Climbing to Higher Ground

Jessica Folkerts

I was introduced to Higher Ground Youth Challenge by a friend who, at the time, was getting ready for his volunteer experience at the organization's boys' camp. I had been looking for an experience like Higher Ground, a Colorado-based, nonprofit organization dedicated to providing at-risk boys and girls a chance to dream and reach their full potential. The organization's method is two-fold: experiential outdoor challenges and ongoing mentor support. Teens, ages 13 "“ 16, are referred to Higher Ground through various inner-city youth organizations and through friends and family.

Having signed up to be a coach for the August girls' camp, I packed a bag full of outdoor clothing, a sleeping bag and a positive attitude. I began my trip with no idea that what I was about to experience would forever change my life.

Saturday, 2 pm

My 1996 Honda Civic barely made it up the steep, dirt road to Cal-Wood Education Center just outside of Jamestown. The natural beauty of the 1,200-acre facility in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains serves as the backdrop to Higher Ground's week-long camps.

As I walked a trail to our cozy lodge, the beauty of my surroundings caught my attention, and I stopped, mid-stride, to pay my respects. I took a deep breath, allowing the peaceful stillness into my mind, trying to silence a few nerves that were beginning to seep in. Little did I know this was the calm before the storm.

I met the other coaches, women of all ages and from all walks of life, and began sorting them into neat little boxes and labeling them. There was the farm girl, the city girl, the grandma, the health nut and so on. Some had staffed a Higher Ground camp before, and others had never been to a camp at all. Some had psychology or social work backgrounds, but most had nothing of the sort. Dan, one of two trained facilitators for the week, made a point to assure us that, by Friday, we would all see one another in a drastically different light. He was right.

As a coach, my responsibilities for the week were as follows: to be the responsible kid in the cabin but also to be honest with the girls and let my emotions show. We were to take care of each other and ourselves but always remember to have fun. Dan instructed us not to police the girls but rather be a camper along with them and to experience the week freshly, just as they do.

Sunday, 10 am

Driving to Denver to pick up the girls, I didn't know what to expect. While fighting off the nausea on the winding roads in the 15-passenger van, I couldn't help but wonder what these girls would be like. I imagined six-foot-tall monsters with big hair, big attitudes and loud mouths. I thought that maybe I wasn't cut out for this and should never have agreed to volunteer.

When we pulled up to Denver West High School, several girls were waiting anxiously with their guardians. I took a deep breath and introduced myself to Beth and Sasha, who stood together chatting nervously. I immediately realized that they were just as scared as I was. Beth was a short 15-year-old with braces and straight brown hair that was slicked back into a ponytail. She wore tight jeans that gathered in bunches around her loosely laced skate shoes. Sasha looked like she could be Beth's younger twin. I learned from their brief responses that they were cousins.

Back at the lodge, the girls were assigned to their cabins for the week. Many who came to camp with friends or family were split up, including Beth and Sasha. This didn't go over well. Here they were, in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of strangers for an entire week, their sense of security stripped away, and they got very quiet, barely uttering a peep unless they were together.

That afternoon, we quickly delved into our first challenging activity, the Human Conveyor Belt. Each camper and coach stood at the front of the "conveyor belt" "” one line of bodies on the ground with everyone's hands in the air "” with her back turned and laid down on the belt of hands, which moved her along to the back of the line.

Being five-foot-nine, I had my concerns that a group of teenage girls could carry my weight. But I saw everyone before me get through safely, so I chose to trust that the same would happen for me. Not to mention I didn't want to look like a total wuss on the first day.

This activity, I soon realized, was just the beginning. With each day, we were challenged by activities more frightening than those before, building inner strength and trust along the way. With each passed test, we grew to know each other, unconsciously building bonds and friendships.

Monday, 2 pm

A typical trust fall has participants standing in a circle while the person in the middle is passed around being held up by the others. I had done a trust fall before, but this was very different. The Higher Ground fall involved standing four feet above the ground atop an upright log, turning your back to the rest of the group and falling straight into their arms. I was terrified. So were the girls. But I watched all of them pull together as a team to support one another and every one of them climb up on that log and fall trustingly into our arms.

When it was my turn, I remembered that one of my responsibilities for the week was to let the girls see my emotions, so I didn't stop my tears of fear "” not that I could have if I'd tried. I climbed onto the log, knowing that my eyes were more than nine feet above the ground, turned around to see the group ready, took a deep breath and fell, screaming the entire way.

Tuesday, 7 am

I was already exhausted. Early morning wake-up calls, days scheduled with activities and late nights staying up in the cabin had already taken their toll. But the week had only just begun, and things were about to get real.

After spending the morning coaching the girls while they climbed a rock face and rappelled back down, I was glowing with optimism. I made myself comfortable at a table in the lodge and settled in for what I expected to be an afternoon of creating dream boards "” posters with pictures and words describing personal goals. I sat with Beth and Sasha. I knew a bit about Sasha "” a quiet 13-year-old with deep eyes and a surprising sense of humor "” because she was in my cabin. But I hardly knew anything about Beth.

I asked the girls what their goals were in an attempt to focus their attention. Beth surprised me with a quick and brave answer: "I want to trust people more." I was stunned by her openness. As she continued to speak, her eyes welled up, and she began to sob into her hands. We moved away from the group, and for the next two hours, she offered up her life story. What she told me resonated with similar experiences of sadness in my own life. "I feel completely alone," she told me. She had been beaten down by her situation for so long that she couldn't see the amazing individual she was becoming. "Sometimes I wonder if I just don't deserve to be happy," she said.

After her cathartic breakthrough, Beth began to open up to the other coaches and campers. She began to trust herself and others around her. She became a leader by sharing her story with the younger campers, encouraging them to avoid making the same mistakes she claimed.

Wednesday, 9 am

The first test of Beth's growth, as well as mine, came at the 40-foot-high ropes course. I had been assigned to one of five "perches," a three-foot-by-two-foot wooden platform on a telephone pole 40 feet off the ground. Thankfully, I had some time to get to my roost before the girls arrived because it took every fiber of my being to force myself up there.

Harnessed to the telephone pole and hanging on for dear life, I looked down at Beth as she prepared to climb the course. Wiggling into her harness, she looked terrified. Ignoring my own fear, I encouraged her through the course, hugging her as she made her way onto my perch. She had summoned her inner strength and had trusted herself to get through the obstacles. I clipped her into the rope for the next obstacle and watched with pride as she finished the course.

That night, back at the lodge, we were given journals in which to write the names of three people at camp whom we admired. After we had all finished writing, we were given the option of sharing the names of those we had chosen. Camper after camper raised her hand and named Beth. They said she had shown incredible strength and had inspired them. As Beth listened to their accolades, you could almost see those last few remaining walls crumbling. It was a scene worthy of an Oscar, a scene I would watch over and over again.

Friday, 10 am

The purpose of Higher Ground is not to save every child that participates. That would be impossible. But I realized if we got through to Beth, and no one else, the time off work, the exhaustion, the emotions and the $1,000 per camper it takes to fund the camp were all worth it. Higher Ground is kept alive by a few dedicated volunteers who work endlessly to obtain grants and private donations to cover the cost of providing kids such as Beth an opportunity to step out of their environments and empower themselves.

On the last morning, we all stood in a circle for the final activity. As I looked around at the coaches and campers I saw incredibly strong, independent, fiercely dedicated and wholly loving women. I saw campers who had grown into incredibly strong, independent girls with wisdom and soul beyond their years. And I saw friends, friends who had been with me through what seemed like a lifetime's worth of physical and emotional challenges. From horseback riding and braiding each other's hair to whitewater rafting and from a trust fall to a high ropes course, we had all grown together.

It's a Sunday afternoon, and while I've gone back to my life as a personal assistant, I still think of the girls often. I wonder how they adjusted back into their own lives at home and what they took from camp to help them along the way. All of the girls signed up for the ongoing mentoring program. I am a mentor, and I am excited to see each of them at the first group activity. And, of course, I will see many of them at next year's camp. I've already started a list of things to pack.