Kevin William Keith Moore

Born June 3rd, 1985, I was the last of my parent’s children, not because they didn’t want any more but because I was a miracle or a disaster; it depends on how you look at it. My Mom had chicken pox when she was pregnant with me, and I had developed some serious health problems. I was lucky to make it out alive. My lungs did not develop, and I was born completely blue. I had gone without oxygen for more than eight minutes and was as close to a stillborn as could be. After being revived, I spent a long time in the hospital until they could send me home. But I didn’t go home alone. I was hooked up to a machine that monitored my vitals and kept me alive. Over the next year, my Mom never slept more than an hour at a time, just in case I stopped breathing. And stop breathing, I did. The machine’s bells and whistles would roar through our house whenever my tiny lungs or heart would give up. My sister said, “You must have died at least eight times, and you only get nine, so don’t go wastin’ this last one!”

With enough steroids to fuel a bodybuilding contest and countless trips to too many different doctors, I made it to my childhood. I listened to my sister, and I didn’t waste my life. I was a menace. A force of nature. A whirlwind of energy. I ran, climbed, jumped, swam, danced, sang, wrote, read, fought, and… I never shut up. I was incredibly curious and reasonably good at everything I tried: baseball, soccer, painting, Pogs, marbles, Tae Kwon Do, swimming, school, and video games. Oh, how I loved video games. Video games quickly consumed my entire attention span until my teenage years, when music and girls filled my brain from sunup to sundown. I spent all my teens chasing live concerts and having good times with friends. By age 20, I had seen over 300 bands live. I was a punk and a metalhead, but it didn’t stop me from devouring anything live, from bluegrass to pop music and everything in between.

At 20 years old, my Mom, bless her heart, said, “Get the fuck out of my basement.” I had rented a few times in my late teens but always ended up back at home. I liked to party, so I wasn’t exactly an ideal tenant. I had an excellent job at a factory, and my mom told me to go buy a house. Surprisingly, I found a handyman’s special and got a mortgage. I purchased my first house when I was 20 years old. Over the next four years, I tried to fix the house room by room while throwing outrageous parties that would cause more damage than I was fixing. It was a time of outlandish social experiments and exceptionally good times. Duke Street had quite the reputation for wild nights and good times. But good times always come to an end. 

My Dad died in 2010. He didn’t have much, but he left everything to my mom, who, in turn, gave me and my siblings a little something. I decided he would probably be pretty pissed off if I just blew it all on booze and cigarettes. My solution… was to get a Teach English as a Foreign Language Certificate and complete any necessary repairs to turn my house into a rental property. A few months later, I was off to China for an internship. I spent six months in China, four of which were spent teaching English, and the other two I spent backpacking around the country. It was the beginning of the new me. I was hooked. The wanderlust had sunk its teeth in deep. I spent the next six months touring around South East Asia before completely running out of money. 

I returned home with dozens of notebooks filled with my daily thoughts and musings. I was pretty decent at putting words to paper and felt compelled to continue capturing every moment I could. Months went by, and my feet got itchier and itchier. The desire to travel filled my entire being. I couldn’t shake it. I was compelled to see more of this big, beautiful world. I bought a little camera, a proper backpack and a ticket to Nepal. I planned to spend a month in Nepal, hiking in the Himalayas, and two months wandering around India before returning home and putting my wanderlust to bed. But as you may know, life rarely sticks to a plan. I made it to India after nearly three months in Nepal. Then, India took just shy of six months of my life before I was running low on money. That’s when I got a tip from a fellow traveller. “Why go back to Canada to make money when Australia loves backpackers and has oodles of jobs just waiting for you?” I spent two years in Australia and three months in Indonesia and Malaysia before I made my way back to the Great White North. But I didn’t go home to Chatham. 

I needed to see some of my own giant country. I figured Montreal was the most exotic place I could go. I spent a year in Montreal, acquiring the basics of French and soaking in the Quebecois culture, but it wasn’t enough. I needed to see more of Canada and hopped on a bus out west. After a year and a half of adventuring around Supernatural British Columbia, I was tired of the rain and wanted to escape another frosty Canadian winter. I spent a couple of weeks backpacking down the West Coast of America and entered the land of tacos and cervezas. I spent three months touring around Mexico and managed to see and experience nearly every state. It hit me that I hadn’t been home in ages, and I figured it was time to make my way back to see my Mom. 

Again, it didn’t last long. The travel bug was tugging at my heartstrings after only a few months in my hometown. I picked up a visa for New Zealand and was on the first flight. I had spent a year in New Zealand in a camper van before I got the dreadful news. My Mom was sick with Cancer. I came home as quickly as possible and stayed with her until her final moments. Her last words to me were, “Life is too short. Never stop adventuring!” I took those words to heart. 

Since I still had six months left on a working holiday visa for New Zealand, I flew back to attempt the Te Araroa, a long-distance hike across the South Island. I figured a couple of months in the bush would be the best way to sort through my turbulent thoughts. As always, I put my thoughts to paper, and this time, when I returned home, I was determined to self-publish my account on the trail as a sort of closure. I figured I would sell a handful to my friends and family, and that would be that. But to my surprise, Dude, Where’s My Walking Stick became an instant success. Hitting the #1 Bestseller spot on many lists in a handful of countries. I was an international bestseller. I knew my Mom would have been proud of me, even if it most likely wasn’t her usual genre. This inspired me to continue polishing my talents as a writer, and soon, a new novel, a fiction, started to take shape. 

My hometown no longer felt like home without my Mom around. I concluded that I would sell everything and build a camper van to satisfy my urge to travel. I then spent the next four years travelling to nearly every corner of Canada, eventually landing in the Yukon. Over the years, I have taken thousands of photos and upgraded my camera many times. I, in essence, had the skills and decent enough equipment to put a little more effort into photography than just capturing photos for fun. I just needed the inspiration and motivation. That's when I discovered the North. The Yukon Territory captured my heart and artistic spirit. While in the Yukon, I experienced an arts community I had never seen before. Everyone supported art in all its forms. Art was the beating heart of the north, and something sparked inside me. I didn’t go anywhere without my camera. 

I quickly fell in love with the Northern Lights and captured as much video and as many photos as I physically could. I spent countless hours capturing the magic. While telling the stories of how, when and where I captured the Auroras, I realized I was exceptionally good. I knew my storytelling skills were up to snuff, but I didn’t think much of my photos beyond posting on social media. I was bombarded with offers to purchase prints. It was then that I knew I had to put a little effort into this new form of storytelling. I plugged away at my computer, building a portfolio of excellent photography I had taken over the years. I honed my videographer skills and created YouTube and TikTok channels to showcase my videos. I dabbled in graphic design, utilizing images I had captured throughout my life’s journey and put my graphic designs to use. I built an ever-expanding line of clothing that instantly took off. Orders for photography prints and sweaters continued to flood in. That’s where this website comes into play. 

Whether you‘re looking to buy one of my books, pick up a piece of unique wall art, wrap yourself in a custom, artist-made sweater, or just ask for some travel advice, it’s all right here. I may not be the best artist in the world, but if I can inspire just one person to follow their heart, forge stories of their own, create lasting and meaningful art, or pack a bag and set off on an adventure, then I can’t ask for much more. No matter what you create, art will always make the world a better place. 

Thank you so much for visiting my site. 

One World, One Family, One Love!