The Storm Before the Calm

Get a group of middle schoolers together and something you won’t likely experience for very long is silence. When one of our Dolores River Camp counselors, Caroline Moody, suggested a silent hike to our rowdy group of youth on a trail near Lizard Head Pass, not gonna lie, I was skeptical. The 17 young people had just that morning finished an action-packed rafting trip on the San Miguel River. For many, rafting was the highlight of Dolores River Boating Advocates’ 2025 River Camp, an annual program designed to engage youth with adventure and place-based learning about the Dolores River Watershed. After leaving the river, having lunch, and before heading back to our camp along the West Fork of the Dolores, we parked our two vans at the high mountain pass under threatening skies.

The campers, feeling the effects of a post-lunch food coma, oozed out of the vans reluctantly. Reminders to bring their water bottles and rain gear in their packs were met with grumbling: “I forgot my pack.” “Do we have to?” “Why can’t I just stay in the van?” “I don’t need water.” As the parent of a 13-year-old myself, the vibe of the group was quite familiar. Sometimes being the adult means being unpopular and pushing our young people to do hard things. After calm but consistent prodding, the group finally hit the trail. Complaining continued as we climbed across the sub-alpine meadows at 10,000 feet above sea level.

After a quarter mile or so, I stopped the group on a timbered side hill with views of Sheep Mountain, Trout Lake, Golden Horn, and Yellow Mountain spread before us. Time to address the elephant in the room: our ability to see the forest had disappeared amidst the trees of our collective attitude. Our group was “storming,” a stage where tensions rise to the surface and emotions get expressed in unhealthy ways. On our short hike from the vans to this point, wildflowers were willfully trampled, rocks chucked downhill, and downed branches brandished menacingly. Not exactly a page from the Leave No Trace handbook!

As the counselors and I talked with the young people about what was happening and how we wanted to move forward, I felt we were being tested. Subconsciously the youth were gauging how much we really cared about them and the culture of our group. Were the adults invested enough to be responsible, or would we just let things slide? Could we risk being unpopular by confronting their behaviors or just be cool and look the other way? How we handled the next few moments was pivotal.

Treston Chee, one of our staff, stood and offered the perfect words of wisdom, delivered with the quiet yet forceful presence of his Diné ancestors. He shared how the plants around us, the rocks under our feet, the animals nearby, and even the silence of the woods were alive. We were there as guests and needed to behave as we would expect guests in our own homes to behave. He added that he would share more teachings with them, but only if they sought him out individually; there were some things that he would not share with the whole group.

Then, Caroline expressed how silence offers us a chance to reflect and re-set our minds and hearts. A quick “thumbs up” check-in indicated the campers were agreeable, if not excited by the idea. And so, we walked again.

In. Total. Silence.

In my 20+ years of teaching and leading outdoor education and ropes course experiences, I’ve seen very few groups move from “storming” to “norming” to “transforming” in such a short time. By the time we got back to the vans, it was clear something bordering on magical had taken place. Calm replaced complaining. Frowns turned upside down. Even the clouds had retreated from all but the highest nearby peaks.

The remainder of camp flowed as effortlessly as the clear, cool waters of the West Fork near our tents. Laughter filled the cook tent, marshmallows met their demise around the campfire, paddleboard races across Narraguinnep Reservoir ensued. Before departing we met with each young camper to debrief and listen to their feedback. Many mentioned as their highlights making new friends, being comfortable around new people, learning about nature, surprising themselves, trying new things, and of course, rafting. Almost everyone wished the camp lasted longer.

As the Dolores River Camp program evolves each year, our organization learns important lessons about connecting. Building community through relationships remains the hallmark of our work to protect the Dolores River. We started DRBA in a small coffee shop with just a few friends who saw the need for boaters to speak up with a unified voice for an over-allocated and exploited river of unspeakable beauty. Thirteen years later, our success can be attributed to our collaborative approach—listening to local stakeholders to understand their perspectives, incorporating the knowledge of our tribal partners, and joining hands with our allies across the region. As we listen and learn, our voices are strengthened.