An Introduction

There’s a moment after a serious uphill climb when the trees give way and you emerge above the treeline, when the world opens up. Your surroundings are exposed. The weather becomes immediate. Your view extends in every direction. There’s nowhere to hide from what’s in front of you; it’s laid bare. You can’t hide behind the trees. No more looking at the map or the imagery you gathered; there it is, in front of your eyes. That clarity, however uncomfortable it may be, is exactly the point. It’s what I seek and how I grow.

That’s the spirit behind this newsletter. The wilderness teaches, at times in an uncomfortable manner. I aim to listen, learn, and apply, not only in the field but in life and work.

I’m Mike Fisher, a lifelong Alaskan, strategy and risk consultant, and part-time adventurer. I’ve spent equal parts of a career thinking rigorously about uncertainty, risk, and decision-making, and testing those ideas in places where getting it wrong—sometimes despite one’s best efforts—has real consequences.

Over time, I’ve sought to being these two lives together, not keep them separate. Adventures not as a short-term escape from work, but as part of what defines me professionally. The same tools and systems that help me make good decisions in the wilderness are exactly what leaders and organizations need when they’re navigating uncertainty in their own environment.

This Substack is where I think out loud about what those experiences teach. You can expect writing about risk and decision-making: why smart people rationalize warning signs, what honest planning actually looks like, and how to stay clear-headed under pressure. You can expect dispatches from Alaska’s backcountry, covering the places I go, what happens out there, and what it has asked of me. You can also expect an occasional piece that doesn’t fit neatly into either category, but in those cases it will be a topic about which I felt it was worth writing. I already have a number of these self-reflective pieces planned.

I aim to publish every three weeks, though the pace and depth may change with the seasons. When I’m out testing ideas in the wilderness, the cadence may slow and the articles may shorten, but my hope is that the writing that follows will be richer for it.

I’m glad you’re here.