
Beats with Two Hearts thirty years on
More than thirty years have passed since I sat inside a Native American sweat lodge beside the mighty Klamath River, yet I still carry with
Awakening the good man patiently waiting inside every boy
Welcome to our campfires, a space where you’ll find the deeper stories that inspired the ManGood Project. Here you will find stories and discussions that carry the project’s vision, along with personal reflections drawn from years of mentoring boys and men on rivers, in classrooms, and around campfires.
These stories are written to be shared. Parents might read one with a son, teachers may carry one into a classroom, and coaches, youth workers and community leaders may use them to begin conversations about courage, kindness, belonging and the many ways a boy can grow into a good man. They offer no set answers and deliver no lectures. Each simply places another log on the fire and invites the conversation to begin.
Pull up a log. The river may have another lesson for us yet.

More than thirty years have passed since I sat inside a Native American sweat lodge beside the mighty Klamath River, yet I still carry with

The Great Unmasking There are moments on a river when the water itself seems to grow quieter. Not because it has stopped moving, but because

I didn’t learn this lesson in a lecture theatre or leadership seminar. I learned it beside a river after another long day on the water,

The Boy Within One afternoon on a multi-day rafting trip with twenty boys from a youth detention centre, we pulled the rafts onto a gravel

Will Smith’s a famous actor.I’m a bloke who writes.Yet both of us grew up with dadsWho changed on certain nights. You might be wondering why

Which Dad Tonight? A while ago I listened to Will Smith speaking about his father and found myself thinking about my own. Our lives unfolded

It was that wonderful time of day; sitting around the campfire after a long day on the river. Our 20 young offenders, six river guides

Over years of guiding white-water rafting trips through the wild mountain rivers of southern Oregon, I have witnessed moments that still surge through my memory

By the eleventh day the river had worked its quiet magic. Nobody had become a saint. Fred could still stir up trouble when the mood