Before this site, there was pain. Years of bone-on-bone misery and the quiet belief that adventure was done. Then came a new hip, a second chance, and a camera that reminded me there’s still beauty out here. I started walking again. Then hiking. Then grilling like my life depended on it. What started as rehab turned into rhythm, then into ritual, and eventually into a mission. The Hip Explorer was born from those first stubborn steps back into the wild.
The Hip Explorer is not just about hikes and hot coals. It’s about second chances, stubborn comebacks, and doing things your own way even when everything hurts. This site was born after years of limping through life and thinking the good stuff was behind me. Then came a rebuilt hip, a sunrise I couldn’t ignore, and a camera that reminded me there’s still a lot to see out there.
It’s about walking farther than you planned, not because it’s easy, but because you can. It’s about grilling something simple and making it matter. It’s about small wins, quiet moments, and the kind of effort most people don’t see but you feel in your bones the next morning.
This isn’t a fitness blog. It’s not a travel guide. I’m not here to preach about clean living or productivity hacks. I’m here to tell the truth — the stumbles, the swearing, the smoke in your eyes, the meals that save the day, and the miles that feel longer than they look on the map.
The Hip Explorer is for anyone who’s ever had to start over, anyone who walks a little slower but keeps going anyway. It’s about finding beauty in what’s left, lighting the fire when everything feels cold, and taking that next step even when the first one almost broke you.
I’m the guy who started all this with one rebuilt hip, a camera that smells like firewood, and an unhealthy interest in smoked meat and sunrise lighting. I oversee all operations here at The Hip Explorer, including hiking slowly, grilling obsessively, and writing down my mistakes so others can feel better about theirs. I’m not here to sell you a lifestyle. I’m just here trying to stay upright and make something worth sharing.
Gibbs handles quality control on anything that lands within three feet of the grill. He’s also in charge of making sure no snack goes uninspected and no walk happens without a few strategically timed stops for “sniffing.” He joins me on the trail when the weather’s right and the mood strikes. Mostly, he excels at looking deeply disappointed when the food is not for him. Five stars for persistence. Zero concept of personal space.
