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For most of his adult life, Hunter Morri<\/strong>s has existed between motion and stillness.<\/p>\n One version of his life unfolds onstage, in studios, and in the long, uncertain pursuit of making records. The other begins before daylight in the mountains of North Georgia, where he guides clients through cold trout streams and spends long days on the water.<\/p>\n These days, both worlds are colliding.<\/p>\n Morris, 47, has just released Nowhere, NW<\/em>, the debut album from his new project, Mountain of Youth, <\/strong>while simultaneously managing the busiest season of his fly-fishing guide business near Blue Ridge and Ellijay, Georgia.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m basically running trips on top of what other guides are doing,\u201d Morris said. \u201cI\u2019m running trips like every day and trying to release an album, so I\u2019m not the best at planning.\u201d<\/p>\n It is an appropriately chaotic chapter for someone whose creative life has rarely followed a straight line.<\/p>\n Born near Augusta, Georgia, Morris said he was eager to leave. He spent part of his youth in Athens, where family roots eventually drew him back. While attending the University of Georgia, he began taking music seriously and never fully stopped.<\/p>\n Over the years, Morris moved through a succession of bands that rarely stayed in one lane. There was Gift Horse, which he describes as dark and heavy. Then came Blue Blood, a sharper turn toward melodic pop. Along the way came EPs, full-length albums, tours, and the familiar grind that defines independent musicianship.<\/p>\n That grind eventually caught up with him. After one discouraging tour with Blue Blood, Morris returned home thousands of dollars in debt.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019d done that tour about three times a year maybe for several years,\u201d he said. \u201cWe\u2019re playing the same venues that we played the last three times. There are fewer people at some of these shows than there were before. I came home like $3,000 in the hole. I can\u2019t do this anymore.\u201d<\/p>\n That moment forced a recalibration. Rather than continue chasing an increasingly unstable touring economy, Morris built another life in the mountains. He launched a fishing guide company and created something music had rarely offered him: financial stability.<\/p>\n \u201cI own it,\u201d he said. \u201cAnd then I just hire out a guide when I need other guides.\u201d<\/p>\n His business now operates in one of the most scenic parts of the Southeast, where North Georgia begins to resemble Appalachia.<\/p>\n \u201cIt\u2019s more mountainous than people would think,\u201d he said. \u201cIt\u2019s got the most trout streams.\u201d<\/p>\n The solitude suits him. Hours spent alone in remote stretches of wilderness often became hours spent thinking about songs.<\/p>\n \u201cI would just go out and fish all day by myself, way up in the mountains in Wyoming and Colorado, and just think about songs and life.\u201d<\/p>\n That reflective space became foundational to Nowhere, NW<\/em>.<\/p>\n The title refers partly to hometown geography and partly to emotional geography\u2014the places people leave behind, physically or psychologically.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re all kind of from somewhere, but we\u2019re all kind of from nowhere,\u201d Morris said. \u201cYou can go where you want to go, or you can stay where you want to stay.\u201d<\/p>\n