Last fall, a school came up to The Off Grid Ark for what was supposed to be three days of outdoor education. I was expecting backpacks, curiosity, maybe a few nerves. What I didn’t expect were full-sized folding lounge chairs, coolers packed to the brim, and cases of pop stacked like we were hosting a cottage weekend. Before the students even explored the trails, a massive bonfire was already burning — and it stayed burning for the entire visit, even when nobody was sitting around it. By the time they left, they had gone through almost a full cord of firewood from the stack I had prepared for the season. Not one student collected a single piece from the forest.

They enjoyed their time here, but they didn’t learn much about the outdoors. They left believing that firewood comes from a pile, fires maintain themselves, and the main point of being outside is to sit comfortably beside the flames while sipping a Coke. They had been outside for three days, but nothing about the experience changed how they saw themselves or their environment. Watching that unfold made something very clear to me: being outdoors is not the same as outdoor education.

Before there was a bunkhouse, tenting was the only option. Now groups have a choice, tent or bunkhouse! (I'd choose a tent anyday...)

The Missing Ingredient: Intention

We ran some cool activities with that group — Mantracker, canoeing, some skill stations, a group game — but without a clear purpose behind them. There were no debriefs, no guided discussions, and no opportunities for students to think about what they were doing or why it mattered. The moment an activity ended, the learning ended with it. It was obvious something needed to change. If I wanted students to gain real confidence, decision-making skills, teamwork experience, and genuine outdoor knowledge, the program needed to be rebuilt from the ground up.

So that’s what I did.

I designed a 3-day camp that still uses the foundational skills of outdoor education — map and compass, knots, fire-building, shelter construction — but places them inside challenges that create buy-in from every student. Not because the tasks are required, but because the structure makes them meaningful. Structure can be boring when it feels like rules for the sake of rules. But structure that creates purpose and tension? That’s where engagement comes alive.

Turning Skills Into Stories

Take map and compass. For some students, it’s interesting. For others, it’s wet socks, cold hands, and lines on a page they would rather ignore. But turn navigation into a timed mission across 164 acres, throw in hidden checkpoints, and add a crazy bearded guy on horseback hunting them down like Mantracker — suddenly everyone cares. The kids who were dragging their feet are sprinting. The ones who never speak up are calling directions. Everyone is invested because the outcome matters.

The same thing happens with fire-building. On its own, it’s a skill that might interest a few students and bore the rest. Add in a competitive challenge — five firepits side by side and a race to see which team can burn through a string first — and now it’s exciting. Students strategize, encourage each other, argue over technique, and celebrate when their flame wins. They don’t realize they’re learning because they’re too busy participating.

These aren’t rote lessons. These are experiences wrapped inside games, wrapped inside challenges, designed to pull students into the moment.

A Crisis Challenge That Brings Everything Together

Near the end of the program, once students feel confident with the basics, we introduce a SURPRISE crisis scenario. It’s completely safe and thoroughly supervised, but it creates enough tension that students have to rely on the skills they’ve built over the previous days. They navigate under pressure, communicate clearly, make decisions with real consequences inside the challenge, and adapt when things don’t go as planned. It’s the kind of exercise that shifts students from simply “doing activities” to realizing they’re capable of more than they thought.

And then we talk about it. Each major activity ends with a short, thoughtful debrief. Students reflect on what they found difficult, what surprised them, and how they reacted. They make connections between the stress they felt in the woods and the stress they feel in their everyday lives — at school, at home, or with their peers. That reflection is where the real growth happens.

What has surprised me the most, the few times we have hosted these debriefs, is just deep into the conversation these students get. Quite often it's the quietest, most seemingly detached, students that have the most to say. With passion. It's so cool....

Hey, hey... Mama Rock Me

More Than Camping

By the time the bus pulls away on Day 3, something has shifted. Students who arrived expecting a laid-back camping trip leave with stories about hiding behind rocks to avoid being caught, racing to build the fastest fire, or figuring out how to navigate when the trail forked unexpectedly. These are memories earned through effort, not consumption. They’re stories that get retold long after the weekend ends.

More importantly, students leave with real backcountry skills, a clearer understanding of how they handle pressure, and a sense of confidence they didn’t have when they arrived. They’ve experienced teamwork, decision-making, responsibility, and follow-through — all in an environment that demanded their presence, not their passiveness.

That’s the kind of outdoor education we need more of. Not three days beside a bonfire with lounge chairs and coolers, but experiences that challenge us, teach us, and show us what we’re truly capable of. That’s what we’re building here at The Off Grid Ark.