageOur last photo together, taken on purpose.Grandpa Jack
- Early teensRides to the gym and backBefore I could drive, she drove me there and back more times than I can count.Mom
- 1993National Scout JamboreeTroop 618 in Virginia, then a tour of the Eastern Seaboard.My dad
- 1996Eagle Scout and Vigil HonorPhilmont too: a trek with the troop, and later a long stay on trail crew building and repairing trail.My dad
- 2001Paris, in the jacketThe Mountain Hardwear fleeces kept traveling the world.My dad
- College graduationRuth's ChrisThe picture of the two of us I'd pick.My dad
- 2026Long GameAn open door, and a place to find your people.Me
The keepsake shelf
Things I still have.
Everybody has a long game. Mine started with theirs.
Grandpa Jack left the door open. My dad showed me where my people were. Long Game is both: an open door, and a place to find your people.
Who put you on your trail? Let's talk about it