Written by Annie Jonas
The flutter of bug netting on my face drew me out of an uneasy slumber. Two tiny hand-like paws released the netting just in time to miss my swatting hand. Within seconds the raccoon returned to my feet, kneading the wet sand around my sleeping bag. I was one of a collection of other humans strewn along a white stretch of sand on a mangrove island in southwest Florida– a few curled around a smoldering fire and the rest of us lined up like sardines cinched up in brightly colored bags. In darkness we dug sleeping bags out of the depths of our drybags and hastily made these beds on the sand. We knew we’d be departing before daylight. This island, just one in the chain of the Ten Thousand Islands Wildlife Refuge, offered a safe landing after an all-day paddle and gave us a chance to gather around our nautical maps.
As darkness settled in on us the evening before, our crew was issued a challenge to figure out a route from this stretch of island through a maze of mangrove islands and inlets to our final destination – back to the luggage we’d left behind and ultimately to our respective trips home. The crew included my 14-year-old son Gabriel and four other parent and child pairs we met just days before as participants in a NC Outward Bound Family Course. Around a fireside dinner of Mac and Cheese, we realized we would need to be back in our loaded canoes by 4 am to have a chance of beating the changing tide and successfully reaching our destination. Weary shoulders slumped with the realization that this would mean a 2 am wake-up to collect our belongings and repack our fleet of canoes – in complete darkness and against the tow of a moving river. We stole glances at our steady and playful Outward Bound instructors who joined us at the fire but, as a quilt of stars blanketed the sky, they had grown silent. They entrusted us to meet this challenge on our own.
I began this adventure conflicted – joy at the opportunity to share this once in a lifetime experience with Gabriel and a deep exhaustion from caregiving and worry for my mom who was struggling with end-stage Parkinson’s disease. The days leading up to the trip were filled with logistical details of caregiving and fear that I was not doing enough to support her. Mom embraced adventure and was excited about our trip, but I couldn’t shake a nagging full-body anxiety about leaving her. Gabriel’s excitement carried me along and I took steps forward until I found myself on the seat of a silver canoe cutting through brackish water. The sunlight was warm on my arms and also shimmering on the horizon of water before us, and soon a rhythm settled in as Gabriel and I paddled in tandem. The present moments began to string together – hauling 40-pound jugs of sloshing fresh water to a crewmate holding canoes steady while knee-deep in the tug of a changing tide, the sting of saltwater splashing across the bow of the boat, and the next, a blaze of a meteor tail over my shoulder.
After a restless night, we met our departure goal of 4 am and were now paddling into the darkness with precision. “We need to take a bearing of 70 degrees from the tip of seahorse to the finger off of the south end of monkey fist,” — a teen is leading us now and calling out the tiny landscape details we mapped out the night before – all of us straining to read from the streaked hand-written navigation notes we labored over just hours before. I followed along twisting the dial on the compass pulled from around my neck confirming with a headlight beam over a soggy map and squinting at shadowy clumps of mangroves on the horizon. I noted my growing confidence that these young people were successfully leading us through what, hours before, felt like an impenetrable maze. Point by point we collectively handrailed through the twisting landscape, checking to be sure what we were seeing mirrored the route we could trace with our fingers.
A liminal growing light shifted the dim outlines to textured greens and our boats into a brightly colored flotilla sliding over glass. Mom would be thrilled with this adventure. I sealed the moment tightly in my heart to share with her as soon as we reunited. My anxiety was replaced now with the full sensory challenge in front of me. I was once again living the power of experiential education to engage learners (me!) in a sense of purpose through an authentic collaborative challenge. This experience also gave me an understanding of how experiential education encourages and even insists that the learner be engaged in the present moment. I spent the last year training as a mindfulness instructor and learned that present minded awareness invites a focused flow state, can alleviate anxiety, and support overall well-being.
The teens paddling around me, all within the age-range that is experiencing unprecedented rates of anxiety and depression were, at times, visibly uncomfortable with the irritation of wet clothes, sand-covered food, heat, cold – all present conditions calling on their full attention. However, at this moment, they were also singing together, leading us on with intention, and the first ones to notice two dolphins playing in a small bay ahead. Our successful route-finding led us out into an expansive bay. We set our compasses to an eastward bearing – aiming for our destination ablaze now in gold and orange. After an impromptu silent shared moment, we pushed on.
Annie Jonas, a former Outward Bound instructor, serves as Dean of the Center for Experiential Learning and Careers at Warren Wilson College. Annie is a certified mindfulness instructor with the Mindfulness Institute for Emerging Adults.
