Way Out There

By J. Robert Harris

My family was New York City working class. Five of us, my parents and two siblings, lived in a cramped two-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a walk-up building in a city-owned public-housing development. For young boys growing up in the 1950s and early ’60’s, there was plenty to keep us occupied. We played basketball on the play- ground and stickball in the streets. We learned yo-yo tricks, roller skated, spun tops, flew kites, rode bicycles, shot marbles, and learned to play in traffic without getting killed.

But the city also had teen gangs that fought turf wars with switchblade knives, bicycle chains, and lethal homemade “zip” guns. Trouble was easy to find, especially in the summer, and life in many neighborhoods often got tense for kids my age. Hoping to avoid these perils, my parents enrolled me in the Boy Scouts. At first, I hated it. When I wore my uniform, I could count on being hassled; guys on the street would call me a chump or a momma’s boy. This didn’t bother my folks. In fact, that summer, they shipped me off to a scout camp in the Catskill Mountains. I had never been in the mountains, and I didn’t want to be away from my neighborhood posse, stuck with the “chumps” for eight weeks.

When I got off the bus at Ten Mile River, I was stunned by the stark contrast between the mountains and the city. Although I was only about two hours from home, being “in the country” was almost like being in a different solar system. But, as the summer progressed, I gradually came to appreciate all the cool stuff I was learning. I could make a fire in the pouring rain. I learned to read a topographic map, use a compass, paddle a canoe, tie dozens of different knots, pitch a tent, identify animal tracks, find the North Star, and know which plants were edible.

I learned first-aid and how to administer life-saving artificial respiration. As my outdoors skills improved, Ieventually qualified for, and was elected into, the Order of the Arrow. This was an elite camping brotherhood, and I proudly wore the white sash with the red arrow over my uniform. More importantly, having these skills made me confident I could take care of myself in an environment with no asphalt, brick, or steel. From that point on, I no longer cared how my rowdy friends felt about me or the “chump” Boy Scouts.

Spending summers in the mountains, I began to sense the natural world had a certain rhythm and pace. It was slower, more deliberate, and somehow more authentic than the artificial, helter-skelter rush of city living. It was a tempo I came to accept and appreciate. I learned not to fight or resist it, but to let it carry me at its cadence, to deal with things as they happened, to go with the flow and to live comfortably in the present. I also learned to savor an exhilarating sense of freedom. In the backcountry, there were no traffic lights, signs, restrictions, or people telling me where to go and what to do. You could roam the open country, blaze your own trail. Best of all was the feeling of being independent and self-sufficient, knowing all I needed was what I carried with me—both in my pack and in my head.

Armed with this emerging confidence, I became the first in my family to go to college, earning a degree in psychology. From there, I moved into the corporate world, rising steadily to management posi- tions in marketing and consumer research. In 1975, at age 31, I quit my job to attempt another family first: I would start my own market- ing research and consulting business. Today, JRH Marketing Services is the oldest and most experienced Black-owned company of its type in the U.S., and in 2016, I was elected into the Marketing Research Hall of Fame.

But during all these years, the lure of the wild kept calling me like a siren’s song, and I kept going back. I needed to know what was out there and to find out by seeing it for myself. I went to mountaineering school, obtained a wilderness guide license, and even started a small outfitting business out of NYC: Brokenbo Wilderness Expeditions. Weekend trips to the Catskills became weeklong trips to the Rockies, then multiweek trips to the Andes, the Alps, to Patagonia, Lapland, the Outback, the Yukon, Greenland, and to deserts, mountains, forests, and jungles around the world—unsupported, self-financed, and mostly alone. My curiosity was insatiable. I wanted to see glaciers, caribou migrations, forest fires, icebergs, and grizzly bears. And as a social psychologist with an urge to roam, I also began visiting indigenous people in far-flung places. In 1993, I became a member of the Explorers Club, and, more recently, I wrote Way Out There: Adventures of a Wilderness Trekker, a book about my adventures. And the call of the wild continues; at age 76, I am still an active and enthusiastic backcountry traveler.

Over a span of more than 60 years, I learned a lot about the natural world, and, in the process, I learned a lot more about myself: how a 13-year-old city kid went from summer camp to remote expeditions; how the natural world gifted me with a level of maturity, insightfulness, tolerance, fitness, sensitivity, and a respect for the environment I might not have acquired otherwise.

These benefits are still available to those who are willing to spend time outdoors, and my book has given me a platform to make people aware of this and to motivate them to go out there and, in their own way and at their own pace, experience all the physical, mental, and emotional growth and development that awaits them.

The natural world is the great equalizer. It doesn’t care if you are rich or poor, Black or white, young or old, gay or straight, male or female, liberal or conservative. When you spend time in nature, you begin to realize how insignificant you are. Being out there can teach you humility, and with humility comes mutual respect and tolerance. You become less self-absorbed, less confrontational, and this, in turn, makes it easier to respect others and to work together for a common good.

These are the lessons I’ve learned, and I am especially committed to taking this message to young people because they are the key to our future. We need to make the investments that will allow more youth—regardless of race, culture, or socioeconomic background—to experience nature and to find out who they are—ideally before they are taught how to hate. I want them to realize life can be an adventure and whatever they want to accomplish, if they have the passion for it and are willing to work hard to achieve it, they can make it happen. If I can do it, anybody can do it.

Lifelong New York City resident J. Robert Harris has completed over 50 multiweek treks across the globe, all unsupported, most of them alone. Learn more about him and his adventures at jrinthewilderness.com.