“The big question is whether you are going to be able to say a hearty yes to your adventure.” ― Joseph Campbell 

This May, 10 NC State students left their everyday worlds in search of adventure as part of the Caldwell Fellows Wilderness Expedition. 

This group of Fellows pushed themselves to their mental and physical limits among the icy peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains, facing trials of nature and self doubt, ultimately returning home with hard-won wisdom prized from the mountain range’s frozen jaws. 

“Growing up on stories like ‘The Lord of the Rings,’ I always admired the bravery of characters who stepped out of their comfort zones to chase something bigger than themselves,” says Delta Cole ’27. “Much like Bilbo Baggins, I wanted to trade the predictable for the extraordinary, and I saw this weeklong backpacking trip as my chance to do just that. My goal was simple: go in with curiosity and leave with a thirst for adventure.”

It’s a tale as old as stories themselves. Cultures all over the world recount the journey of an ordinary person, called to adventure, who triumphs in the face of adversity and returns home changed for the better. Writer Joseph Campbell called this the monomyth, or the Hero’s Journey, and this structure underpins many stories, from “The Odyssey” to “The Wizard of Oz” to “Star Wars.” For more than 35 years, Caldwell Fellows have seized the chance to blaze their own hero’s journey by joining the annual wilderness expedition. 

Over the years, participants have paddled the lakes of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness in northern Minnesota, trekked through the Florida Everglades, backpacked through Zion National Park in Utah, explored the volcanic peaks of the Cascade mountain range in Oregon and hiked the challenging Collegiate Peaks in Colorado’s Rocky Mountains, among other adventures. Each participant returns with insight to share, adding to an anthology of life-changing experiences.

“The act of backpacking and traversing unforgiving terrain was not exactly the focus of my interest,” says Hannah Sawulski ’27 of her motivation to join the trip. “Rather, it was the tradition of the program, the sacred nature with which alumni and current Fellows spoke of their experiences. I hoped to contribute to the intricate fabric which is the wilderness [expedition], to glance back into the history of the Caldwell Fellows.” 

Preparing for the Journey

“A sustaining tenet of the Caldwell Fellows program is the practice of gratitude,” says Sawulski. “Our three leaders, Rob Horner, Julia O’Brien and Pablo Campos did an incredible job of painting us a picture of the history of the wilderness trip, providing us with a sense of context and an immense feeling of gratitude.”

In preparation for the trip, the leaders – all Caldwell alumni, all experienced, all trained as wilderness first responders by the National Outdoor Leadership School – as well as student leader Simon McNair ’26, led several meetings and training sessions ahead of the expedition. They went over the necessary gear, which included a good pair of broken-in hiking boots, ice axes, bear spray and layers of clothing in anticipation of changing temperatures. They ran skill sessions on setting up tents, using the camping stoves and packing backpacks. They led a three-mile run so participants could gauge their own physicality and comfort zones.

“As a mental health clinician, I really encourage folks to start to know their comfort zones and their ability to push outside of that at times, to practice a degree of mindfulness around what’s going on with them … as well as how to communicate with the team and with leaders to be able to make the most of the experience,” says Campos ’18 ’19, who also serves as a counselor at the NC State Counseling Center. “Once we’re out there, we help them pack their packs. We go through the gear. We check everything out, make sure everybody has what they need. We teach leave no trace, and we practice that throughout the trip.”

On the second day, the students launched themselves into a hands-on lesson called “Snow School.”

“We repeatedly climbed up the steep side of a snow-covered mountain, just to throw ourselves back down it,” said Cole. “It wasn’t just for fun, though it was awesome. We were learning how to self-arrest with ice axes, which was an essential survival skill in case of an uncontrolled fall. Falling repeatedly down a slope and trusting a tool to stop you is a strange way to build confidence, but it’s surprisingly efficient.”

As the expedition progresses, the leaders share lessons such as picking tent spots, purifying water, route finding and map reading, until participants build self-sufficiency and confidence. Halfway through the trip, according to Campos, the students have an entirely different approach.

“We want them to build a degree of trust, and we also want them to open themselves up to letting go a little bit.”

“We want them to build a degree of trust, and we also want them to open themselves up to letting go a little bit,” he says. “We’re there for safety and to support them and help them continue to grow throughout. Toward that midpoint … once they push through that, they’ve built up their confidence, and are able to enjoy connecting with the outdoors, the remote location and all the different areas we were traversing.”

The Journey

“The expedition was filled with unforgettable moments: some beautiful, some brutal, all transformative and full of type two fun,” says Kevin Kim ’28. “Every day brought a new challenge: hiking for miles with a heavy pack, setting up and breaking down camp, cooking in the cold and facing situations I wasn’t remotely used to. One of my favorite parts of the experience was the dinners. We were all freezing, huddled together, swapping stories from our lives as we shoveled warm food into our mouths. … Those moments of bonding were some of the most meaningful parts of the trip.”

According to Campos, the conditions at the beginning of the trip were a bit more extreme than usual, with a heavier snow pack and robust wind gusts on the first night.

“As wind so strong it felt like it could send us flying off the mountain gusted unceasingly, I considered what I was doing there when I could be safely on flat ground in my own home,” says Sawulski.

For Caden Miller ’26, a single misstep brought an intense moment of clarity.

“I lost my balance. My foot slipped, and I dropped a few feet down the slope. Not far, maybe three feet, but it was enough to take the breath out of me. Enough to know, instantly, that if I didn’t handle this right, I might fall a lot further. This wasn’t discomfort. This was danger,” he says. “As I was clawing my way to a stop, one of the leaders firmly called out to me, ‘You need to kick in. Kick in a step you can stand on.’”

He fought, kicking at the snow until he gouged out one foothold, then another, inching his way to safety. When he rejoined the group, they paused for just a moment before continuing on.

“It’s strange – how something that intense can fold itself into the day like anything else. No fanfare. No dramatic pause. Just a moment of fear, and then the next step. And the next. And the next,” he says.  

He doesn’t believe that the ordeal made him braver or unlocked hidden potential or transformed him in a deep way, but he did have a revelation.

“Yes, the wilderness has a way of stripping things down,” he says. “The novelty, the silence, the challenge – they clear space in the mind. They make you notice things you’d usually rush past. They jolt you into presence. But novelty alone is not meaning. The mountain doesn’t teach you anything unless you’re ready to learn. Most of the growth I experienced came not from the trail, but from conversations we had after the day’s hike. The way we sat together, reflected and asked questions we hadn’t asked before. The mountain provided the context, but the growth happened in the reflection.”

The Return 

“This expedition pushed me in a way nothing else ever has,” says Kim. “It reminded me that growth rarely comes from comfort. It comes from struggle, reflection and shared experience. It also deepened my appreciation for simplicity. Out there, all I could think about was the next meal, the next campsite, the next pass, the views and the people beside me. It stripped life down to its basics and helped me reconnect with what matters: perseverance, connection and purpose.”    

Sam Decker’28 joined the expedition to reconnect with nature but found an even deeper connection with himself. 

“I find that in my daily life I can fall into a pattern of constantly wanting new things,” he says. “During our week in the backcountry, the constant stream of wants began to fade and in its place stood four things: food, water, sleep and the trail. I could no longer want because there was nothing to want, and the constant desire to find water, eat food and sleep prevented me from being able to want anything more. At face value, this doesn’t sound enjoyable; however, I found it strangely grounding. The noise of wanting new things had left and in its place I found room to simply be.”  

On the final night of the expedition, students went their separate ways for an hour of quiet reflection. Many of them returned with words of wisdom in the form of advice for both future adventurers and those who rarely venture beyond the city lights. 

“I left with something deeply personal – a genuine love for adventure, not just the kind with hiking boots and backpacks, but the kind that starts with a big question mark and ends with stories you’ll tell for the rest of your life,” says Cole. “If you’re someone who needs control, structure and a well-defined plan like me, this kind of trip might terrify you, and that’s exactly why you should go. I had to let go of needing all the answers. I had to embrace uncertainty. It’s hard, but it’s freeing. My advice is simple: just go for it. You don’t have to know exactly what’s coming. You won’t be alone. You’ll have a team, and you’ll come back with more than memories. You’ll come back changed.”

“I left with something deeply personal – a genuine love for adventure, not just the kind with hiking boots and backpacks, but the kind that starts with a big question mark and ends with stories you’ll tell for the rest of your life.”

Kim agrees.

“If you’re considering a similar opportunity, just do it,” he says. “You don’t need prior experience. You just need to be open to the idea that something unknown could change your life. I had never done anything like this before. The closest was a 30-minute walk with stairs and an elevator, but I said yes, and it made all the difference.”

Sawulski remembers the group wondering if every day would be as hard as the first.

“I should have known that the answer to our question was a resounding yes,” she says. “The wilderness [expedition] is designed to push each participant in ways unfathomable prior to the trip. I had no idea that this trip would force me to confront my anxious habit of over-analyzing situations beforehand, rather than simply experiencing them. I learned that in moments that felt dangerously close to my limits, such as crossing the Kearsarge Pass at 11,700 feet, no good came from looking up ahead and questioning my ability to complete the task at hand. What mattered was taking that next step, listening to the people ahead of me and communicating to the people behind me. This is a lesson that I will hold close: I have all that I need within me to navigate any situation, especially when a strong and supportive community surrounds me.”  

The experience may have stirred up more questions than answers for Miller, who joined the expedition in hopes of a “challenging-but-meaningful” experience. He acknowledges that humans often seek – and find – meaning and change through adversity. 

“But that’s exactly what I’m starting to question. Is it that the struggle changed us or that the mind is good at retroactively assigning value to pain we’ve already endured? … Do we gain insight because the mountain is dangerous? Does growth really depend on suffering? … The wilderness didn’t teach me that suffering is sacred. It reminded me that presence is. That attention is. That meaning isn’t something we find at the summit; it’s something we carry with us in each step if we are willing to look. The hardest part is not enduring the pain but learning to stay present afterward when nothing is demanding it, to notice the quiet moments and to let them matter just as much.”