“Dad, I trust you so, so much, but I feel like I’m going to die.”

At seven years old, rascally, athletic, and fearless right up until she suddenly wasn’t, Summer’s first ski trip turned into a learning experience for both of us.

For most of the day she clung to my hand as we cruised down the bunny slope.  We rode the same hill over and over again, memorizing the turns, building confidence, and gaining speed. Toward the end of the day, we made the in advised decision to ride the lift all the way to the top of the mountain.

At the top the wind howled. As we got off the lift, the expert slopes were in front of us. From where we stood, you couldn’t really see the side of the mountain at all. There were just our skis, a stretch of snow disappearing over the edge, and a lodge sitting impossibly far below us.  It looked like a cliff with no way down.  

Summer tightened her grip on my hand. As she looked down the mountain, her confidence drained away. Her arms and legs lost their strength.

Again, under her breath, she muttered, “I feel like I’m going to die.”

I tried to lend her some of my own confidence as we headed towards a beginner slope. I whooped. I encouraged her. I held her hand tight.But it was too much. The mountain felt too tall. The other skiers were too fast as they blazed past us in sprays of snow.

Summer tried to hang on, but without confidence she couldn’t stay on her feet. Her skis split in opposite directions and she didn’t even try to recover. She just collapsed like a wet rag directly in front of me.

Unfortunately, I ran her over.

Helpful onlookers rushed in to rescue us. They helped collect her skis from across the slope and inspect her for broken bones.  In the end, I carried her like a baby, squeezed tightly to my chest,  and skied the whole way down the mountain.

“Dad,” she whispered, blinking through her tears. “I feel like everyone is starting staring at us.”

“That’s because everyone is staring at us,” I whispered back.

In outdoor education, we spend a lot of time practicing skills that seem to have very little relevance to modern life.

Kayaking is fun, but it’s unlikely to become your morning commute or your preferred way to swing by the grocery store.

Balancing on a tight line on a ropes course high in the canopy is probably not a practical life skill unless you end up working on cell towers.

Lighting a fire with a flint and steel isn’t even a good party trick at most parties.

And yet here at NorthBay we put enormous effort into helping students succeed in outdoor environments.

Why?  Because of the skills beneath the skills.

Humans spent most of our history surviving outdoors together: finding food, building shelter, navigating uncertainty, solving problems, and relying on one another. Even as modern life moves indoors and we spend far more time staring at a screen than we do under an open sky, we still need the same core human abilities those environments developed in us.

Kayaking takes more teamwork than almost anything else I’ve ever done. You have to agree on a destination, coordinate movement, share the workload, compensate for each other’s mistakes in balance, and communicate constantly. If two people can kayak well together, they can probably do just about anything together.

A high ropes course is really a lesson in making progress despite fear and distraction. Can you stay focused on where you’re trying to go, even when every part of you wants to freeze?  Can you make good decisions while facing very real fear?

Being outdoors teaches adaptability. We prepare for the conditions and then adjust when they surprise us. Hiking teaches endurance. Building a fire teaches patience and problem solving. 

We are the same social creatures whether we’re standing on an open savanna or sitting in a classroom. The skills required to navigate a the natural world together are often the same skills we need to navigate a our socially connected world together.

Courage. Creativity. Resilience. Kindness. Communication. Trust.

And then there’s the joy. 

Once we push through the discomfort and build the necessary skills, being outside can be a source of tremendous beauty, life, and and joy. 

Back to skiing… There’s really no good reason to climb a mountain, strap yourself to slippery boards, and throw yourself over the edge.  It’s not practical. It’s not especially safe. It’s certainly not affordable.

But Summer learned that she could trust someone in her life even when she felt terrified.

She learned that one epic fall doesn’t have to end the day.

She learned that being stared at isn’t the end of the world.

She learned that sometimes the people supporting you through hard things may accidentally run you over a little along the way.

And it was mighty fun.