When it comes to soundwalks, it’s unusual for me to let two years go by from the time of capturing audio until release. I had to leave this one alone for a while and come back to it with fresh ears. Dear reader, this is Ecola Soundwalk.

There are a number of hiking routes at Ecola State Park just north of Cannon Beach, Oregon. It’s an astonishingly beautiful headland chock full of seastacks and fog belt Sitka spruce coastal forests. It’s a national treasure really, as far as state parks go.

I went for the Clatsop Loop route, hoping the inland leg would provide for some quiet encounters with wildlife. It was quiet, and this ultimately informed the instrumentation I chose. When I finally came back to it, I realized the whole thing just needed to be softer and quieter. That’s what was missing from my first pass at composing and arranging, over a year before.

Not that any of my soundwalks are recommended for listening in a car or on a plane trip, but Ecola Soundwalk should come with a warning label: Do not attempt to listen outside a quiet environment. It won’t sound good. There are even some passages that might sound experimental with their woozy, threadbare, textured minimalism.

Ruby-crowned Kinglets and Chestnut-backed Chickadees eventually enter the soundscape after the five minute mark, and they come and go through the middle bit. Red crossbills fly over and Red-chested Nuthatches move slowly through the upper canopy.

After a Barred Owl sighting, we once again hear the surf about 2/3 of the way through. It’s distant. Below. This is not a beach soundwalk. It’s a moody coastal forest soundwalk.

And, it’s a walk with periodic astonishing vistas. The lonesome Tillamook Rock Lighthouse is a sight to behold.

Well, that’s really all I can think of to say this week. Thanks for reading and listening. Thanks for sticking with me.

Ecola Soundwalk is available on all music streaming services today, September 5th, 2025.

After a few weeks, I’m back, and excited to share something new. Out today is Meadow Showers, an album offering a new twist on the soundwalk form that has given shape to my work over the last three years.

The twist is admittedly a gentle one: In a nutshell, it’s simply less footsteps in the mix. On this soundwalk I’m engaged at intervals in plein air (outdoor) painting using an iPad (or phone), while quietly soaking up the soundscape as I sketch. If you’ve been keeping up, you may recall this post from June 12, introducing the concept:

The soundscape for Meadow Showers was captured on June 20th of this year at the Holman Lane entrance to Forest Park in Portland Oregon. The meadow had already grown tall. Grass cuttings lay on the trail. A squall whipped through the trees.

I took cover across the meadow under a broadleaf tree with a bench underneath it, Looking in the opposite direction, I worked up this image as a summer rain shower passed over.

Eventually other visitors came into the scene. A child squealed with delight. A group of young people walked by speaking Chinese. The birds were temporarily quieted by the weather.

Before long, I ventured out on the Wildwood Trail, stopping to sketch this image of the hillside terrain:

Rain clouds came and went. With another downpour brewing, I found myself taking shelter under a tree overlooking this woodland scene with two snags emerging from the bracken:

The wind massaged the canopy, playing it like an instrument.

In all, Meadow Showers is a postcard-esque series of vignettes, writ in image and sound. It’s a new soundwalk formula that I will revisit through the coming year. The first handful is already on deck and slotted in the release schedule, and I have designs for creating more, with the aim of pushing against some of the self-imposed boundaries of my craft.

I’ve been feeling a little stuck and disaffected lately, I guess. Insofar as this relates to my work, I’m hopeful a new angle can open some doors. What do you do when you feel stuck, alienated, or upset? Feel free to help me brainstorm with a comment.

Thanks for reading and listening. I’m glad to have you along!

Meadow Showers is available on all music streaming services August 29, 2025.

I recorded the environmental sound for Sunset Bay Soundwalk about year ago while meandering over the rocky tidal landscape on a mild summer Sunday morning at Sunset Bay, near the city of Coos Bay, Oregon.

Sunset Bay has a crescent-shaped beach, sheltered by the North Pacific waves. Here, little rollers fan out, lapping against the rocky head outcrops on each side. Acoustically it’s a natural amphitheater. The birds, foraging in the tree canopy on the bluffs sound amplified. A Swainson’s Thrush ethereal song reverberates. The surf sound is a distant murmur. Windstill.

Perhaps the first thing you register though, is the sound of humans. For this edit, I spliced clips that were peppered here and there with human voices. They are largely undecipherable; adding a textural layer in the soundscape.

We hear feet scuffling over rocks, with no rhythm. No urgency.

While there, I gazed into the tide pools, enchanted by the colors. Looking for movement, I was delighted by these little colonies of life adapted to the flushing seawater tides in their dance with the moon.

I did my best to translate the sweetness of the morning in music. Nothing like a morning outside to rinse and reset the mind!

Thanks for listening and reading. As per usual, Sunset Bay Soundwalk is available on all music streaming services today, August 1, 2025.

The environmental recording for Oak Island Rain Soundwalk was recorded April 30th 2024. It’s a really gentle soundscape; dewy and hushed. I chose this photo for the cover because, if you look closely, it captures the fine rain drops that fell that morning. It’s hard to take a picture of rain. I got lucky here.

I’ve gave Oak Island quite a bit of attention last year, initially surveying the soundscape without ornamentation:

Later, I visited the spur road that leads to the area in the winter, basking in the sound of skeins of geese overhead and croaking Sandhill Cranes foraging in fallow fields.

Finally, I used a recording made peering in the heart of the 100 acre Oak Savanna preserved at Oak Island for my sophomore Listening Spot effort:

So we’re back, and even though it captures an out-of-season sound for this part of the world, I thought it might be a soothing addition for summer programming.

The weather here in the Pacific Northwest has been idyllic. Meanwhile, headlines land in my news feed about heat waves on the US East Coast and in Europe. If you're feeling the heat, this one goes out to you.

In this season of open windows and being outside, our cities become a little noisier. Sometimes that can be exciting. Sometimes it can be unwanted.

I make no pretenses about what my soundwalks are for, what purpose they serve, but if this one can quell any thirst for peace, quiet, and tenderness out there, I’m all for it.

In this landscape we hear migratory Bullock’s Oriole, Rufous Hummingbird, Orange-crowned Warbler, Yellow-rumped Warbler, Western Tanager, Purple Finch, Tree Swallow, Black-headed Grosbeak, Savannah Sparrow, Red-wing Blackbird... The interesting thing is they are all singing lowkey, as the kids say, as in quietly. The rain seems to have a subduing effect.

Thanks for listening and reading! I’m making this one available in its entirety here on Substack, because I think there is probably someone new-to-me it could be useful to. If you enjoy what you hear, please consider telling just one person about it. As per usual, Oak Island Rain Soundwalk is available on all music streaming services today, July 4, 2025, Happy Independence Day!

More than once in recent conversations I’ve revealed I’m not all that fond of Summer. The response has been interesting: incredulous laughter; a bemused disbelief. Why? Explain, they seemed to say.

Maybe you recall the sleeper hit “Heatwaves” by Glass Animals that was ubiquitous in the Summer of 2022? There’s a line that I always misheard:

Heat waves been fakin' me out

Can't make you happier now…

Well, I always thought it was heat waves been freakin’ me out, because that made perfect sense to me. The year before, in late June 2021, the US Pacific Northwest experienced a Heat Dome event that shattered all kinds of records. It reached 116 degrees Fahrenheit here in Portland, Oregon. It sparked wildfires, warped train tracks, and contributed to a heat-related death toll of over 1400 people in the greater geographic area including Canada. Over 70 heat-related deaths occurred in the county I live in.

I rarely enjoy feeling hot. The smell of forest fires provokes an adrenaline flight response that requires distinctly modern reasoning to suppress. The cabin fever that settles in after multiple bad air days due to wildfire smoke produces a profound feeling of disassociation. Smoky skies were until recently thought to be a western US state phenomenon, but that seems to up for debate now.

The anticipation of these sensations as markers of Summer, often arriving earlier in the season each year, just makes me wish I could skip to fall. These are a couple of the reasons I don’t entirely look forward to summer.

Nevertheless, apart from two days with temperatures in the 90’s, it’s been a mild and dry June here. Temperature-wise, it’s felt more or less in line with an average end to spring in the Pacific Northwest, which is to say, lovely. Highs have hovered in the low 70’s.

Back in Forest park, baby bird voices can be heard seemingly around every other bend along the trails. Baby bird sounds are imbued with so much joy, new life, and vulnerability. You’ll get better looks at the parents too, as they dart through the shrubs and understory defensively.

American Robins can be seen hopping along the trail in front of you in an apparent defensive distraction behavior to protect a nearby nest. In this way, it is a season of being on guard for the birds too.

The trills of Pacific Wrens overlap at intervals. Their effusive song is sweetened by the columnar structure of the conifer woodlands. I picture the frenetic notes of their song like pinballs bouncing off bumpers, scattering through the understory, arriving at my ears in a wash.

At the 16-minute mark we hear a Stellar’s Jay practicing its Red-tailed Hawk imitation. It must be a youngster because it calls again and again, not quite getting it right.

Summer officially starts on June 21st, the day after this recording is released. All but the deepest creek canyons have already dried up in Forest Park. A wildfire 75 miles east of here destroyed 56 homes in the Columbia Gorge community of Rowena, Oregon last week. As I sit here writing this, it’s 34% contained. This news is just one of many developments in that time span to absorb, consider, and file away in my mental model of the world.

I was out near where this soundscape was recorded last week, doing some plein air sketching and recording. It was so serene. When the world can feel overwhelming, it’s nice to just have something to do with your hands, something to focus on in the present, something to contemplate with a sense of wonder.

Happy Summer Solstice. Thanks for being here; for listening and reading. Forest Spring Suite is available under the artist name Listening Spot on all streaming platforms Friday, June 20th.