SGT 1ST CLASS ANDREW GUTIERREZ
110th Chemical Battalion
Joint Base Lewis McChord, Washington
Have you ever tried airing down your tires in a sideways rain while standing ankle-deep in moss-covered mud with a raccoon staring at you like you’re an idiot? I have. Welcome to overlanding in the Pacific Northwest (PNW), where the trees are tall, the coffee is strong and the margin for error is paper thin if you don’t think two steps ahead. Risk management isn’t just something we talk about in a safety brief; it’s the difference between a great trip and a search-and-rescue call.
Know the terrain, not just the trail
The PNW is a four-season chameleon. You can start the morning in sunshine and find yourself crawling through slush by noon. I learned this the hard way in Oregon’s Tillamook State Forest. What looked like a damp dirt trail turned into a peanut butter pit halfway up an incline. I didn’t scout the trail first. I just drove in — convinced my Toyota 4Runner and good intentions would pull me through. Spoiler: They didn’t, even though it’s a 4Runner.
The first step of risk management is to identify the hazard, and out here, terrain tops the list. The PNW offers everything from volcanic scree and snow-fed river crossings to washouts that weren’t there last week, mud slides, treefalls and hidden sinkholes. I use tools like onX Offroad or U.S. Forest Service updates to build a plan. More importantly, though, I get out and put my eyes on it before I commit a multi-thousand-pound vehicle to the unknown.
Weather will wreck you
It rains in the PNW — a lot. But it’s not just the rain; it’s the fog, the sleet and the fast-moving cold fronts that make a 55 degree Fahrenheit day feel like 30 degrees when you’re soaked. Hypothermia doesn’t care if you’re “just car camping.”
Assess the risk. Don’t just pack for the cold. Pack like your vehicle might die and you’ll have to walk out. Bring layered clothing, a real poncho (not that $5 festival trash bag) and always keep your sleeping bag dry. Throw in a backup firestarter and a tarp. Trust me, wet socks and ego don’t burn well.
Your buddy is the backup plan
Overlanding solo sounds romantic — and it can be — but in the PNW, it’s just plain risky. If you snap an axle 20 miles from cell service, guess what? Siri’s not coming to rescue you. Develop controls like traveling in pairs. Use comms such as FRS radios, ham or at least a Garmin inReach satellite communication device. Let someone back home know your route and schedule. If you’re going off grid, establish check-in times and stick to them. On a trip near Mount Rainier, a friend’s Jeep just shut down. No winch, no power. Because we were convoying, we snatched him out in minutes. Had he been solo, that would’ve been a long, cold night.
Complacency kills (your axle, your schedule, your fun)
Here’s the thing: Most overlanders don’t get into trouble their first time out. It’s trip No. 3 or 4, when they’ve built some confidence, lifted their rig and started pushing it a little. That’s when things go sideways. Implement controls. Have a trip checklist and actually use it. Inspect your recovery gear. Torque your lug nuts. Check your winch line. Review emergency contacts. Walk around your camp area before you pitch that rooftop or ground tent. Last summer, I nearly parked over a yellowjacket nest. Not the wake-up call I would have wanted.
Teaching moment
During and after every trip, we evaluate what went well and what went wrong. On one outing near Olympic National Park, I realized I hadn’t replaced my first aid kit after using the supplies in May. That’s on me, but that kind of lapse can hurt someone. Don’t just make a note. Fix it.
Final thoughts from the fog
Overlanding in the PNW is pure magic — towering evergreens, glacier-fed rivers and trails that whisper stories from a thousand years ago. But none of it’s worth it if you roll in blind to the risks. Risk management isn’t just Army doctrine. It’s how you bring everyone home safe and smiling. So go ahead and air down, lock in and roll out. Just don’t forget your brain, your backup plan and maybe a towel for that raccoon.