I’ve always been on the skinny side, but the "Esqueleto" brand wasn't a boardroom idea—it was a trail-side baptism. While grinding up Corte Madera Peak, a group of hikers saw me coming through the brush and shouted, "¡Ay Dios mío, un esqueleto que camina!" (Oh my god, a walking skeleton!).
The name stuck. It fit the vibe of being stripped down to the essentials, moving through the heat, and leaving the extra weight behind.
Beyond the nickname, hiking became my way of finding the quiet. After years working as a Wildland First Responder, I realized the best part of the job was the hiking. So after leaving that space in 2020, the desert and the mountains became my space for recovery. There is a specific mental clarity that comes when you’re 2,000 feet up a ridge with nothing but the sound of your own breathing. It forces you to be present. It strips away the stress of the "front country" until you’re back down to the bare bones. No more was this more helpful than during the early part of my recovery from alcoholism, which as of the writing of this is 2 years strong.
I don’t claim to be the fastest or the "best" on the mountain. I’m just someone who has spent a lot of time in the dirt—both on the clock and off. My background in the wildland gave me the technical skills to stay safe, but my time in recovery gave me the appreciation for the stillness of the "no-trail" peaks.
What I bring to the dirt:
Grounded Navigation: I prefer the quiet of the cross-country peaks where you have to engage with the land, not just a screen.
Respect for the Terrain: My experience as a first responder means I don't underestimate the heat or the vertical. We go at the pace the mountain allows.
The "Barebones" Breakdown: Honest logs that tell you exactly what the "vertical tax" is to earn the view.