Sending a child to camp is anxiety-inducing. But the skills they learn there stay with them for life | Canada Voices

Claire Cameron’s most recent book is How to Survive a Bear Attack.

I keep staring at a photograph of a searcher in Texas. He’s standing thigh deep in the swollen Guadalupe River near Camp Mystic, the girls’ summer camp that was flooded in the early morning hours of July 4. He’s pointing a flashlight into the water, struggling to see into the murk.

The photo brought forward a specific memory from when I was at a summer camp, decades ago. One afternoon, the camp bell rang three times, stopped, then three more. It meant someone was missing.

I went to a pre-arranged meeting point and was assigned to check the swim docks. My fellow camp staffers had grim faces. Water searches are terrifying because time is so limited. If a child was under water, we had three minutes to find them alive.

We stripped off shoes, jewellery, and heavy clothes and lined up along the edge of the dock. When the lifeguard gave a signal, we slipped into the lake water so we didn’t disturb the fine silt on the bottom.

“1, 2, 3 …” the lifeguard counted.

Eyes open, I dove. I was looking for any sign of clothes or skin. The searchers to each side of me were close enough to touch. I remember being down at the cloudy bottom, completely focused on combing through the silt, but also feeling distress. I was looking for someone’s child.

I have never been involved in anything like the aftermath of the catastrophic flooding in Texas. One hundred and twenty people are confirmed to have died – a number that keeps rising. A young father desperately trying to save his family, a grandmother, a soccer coach, a police officer, these are among the people found deceased. Many of the lost children were attending Camp Mystic.

The search I was involved in was completely different – it was in a lake and the child was quickly found on land. But the photo of the Texas searcher still hit me hard because I can imagine how torn he felt. More than anything, I know he wanted to find those children, but he was confronting the reality of time. There was little chance of finding them alive.

I am a parent. My children’s lives are more important than my own. I have a son working at a camp this summer. I would do anything to keep him safe. After reading about the Texas floods, I found myself fighting the urge to call him and insist – “I’m coming to pick you up!”

At this point, my brain splits in two. I worked as a camp counsellor for years and went on to become an outdoor instructor in various capacities. This instructor, still living inside me, wants to remind the mother I have become: Though it’s wise to heed warnings and avoid flood plains, I can’t shelter my children from everything that’s potentially dangerous. It won’t necessarily keep them safer and might have the opposite effect. Learning to recognize and manage risk is an important part of staying alive.

***

I led a countless number of other people’s children on trips in the mountains, on rivers, and through deserts. I helped kids have experiences that changed their lives. I no longer do this job, but as an instructor I was able to participate in a vital aspect of wilderness education that parents don’t always get to see.

While showing kids about paddling, I stood them in the water to our shins. When a river is rushing, it only takes that amount to whisk someone away. Then, while wearing life jackets, we went swimming in a rapid. This way, they experienced the uncompromising power of a river first hand.

I taught students about fire. Learning to set a fire is an important step in learning to respect it. In a safe setting, I could show them the effects of wind, temperature, dryness, and how the different kinds of fuel burn.

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These kinds of lessons are skills for life. But often, while working outdoors, I watched people change in more important ways. I’ll never forget a girl’s astonished expression as she watched a beautiful sunset blaze across the sky. She was holding hands with a new friend and, last I heard, they are still close.

I led a group of older students on a mountaineering trip. As they stood on top of a peak for the first time, a few struggled to describe the view. Later, we decided awe might be the right word. A sense of wonder.

Whenever I see the world from such heights, it’s an experience that expands my understanding of how it feels to be alive. Awe can strike at the top of a mountain, when standing in a stream, or while looking at a flower. A landscape doesn’t have to be vast and the experience doesn’t need to be extreme. Often, but not always, awe is experienced outside.

***

My older son, the one working at a camp, was leading a canoe trip in the wilderness while I was reading reports of the flooding in Texas. I thought back to my experience in search parties, a responsibility that has left a permanent mark. For a moment I wondered, did I wish for that kind of weight on his shoulders?

My son is 19 years old, the choice isn’t mine. But still, as a parent, I worried.

When I knew he had returned, I called my son. I had a question – what was the most valuable thing he has learned while working at a summer camp? He was with a few other staff members and held out the phone.

Without hesitation, they answered: Always be the bigger person; working together; how to be kind, always; how to interact with kids, keep them safe, and have fun; how to be a leader.

It was like, as a mother, I needed to be reminded – I had called a version of my former self.

“You can learn to chop wood,” my son said. “But it’s way more than that. It’s the connections to other people you make.”

Lighting fires, climbing mountains, chopping wood, it might sound like I’m advocating for our children to become survivalists. My son reminded me that it’s exactly the opposite. Survival is often talked about as a set of skills an individual acquires, but this is misguided. What we need is good citizens.

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Our climate is changing. The weather is becoming more difficult to predict. An investigation into what happened in Texas will take time. Part of the learning might be about funding, staffing agencies, and bringing flood plans up to date. But humans are resourceful. When we place a high value on life, we find ways to manage risks at the systems level.

At the core of the disaster in Texas is something that lies far outside of most people’s experience. The water level surged, in places, almost 30 feet in about 45 minutes.

There is a growing body of evidence that shows these kinds of weather incidents will increase. Each one is likely to become more extreme. There will be catastrophic storms, floods, fires, and our children need to learn how to survive with them. What is going to keep our future generations safe? A meaningful plan to address climate change.

I can’t control the political situation in another state or the path of a river, but I can think about what happens in our country. Many summer camps are expensive to attend. In Ontario, where I live, outdoor education schools, programs provided by school boards, and non-profits are being squeezed by a government that is stripping away environmental protections and building parking lots, rather than funding education.

This is what the outdoor educator inside me tells the mother – every child should have the chance to stand in a river, learn how to safely make a fire, and experience a sunset with a new friend. These experiences teach survival skills, but not the kind that involves swinging axes. The more important skills help us bond with others, make connections, and work together. Given the challenges we face, survival has to be a collective effort.

To do otherwise? That’s not a risk I want to take.