As the days progressed, we moved higher up the side of a massive mountain called Kit Carson. Our gradual ascent in stages, on circuitous routes far off the beaten path, allowed the students to become well acclimatized to the altitude and get into shape physically. No one showed any signs of altitude sickness.

Several days into the course, we came to a large snow and ice field, the remnant of a former glacier. On this icy expanse I taught the students a new set of skills that included roping up as a team, kick stepping to secure one’s footing in the crusty snow, and proper use of the ice axe. We made large switchbacks as we ascended the slope. The part of the day the students enjoyed the most was glissading down the slope, using their bodies as a toboggan, and then self-arresting by slamming the pick of the ice axe into the hardened snow. I heard lots of squeals of delight.

Luc made about a dozen snowballs the size of baseballs and stacked them in his backpack. When I asked him what he was doing, he said he was going to use the snowballs to clean himself. He said he didn’t like using “toilet paper plants” and smooth little stones to clean his behind, and then having to sanitize his hands afterwards. He said using snowballs was more hygienic and had no impact on the environment. Luc had a great idea but by the time we reached our campsite, the snowballs had melted in his pack. Fortunately, Luc had a good sense of humor.

The following day we hiked along a stream with a series of waterfalls to a pristine alpine lake at around 11,000 ft. A palpable feeling of awe and reverence came over all of us as we surveyed our spectacular surroundings, with views of Kit Carson Mountain, Crestone Needle, and Crestone Peak looming over us like giant sentinels. I suggested that we put down our packs and sit in silence for a few minutes to take in the wondrous scene surrounding us.

Our meditative session ended abruptly when we heard a loud clatter and sounds of falling rocks. We looked up and saw a large bighorn sheep descending a rocky area above us. The magnificent animal stopped on a flat, oblong granite rock and stared at us. We stared back, mesmerized by the ram’s elegant stature with his massive brown horns curled around the sides of his face.

We spent the rest of the day exploring the area, setting up camp, followed by a long discussion regarding the next day’s ascent of Kit Carson Mountain. I assured the group that they had learned to work well as a team, and that they had the stamina and the altitude adaptation to reach the summit. The most difficult part of the climb would be the loose rocks and patches of snow and ice that could cause us to slip and fall, especially on the descent.

Patricia asked me what I personally did to deal with fear and anxiety. I demonstrated a simple breathing technique, which involves prolonging the length of the inspirations and exhalations. Slowing the breath calms the nervous system, a fact well known by gurus all the way back to ancient times.

To test out the system, I asked the students to think of a frightening scene in front of them. First I asked them to breathe hard and fast with shallow breaths as they contemplated the imaginary scene. Then I asked them to change to deep, slow breathing and see what happens. I also shared with them a special kind of yogic breathing called pranayama.

The students continued to ask for more tips for controlling their fear. The most useful one I could think of was to put one’s full focus on the present moment—in this case, it would mean focusing on putting one foot in front of the other.

I asked Mandy if she would like to stay in camp and not participate in the summit climb. To everyone’s utter amazement, Mandy said she wanted to go with us to the top. She said she was tired of living in fear. The group praised her decision.

We unanimously decided not to have a fire circle and, instead, go straight to bed.

I woke the students up at 4 am. Getting up in the dark would normally be challenging, but the students were so full of anticipatory excitement, they hardly slept during the night. With their headlamps on, they got dressed, filled their water bottles, and got their gear ready to go. I made coffee for everyone.

In our daypacks we put plenty of snacks and two water bottles, a headlamp, sunglasses, warm clothing, our map and compass and our cameras. I carried the rope and first aid kit. We donned our helmets and our bright yellow Helly Hansen rain gear in case of inclement weather. Rainstorms frequently occurred in the mountains in the afternoon, and sometimes snowstorms occurred in early spring at that altitude.

By 5 a.m. we were en route to the summit, 3,000 feet above us.

We paired up so that each person had a buddy. Mandy asked to pair with me. I resumed my role as leader of the day, setting a slow but steady pace. I asked Jackson to walk in the rear and make sure no one had a problem that needed addressing.

In complete silence, we walked with our headlamps illuminating the well-traveled switchbacks. When the sun rose on the horizon we stopped to eat our power bar breakfast, hydrate, and check in with each other. The students were enthusiastic and slightly apprehensive at the same time.

After a couple of hours we reached the steep, slippery section with lots of loose rocks. I often had to hold Mandy’s hand or arm to steady her gait. She had made a commitment not to look down the mountain and just keep her eyes looking forward. She was terrified, but determined to keep going. I reminded her to practice the special breathing technique.

I asked the students to stay close together so that if someone dislodged a rock we would know immediately and take action to get out of its way before it gained momentum.

We reached the summit just before noon. After group hugs and lots of jubilation, we sat down and once more I requested a moment of silence as we took in the spectacular views from the top of Kit Carson Mountain. We could see the summits of all the surrounding mountains, and we even caught a glimpse of the Great Sand Dunes.

After we ate our lunches, I reminded the students of the need to get off the mountain before the predictable afternoon mountain rain and possible lightning storm set in, which would make our descent very precarious.

The descent was much more difficult and tedious than the ascent. Each step had to be placed with one’s fully focused attention in order not to slip. I told the students that what they were doing was a form of mindfulness meditation. Barely a word was spoken.

I made sure that if someone dislodged a rock, they had to loudly yell, “ROCK,” so that the people below could get out of the way. There were times when Mandy was so frightened, she sat down and inched her way down on her bottom.

In the late afternoon, just as we reached the safety of the switchbacks, the sky darkened and let loose torrents of hard driving rain. We arrived back at our campsite in the late afternoon, after the downpour had subsided. The students suggested that we all help out to make an early dinner and then go to bed. Most of them were too tired to participate in our usual fire circle debriefing.

The next morning the students were in a celebratory mood, but their bodies looked stiff as they walked around the campsite. I offered to teach them some simple yoga poses, like the downward facing dog, that would help stretch out their muscles and loosen up their joints. This little class was so popular that some of the students did a shortened version every morning for the rest of the expedition.

As we ate our breakfast someone pointed out three deer among the trees. They were looking at us as though they were curious about what we were doing. After breakfast we had a short debriefing of our summit climb. The students repeatedly praised Mandy for her bravery. The only regret they expressed was that they forgot to take pictures with their cameras because, as one person said, “We were deeply focused on the present moment.”

The rest of the day the students spent swimming, unabashedly naked, in the pristine alpine lake, taking little walks in the surrounding forest, and writing in their journals. Tim and Johnny walked above timberline to look for more bighorn sheep. Instead, they saw lots of pika, small rodent-like mammals with rounded ears that live in wind-swept alpine areas. They make high-pitched squeaky sounds to alert others of predators. The pika share their habitats with marmots, which are the size of a large, furry cat. Tim and Johnny discussed the possibility of trying to catch one of the marmots sitting on a rock in the sun. They both were starved for fresh meat.

At fire circle that evening, I spoke about mountains being a metaphor for the unavoidable challenges we all face throughout our lives. “You will inevitably encounter lots of scary mountains in the form of health challenges, relationship problems, financial hardship, and anything else that seems daunting and overwhelming. You can think back on the time you climbed these mountains in spite of your fears and the limiting beliefs about what you were capable of doing.”

I went on to say, “Watching all of you on this course reminds me of my own journey to overcoming my inner demons and distorted views of myself. I climbed some very high mountains in South America. Those mountains were symbols for me. Like you are doing on this course, I learned a lot about myself.” The students asked if I would talk more about my life. They asked me endless questions. We talked far into the night, long after the campfire had died out. The chilly night air eventually made us retreat into our tents.

We spent the following two days wending our way through forests on unmarked trails until we reached the base of Crestone Needle, yet another one of the many 14,000 ft. mountains in the area. The group, including Mandy, expertly navigated the seemingly endless gully, full of loose rocks and patches of snow and ice. Some of the students shouted for joy when we reached the summit. We stood in silent reverence for at least 15 minutes as we soaked in the grandeur.

While we ate our lunch the sky suddenly became dark and the temperature dropped precipitously. We cut our lunch short and immediately headed down the mountain. The descent was significantly more difficult than the climb up the gully. We had to be mindful of every step we took. When we had descended halfway down the gully, snow began to fall, propelled by fierce winds. We found a small, flat area behind a large boulder where we huddled together until the wind subsided and the visibility improved.

We arrived back at camp cold and tired. Patricia shook uncontrollably, and showed signs of hypothermia. Jerome offered to make hot soup for her. I asked her tent mate, Mandy, to help Patricia warm up by zipping their sleeping bags together, and for Mandy to hold Patricia in a full body embrace while in the sleeping bags. With the hot soup and the heat from Mandy’s body, Patricia recovered quickly.

While looking for wood to make a campfire, I saw two piles of bear poop near our tents, as well as the tracks of bighorn sheep.

At the fire circle, after the students checked in with how they were doing, I suggested that they tell a short story about their prior lives. Jerome spoke first. He said that he was finally ready to reveal to the group who he was in his former life. When he said he was a 60-year-old, recently retired professor of math at MIT, the students looked stunned. He said that he had spent very little time in his life doing outdoor activities, had never been in the wilderness, and never carried a backpack. He said that this OB course was one of the most physically and psychologically challenging experiences he had ever had.

The students responded to Jerome’s revelation in amazement that he had the courage to come on this course with mostly young people. They praised him for not giving up during the times he felt he couldn’t go on.

Johnny said, “Professor, I’m sure it took a lot of guts to sign up for this expedition.”

During Jerome’s revelations, he expressed once again how deeply grateful he was to Jackson for all of his help and encouragement. He said he hoped that the two of them would remain lifelong friends.

When it was Jackson’s turn to reveal his identity, he described his chaotic and gut-wrenching life as a young child with abusive, alcoholic, and impoverished parents. The group listened spellbound as he described with unfiltered honesty the antisocial activities he had engaged in and all the harm he had done to people and property.

Jackson said that he hadn’t wanted to talk earlier about his past because he felt he would be judged harshly and not given a chance. He said how grateful he was to the judge who saw his potential and offered an alternative to jail.

During the course, Jackson had an epiphany. He said, “I didn’t realize how good it feels to be a leader and help people out. I really want to help the kids in my neighborhood get out of gang life and do something meaningful. Someday I’m gonna open my own version of an Outward Bound school and offer courses for gang members who want a different life for themselves. It doesn’t hurt to dream big.”

Jerome spoke up and said that he would like to help him get through high school and college and was willing to personally tutor him if necessary. He said he would also help him strategize and find the funding to open his own outdoor school.

The next morning, after breakfast, we packed up our gear, making sure to leave the campsite as pristine as we found it, with no trace of our presence. We had a long hike ahead of us into a neighboring valley where we would set up camp next to a fast flowing creek.

During one of our rest stops en route, I introduced the students to a part of the OB course called the “Solo,” in which each student remains completely alone for three days, making no contact with anyone unless there was an emergency. The students could take with them in their backpacks a tarp, sleeping bag and pad, a water bottle, iodine tablets, toiletries, warm clothes, rain gear, a headlamp, a whistle, a journal and a pen—and that’s it. No food.

“What? We’re going to be all alone and fast for three days? No food? You’ve got to be kidding!” Allison was incredulous. For the rest of the hike I heard anxiety-laden speculation among the students about the upcoming Solo.

After we arrived at our campsite beside the creek, we ate dinner and then sat around the campfire to discuss the Solo experience. To my surprise, Jackson seemed the most fearful. He was afraid of being alone in total silence. He said he had never been totally alone in his entire life. He asked what he should do if a bear came to his campsite. I reassured him that there would be no food to attract the bears.

Mandy was the one most afraid of going without food for three days and wondered if she could do it. She had never gone more than a few hours without eating.

Tim asked what purpose the Solo served. I shared with him and the others my view of the Solo as a time to become inwardly still and reflect on one’s life, without distractions.

The students wrote in their journals the topics I suggested for them to ponder: What have you learned about yourself from this course? What inner strengths did you discover you have? What would you like to change about yourself? What is meaningful to you and makes you feel good about yourself? Do you see a purpose for your life? What would you like to accomplish in the future?

The next morning, after their coffee, the students prepared for their departure. One by one, I brought the students to their designated sites next to the creek. No one could see each other. On the trail I made a cairn with a little pile of rocks to indicate where I needed to turn to locate each student’s solo site. I let the students know that if they needed my help, and it wasn’t an emergency, they could leave a note under one of the stones. If they had an emergency, I instructed them to blow their whistle three times and then repeat the series.

After I had placed all nine students on their solo sites, I returned to the campsite. I decided that I would do my own modified version of a solo as an act of solidarity with my students, including fasting. I got out my journal and spent much of the day writing about the OB course. I also followed the advice I gave to my students and wrote what I learned about myself and where my strengths and weaknesses lay. And, as I often did, I pondered the ultimate purpose of my life.

In the middle of the day and again in the late afternoon I checked up on each student. I silently approached their sites and stood within viewing distance to make sure they were all right.

Back at the campsite, I set up my pad and sleeping bag on a little patch of grass. I left my tent in my backpack because I preferred sleeping outside under the stars.

Before going to bed, I confess that I lowered one of the food bags suspended from the branch of a nearby tree and took out the jar of honey. I took my special hand-carved wooden spoon and dipped it into the honey jar, then slowly and blissfully licked the honey off the spoon, feeling very guilty about my behavior.

A few drops of honey fell onto the end of my sleeping bag. I licked the area, and then wiped it with a damp cloth. I put the jar back in the food bag and re-suspended it from the branch. Then I brushed my teeth, rinsed my mouth, and crawled inside my sleeping bag.

In the early morning, while sleeping, I felt something moving the end of my sleeping bag where my feet were. I opened my eyes and lifted up my head. In the pale moonlight I saw a young black bear licking the place where I had spilled a few drops of honey. He looked up at me nonchalantly, and then he turned around and slowly lumbered toward the creek.

The three days passed quickly. I picked up the students in the afternoon of the third day and walked with them back to camp. We spent the rest of the afternoon and evening around the campfire, sharing our intimate thoughts, feelings, aspirations, and intentions.

Some people read to the group what they wrote in their journals. Mandy filled her journal with mouth-watering recipes along with her thoughts about how she wanted to channel her food addiction problems into running a restaurant and making exceptional culinary experiences for the customers. She learned from the course that she was braver than she realized and could overcome her fears—including the fear of starting her own business.

On the subject of food addiction, I confessed to the group what I did with the honey and the subsequent encounter with the young bear that licked my sleeping bag. The group thought the story was hilarious. Johnny said he was relieved to hear that I wasn’t perfect.

Jerome said that whatever he decided to do in his retirement, it had to be something meaningful that made a difference in young people’s lives. He made a commitment in his mind to help Jackson eventually achieve his dream.

Jackson said that the first day of the solo was Hell. Being totally alone in complete silence was one of the scariest things he had ever done. He was proud of himself that he didn’t blow the whistle and was able to breathe through his fear. He said to himself, “If Mandy can make it to the top of two mountains, then I can make it through these three days.”

Jackson had big plans for himself, his family, and his community. His first goal was to write a personal letter to the judge, thanking him for believing that he had the potential to turn his life around.

Every one of the students had a powerful experience being alone for three days on the solo. I knew that the bond between them was so strong, that some of the friendships would continue long after they returned home.

The course was rapidly coming to a close. On the two-day hike out of the wilderness, we passed a sheep ranch. Johnny made an outlandish request. He said he was starved for some good meat and suggested we ask the rancher to sell us two legs of lamb we could roast over the fire. The idea sounded intriguing. I found a $20 bill in my pocket and hoped it would be enough to get what we wanted. The rancher agreed to butcher a lamb and sell us two legs of lamb. I asked the students to watch the rancher butcher the lamb so that they would know exactly what’s involved when eating meat. For some, the process was eye-opening and thought-provoking. For others it was repulsive to watch the lamb being slaughtered. Patricia said she was never going to eat meat ever again.

We roasted the lamb meat over our campfire. Everyone ate a piece of the lamb, including Patricia.

It was our last evening together before we said goodbye to each other the next day. At the time of departure, there wasn’t a dry eye to be found. There were long, heartfelt hugs and last minute exchanges of addresses and phone numbers and promises to stay in touch.

I waved as the bus drove away. Strong emotions filled me with a mixture of both exhilaration and tearful sadness. I felt like a mother, waving goodbye to her children as they go off to college after graduating from high school.

It wasn’t long before I began receiving letters from the parents of the students. Cindy’s mother wrote a letter that expressed a common reaction that I heard repeatedly from other parents: “What did you do to my daughter? She’s a different person—very grown up. She helps around the house and is polite. She actually treats her family with respect!!!! She’s even talking about starting her own charitable business repurposing her used clothing to help poor people.”

The OB course was not just about wilderness survival and climbing big mountains. Those activities were vehicles for personal growth, learning how to work as a team supporting each other, developing empathy and compassion, discovering what one is capable of doing, and how to make a difference in the world.

About a dozen former students I taught over three summers kept in touch with me for more than a decade, letting me know the various ways the OB course had impacted them. One woman even sent me a copy of her journal entries on her course, as well as copies of the photos she took.

After my first course instructing, I wondered if my ultimate purpose in life was to teach for Outward Bound.