On the edge of a big meadow, with the Sangre de Cristo Mountains looming in the background, I waited for the students to arrive. A herd of antelope grazed peacefully in the distance. Piles of backpacks and other mountaineering gear lay on the ground around me. The bus that Outward Bound had rented approached in the distance. When the bus came to a stop, nine Outward Bound students emerged, carrying their suitcases. Most of the students looked eager in anticipation. A few looked apprehensive.

In 1977, I completed a master’s degree in experiential education at the University of Colorado in Boulder. Toward the end of the program, my professor, Joe Nold, encouraged me to sign up as a student on an upcoming Outward Bound course in Canyonlands, Utah. He wanted me to witness how the course exemplified the concepts of experiential education in action.

In addition to being a professor, Joe Nold was the founding director of the Colorado Outward Bound School. He expressed his hope that I would become hooked on the Outward Bound experience and become one of their regular instructors.

From Outward Bound’s promotional literature, I learned that the organization’s roots went back to the early 1940s when an influential educator and philosopher, Kurt Hahn, developed a survival training program for British sailors, based on the philosophy that confronting challenges had the potential to produce the best character traits in the men.

In 1962, a man named Josh Miner adopted Hahn’s philosophy and founded Outward Bound USA in Marble, Colorado, where Colorado Outward Bound School (COBS) still operates to this day.

As Joe Nold predicted, I did indeed become hooked after my first Outward Bound experience and agreed to spend my summers instructing for COBS. I accepted the job with the hope that I could make a difference in the students’ lives by helping them get a glimpse of their full potential. Based on my own experience, I knew that the mountains and the wilderness could be the perfect classroom for significant inner growth and transformation. 

I vividly remember my first course as an instructor in June of 1977. The course took place in southern Colorado in the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, a section of the 3,000-mile Rocky Mountain Range that extends all the way to northern New Mexico.

On the first day of the course, I welcomed the students to the 23-day Outward Bound expedition. After we learned each other’s names, we sat on the ground in a circle to hear my orientation talk:

“This course might be the most difficult experience you have ever had in your life. You will be challenged on all levels—physically, mentally, and emotionally. The course will not be easy, but it will be worth it. At the end of the 23 days, you might feel like you’ve become a different person. In fact, your parents might wonder what happened to you!” The students laughed in unison—a nervous kind of laughter.

As part of the orientation, I asked the students to participate in an experiment in which none of us would reveal anything about ourselves for the first three days, other than our first names. I wanted all of the students to start on a level playing field, without any preconceived ideas about each other.

I came up with this idea after reviewing their bios in advance and discovering that I had an unusual array of students. The oldest student, Jerome, was a 60-year-old recently retired MIT professor who had no prior wilderness experience and had never carried a backpack. He wanted to challenge himself at this major crossroad and get some perspective on where to go with his post-retirement life.

One of the two youngest students, Jackson, was a 16-year-old member of an inner city gang who frequently got into trouble with the law. A progressive judge in the juvenile justice system astutely recognized Jackson’s untapped potential and gave him the option of attending an Outward Bound course instead of serving time in a juvenile detention center.

That same judge encouraged another 16-year old on the list, named Luc, to take an Outward Bound course. Luc was raised in France until he was eight when his family moved to the US. Luc was extremely intelligent and creative, with an over active imagination. After watching American movies about bank robberies, he decided to play a prank on his local bank. He rode his bicycle to the drive-up window, pulled out his plastic squirt gun, and told the cashier to give him the money. Instead of getting a good laugh, he got arrested by the police.

After our get-acquainted circle, I described what a typical day might look like. It meant getting up at dawn, making breakfast, packing up camp and leaving it as pristine as when we arrived, mapping the route, and then heading out. The hiking might be all day, broken up with short breaks to rest, snack, and enjoy the spectacular views. Rest stops also served as teaching opportunities, especially regarding the area’s history, geology, flora, and fauna.

I went on to say that our hiking might be on trails, but more often it would be “off-trail,” where we would learn to navigate through forests, rushing rivers, steep and rocky terrain, snow and ice, and the inevitable stormy mountain weather. Hiking off-trail also gave us the opportunity to have a true wilderness experience, without running into hikers and climbers.

I introduced the students to their gear that lay in piles on the grass, including backpacks, sleeping bags, pads, tarps, tents, helmets for rock climbing, ice axes, two climbing ropes, fresh and freeze-dried food, three portable gas cook stoves, pots and pans and other cooking utensils, down parkas, rain gear, flashlights, maps, and compasses.

I asked the students to go through their suitcases and take out only what was absolutely essential on the expedition, besides their warm clothes, footgear, and toiletries. I could barely suppress a laugh when Cindy, one of the four young women on the course, asked if she could bring her portable hair dryer and her make-up kit. Another student, Allison, wanted to take clothing that was more appropriate for going on a date.

Jackson came up to me as I was distributing the gear and said, “Are you really our leader? I thought we were gonna get a man.”

“Are you disappointed that your instructor is a woman?”I asked.

“Shit yeah! I don’t wanna do some wimpy course with a lady.”

“You don’t need to worry about that, Jackson,” I replied.

By the time the students packed their gear in their backpacks and stacked their suitcases in the bus, it was time for a light lunch that Outward Bound staff had prepared and sent on the bus with the students. I passed out the sandwiches and fresh fruit to the group and asked them to fill their water bottles from a 10-gallon container on the bus.

After lunch I gave the students a briefing about the five-mile hike toward the foothills of the mountains. I described the meadow where we would set up camp near a mountain stream.

The students hoisted the 50-pound packs onto their backs. Some of them needed assistance. I heard a lot of moaning and groaning as they began hiking.

After an hour, Jackson breathlessly asked, “We almost at the meadow?” I answered, “We’ve only walked about one mile at the most.” As he wiped the sweat off his forehead with his bandana, he grumbled, “Maybe I should have let the judge put me in jail instead of choosing this shit. Man, this is fucked.”

After the groaning and panting subsided and they learned to set a pace they could sustain, the students began chattering among themselves about their favorite TV shows and movies they had seen. Although they stuck to my request not to discuss anything that would reveal their identities, I realized that the chattering was keeping them from noticing their surroundings.

As soon as we took a brief rest stop, I requested that they only talk about the present moment for the next three days. They didn’t understand what I meant. I asked them to focus on what they were feeling, seeing, hearing, touching, and smelling. The ensuing silence felt refreshing—until it was punctured by complaints of fatigue, aches, and pains.

Just before sunset, the students staggered into the meadow. They took off their packs and lay sprawled out on the ground. Eventually they got up and started figuring out how to set up their tents.

I chose Jackson to share the tent with the professor. I sensed that they might learn a lot from each other. I assigned the three other men a tent designed to accommodate more people. The four women paired up in the remaining two-person tents. I set up my own one-person tent out of sight, behind a clump of bushes, about 100 feet away from the group.

While the students put up their tents and made their sleeping arrangements, I set up a makeshift kitchen and started assembling the dinner with the packets of freeze-dried meat and veggies, dried herbs and spices, rice, and a thick tahini sauce. We had freeze-dried strawberry shortcake for dessert. The students ate like they were starving. Out in the wilderness, even freeze-dried food tastes delicious.

After dinner the students refilled their water bottles with filtered stream water. I asked them to divvy up the camping food, including their own personal stash, and put the items in food bags. We used the climbing ropes to suspend the bags high off the ground, in order to avoid attracting bears to our campsite.

We ended the day sitting on the ground around the campfire, taking turns talking about our thoughts and feelings. Mandy, Cindy, and Allison expressed concern that they would not be able to complete the 23-day course. Cindy said, “If I had known that the course was this hard, there’s no way in Hell I would have agreed to participate.”

Cindy, age 22, came at her parents’ urging. She could not hold down a job more than a few months, was preoccupied with clothes, make-up, dating, and watching TV shows. Her parents wrote that she was a “lost soul” looking for some direction in life.

Mandy was a 19-year-old college dropout with an eating disorder, and about 30 pounds overweight. She had no experience in the wilderness and appeared frightened about what lay ahead on the course.

Allison, age 24, struggled with alcoholism. She came from an extremely wealthy family that bought her whatever she wanted. She still lived with her parents and never had to work. Her counselor recommended that she sign up for an OB course to help her find meaning and purpose in her life.

The three young women concluded that the course was too difficult for them. I sensed that others in the group had the same unexpressed concerns. I reassured them. “It’s too early to make conclusions. You might be surprised to find out what you’re capable of doing.” I told the young women how proud I was of them making it this far. On that positive note, we all headed to our tents and crawled into our sleeping bags.

The next morning, the air was brisk as the sun appeared on the horizon. The roaring mountain stream next to the campsite had a natural pool about five feet deep and 12 feet wide. I woke up the students and let them know that jumping into the water was an invigorating way to start the day. Bathing suits were optional. Four of the students, three men and one woman, emerged from their tents in their underwear and jumped into the icy water with loud yelps.

When all the students gathered around the kitchen area, I told them, “Each day a different student will be the designated leader, helping the group get organized for breakfast, dish washing, breaking down camp, and cleaning up our campsite. During the day of hiking, that same person will lead the group up the mountain, relying on the topographical map and compass when there are no trail markers and when we are off trail.” The students appeared to be confused about what I said.

“Jackson, you’re going to be our first student leader,” I announced.

“No way!” he protested.

I assured him that I would guide him, starting with making breakfast. Once Jackson learned that he could ask for assistance, he seemed less stressed. He and Jerome, his tent mate, worked on making breakfast and urging their fellow students to take down their tents and break camp while they waited for breakfast to be ready. Breakfast consisted of oatmeal and granola, topped with freeze-dried blueberries and reconstituted powdered milk. Jackson served each student a cup of coffee or herbal tea. I made a mental note of how much he seemed to enjoy being in charge.

After breakfast, Jackson, in his role as leader, made sure that the dishes got washed in boiled water from the stream, everyone’s water bottles got filled, and the gear packed up and ready to go. I gave a little class on how to use a map and compass for navigation. Since Jackson was the leader for the day, he would navigate us over unmarked terrain to our next campsite, a day’s hike away, near the base of the 14,000 ft. mountain that loomed over us.

During the hike, I observed the interpersonal dynamics of the group. I saw the students helping each other cross the slippery mountain streams and navigate rocky terrain. When we stopped for lunch, I heard Jackson offer to carry some of the contents of Jerome’s pack when he saw Jerome staggering from exhaustion Jackson became Jerome’s lifeline, offering a hand whenever necessary. Jerome, on the other hand, became a father figure to Jackson.

Cindy and Allison had bonded as well—in their dislike of being in the wilderness. They announced that they planned on turning around and finding a way to get back home. They listed all the things they hated about the trip, like wearing dirty clothes, having unwashed hair, digging makeshift latrines, having to sometimes use the leaves of certain plants as toilet paper in the name of low-impact camping, sleeping on the ground, hauling around a heavy backpack, hearing scary noises at night, fear of being attacked by bears and mountain lions, and missing their comfortable beds and their favorite foods. To my amazement, the rest of the group gave them earnest words of encouragement, revealing a surprising level of empathy and compassion. They eventually convinced the girls to hang in there. The group began to show the first signs of working as a team.

In the late afternoon we came to our campsite on the edge of an alpine lake. We arrived early enough to swim in the frigid water. The men took off all their clothes and dove headlong into the water. The four women left on their underwear and entered the water more cautiously. I heard lots of yelps, some of which sounded like expressions of sheer joy.

The scenery encircling our campsite struck us with its austere and majestic beauty. The students had become more aware of their surroundings and no longer needed constant reminding to return their attention to the here and now.

At every opportunity, I talked about the local geology and history of the region, as well as pointing out the names of the trees, shrubs, and the many colorful spring wildflowers. Vibrant swaths of reds and oranges created by the blooms of Indian paintbrush, and the blues and purples of the delicate columbines, bedazzled the students. Getting this kind of detailed orientation appeared to help the students feel more at home in the wilderness.

On the third day, I designated Patricia as leader of the day. Patricia, age 22, was a high achiever, top student, and a recent graduate from a well-known college. Without any outside prompting, she signed up for the OB course in order to challenge herself. A keen observer, she eagerly assumed her role as leader without needing much supervision.

The students spent most of the day learning how to rock climb on a wall of small cliffs, approximately 60 feet high. I gave a demonstration on how to tie specific kinds of knots, put on a climbing harness, use the carabiners and slings, and how to spot handholds and footholds. After I taught the students the rock climbing lingo, we donned our helmets and practiced what we had learned on the flat land until everyone felt comfortable to start climbing the rock wall—that is, everyone except Mandy. She had confessed to me at the beginning of the course that she had a deathly fear of heights. Patricia took Mandy aside and encouraged her to at least give rock climbing a try.

Mandy reluctantly agreed to give it a try on the condition that I would be the person belaying her from the top of the cliff. Jackson, without being asked, checked every one’s climbing gear before they started the climb. I hiked up to the top of the cliff, established an anchor for myself by tying one end of the rope around a nearby ponderosa pine tree, and then I threw down the rest of the 150 ft. rope. Jackson carefully scrutinized Mandy’s harness, carabiner, and knots to make sure she was securely tied into the rope.

At Mandy’s request, Jackson held onto her body as she took her first tentative moves on the wall of the cliff. When she got six feet off the ground, Jackson could no longer maintain contact. Mandy let out a little scream. Every single student cheered her on, saying repeatedly, “You can do it. Hang in there, girl. Don’t give up.” She inched her way up about three more feet and then her legs began to tremble uncontrollably and she started hyperventilating. She yelled up at me, “I can’t do this. Let me down.” She repelled to the ground and, through tears, she said, “Sorry guys, I let you down.” After Jackson untied her, the group gathered around her and told her she did a good job and at least gave rock climbing a try. She got several heartfelt hugs from both the men and the women.

Cindy went next, followed by Allison. Each of them needed constant coaching and encouragement. With great effort and lots of advice from the students on the ground, they managed to reach the top. They were both shocked that they had been able to get all the way up—in spite of their fears and limiting beliefs about themselves. One after the other, they repelled back down the little cliff. I could hear them screaming with delight. Once on the ground, I heard one of them yell up to me, “We did it!!!”

We went back to our campsite in a state of exhilaration, ate lunch, wrote in our journals, and then returned to spend the rest of the day doing more rock climbing.

By the end of the day, the students had formed a very visible bond with each other. An atmosphere of comrades-in-arms prevailed, in which the students helped each other at a moment’s notice, without any hesitation or judgment.

After dinner we sat around the campfire and discussed how the day unfolded for us. We went around the circle and listened to what each student had to say. Many thoughts and emotions bubbled to the surface. A few tears were shed—the tears that come when the heart begins to crack open. Jerome said, “I’d like to acknowledge how much Jackson has helped me. I don’t think I could have made it this far on the course without him.”

When it was Jackson’s turn to speak, he said, “Something’s going on inside me.” He struggled to express exactly what he was referring to. “It’s good, Man. It’s all good,” he assured us as he wiped away a few tears with the back of his hand. “I guess I love bossing people around,” he said with a big smile. In his own way, he told us how good it felt to be able to help other people.

After the debriefing, I acknowledged how well the students kept their promise not to reveal their identities, other than their names, over the past three days. Now they could talk about who they were in their lives back home, what motivated them to take the COBS course, what their jobs were, their ages, and what they hoped to get from the course. We went around the circle revealing our identities. Only two people chose to withhold that information—Jerome and Jackson who had become inseparable buddies, their age difference and positions in society not withstanding.

Just before we headed off to bed, Patricia asked me to reveal my identity by telling about my life before teaching for Outward Bound. I briefly summarized my adult life, and wrapped up by saying that I was still searching for my life’s purpose. I said that I wanted to use my strengths to make a meaningful difference in people’s lives by helping empower them to be their best selves. Patricia said, “Well, it looks like you’re doing exactly that with us.” Heads nodded in agreement. After a long silence, we put out the campfire and went to bed.

On the fourth day, at the students’ request, we did more rock climbing in the morning and then took the rest of the day off to write in our journals and do whatever else we wanted. Jerome and Jackson took a short hike together. Each student had a whistle to use if they faced any danger or got lost.

On the fifth day, I designated Mandy as our leader. The thought of leading the group created intense anxiety for her. With constant coaching by me, and with encouragement from the group, Mandy began to feel more secure. I asked Jackson to teach her how to use the map and compass to guide us to our day’s destination. The students treated her with kindness and patience. By the time we reached our campsite, Mandy was in full control of her leadership position and did a perfect job with making the dinner and rounding up help with the dishes.

We spent the evening around the campfire reviewing the events of the day and sharing our thoughts and feelings. Mandy confessed that the first days on the course she had intense cravings for sodas, junk food, and anything sugary, but that she had finally overcome those symptoms of withdrawal and was feeling better than she had in years. We ended the evening singing popular songs and telling ghost stories.

The following day we stayed at our campsite and learned wilderness first aid. The students were eager to learn how to respond to various unanticipated major and minor disasters. I loved teaching these skills, many of which I learned during a wilderness first aid course I took in Boulder, Colorado.

Jerome wanted to know what we would do if someone had a heart attack in the mountains. I think he might have been worried about that possibility, given his age and our strenuous activity. I had felt reassured when I read in the paperwork that he had a full cardiac evaluation before signing up for the OB course. I reminded him of this fact and also let him know that, in the unlikely event of a heart attack, I would radio for help to the OB staff in Crestone and request immediate help with evacuation. I also reassured him that I was trained in CPR.

Besides addressing Jerome’s question, I taught the students how to deal with an extensive range of common conditions, including altitude sickness, heat stroke, frostbite, concussions, lacerations, food poisoning, and fractures needing immobilization and evacuation. We jerry-rigged stretchers by using two long poles from young aspen tree trunks that I cut down with my little axe. We threaded the poles through the sleeves of a few of our jackets. The students also learned how to carry an injured person if there was no one else available to help. I had no idea that I would soon be using that technique with a student on the course.

On the following day we slowly hiked along a very steep and arduous switchback trail that wound up the side of a mountain. In the distance we could see the rocky pass we needed to cross in order to get to our designated campsite on the other side.

When we were about 100 feet below the pass, Mandy said she could not keep going. Her fear of heights immobilized her, especially after she glanced down the steep slope we had walked up. “I cannot cross that ridge to the other side. Just looking at it makes me feel sick, like I’m going to vomit or pass out.”

No amount of encouragement changed her mind. I had to make a decision about what to do. After a few minutes of reflection, I put down my pack and pulled out the climbing gear. I gave Jackson the rope and asked if he would be comfortable anchoring himself into a boulder at the top of the pass and belaying Mandy up the mountain. He eagerly accepted the task. After clipping Mandy into one end of the rope, Jackson took the rest of the uncoiling rope to the top of the pass and set himself up for the belay.

I pondered what to do about Mandy’s backpack. Johnny read my mind and offered to go to the top of the pass, drop his pack, and return to pick up hers.

I asked Patricia to lead the rest of the students over the pass and down the other side where she would see a large, grassy ledge. I instructed them to wait there for Mandy, Jackson, and me to join them.

Mandy still refused to budge. After my many failed attempts to change her mind, she finally agreed to let me carry her on my back up to the pass. I was uncertain if I could pull this off, given that Mandy was significantly heavier than me.

I put on my harness and clipped myself into the rope, creating an improvised arrangement that included both of us being on belay. I signaled to Jackson to take up the slack.

After Jackson yelled, “ON BELAY,” I hoisted Mandy’s heavy body diagonally across my back and right shoulder in a fireman’s carry. With sheer will power and a rush of fear-induced adrenaline, I managed to slowly move along the steep and narrow trail, one step in front of the other, with my heart racing and gasping for air. Mandy whimpered continuously, certain she was going to die.

When we got safely to the top of the pass, I gently lowered Mandy onto solid ground and untied her. After a short crying spell from pent up tension, Mandy looked down the other side where the students were waiting for us. She said the trail down to them was too steep. Jackson managed to talk her into letting him rappel her down to the less steep area.

When she landed on the grassy ledge, the group clapped and cheered. Mandy got hugs from all her fellow students. She smiled through her tears.

Jackson retrieved my backpack then climbed back up to the pass and down the other side. The students gave Jackson kudos worthy of a hero. He diverted the focus from himself and moved it back to Mandy. He said in a brotherly way, “Girl, I’m so proud of you. You looked that fearful demon right in the eye. Yes you did.”

After a short rest, we continued to drop down into a stunningly beautiful bowl-shaped basin, created by a former glacier. We headed over to the alpine lake with pristine, turquoise-colored water and set up camp.

Around the campfire that night, many of the students, both the men and the women, got choked up as they shared their feelings of joy, accomplishment, and the ability to overcome their fears. They were not only proud of themselves, but proud of their fellow team members. I had to wipe away a few tears. The encouragement and compassion the students showed each other moved me deeply.

Surprisingly, they showed empathy for me as well, acknowledging how scary it must have been to carry Mandy up the steep slope to the top of the pass. I believed in being transparent with the students and admitted that I had some scary thoughts going up to the pass.

A long moment of silent reflection occurred spontaneously. Johnny, a strikingly handsome 26-year-old bartender in search of a more meaningful path in life, broke the silence. “Mandy’s amazing act of courage in facing her fear inspires me and gives me the courage to make a confession to the group: I am gay. I just recently came out of the closet to my parents. My father practically disowned me.”

Jackson spoke up, “Man, you think we didn’t know? Does it really matter to us who you have sex with? We love you, brother. You’re just fine the way you are.” Heads nodded in agreement while the tears flowed. As though on cue, everyone stood up and walked over to Johnny to give him a big, group hug.

After another long silence as we stared at the flames of the campfire, Luc spoke up, saying he didn’t realize how good it felt to be part of a team and to help each other out. He said he was thinking about joining the French Foreign Legion so he could fight with other soldiers for justice and freedom from tyranny. It wasn’t clear whether he was serious or being his usual humorous self.

Allison and Cindy, the young women who had initially wanted to quit and go home, expressed to the group their surprise that they had been able endure thus far the many challenges on the course. They began to understand that they were capable of far more than they ever imagined. They both admitted that they were proud of themselves and couldn’t wait to tell their family and friends about the course.

Cindy marveled that she could carry everything she needed on her back. She said that when she got home, she was going to donate at least half her wardrobe to Goodwill. She confessed how freeing it was not to use makeup on the course and to just be herself.

Tim, a quiet and reserved 18-year-old young man, always observing and attentive, spoke next. “I haven’t talked much on this course. I’m not very outgoing. But, I’m really inspired by everyone’s willingness to be open with each other and share on such a deep and heartfelt level. So, I want to share with you something about myself. I come from a blue-collar, working class family living just above the poverty level. I worked hard in school and got a merit scholarship to attend Stanford in the fall. I also got a monetary award for graduating from high school near the top of my class. I used that award money to pay for this Outward Bound course. This has been the best investment I could have made. I have learned so much from all of you. Thank you.” Tim choked up as he spoke.

I was surprised when I looked at my watch. It was way past our usual bedtime.

Outward Bound–Part II will follow shortly.