In 1988, I selected the High Sierra backpacking and rock climbing course from the Outward Bound catalog because it looked beautiful and challenging and very different from the suburban New Jersey landscape I was used to. The course was three and a half weeks long. It seemed like a lot of money, and I was anxious when I asked my parents to pay for it, but they agreed that I could go. I was 16 years old.  

In preparation, I loaded rocks into a backpack, laced up my new hiking boots, and walked around our perfectly flat neighborhood for a few weeks. It was not enough preparation, not by a lot. By the 2nd day of the course, my feet were badly blistered, and my back and legs ached for the entire trip as I pushed them beyond their previous capacity.

My mother’s Aunt Deletta picked me up from the Fresno airport the day before the course start. I had never met her before, but she was kind enough to host me for an evening and take me to the course the next day. I was nervous. When I met the group, I was intimidated that there were only two other girls, and the rest were boys. Most seemed more physically capable than me; certainly, all seemed bigger and stronger.  

There was the “cool” girl from San Francisco, I’ll call her Jane, and Tiffany, who was one year younger and always on the verge of quitting the course. Midway through, we were on a grueling mountain pass, and Tiffany could not continue. We had already relieved her of most of the things in her backpack, spreading the weight out amongst the rest of the group, and yet, she was stopping every few minutes and sitting or lying down. Mentally, she had given up. I found a long, lightweight stick and gave her one end. I told her not to let go and not to stop and led her up and over the pass, holding on to the other end of the stick. When we finished the day and made camp on the other side of the pass, I saw myself in a new light as someone who could do things other people could not do and help other people do things that they did not think were possible. It shifted how I perceived myself.

Two-thirds of the way through the course, we were set up alone for three days, with a tarp, a sleeping bag, and a small bag of GORP to “solo.” I was given a nice little spot near a creek and out of sight of other people and trails. I was told to stay within a perimeter we agreed upon and to leave a message by a specific rock if I was in trouble or needed anything. The rock would be checked on twice daily by a course leader, which I’m sure happened, but I never witnessed it.

Importantly, I also had my journal. Initially, I was bored and made lists of things I would do when I got home, foods I loved, animals and plants and trees I had learned…lots of lists. The boredom eventually gave way to clarity and insight. I felt true love and appreciation for my parents and friends. I made vows to myself about the type of person I wanted to be. I developed an intention for myself. I wish I could find that journal and reread all the epiphanies that it contains.

One of the other students had cheated on his solo and befriended some nearby campers, and I was shocked by his rebellion.  I look back now and feel sad that he missed out on the experience. He had cheated only himself.

One of my instructors led us through a visualization exercise after the solo, and it was my first ever experience like that. She had us lie on our backs and close our eyes, and she walked us through the steps of relaxing every part of our body and then visualizing ourselves in a peaceful meadow, with all the sounds, smells, and touch that entails. We visualized our higher selves and our futures. My mind flowed so completely in the visualization that I felt transported and reborn. When it was over, I sat up and saw the world around me with new clarity. I was amazed that such a shift was possible.

We did a challenge run on the very last day of the course. I had resolved to run, not walk, the entire seven-mile distance. About halfway through, as I trudged my way up a long hill, I was passed by two of the bigger boys in the group. They were walking and laughing and not trying very hard, and they passed me. It was demoralizing, and if I hadn’t just completed 22 days of my course, I might have lost my resolve and started walking, too. It would have been easier. But I didn’t do that. I kept running, huffing and puffing my way up the hill, and after a little while, I passed them again and made my way to the finish. It was a triumphant feeling, a mini example of what Outward Bound was all about – courage facing a big challenge, internal resolve, and the confidence that comes when we do more than what we thought possible.

At the end of the run, one of my course leaders handed me a peach I will never forget. It was probably an ordinary peach, but at that moment, after 22 days of backcountry eating and seven miles of a grueling trail run in the Sierra, it was the most delicious thing I had ever eaten – so juicy, so sweet, and so rewarding—ecstasy, well earned.  

We held a closing circle ceremony the last night, and one of the boys who had passed me on the run that day told me that I was a natural leader and apologized for not listening to me more and not letting me lead more. I felt seen at that moment. During the course, I read the Tao of Leadership, a book that I had borrowed from my instructor, and the teaching I took from it was that sometimes the best form of leadership is followership. It was a lesson I needed to learn and something I still think about. That was the first book I ever read on leadership, and nowhere near the last, and it sparked in me a desire to study and learn about how and why people lead and follow, and form groups, and scale mountains, literally and metaphorically.

Beyond all the personal growth and learning, there was tremendous beauty: nightly golden-orange-purple sunsets, pristine cold mountain lakes, permanent snowfields perfect for glissading nestled in the shadow of peaks, and birds and trees and vistas that took my breath away again and again. Perched on a foam pad atop granite rocks one evening, I witnessed a lightning storm in the mountains right next to me and felt awe. I was 16 years old, and I fell in love that summer, with the mountains and with nature.

I wrote my personal essay for college that Fall about my Outward Bound experience, and I am pretty sure it got me into school. I learned so much, and I grew so much. It changed the trajectory of my life, and I am forever grateful.

By Natalie McCullough.

Natalie has just completed 10 years on the OBCA Board. We are so grateful for her generosity and support all these years. Thanks for this decade, Natalie, and sharing this beautiful mission moment.