Sailing, Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love Camping

It was another windy night at sea. We were three days into our sailing trip, and my shift on anchor watch was not going well. Storms were looming to the south, and I was praying that they stayed there. Waking everyone up in the middle of the night to get into lightning positions was not something I was looking forward to. The past couple of days had gone reasonably well, but my mind was racing with thoughts of doom and gloom and thunder and lighting as the boat rocked beneath me. I could not shake away the dread.

Then I heard a splash to my right followed by a sound I immediately identified as a breath from a blowhole. The first porpoise disappeared under the water before I could see it, but then the second one surfaced. In the moonlight, I could see the shape of the porpoise as it surfaced and breathed before continuing its evening journeys. Mere feet from me, close enough that I could have reached out and touched them as they swam by, two innocent animals changed everything. Suddenly this brief encounter with nature's majesty broke the mesmerism. Now I was back to seeing the beauty around me: the nearly full moon looming low in the sky, the stars peeking through the clouds, the boundary islands covered in thick pine, and the signs that the storm was going to stay to the south and everything was going to be alright.

After that Tuesday night, even when more literal and figurative storms hit us, my spirit could not be broken. My Outward Bound experience was simply spectacular. I had survived camping on a 30 foot lifeboat with seven high school juniors and three fantastic instructors. My life will never be the same.

Before entering the classroom full-time, I had been a camp counselor and outdoor educator. I still love working with students outdoors. My camp experiences, however, did not include a lot of actual camping. Sure there were overnights and some glorified car camping, but nothing like what Outward Bound offers. Five days and four nights on 30-foot lifeboat with no toilet and no cabin was a concept that seemed well beyond my comfort zone. Heading into this trip, I knew I was going to be tested and stretched; I just hoped that it was not going to actually break me.

My greatest concern heading into the trip was how my anxieties could adversely affect my students' experiences. I am not in very good physical shape. I am prone to bouts of insomnia. I have battled with motion sickness. I knew that the instructors would be there to facilitate much of the learning for the students, but I was dreading the thought that I might turn into an additional challenge that my students had to overcome. I needed to continue working with these students all year. I could not afford to let them down while we were in Maine.

The crew before we set sail

By Sunday afternoon, our first day, my fears were becoming a reality. The trip started smoothly. One of the students, our navigator for the day, was feeling the affects of seasickness, but I was surviving. I even got to take some time at the tiller. Then the winds picked up, and the rain began to fall. We changed our course, sought refuge in a nearby bay, and put up our tarp for the night. As a couple of the students readied our first dinner, a few more students began to feel nauseated, and one of them was also feeling extremely homesick. Now with the horizon blocked from view by our tarp, I was beginning succumb to my fears. What had I gotten myself into? Why was I here? How was I going to survive four more days of this?

Dinner was rough. Half the students could not bring themselves to eat. Trying to set the example, I managed to swallow a few bites, but I know the students were noticing my discomfort. To add to this, I could not go to the bathroom. How could I go to the bathroom without a very opaque and very soundproof wall between my students and me? I had not been trained for this. As I sat at anchor watch that evening, I felt powerless. I was stuck out in the rain for an hour. With each wave that came, I was afraid that the next would throw me out of the boat. I tried to stay positive, but I eventually found myself writing cryptic little poems in my head about how horribly I felt:

Sam is stranded on a boat
He is cold and tired and wet
This is a new experience
He soon wants to forget
Sam can't seem figure out
How to get out of this jam.
Sam thinks he might die today.
That'd be another first for Sam!

Clearly my head was not in the right place. Eventually my shift ended, and I was able to get some sleep. It was a restless sleep, and I had to get up a couple of times to urinate. At least with a tarp between me and the kids, I could manage. Finally about half an hour before we had to wake up for the day, I tapped out another student at watch so that I could relieve myself again. The sea was now calm and quiet. The first inklings of daylight were beginning to peek over the horizon. I was finally able to take a breath and relax (and move my bowels).

The next two days were not without incident, but they went much more smoothly than the first. While in Seal Harbor, we actually saw a seal poke its head out of the water. We saw a porpoise swim by and lots of sea birds. We even saw a couple bald eagles. Each morning we rafted up with the other boat in our convoy to pray and read the Bible together. On Tuesday we anchored ashore and had some solo time. I had a three bean salad our instructors prepared while we were on solos that totally redefined my conception vegetables as a main dish. I witnessed students step into leadership roles and thrive under pressure.

Enjoying landfall on Tuesday with our convoy in the background

Throughout the trip, the instructors implemented strategies to help draw the best from the students. One student, who had some experience sailing, quickly become the de facto leader of the boat. The instructors found ways to empower him while making sure other students were learning and finding leadership opportunities as well. Another student from Kenya had never before been to the ocean. Despite not being able to swim, he fell in love with sailing and wants to return to the ocean as soon as he can. The instructors found ways to gently encourage another student who constantly wanted to put herself down. They coached and encouraged her, while pointing out to her what she was doing well and how she was excelling. The instructors also helped me step back in order to let the students work out the problems they encountered on their own.

Our instructors

Tuesday night was the night when the porpoises stopped by during my anchor watch. After that encounter, my perspectives shifted dramatically in a positive direction. Wednesday tried its best to punch me and keep me down. We had to row most of the day through thick fog, but we persevered. Rain pummeled us in the afternoon, and many of us could not get our foul weather gear on in time to avoid getting drenched, but we kept moving. We ran out of propane before we could start dinner, but we found other options for dinner. Challenges that would have seemed insurmountable earlier in the week, just rolled right off our backs. We had broken through. We were going to make it. I experienced my own personal breakthroughs, and the students had clearly experienced their own too. As the students shared gratitude that night, they were no longer expressing hope about being almost done, or dwelling on looking forward to being home. They were finding things to be grateful for in the moment: the instructors, the challenges, the lessons learned, and each other.

Rowing through the fog

We arrived back in port on Thursday. We cleaned and restocked the boat. Students were able to catch up with friends from other boats whom they had not seen all week. Outward Bound facilitated the giving out pins and certificates of completion in ways that allowed students to recognize both the growth in themselves and in their fellow crew members. Then all of a sudden, it was over. We were on a bus to the airport.

Back on shore after 5 long days

Now comes the next challenge: How can we transfer the lessons learned on the trip back onto campus and into the classroom?

In the past, students returning from these trips have tended to focus a great deal on their memories of discomfort, harsh conditions, and perceived failures. These overshadowed their successes, smiles, and growth. These students wanted to leave the trip behind and get back to their comfortable lives, habits, and cliques. However, these experiences contain too much value to be left behind. The lessons must be remembered and transferred. I know my students grew a great deal during this trip. I know they had moments of self-discovery. I know they now have new perspectives on life.

Ideally I would like to see my students immediately change and become their best selves without having to process all the lessons and growth. The process must still occur, and it will not come easily for everyone. Some may need a few weeks, some a few months. Some may not truly process their experience for years after they leave school. I just have to do my part to gently remind them of our shared experience. It was not just a week on a boat. It was a chance to see the world with a new perspective; a chance to be a leader; a chance to step up and grow as individuals and as a team. It was a week none of us will soon forget.