The wild is a playground

There’s a misconception that play is frivolous. That it’s something you grow out of when you get older and life gets more serious. But in the wild, play is essential. It’s how we learn, how we adapt, how we connect with something far greater than ourselves. And for me, the wilderness has always been my playground not in the sense of ease or safety, but in the freedom it gives me to move, to test my limits, and to create without constraint. 

That’s exactly what brought me to the wilderness around Bend, Oregon.

This place sits at the crossroads of landscapes: desert, forest, river, and alpine. One moment, you’re walking across lava rock shaped by ancient eruptions; the next you’re paddling a glassy alpine lake with snow-dusted peaks towering above you. It’s rare to find this much geographic variety so tightly packed into a single region. For someone like me who’s constantly chasing light, stories, and moments in motion, it’s one of my favorite playgrounds.

As an adventure photographer, I’ve spent the better part of my life chasing wild, remote places. I’ve come to learn that wilderness isn’t just where we escape, it’s where we return to something essential. And in Bend, that essence isn’t only about discovery, challenge and to disconnect but is also about play.

I came here to spend a week reconnecting with the land, with myself and with that instinct to play. I loaded up my Toyota 4Runner just before first light. Kayak strapped to the roof. Camera gear stowed in the back. A cup of coffee riding shotgun. I had a loose plan and a sharpened sense of curiosity, two things that have always served me better than a fixed itinerary.

The first stop was Crane Prairie Lake. It’s one of those quiet places that catches you off guard. There’s something about paddling across still water before the wind picks up, before the day gets loud, that resets your internal pace. Mist hovered low across the surface, and the glassy water caught the first strokes of morning light. I paddled slowly, letting rhythm find me. My camera was tucked in a dry bag just in case the light turned dramatic. 

A lone osprey circled overhead. The only sounds were my paddle cutting through water, the distant calls of geese, and the creak of the boat. Out here, I have the freedom to move at the pace of my curiosity. To observe. To respond. To wonder.

Later in the morning, I pull my gear back into the 4Runner and hit the road again, switching out of lake mode and following a hunch back toward town. Bend isn’t just surrounded by wilderness, it’s woven into it. By noon, I was parking next to the Bend Whitewater Park, camera slung over my shoulder and board under my arm. 

Going from paddling across silence at sunrise to surfing a standing wave by lunch feels a bit surreal, but that’s what makes this place so compelling. The river runs straight through town, and locals have carved out a kind of aquatic skatepark, engineered waves where people come to play, wipe out, and try again.

I watched for a while from the bank, kids, river rats, weekend warriors, all taking their turns. Laughing, crashing, cheering each other on when someone caught a wave. Then I got in. The water was colder than expected. Fast. Forceful. It knocked me down more times than I can count but that’s the point. That’s the joy of it. The freedom to experiment. The freedom to get it wrong. 

In between rides, I grabbed my camera and shot from the riverbank, spray in the air, sunlight bouncing off the water, laughter and expressions caught in that split-second balance between chaos and control.

By late afternoon, I was back in the 4Runner, soaked, scraped up, grinning. I took a detour down a forest road and found a quiet pull-off overlooking the Cascades. The dust kicked up behind me and settled slowly as I unpacked gear and dinner, tailgate down, camera batteries charging off the built-in inverter.

That night, I pulled a sleeping bag and stretched out under the stars. South Sister glowed in the distance. The hum of a river echoed faintly below. And I just lay there, thinking about how rare it is to be in a place that lets you move like this, from silence to adrenaline, solitude to community, paddle to board, all in one day.

That’s what a true playground is. A space that invites unstructured, instinctive, joyful interaction with the world around you. No fixed rules. Just open-ended possibilities.

The wild around Bend, Oregon, is that kind of space. And for me, play is everything. It’s how I connect with the land. It’s how I see. It’s how I create. Whether I’m climbing, paddling, hiking or chasing light with my camera, the wilderness responds to my curiosity. It challenges me, surprises me and teaches me to adapt.