Magic in the Mountains

This article originally appeared on The Trek, which you can read here.

Justin Bright’s packing list looks like a typical thru-hiker’s: a fully loaded, beat-up backpack, a sun hoodie sporting its fair share of holes, Lone Peaks hanging on by a thread, and a freestanding tent. Compared to hikers on any long trail, Bright blends in easily — except for the skateboard and helmet strapped to his pack. He filters water, sets up camp, and hikes when he has to, but most days, forward progress comes on four wheels.

In 2025, Bright became the first person to skateboard from Mexico to Alaska.

From June to September, he traveled north alongside the spine of the Continental Divide, traveling through New Mexico, Colorado, Wyoming, and Montana.

The northern terminus of the CDT marks the end of a journey for northbound Continental Divide Trail thru-hikers. But for Bright, it only marked the halfway point. After reaching the Canadian border, he continued west through Alberta, British Columbia, and the Yukon before finally crossing into Alaska. In just four months, Bright covered roughly 4,200 miles, finishing barely in time to outrun the approaching northern winter.

His journey reflects how closely thru-skating mirrors thru-hiking and how valuable lessons can be learned from a quiet rhythm built around forward progress and life outside.

Despite the different modes of travel, the mindset is nearly identical. Long days. Deep solitude. Moments of doubt. Unexpected generosity. Those elements would surface again and again throughout Bright’s journey, shaping not just how he traveled, but how he experienced each mile.

Meet Justin Bright: Hiker Trash on Four Wheels

Many hikers trace their origin stories back to watching early YouTube personalities like Darwin and Dixie. For Bright, that spark came from watching a self-made documentary by skate-packing legend Paul Kent, who skated through the Andes Mountains of Peru and Bolivia.

“As a kid from Florida who grew up in a very urbanized part of the state, I didn’t really grow up camping or experiencing real wilderness,” he said. “Watching those videos, I saw these guys using a skateboard as a way to see those places… that’s a combination of some pretty cool stuff.”

Bright was drawn to stories of people pushing their limits through unconventional means of travel. Over time, that inspiration evolved into a belief system rooted in slow movement, self-support, minimal impact, and sleeping outside night after night.

Those values sit at the heart of long-distance travel in any form, which helps explain how Bright moves so seamlessly between thru-hiking and thru-skating.

He has thru-skated the length of Florida and New Mexico, was one of the first people to thru-skate the Natchez Parkway National Scenic Trail, and thru-hiked the Pinhoti Trail, the Colorado Trail, and the Oregon Coast Trail. These accomplishments laid the groundwork for his monumental thru-skate from Mexico to Alaska and guided his decisions to keep the trip authentic to the core values of thru-travel. 

Hike Your Own Hike (or Skate Your Own Skate)

Whether moving on foot or on four wheels, thru-travel begins with the same desire to escape prescribed routines and reclaim autonomy. For many people, the pull toward long trails has less to do with the destination and more to do with the freedom found along the way. That mindset first took root long before Bright ever imagined skating to Alaska.

As a kid, skating gave him a sense of independence before he could drive. “That was just how I got around. If I wanted to escape to a friend’s house, it was a six-mile skate. Without realizing it, I kind of got that mode in my head of, ‘I can push.’ It’s not even like you think of distance as a discipline of skating. At least I didn’t until I was much older.”

His journey north from Mexico to Alaska deepened that early sense of freedom. “Some of those passes and roads, I knew I was the first skateboard on. It’s exciting because there’s nobody to tell you what’s right or wrong except for your own heart.”

Following that instinct shaped the route he created. Bright wanted the journey to feel dynamic rather than confined to pavement. “I really wanted to blend it. I didn’t want to be a pavement princess the whole time. I want to skate dirt. I want to skate gravel. I want to walk sometimes. I want to throw my board on my pack and sweat like a pig and have fun with it.” 

This sentiment mirrors a familiar trail mantra: “hike your own hike.” That may mean taking alternates, side quests, or choosing the harder path simply because it feels right. People drawn to long trails and thru-travel aren’t necessarily going to take the easy route. It’s chasing that sense of adventure that feels the most uninhibited. 

Staying Where Your Feet Are

The sense of freedom alone isn’t enough to carry someone through thousands of miles, though. The early days in New Mexico tested Bright’s resolve immediately. The heat was relentless, water was scarce, and morale dropped fast. “The only reason I kept going was just staying where my feet are. On that day, that’s where I am. I’m never gonna be in Alaska when I’m in New Mexico.”

This mindset is one hikers know well. Standing on Springer Mountain, it does no good to fixate on Katahdin. Progress only happens by staying present and taking the next step, or in Bright’s case, the next push.

The further north Bright traveled, the more essential it became to stay present as the physical demands and a narrowing weather window began to add pressure to his trip.

What Happens When the Fun Runs Out

Without fail, long-distance journeys eventually become less about fun and more about stamina. Mental and physical endurance is required to press on when times are tough and morale is low. Choosing to press on despite obstacles is at the heart of thru-travel.

This sentiment showed up time and time again on Bright’s most recent thru-skate. Bright faced a hard deadline from the beginning. Winter in the far north would make the route impassable. October was the latest he could finish, and even September carried the risk of snowstorms and frozen roads.

It took nearly two months for him to reach Canada, a monumental accomplishment on its own. Realizing that meant he was only halfway finished was sobering. From that point on, there was no room for rest days or half efforts. To have a chance at finishing, he needed to average nearly 45 miles a day.

At the Canadian border, he thought, “I’m gonna do it. I’m just gonna keep going every day. But there was no time left for zeros. It would be devastating to make it all that way and be forced to stop because of frozen roads or single-digit temps.” In his most challenging moments, Bright found the resolve to keep going by spending time with others.

Community Without a Trail

On long trails, many hikers remark that their favorite part of the experience was the people they met along the way. Trail towns rally around hikers and help to keep spirits high. But what happens when there is no “trail” to follow?

Bright found out that the sense community doesn’t depend on a designated trail. He found fellowship and connection with the locals he met as he skated through town. “You don’t have automatic camaraderie with someone or something in common. I would see people all the time, and they’re usually very flavorful folks; they’ve got a lot of character. It wasn’t an instant friend, but (connection) in a different way.” 

Unlike established trails, Bright’s route offered no shelters, trail towns, or trail angels. Yet generosity appeared consistently. Strangers offered advice on water sources, safer roads, and alternate routes. Others gave him rides, cooked meals, or opened their homes for the night.

In Tok, Alaska, a woman worried about him surviving the cold night and handed him thick gloves and a warm balaclava. Deep in the Yukon, in a tiny village named Haines Junction, a family invited him inside for dinner and a warm place to sleep. Time and time again, people picked up the hitchhiker with a skateboard and helped him along his way.

Bright even formed a friendship with his childhood inspiration, skating icon Paul Kent. When Bright neared Calgary, he grew inexplicably ill. Paul picked him up, gave him a place to stay while he recovered, and even skated with him for several days when Bright was well enough to travel again. 

Without even realizing it, these people became trail angels. They weren’t on an established trail or looking to connect with the hiking community. They were just going out of their way to do something kind for their fellow human. 

From Dawn ’til Dusk: Total Immersion in Beautiful Places

Between towns, rides, and brief moments of connection, Bright continued returning to the quiet that first drew him outside. Total immersion in nature, not just the scenery, is what changes people during long journeys. Extended time outdoors has a way of reshaping how we experience the landscape and the lens through which we see things.

Bright’s route followed the Continental Divide through places many hikers only dream of seeing. Yellowstone, Grand Teton, Glacier National Park, and the Icefields Parkway unfolded day after day beneath his wheels. He pushed his board up high mountain passes, filtered water from glacier-fed streams, and watched the northern lights dance across the Yukon sky.

It is one thing to visit these places briefly. It is another to live fully immersed from morning until night. Over time, the scenery stops feeling like something you pass through and starts feeling like something you belong to. Long stretches alone gave Bright time not just to observe the land, but to reflect on the nature of the journey itself. 

“It’s kind of silly, this thing we do. But it’s all about what it means to you. It’s not about tagging the pretty monument at the end … It’s about everything that happened on the way and how you got there.”

Bad Pavement Never Lasts

“At the end of the day, skating is still fun,” Bright said. “It’s honestly kind of the worst way to thru-travel, but when it’s good, it’s really good.”

Paul Kent once described the Alcan Highway to him this way: “Eighty percent will be the worst skating you’ve ever done. Ten percent will be manageable. And ten percent will be the best skating of your life. That ten percent,” he said, “makes everything else worthwhile.”

The lesson mirrors life on trail. Hikers spend more time slogging across mud, trudging through torrential downpours, and swatting at mosquitoes than they do standing on summits.

“Bad pavement never lasts, and good pavement never lasts either,” Bright mused. If you can stay patient, something better eventually appears that makes the struggle worthwhile. We’re reminded that the only constant is change, and all we can control is our outlook.

Forward Is Forward

At their core, thru-hiking and thru-skating share the same ethos. Both invite people to move slowly through the world, rely on themselves, and remain present through discomfort, doubt, and wonder. Bright’s journey from Mexico to Alaska may be unprecedented, but the motivation behind it is deeply familiar.

It is the same pull that brings hikers to trailheads and keeps them walking north day after day. His route reminds us that the heart of thru-hiking has never been about the trail itself, but about choosing to live simply, move intentionally, and stay open to whatever the journey offers. No matter how forward progress is made, whether on foot or four wheels, the heart of the journey remains the same.

All images, including featured image, courtesy of Justin Bright.