Why I Guide: My Genesis Story

Every guide has an origin story—a pivotal event, or more often a cascade of them, that pulls them onto the path of leading others down theirs. Few stumble into guiding by accident; those who do rarely last long.

Although I'm not religious, I like to call it a genesis story (which other guides hate). This creation tale is usually asked for by both co-guides and clients alike.

My own journey into guiding was certainly a cascade of events—some I was conscious of, and likely many more I wasn't.

I grew up in England's West Midlands, far from big mountains. But my grandparents owned a static caravan in North Wales, and I spent large chunks of my childhood in Snowdonia: knapping arrowheads from slate, drinking water straight from the streams, and, when I was older, walking the hills with my Grandad and his golden labrador, Ben.

Pushing my brother on a skateboard in Cornwall

My parents are both ex-army, retiring from service when Mum was pregnant with me. Our family holidays always revolved around camping—I’ve never actually asked them why, but I assume it was the financial pressures of raising three hungry boys. I vividly remember one night in France: rain hammering down as Dad and I set up the tent. My brothers and Mum sitting in the car while we toughed it out. That might be why I became a guide and they didn’t.

From left to right, Mum, Jack, Myself and Will. Camping in Chamonix

At Bromsgrove School, I had the chance to complete the Duke of Edinburgh Award (DoE). My first overnight hikes took me across open ridgelines and boggy moorland—and taught me early lessons, like telling a friend he probably shouldn’t bring a big wooden chopping board (Sorry Oli!). I had no interest in the extra components of DoE, but school let me complete all the expeditions for Silver and Gold. During a brief stint in Sydney, I attended Barker College, where the Outdoor Education camp at ‘The Grange’ became the highlight of my middle school years.

The English schooling system forces you early to map out your university path, dictating subjects based on your desired course. For me, the decision was easy: all I wanted to be was Steve Irwin (with a dash of Bear Grylls). I chose to become a biologist.

After my A-levels in England, I enrolled in a Bachelor of Science majoring in Biology at Macquarie University, Sydney. In my final semester, as classmates hustled for postgrad programs, I watched internal politics and funding shortages sour their passions. Lecturers complained about teaching half the year just to survive. I realised I no longer wanted to be a biologist—the dream I’d held since childhood. It was a difficult pill: the rug pulled out from under me, leaving me directionless.

But I had books. Non-fiction adventure books, especially. I was captivated by Alastair Humphreys and his cycle around the world. After finishing a teaching degree, he felt the same post-graduation drift, turned down a job, and rode instead.

A plan slowly took shape as I wrapped up my last semester and kept working hospitality full-time. Instead of circling the globe, I’d cycle around Australia—my adopted country. I wanted to see more of it than most Aussies ever do, to discover what “Australian” really meant beyond the Sydney bubble. The distance around the continent was roughly the same as a round-the-world trip anyway.

So that’s what I did. I sold my motorbike, bought a steel touring bike and all the gear. I broke my wrist on day one, delaying departure by two months. When I finally set off, it took several months to reach Cairns, arriving just before my 24th birthday. I worked through the wet season at a bar—my first real time with Indigenous people north of Cairns.

A Queensland road sign

When the wet season broke, I dusted off the bike and crossed the Atherton Tablelands, following the Savannah Way all the way to Broome. While cycling across the Kimberley, I received regular warnings from Indigenous mob about spirits that prey on those who linger on the roadside. I heeded them, seeking permission and safe passage in the next community: Warmun/Turkey Creek. They welcomed me, lit a fire, and cleansed the negative spirits with blankets of smoke.

About 20 km down the road, everything hit. I broke down on the roadside, hysterically crying as caravans slid past. The buildup of emotion and mental fatigue finally released. I felt light, strong, filled with a confidence that I could do anything I set my mind to.

Over the next seven days, I cycled into Broome. By the time I arrived, I knew I would become a guide. I had experienced my own breakthrough: if you push yourself with nature as your backdrop, you open the door to profound personal growth. Now it was up to me to help others find that door.

I spent a year re-skilling at TAFE in Wentworth Falls, NSW, completing certificates in bushwalking, abseiling, skiing, and leadership. At the beginning of 2022, I guided my first expedition for Tasmanian Expeditions: Frenchman’s Cap, with a successful summit.

Those are the cascading events that led me to the best job in the world: leading others through Tasmania’s wild places.