I’m Derek—but most folks call me Watty.

Everything changed the day I moved to Aspen, Colorado.
It wasn’t just a fresh start—it was a full-on rebirth.
That thin mountain air had a way of clearing the noise.
And the people? They lit a fire in me.
I’d sit wide-eyed listening to their wild stories—of road trips, solo treks, foreign lands, surf breaks, and far-off peaks.
Up until then, I thought I knew who I was. But Aspen cracked something open in me and whispered a truth I couldn’t ignore:

There’s a whole world out there—and I needed to go find it.

My first real leap was India and Nepal.
I was young. Restless. A little reckless. But that trip cracked me wide open.
The colors. The noise. The stillness. The sacred.
I wandered from city chaos to Himalayan quiet, and somewhere in between, I learned how to listen—really listen.
To the world. To others. To myself.
That journey shifted the way I saw everything.

Then came seine fishing in Alaska. Long days on cold decks. Calloused hands. Ice in the air and salt on my face.
The ocean doesn’t care about your excuses. She toughens you up—teaches you grit. But damn, there’s beauty in that kind of work.

Later, I found myself drawn west again—this time to the Sierra Nevada.
High trails, alpine lakes, granite cliffs that made you feel both tiny and infinite.
The wild taught me to slow down. To notice. To be still and strong at the same time.

Years down the line, St. John’s turquoise waters and trade winds pulled me into a new chapter: island life.
Not just a place—but a pace. A mindset.
As a captain, I guided guests to secret reefs, hoisted sails under golden light, and let the wind lead the way.
It wasn’t always easy. But the challenges, like the tides, shaped me.
They taught me to trust the ride.

Six years ago, I chose sobriety.
Letting go of the buzz meant getting my mornings back. My clarity. My voice.
It was the hardest decision I’ve made—and the most freeing.
Every day isn’t perfect, but it’s real. And it’s mine now.

Today, I’m back where it all began—in the mountains.
I live in Park City, Utah, working as a Snowboard and Adventure Instructor at the National Ability Center.
I get to help people of all abilities discover the joy and freedom of the outdoors.
Watching someone break a personal barrier—whether on snow, wheels, ropes, or trail—that’s the kind of stuff that makes life rich.

The forest and the sea still call to me.
The hush of aspens. The pulse of powder turns.
The tug of a wave. The hum of wind through rigging.
They remind me where I’ve been—and they keep pulling me forward.