Weathering the Uncertainty
With the COVID-19 pandemic plaguing the world, reflecting on my past wilderness expeditions brings about lessons that I learned.
In 2014, I was fortunate enough to join the staff of North Carolina Outward Bound School (NCOBS). Before being hired, we went through a rigorous 12-day expedition that was meant to challenge us and test our skillset.
For those that know me now—or that have gotten to know me over the past few years—they’ll already know that I have spent a lot of time working in the wilderness with staff and youth alike. However, before this 12-day expedition in 2014, I had literally only pitched a tent a handful of times. When I was asked in my NCOBS interview about my outdoor skills, I pretty much said none, but I was open to learning. As it turned out, an open mind was all that was necessary to help get over that hump.
By the end of the expedition, I felt an overwhelming feeling of accomplishment. It was fun, frightening, challenging, and probably one of the biggest obstacles I ever conquered. Upon returning, I phoned home to tell my parents that if I ever had a kid, then he or she would certainly go on one of these trips.
Nowadays, there is so much uncertainty. Like you, I check the news nearly hourly. And, like you, I still don’t have all the answers amid this pandemic. All I can tell you is I’ve never read the word “unprecedented” so many times before.
With the news taking on different angles and with the day-by-day change in our environment, it reminded me of a story I was told on my 12-day expedition.
NCOBS has been around for a long time. In fact, they were running programs on that fateful day we call 9/11. As panic spread among the US community and internationally, there were unbeknownst staff and kids canoeing their way through Florida. Obviously the program reached out to the parents of the children on the trips and they informed the staff teams of what had taken place. And yet, the program was actually quite surprised about the response of both the parents and the staff: Nearly all of the staff and the kids—with parent permission, of course—chose to stay in the wilderness and complete their trip. The staff was given resources and advice on how to broach the topic and open up the uncertainty with their kids. In the end, the staff felt as if it brought the group together.
Outside of NCOBS, the US looked similar. Patriotic displays were more pronounced and people were seemingly hard-nosed about letting the tragedy defeat us. Certainly, there is a lot more that came afterward. And, whether you stand on the right or left likely defines how you believe we handled the tragedy in the years that followed. Putting that aside, though, it was clear that the initial reaction was unity.
Yet, much to my dismay, this pandemic has seemingly done the opposite. A virus has no face, only a name, and it isn’t a treacherous name on the outside. It attacks everyone: the old, the young, the poor, and the rich. It doesn’t discriminate. Our anger and our nerves are heightened, but we have no one to be angry at and nothing, as it stands, to quell our nerves. We are more uncertain than ever and more at risk than we thought, even if scientists were telling us for years about this inevitability.
But, despite that bleak outlook, no one is giving up. Despite our prominent US leader misguiding us, people are still going to find a way to help us return to normal. It will just have to take time.
Because of that time and with more than 500 days weathering the uncertainty in the wilderness, I thought I would reflect on a few simple lessons I learned in the wild. My hopes are that these lessons don’t seem that outlandish or new. In fact, my hopes are that you have already come to know these things and are actively implementing them anyway.
If they’re new, though, well then I’m glad to have shared them.
Accountability
Accountability is a term we’re probably all accustomed to hearing. It’s something I find that our leaders lack, at times. But, I wanted to share a story when I learned the importance of saying, “Whoops, I messed up.”
When working on the ocean in southeast Alaska, the weather is extremely variable. As a guide, I was supposed to do a few things to ensure safety before heading out on the water.
First, we listened to the weather on the radio to hear wave size and what the day and future days were calling for. Admittedly, this was a skill that took me a long time to develop and I had to have a lot of practice with learning.
Next, we used our eyes. Duh, Andrew, that’s like the most obvious thing. But, yes, we’re supposed to look out on the water and see what the water looks like from our perspective.
Lastly, and most importantly, we have to judge our group dynamics. Is the group getting along? Do they have the skills to paddle in this water? Are my co-guides new to paddling on the ocean or do they have lots of experience? What is your gut telling you?
During my first year at Alaska Crossings, I was the head guide of a group of boys far down on Etolin Island, which is only a way to tell you that we were really, really far away from Wrangell where help could come from, if necessary.
It was day 40 or 41 of a 44-day shift. I was relatively new and both my co-guides were definitely new. So let’s go on down the list.
First, the radio: It told us that the swells were big—if I can recall correctly, approximately five to seven feet near ocean entrances. They were only to be increasing throughout the day. There was a small craft advisory near ocean entrances. I can tell you a canoe is definitely a small craft.
Second, what were my eyes telling me? At this particular spot on Etolin Island, we were in a vast bay, our maps showed us that there was steep topography in the direction we needed to head that day, which meant nowhere to stop and pull-off without some threat of jagged rocks and places to actually park. Looking out to the water, it was relatively flat in our bay and seemingly choppy just outside of the walled protection of the bay. Nothing was crashing heavily enough that immediately deterred my thinking.
Lastly, how was the group doing? This was an uncertain group, to say the least. They were volatile with each other and sometimes the staff, but we could corral them when we needed. Also, it was our last paddling day before they were to go through the graduation process, no one wanted to go out by stalling and sitting through the storm. As well, I made a rookie mistake earlier in the shift and guaranteed everyone would stern a canoe before graduating. One of our weakest paddlers was left and I didn’t want to break my promise.
Now, I know the information I just gave you—and if any of my Crossings friends are reading this then I’m sure that they’re cackling at all of my combined mistakes—but, I decided to go ahead with the day as planned. We loaded up our gear and pushed out onto the water.
I’ll spare some of the details because, at this time, they are unimportant to the story, but of course, the boat that flipped over was the one with the weakest paddler that I promised could stern. And, it happened almost the moment we got out of the protected bay. As dire as it looked and as frightening as it was, our team came together and helped return the boat to normal and bail the water out of it. We paddled back to our original shore, unloaded in a timely manner, dressed our two wet friends in new dry clothes, and started a raging, wet fire.
All was well.
But, as protocol, I needed to phone in to explain the boat flip and relay the necessary information so the other end could do their due diligence in reporting this kind of incident.
As I was questioned about the whole thing, plus how we were actively solving the problem, I finally was asked the ultimate, unnerving question, “How did this happen?”
I actually laughed, which is something I quite often do when I’m flabbergasted. Then I said, “Dude, I just made a terrible mistake.”
There was a bit more digging but ultimately what it came down to was I made the wrong call—and we were fortunate it wasn’t any worse. I expected a reprimand of some sort, to be honest. But, lo and behold, none really came. Instead, by accepting my part and acknowledging my oversight, my supervisor, in turn, knew I had learned the biggest lesson already. To punish me further would have proven to be a detriment as I already learned the lesson. And, believe me, from then on I always looked a bit more carefully at those preceding questions.
Years later, I worked in a position that helped train new guides to the program. I didn’t mince any words when I told them about this failure. In all honesty, when new guides would ask me if I had ever been in any boat flips, I’d tell them that story. When they asked what I had learned I’d say, “Oh, I just fucked up so badly and it was totally my fault.”
I’d like to think that it was a quick lesson in accountability: You’re in a place where you can make mistakes, but more importantly, it’s a place you can learn from them if you let yourself.
Empathy
I hope empathy is something that you embrace everyday whether with a partner, spouse, friend, neighbor, or stranger even. And, I’m sure, you’re utilizing empathy more than you realize throughout the day.
I could pinpoint a countless number of times in which I used empathy when working in the wilderness. In general, if you weren’t empathetic then you didn’t usually last long in the field. So, I could recount all the times that I used it or I could explain two different circumstances that may help when thinking about empathy. I’m going to choose the latter as I’m not trying to write a novel even with all the newfound free time.
I worked at a lot of different programs across the US over the years. With that, I met kids from all backgrounds, races, ages, sexes, classes, etc. Some were well-off and had desperate parents who cared deeply about them. Some were poor and cast aside like a forgotten stuffed animal. Some were right in the middle with parents who had faults of their own.
In all these jobs, I’ve worked under confidentiality, which basically means that if I give away any details that can help you figure out who this kid is then I’m not necessarily doing my job well. Because of that, I have to spare some details, but I’ll do my best to paint a picture.
For this, I’ll label these two kids as Kid A and Kid B. (Please note that these two stories can be particularly agonizing, so if you’re not ready to read then please skip ahead.)
Kid A was from a bustling city; it has skyscrapers, trains, taxis, you name it. The prospects of a good education are right there in town whether high school or college. Kid A’s parents were ostensibly fantastic people; they were involved, they cared, they wanted the best for Kid A. Kid A’s grandparents were also involved—and had a business in which money would be of no concern for anyone for at least a few generations.
Kid B was from a small town on a small island. Kid B’s community was poor, but they subsisted by working together. Kid B had a caring mom, many siblings, and aunts and uncles. Kid B’s school wasn’t much fun; Kid B was teased a lot. Kid B’s father was around for a while until one day when Kid B’s father handed Kid B a note and said, “Give this to mom.” Kid B later found Kid B’s father in the garage; he had hanged himself.
Prior to knowing either Kid A or Kid B, I read their files with what had happened to them, which was written from their perspective. Just seeing two kids on paper gives me an idea of what is happening, but it is never the full story.
Both Kid A and Kid B came to me in drastically different circumstances. For Kid A, it would have been easy for me to assume that everything was okay—just look at that background!—but it wasn’t. Kid A was depressed, lacked confidence and direction, and didn’t know where to turn. Kid A lacked connection with his family despite them being seemingly open for feedback and honesty. As it turned out, Kid A’s parents misunderstood him greatly and weren’t as seemingly open as the paper suggested.
Kid B was strong, powerful, and mentally tough. Kid B took pride in his ability to accomplish tasks at hand and he had a calm demeanor when under control. Kid B lacked any sort of coping mechanism when he thought about father, though. He lashed out, physically, and wanted to hurt anyone—including himself—when he couldn’t handle the uncertainty. By the end, though, Kid B was honest with Kid B’s mother and told her things that Kid B hadn’t before. Kid B’s mother was truly open to learning more and was incredibly supportive. Kid B walked away with confidence, leadership, and the skills to calm himself down on his own.
Both Kid A and Kid B have faces I’ll never forget.
Much like this virus, mental health issues don’t discriminate. They don’t care who you are or where you come from. Perhaps the only thing they can do—when you’re ready—is to open your eyes to your inner strength and resiliency, but that takes a long time and lots of help.
Both Kid A and Kid B have the ability to empathize with each other. If they both took some sort of truth serum, they would recognize more of their similarities than differences. Although I said earlier that this virus hasn’t united us, I don’t think that the virus is to blame; I think our outlook about the virus and this epidemic is what needs to change. And, I believe, only with empathy can we recognize the similarities we all face.
Courage
Working in the wilderness with kids is like running a marathon. Except, instead of just you running 26.2 miles, you’re also dragging along nine kids who are also running and who usually don’t want to be there past mile one. It’s like a classic, real-life example of The Tortoise and the Hare: Slow and steady truly does win the race.
Whether the shifts were 8-days or 44-days long, there was only a finite amount of certainty in any given period. I can legitimately discern three certainties: I was going to eat, sleep, and shit at least every given day. Whether I’d eat all the meals at the right time or get enough to fill me was up in the air. Whether I’d get 11 hours of sleep or four was always in question. And, whether I shit once or twice would be up to the chef that day.
All the uncertainty on my end was up to the kids and their behaviors. Some days moved like clockwork and the kids practically did everything at hand, on their own, with little supervision. Some days everyone woke up in a funk, including me, and we wouldn’t move more than 100 feet between our tarps and cooking area unless we had to chase someone down a beach.
In the face of the unknown, everything boiled down to building courage. With the next day being so up in the air, we—and I include the kids in this—had to be immensely courageous to get up every day and face it.
Now, our world is on ice and facing the unknown. For all of us, we’ve never faced anything like this before unless you’re 102-years-old and can miraculously remember the 1918 flu pandemic. Everyone is developing their own courage and everyone is developing it at either the pace of the tortoise or the hare. Each day into the crisis, we’re learning new things, developing resiliency, and finding new ways to stay connected and sane. And some of us are taking longer than others.
That’s okay; that’s where the other skills come in handy.
At the end of this marathon, with all of us barreling towards the finish line, we’ll be stronger—even if we wanted to quit at mile one because we have no choice but to be stronger. That courage will go on for generations after this as will the empathy and accountability.
But, it is up to us whether we’ve got the guts to face it and if we’re willing to let this thing tear us apart or unite us for the better. Now more than ever it seems, we have the power to demand quality leadership and let our unification be a lasting attribute to our world and society.
In the face of uncertainty, our only choice is to step towards the unknown.