For those who have served in our nation’s military on land, by water or in the air, time spent in nature can be particularly meaningful. For some, being outside among the trees or watching the waves roll in on the shore can offer a moment of peace and rejuvenation, while for others, it might call to mind grueling drills or combat. Whether seeking silent calm in the woods, an adrenaline rush on a mountain bike trail or a connection with the memory of a loved one, past and present members of our armed forces should have equal access to the myriad physical, mental and emotional benefits that being outdoors can offer.
Studies show that time outdoors is beneficial for everyone, but preliminary research (funded in part by collaboration between REI Co-op and the University of Washington College of the Environment) suggests that outdoor activities like hiking can help improve the effectiveness of other therapeutic interventions for Veterans experiencing PTSD symptoms. That’s why REI Co-op is dedicated to empowering initiatives and organizations that support our service members in getting outside safely, easily and frequently.
We believe that every REI Co-op Member has a story worth telling, and we invited several who are active duty or who previously served in the armed forces to share their reflections on what being outdoors means to them.
Click to jump to a particular story or scroll on to read them all.
- Navy Years: A Journey of Service and Adventure by Nick Franzen, U.S. Navy
- An Air Force Engineer’s Ode to Water by Elisa Hammer, U.S. Air Force
- What the Outdoors Means to Me by Natalie Madrid, U.S. Coast Guard
- Getting Lost in Nature Is Finding My True North by Mark Weizenegger, U.S. Navy
- Getting Out to Find Peace Within by Maria Woodall; U.S. Marines, U.S. Air Force
Navy Years: A Journey of Service and Adventure
Beginning at a young age, I dedicated six years of my life to the Navy, with the latter four stationed on the distinguished aircraft carrier U.S.S. Carl Vinson, homeported in Bremerton, Washington. I was an enlisted nuclear engineer primarily focused on the electrical generation and working exclusively in the ship’s engine room. I embarked on this journey already driven by an ambition to ride mountain bikes and possessing a profound appreciation for the diverse terrains that accompany the sport. My naval service was not only a commitment to my country, but also an opportunity to merge my professional duties and personal aspirations, to navigate the unique challenges and experiences both paths offered.
First Encounters with the Sea
Shortly after I was assigned to the ship, we left for training exercises and traveled through the Strait of Juan de Fuca [off the coast of Washington state]. The only personnel onboard was the ship’s core company, as the airplanes and air crew were stationed at an air base in San Diego. Even without those teams, we were still about 3,000 heads.
As a result, the flight deck was completely open, free of aircraft and activity. On that beautiful day, I walked out onto the flight deck and headed to the front of the ship. I remember looking down at the water being displaced around the bow and seeing dolphins skimming and surfing off the front of the ship, as if they were playing a game. It seemed so tranquil and magical. I was stunned that out of several thousand crew members onboard, I was the only one observing this phenomenon.
Witnessing History: 9/11 and Its Aftermath
A few years into my service, on my first official deployment overseas, we happened to be leaving port from Singapore just a few days before September 11, 2001. My fellow sailors and I then watched the events of 9/11 on CNN in our group berthing lounge area, all of us in utter disbelief.
Shortly after the second airplane hit the World Trade Center, our captain announced that we would be heading to the North Arabian Sea at full speed ahead. Once there, we would be sending planes to Afghanistan in response to the terrorism. As we traveled, my heart sank with anguish knowing that the oath I made to my country was about to be honored—a feeling and sacrifice that I reflect on to this day.
Our ship ended up circling the North Arabian Sea for 116 days straight in almost constant flight operations until another aircraft carrier could relieve us. This meant not visiting ports or seeing any land for quite some time. Because I worked in the nuclear engineering plant, I had to make a conscious effort to merely look outside. Yet, the constant flight operations meant there was so much heat, smell and noise that it was nearly impossible to spend time outside.
However, at night, when flight operations shut down, I could navigate myself to a hatch at the rear-most fantail of the ship—a deck-like area not far from the water’s edge. It would just be me and a standard man-overboard watch sitting out there. I remember looking down, seeing four massive props churning up the water in the ship’s path. The glow from the bioluminescence was unlike anything I’d ever seen before in my life, like a fireworks show underwater. I would look out and meditate—a moment to just appreciate nature in all its luster.
Second Deployment and Mountain Biking Adventures
My second major deployment came about a year or so later, and it would be my longest ever. This time, the Iraq war was in full swing, and because there was enough naval presence in that area, our ship operated mainly in the Pacific region, essentially becoming a North Korean watch. This tour began by porting in Hawaii on the way to the South China Sea, where we would spend most of our time.
I went to a shop called The Raging Isle in Haleiwa, on Oahu’s North Shore and befriended the owner, Bill. I instantly fell in love with a mountain bike frame on his shop’s wall and bought it right then and there. On a ship, you’re only allowed space under your bunk and a small locker for your personal items and uniforms. There was no room for a full bike. However, there was a storeroom our department used for seabags: green, standard issue full-size sacks we used to store civilian clothes, shoes and anything else we’d want for visiting a foreign port. I’d made sure to include a bike helmet and other riding gear just in case, and I was glad I did!
So, while I left Hawaii with only a frame, Bill agreed to send bike parts to the ship via U.S. mail to our FPO address—similar to how sailors receive care packages from their families.
My job position within my department offered me access to vent spaces and voids in the ship, needed only for maintenance access. These were often odd triangle-shaped rooms with inadequate ventilation, so they were left largely vacant. Until Bill’s packages started arriving.
A few close mountain-biking Navy friends and I commandeered one of these voids to store our newly purchased frames and components. Piece by piece, Bill sent us forks, cranksets and handlebars. I remember my superiors asking, “What on earth are you getting all these packages for?” I replied, “Must be just care packages.” In reality, we’d run the boxes up to our secret space to unbox the new components. When we had free time, we scrounged tools from the reactor plant and constructed our bikes. By the time we pulled into our next foreign port, we had brand-new, fully functioning, state-of-the-art mountain bikes.
I remember rolling off the ship with a newly built mountain bike at our first South Korean port. People turned their heads in awe, unable to imagine how we somehow brought entire bicycles onboard. A friend and I were ready for an adventure but had no idea where to go. As soon as we saw a bike shop, we couldn’t help but visit and mingle with the locals.
At a particular bike shop, we met the two owners—but we didn’t know a word of Korean, and they barely knew a word of English. But through pointing and gestures, and the few English words they did know, the shop owners showed us how excited they were about our bikes, with the latest and greatest components they had never seen in person. They must have thought we were professionals—but we were just two young sailors willing to spend our hard-earned money to build our dream bikes.
We had another day in port, and they asked if we’d ride with them. Of course, we said yes! We showed up the next morning to find the owners fully decked-out in gear, with high-end mountain bikes of their own. They had closed their shop’s doors for the day solely to show us around, taking us to the local transit station and guiding us to a common tourist destination. We rode up a mountain that looked developed merely for pedestrian spectating, but when we reached the top, we rode toward the backside, which revealed a vast landscape of undeveloped terrain. We were then fortunate to experience technically challenging mountain biking on some of the most foreign roots and rocks I’d ever seen.
I couldn’t believe that my life had brought me to mountain biking in South Korea. Our hosts even treated us to incredible local Korean BBQ. It was a truly life-changing experience. From then on, we continued our bike adventures every time we pulled into port.
At one point, our ship visited Guam so often that we ended up finding other local mountain bikers in the area. They held group rides and called themselves the F.R.O.G.s (Free Riders of Guam). It seemed like every time we returned to the ship, we had another unique and wild mountain biking story to tell. While most people spent their time at bars or scuba diving, here we were joining bike gangs!
Reflections on Service
My relationship with mountain biking and nature never really changed, even though I was in the Navy. Being a Veteran meant I had to make a life choice and sacrifice to serve my country, a commitment I hold with immense pride and gratitude. My challenges and experiences during my naval service shaped me profoundly, instilling in me a deep sense of duty, resilience and camaraderie. Each moment that I intentionally sought out nature, despite the demanding circumstances, was a testament to the enduring human spirit and the unyielding pursuit of my passion. I am forever thankful for the opportunities and lessons that my time in the Navy provided, and for the remarkable individuals I met along the way who shared in these unique and unforgettable adventures.
Nick Franzen is a senior quality assurance technician for Co-op Cycles and an avid mountain biker. In the U.S. Navy, he served as a nuclear engineer.
An Air Force Engineer’s Ode to Water
Nothing nurtures my soul more than water’s embrace. Sometimes, it feels like a warm hug; other times, its chill takes my breath away. On occasion, it’s simply tough love holding me tightly until it releases me back to open air.
For the past 23 years, I’ve been in Air Force active duty, working in the field of environmental and occupational health. This is demanding work, but I always try to make getting outside—and especially on the water—a priority. My favorite water sport is stand up paddling on flat water and paddle surfing on small waves. I bought my first stand up paddle board (SUP) in 2008 while stationed in Hawaii, my home state, and I’ve been paddling since. Paddling also connects me to water communities and paddlers with common interests; we are kindred spirits exploring in life’s playground.
Paddling brings joy to my inner child. I enjoy a good 5 kilometer (or more) paddling session, and I especially rejoice in surfing! Whether I do this solo or with watermen and women, I feel like I can hit pause on my adult responsibilities and release my inner child to the call of the water. It’s as if my SUP board is a time machine whisking my soul back to its youth. So, it’s no wonder I seek a pilgrimage to the water wherever I go. I meet other pilgrims along the way, which always makes for a deeper journey.
Each time I pay homage to the water, I am returning to my truest self—formed by and destined to coexist with my natural surroundings. Whether it is saltwater or fresh, a beach, river, or lake, water connects me directly to Mother Nature and my inner child.
I was born and raised on the island of Oahu, Hawai’i, where the beach was the gathering place for family, friends and solace. It was the classroom of life, where we took recreation, pursued outdoor fitness, sought healing and nurtured relationships with others and ourselves. It was where the night broke into dawn, signaling the start of a new day. It was where the sun dipped below view and the light faded into brilliant colors, until stars took over the night canvas above us. Because of this, I have deep respect for the ocean and for all bodies of water, whether I’m paddle surfing, stand up paddling, swimming, or wading in it. I have sincere reverence for water’s mysterious power and life-giving generosity.
I have a favorite beach on the northwest facing shore in Haleiwa, Oahu. It watched me grow up from childhood, through adolescence, into adulthood and even now through midlife. At a young age, it taught me tough but valuable life lessons—which perhaps should have left me traumatized for life. In fifth grade, while rolling around in the waves onshore, one stronger wave caught hold of me and sucked me out to a reef, nearly 50 yards from the beach. The waves were bigger on the reef, and I kept getting pounded into it as I struggled to stay above water. Fortunately, a surfer noticed and recognized me: my brother! He put me on his surfboard and brought me back to safety. If that wasn’t enough, two years later, while bodyboarding on the shore, a wave picked me up and threw me against the sand; I landed on and fractured my right shoulder. This particular beach witnessed me at my worst as well at my best, and all points in between. It’s the portal between my innermost self, the beauty and wonder of our natural environment.
The day before I left for the U.S. Air Force in 2001, I sat at the shore with my journal, bidding a fond “a hui hou” (until we meet again) to my home in the Pacific. I knew I was leaving instilled with its life lessons, courage and mystery.
Let’s face it, life’s currents can be strong and mild. I have two options: Go with the flow, or surf the bumps. It’s no wonder my soul continues to yearn for water, no matter where the Air Force takes me. It’s truly my home away from home.
Each time I’m in or near water, my body instinctively knows it’s a precious moment to rejuvenate my spirit, reconnect with the outdoors and brave the wilderness of my life (interior and exterior). I am just one of many pilgrims throughout the course of time, roaming the earth seeking solace and self at the water’s edge.
Lt. Col. Elisa Hammer is a Pacific Air Forces Command bioenvironmental engineer, currently at Joint Base Pearl Harbor–Hickam. She commissioned in 2001. In her free time, she loves spending time with her family, is an avid home beer brewer, and recently joined an outrigger canoe club. REI Co-op Member since 2008.
What the Outdoors Means to Me
My love of the great outdoors was born out of my love for my father. When I was a young girl, my dad always liked to be outside—he absolutely could not stand being inside or standing still. As a result, he would always take my younger sister and I everywhere: to the zoo, on train rides, bike rides and walks around the neighborhood. He would go for walks barefoot, which I always thought was kind of crazy, but he said it was the only way to build strong feet. During this time, I started going outside on my own and exploring the backyard where I would be fascinated by and touch the morning glories that grew on our fence. I thought they were the most beautiful flowers I had ever seen; they’re my favorite to this day.
When my sister and I were teenagers, my dad bought a fifth-wheel trailer and a boat; every summer after that, we would go camping in central California. I never saw my dad happier than when he was out on the water; I started thinking that true happiness means being outside, especially on or near water. He was also excited to share his knowledge about plants, animals and nature in general because he so badly wanted to nurture in his daughters a deep love for the outdoors.
Sadly, my dad and I lost touch after I became an adult. He had a lot of problems going on in his life that I just couldn’t deal with, and I decided it was best to go without contact for my own well-being. In 2006, he ended up going to prison; a few months after he was released, he took his own life in his trailer that he loved so much. He wasn’t in the right headspace after he was released, and I imagine it was because his freedom and love of being outdoors were stripped from him.
In 2007, I decided to enlist in the Coast Guard. I was lost and didn’t know what to do with my life, but I would always think back to my dad’s happier times when he was out on the water. I felt like I was picking the best branch of the military to join.
I was stationed on cutters during my first 10 years in the Coast Guard. Cutters are large boats that go underway for days, weeks or months at a time. My cutters were my favorite units because I felt like they were the closest to my dad that I could ever be. They were also my favorite because of the stars. When I was miles offshore and away from all the city light pollution, the stars were so vibrant and endless that my heart overflowed, and my soul felt complete.
I have a 6-year-old son now, and these days I feel it’s my duty as his mother—and as a daughter of an outdoorsman—to share this love of nature with him. I don’t even really need to make a big effort to share it because he’s wanted to be outside ever since he could walk. He was a toddler during the early COVID-19 days, and fortunately I had a backyard we could play in; once restrictions were partially lifted, we enjoyed going for walks. These days we like to go on easy hikes, and it certainly helps that we live in the Pacific Northwest, where hiking and being outdoors is as natural as breathing.
So, what does being outdoors mean to me? Everything. It’s a constant reminder of all my happiest memories, which I like to reflect on when I’m in a rut. It means beauty is all around us and can be found in the simplest of things. It means my dad’s spirit is all around me. He’s in the trees providing shade, he’s on the dirt path being sturdy as ever, he’s the cool breeze when I start to get too hot and he’s even the invasive blackberry bushes out here providing a sweet treat. Being outdoors means sharing a love and respect for nature that is passed down from generation to generation and it’s endless—just like the love a daughter has for her father.
Natalie Madrid lives in Seattle, Washington, with her 6-year-old son and their two kitties, Rudolph and Donatello. She has been in the U.S. Coast Guard for 17 years and is currently a chief storekeeper. In her free time, she enjoys reading, paddle boarding and hiking. REI Co-op Member since 2012.
“Getting lost in nature is finding my true North.”
I’m not sure who wrote the title quote, but it has become my guide when it comes to experiencing nature—from my youth growing up in northern Minnesota and serving as an aircrewman in the United States Navy during the Cold War in the 1970s to retiring in Northern Minnesota.
Etched into my memory is a time when I was about 7 years old and got lost and then found in the woods. As kids, my friends and I would have adventures in a dense patch of forest close to my boyhood home on Gull Lake. We spent our summers wandering and building forts out of logs, sticks and brush. One warm June day, when all of my friends were busy, I planned to work on our latest project solo. I was a little apprehensive about going into the “deep woods” alone. The area we played in was bounded by Gull Lake to the west, homes on the north and south, and Highway 371 to the east—all in all, an area of less than 1 square mile. Still, at that young age, it was a forest. We had no established trail to “the Fort,” so I soon found myself hopelessly lost. After running around in a panic for what seemed like hours, I wiped away my sweat and tears with my shirtsleeve and sat down on a large rock. Then, I did something I had never really done before: I listened. I could hear the blue jays’ scolding sounds, the rustling of red squirrels running through the brush and leaves. I then heard the not-too-distant sound of traffic, which I followed for about 20 yards until I came to a familiar service road and, sighing relief, walked one-third of a mile home to water, lunch and a hug from my mother.
Fast forward about 15 years: I was serving in the Navy as an airborne anti-submarine warfare operator, part of a crew tracking enemy submarines from a P-3 Orion aircraft. My home base was Barbers Point on the Hawaiian island Oahu, but my squadron was deployed to Cubi Point Naval Air Station on the Philippine Island of Luzon. The base was bound by a dense jungle with exotic plants, reptiles and mammals.
On a rare crew-rest day, I was alone and without transportation while my “shipmates” (an odd term, since we were never on a ship) were on various assignments. I decided to walk the half-mile to the Sky Club for a beer or three. We were discouraged by Central Command Philippines from walking on that area of the base: It was too close to the jungle, with poisonous reptiles and packs of monkeys that would occasionally chase and sometimes attack a hiker or jogger. I was stranded, bored and thirsty, so I grabbed a stick for protection and took a familiar jungle shortcut to my destination.
I was only about 20 yards from the road and familiar with the area, but my mind wandered back to the time I got lost and found as a boy in the woods. I looked around uneasily, realizing how easy it would be to disappear into the jungle. So, I found a rock, sat down and listened. All around me, I could hear raucous parrots and screeching macaws, buzzing and clicking insects, chattering monkeys, and other unknown critters scurrying about the jungle floor and canopy. After a while, I could hear trucks rumbling down the road and whining aircraft on the distant tarmac. Had I been lost, I could have found my way out by following the sounds—just like when I was 7.
Now, long back in civilian life nearly 50 years later, my wife and I enjoy our retirement, camping and hiking at various state parks and forests in northern Minnesota. Occasionally, I enjoy taking solitary adventures into the woods and intentionally getting a little lost so I can listen and find my True North.
Mark Weizenegger was born and raised in Brainerd, Minnesota, and served in the U.S. Navy as an aviation anti-submarine warfare operator. In civilian life, he was a design, manufacturing and data consultant. He currently lives in St. Paul, Minnesota, and is “retired from work, not from life.” REI Co-op Member since 2000.
Getting Out to Find Peace Within
As a child, I was always taking notice of trees, birds, bugs and flora. I spent so much time outside in solitude, and it was where I felt at peace—a deep understanding. I was very much a stargazer and the type of person who liked chasing sunsets. But I was also a victim of childhood trauma; I enlisted in the military to find my own path. I always felt a special connection to the outdoors, but I wanted to leave what I knew and embark on a new path. The Marine Corps introduced me to many people like me who needed to find peace from the environments they fled. There’s something about being out in the wild and having to depend on your skills and your ability to navigate alone in the wilderness—that’s where I found a deep awareness for something bigger than me. I wanted to explore that.
During my time in the Air Force, I lived in Syracuse, New York. There, I truly found myself and a sense of solace while healing from the many experiences and challenges I had and was still experiencing during my service. Before smartphones could get us anywhere with real-time GPS, I was introduced to a waterfall and a hang glider launch only about 15 miles away from where I was living. After that first hike, I was hooked. I found a website filled with typed or written directions from local travelers to picturesque places off the beaten path, on the sides of winding mountain highways and interstates. Following those words, I made my way through central and western New York to find gorges, bluffs, lakes, lighthouses, waterfalls, ravines, trestles and old canal lock trails. Being alone on hikes and encountering beautiful untouched scenery in the middle of a bustling industrial or urban area helped me curb my anxiety, process my experiences and confront my triggers to find ways to overcome them. Being in nature allowed me to find a connection with the earth’s spirit. Nature was healing in so many ways for me personally. Often, I think it’s what kept me here: the unknown, the unseen beauty that exists all around us.
As an “older” Veteran, I was one of the last groups of combat Veterans who navigated many years of post-military life without a diagnosis and resources for PTSD. This was incredibly challenging. My diagnosis came in 2013, eight years after serving in Iraq. Navigating this experience alone, I found that nature had qualities that no counselor, therapist or medication could compete with. Forcing myself to be on my own, depending on my abilities to hike hundreds of yards to the top of a mountain and take in the beautiful landscape’s mountainous splendor—this was like church for me. It’s where I found my faith in the natural environment’s powers. To be able to emote, to speak into the sky, or to sit and listen to the wind and the leaves rustling around me, I could hear a sound that was all too familiar when we are willing to listen—the hum of the earth. The healing vibration. I found the power within myself to use these free and abundant resources at my expense. At no cost and with no stigma.
I find myself now, at 42, searching for small ways to connect every day with nature, whether it’s walking along the overgrown cart paths of the abandoned golf course we live on, or heading to the beach to watch the waves roll in. I lost my mother in June of this year, and nature reminds me to find the space to heal on my journey of grief.
Although I now live near the Atlantic Ocean, the mountains feel like home to me. Whenever I can, I go off-grid and visit a cabin in the Blue Ridge Mountains of North Carolina and connect with the energy there. The most important lesson I have learned about the importance of nature in my life is that—it is always here. Unfailing. Always present, always thriving, always letting go and coming back—and isn’t that what we’re all here to do?
Maria Woodall served in the Marine Corps as a postal clerk from 2002 to 2006 with one deployment to Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom II in 2005. She was mobilized in 2008 to serve at the Quantico post office, and again in 2011 to serve with Wounded Warrior Regiment (WWR) East as an administrative clerk in the WWR Transition section as a sergeant. She joined the New York Air National Guard 2012 as a guardsman with the 174 Attack Wing–Logistics Readiness Squadron and then ended her enlistment as an active-duty guardsman with the 274th Air Support Operations squadron as a staff sergeant. She lives in North Carolina and invites co-op members to donate to the North Carolina Disaster Relief Fund to aid recovery efforts after Hurricane Helene. REI Co-op Member since 2019.
Supporting Our Military Service Personnel
REI Co-op partners with organizations striving to make the outdoors more accessible, approachable and enjoyable for service people across the country, like Minority Veterans of America, Adaptive Adventures and Trails and Open Space Coalition.
Additionally, the REI Cooperative Action Network invites members to advocate for policy initiatives that prioritize outdoor recreation for those who have served our country, such as the Military and Veterans in Parks Act.
The post From Service to Solace: Active and Past Armed Forces Personnel Share Their Outdoor Stories appeared first on Uncommon Path – An REI Co-op Publication.
