Once upon a time...

I don’t have many good feelings when I think about my grammar school years. There is the occasional fond memory, but overall it was a painful experience full of self doubt and frustration. By the time I graduated from 8th grade, I knew I was one of those people who couldn’t learn and my grades proved it. My experience in an Outward Bound Wilderness Course showed me that the school system at that time taught students what to learn but did not develop skills for how to learn. That summer, I saw firsthand that you didn’t have to be in a traditional classroom setting to be educated. In Outward Bound, we saw, we did, we taught and we collaborated.
The summer before starting my freshman year at Oak Park High School in Illinois, my parents sent me to the Minnesota Outward Bound Camp, which I thought was just another summer camp. This was not what I wanted to be doing with my summer, I kept saying to myself. I was about to enter high school and, having given up on the academic side, had social things to attend to. My mother kept telling this was going to be very different than anything I had ever done before. She said I had an opportunity to learn things in a new way. I knew she just wanted peace and quiet for the summer.
Departure day came and I flew out of Chicago from O’Hare airport and into Duluth, Minnesota, as did several other dozen kids. We looked as if we were about to go on an African safari. Several vans showed up, and adults wearing the Outward Bound logo on their shirts, gathered us together and drove us to a large field surrounded by woods. The instructors informed us that through the woods there was a pond, in the middle of the pond was an island, and on that island was our luggage. The counselors gave us a few basic instructions, and informed us that if we wanted our belongings we had to go get them. Through the woods we trudged, angrily proclaiming the unjustness of it. 10,000 mosquitoes later we arrived at the pond. An older kid suggested that we form a human chain, so no one would sink into the muddy water. All I could think of was how my parents just bought me these expensive hiking boots, and that I was wearing brand new, beautiful hiking shorts, all about to be ruined. Eventually, I found myself in the middle of the pond with kids on either side of me, duffel bags being passed overhead from one kid to the next until we had all our belongings. Some of the bags were wet and muddy, and now so were our heads. We followed our counselors back to camp at last.
My feet, socks and shorts were filthy, wet, and uncomfortably cold. I was hungry and tired. In the big lodge, the smell of food made us realize it was dinner time. I don’t remember what we had to eat or if tasted good. All I could do was eat. Stopping for a moment to look around, I noticed that no one was talking; they all seemed to be feeling as I was: pitiable. After dinner, we were split into groups and given our bunking assignments. There was no conversation that night. I was so exhausted that I fell into a deep sleep.
At sunrise we were woken by several counselors, told to get dressed and ready for breakfast. We rushed through a hot shower (a luxury we would not have many opportunities to indulge in while there) and dressing. No one tried to look cute; absolutely no make-up was worn by the girls. It was all a blur. Stumbling into the main lodge we didn’t have time to be angry about the ungodly hour or manner in which we had been awoken. Over breakfast we learned that our camp counselors were called “guides”. For the next two days they would advise us as to how to prepare for the next three weeks. They would demonstrate, we would demonstrate back and then teach another camper. We mastered the art of paddling a canoe, how to read maps with the aid of a compass, and all kinds of things that I couldn’t imagine I would truly need. Ten teams were going out into the Boundary Waters, which are thousands of lakes connected by short trails. It was a race back to be first. We had two and a half weeks to get up to Canada and back. When we returned, a wonderful celebration awaited us: a huge BBQ, a dance and an awards ceremony, everything that camp was supposed to be!
We learned that we would decide what gear, and what kinds of food, and how much of it we would bring. It would all be carried in a backpack by us. We would choose the course that we took. Our guides would travel with us for the first two days, but we would make all decisions. We would be broken into teams of fourteen, portaging and canoeing into the great Boundary Waters, two to a canoe, seven canoes plus two guides. People were smiling and looking excited. I felt the exact opposite. I would be the one who weighed the team down. I didn’t understand all this camping stuff. I wanted to go home, I was filled with dread. Before I could figure out the details of my escape my name was being called. I was pointed in the direction of a blonde hippy looking woman. Next to her who was a man who could pass for her brother. “Great! Tree huggers!” I thought. I did not belong here.
Jane and Matt, our guides, showed us how to canoe and portage (carrying your canoe over land, over your head in teams of two, until you reach water) and explained what to do if there is lightning. Once they started talking, just like in school, I stopped paying attention, and instead focused on how unfair this was, and how much I wished I was home. Did anyone want to be here? Some of the kids were really into it. They seemed to actually want to be doing this. Others looked as scared as me. I went back to dictating in my mind the letter of pure hatred I would send to my parents; especially to my mother who had insisted I would love my summer trip.
The day passed. We timed ourselves getting out of the canoes and running to shore to squat on our life preservers (the correct way to break the shock of lightning hitting the ground), more time practicing how to paddle correctly, starting fires with rocks, and all the things we would need to know out on the lakes. I found myself wondering what kind of camp this was. I never had to learn any of this at horseback riding camp.
Anger was turning to sadness; I felt alone and trapped. I began plotting. I would feign an illness or injury, and then they would have to send me home. Then I was snapped back to reality. Matt, the guide, was saying something about “maps” and “very important”. He told us that each team would map out our course to Canada. What!? We were just kids. There was no way we could do this. I felt this was way too dangerous. Before I could let the panic settle into my belly, maps in Ziploc bags (to protect them from getting wet) were passed around. One boy was pointing to the map and saying something about the shortest way to Canada when Jane warned that we should all be looking at the maps, because the way he was suggesting had a lot of portaging. I knew that portaging seemed like a lot more work than paddling. Wow! Where did that come from? I’m thinking in their words!
The next day was dedicated to a high ropes course. I felt a combination of fear and excitement, like when you’re waiting in line for a rollercoaster. This was supposed to be a team-trust building exercise. Looking fifty feet up, I could see poles connecting the trees and all kinds of ropes and harnesses. I couldn’t wait to get started! It looked like something out of Robinson Crusoe. At last something I might be good at! I looked around impatiently and saw that Kimmi, the youngest girl on our team was crying. I asked her what was wrong. In a voice not much louder than a whisper, she said she was afraid and wanted to go home. I held her hand, and promised that I would be right next to her, that we would do it together. First Kimmi went; I was on the ropes next. I found it was thrilling, better than any amusement park ride I’d ever ridden. When I got to the bottom, Kimmi ran up and hugged me. It was a strong meaningful hold she had on me, and all the while she was laughing and thanking me. I felt wonderful.
The third morning we were already awake and dressed when Jane came. The anticipatory silence was ear shattering. We stood there wide eyed, rigid and ready. As all of the teams packed their canoes, you could feel the electricity in the air. The entire camp staff was there, including the Outward Bound dogs, who were barking with excitement. As we shoved off, a couple of the kitchen guys started blowing horns. I felt like a great explorer going off to find undiscovered lands and treasures.
Within a few hours the thrill had faded and we were left with the monotony of paddling. Jane and Matt led the way for those first couple of days. They showed us the correct way to set up and break down our camp. After that, they canoed a half day behind us. I was a bit nervous not having them with us. We were just kids.
The days melted into each other. It seemed like it was always raining. If it wasn’t raining our clothes and shoes would still be wet from the last time. We hung our clothes out, praying they might only be damp in the morning. But it was to no avail, as we were never on land for very long when the sun was up. One morning I was sitting on the cold wet ground, with my dirty, smelly socks and I lost it! I could not put on wet clothing today and began to sob. Everyone rushed to me, seated on the ground behind the tent, afraid that I had fallen and was hurt. I whimpered that I didn’t want to continue, that I had had enough. Enough of being dirty, wet and being eaten alive the by the always thirsty mosquitoes. I didn’t want to drink the unfiltered lake water anymore. I wanted to quit. Two of the boys did my morning job of dish washing. One of the girls gave me a pair of dry socks. They were dirty, but I put them on gratefully. They let me know that they needed me, that I was an important part of the team. Then as if God knew we needed some serenity, the sun came out, and shined for almost the next five days. We grew closer in this time. It was magical. The Boundary Waters glistened, and we were hearing the music of nature around us.
We made it to Canada, and deep inside I was thankful to be in one piece. We learned from border patrol that at least five teams had made it and were on their way back to camp. We committed ourselves to not being last. We checked our maps, and plotted out a new course – one that would shave at least a day and a half off our return trip. It would be challenging, but we all agreed that it could be done.
We were exhausted. Our muscles ached; our skin was sunburned and scabby from the insect bites and I noticed that everyone’s clothes seemed much looser. But there was a new strength in us. Somewhere along the way our confidence bloomed. We were strong, compassionate and could endure anything. That is until we reached the entry into the next lake.
In front of us was the largest beaver dam any of us had ever seen. We started yelling and pointing at each other, blaming all but ourselves for the change in the directions home. After more than an hour of fighting, we decided we could not afford the time to backtrack and that we would get out and force the canoes through the beaver dam. Low and behold it worked, and it only took a couple of hours for all of us to get through. We were laughing and feeling so accomplished as we set our paddles back to work, when we noticed that those of us who had pulled the canoes through the dam were covered in leeches. Panic set in as we pulled black, shiny monsters from our legs and ankles. The result was even more horrific, because when we pulled them from our flesh they released dozens (which seemed like millions) of their bloodthirsty offspring. Our legs were black with the parasites. The boy that we all looked to as a leader was hysterical. This was quite scary because he was considered the strongest, both mentally and physically. There he was screaming and flailing his arms. I swam to his canoe. I remembered hearing (learning?) that baby oil cut off the leeches air supply. I had put a small bottle in one of the pockets of my army fatigues and forgotten about it. I got to his canoe and calmly poured oil onto his legs until the last monster fell to the floor of the canoe. Our leader sat there with a blank look on his face. I asked him was he all right? He leaned over and looked deep into my eyes and squeezed my hand. I had done it! I saved our leader.
It seemed like only moments later we were back at camp. It actually took about four days. Something was alive in me, an all consuming feeling of calmness and belief in my own strength. We were not the first back, nor were we the last, but we had finished. I had finished.
Our showers were enjoyed with hot water and soap, and everyone rejoiced in deodorant and clean clothes! The great feast and celebration was like something from a fairytale.
As I boarded my plane to go home, I knew I was not the same person. Once up in the air, looking down on the earth I smiled. I realized that really, when you’ve stripped it all away (the make-up, the clothes, and the cliques) you’re left with just yourself, and only then can you see what you’re made of and what you can accomplish. Outward Bound had taught me not just what to learn, but more importantly, how to learn.