Getting dropped off at the tram stop on a chilly, windy Monday morning signifies the last 15 seconds I’ll spend in company with my father in the coming 5 days. I absolutely do not know what to expect. Swimming in freezing cold lakes? Taking hikes in scorching hot weather?

Today is the first day of my Year Seven camp, and you could to say I, a tall blond-haired boy by the name of Henry, am not that excited.

Students are already beginning to file into the buses which will take us to what I imagine as woop-woop out in the country. My name is marked off, and I slip onto the bus to meet my family friend Emmanuel, three and a half months older than me, also in my form group.

“How are you feeling?” slips out of my mouth before I can think, and Emmanuel has also noticed how anxious I am.

“Not much different to you.”

The dreary bus trip only seems to last a moment, and before any of us realise, Emmanuel and I are ushered out of the coach.

The environment around us appears greener and smells fresher than most students in my class could ever imagine. There’s more to life than computer games, after all. Our form, 8G, is split into two groups, with us thankfully remaining in the same bunch. After a light morning tea, the bus departs to our two camping sites which each of us will be staying at, two nights each, for the remainder of the week.

The arduous hike to our first stop began as we parted ways, our side to the north-east, and the remainder of the class in the general north-westerly direction.

Twelve minutes in, another friend of mine, Maxwell, has already fallen into a muddy ditch. Our eighteen-year old leader, William, towers over us and nudges the group along, particularly Emmanuel, after a short burst of laughter. Another mishap occurs seventeen minutes later. Uncertainty has been wavering through the brains of our group. Eventually we complete our hike with the final hour of walking being done in near-silence.

Our mentors inform us we will be abseiling today before turning down for an early night. About two minutes away from our accommodation we divert down a side track, and this time, it’s my turn to tumble down onto the sodden earth.

“I don’t get how you can be so clumsy,” Emmanuel tuts.

My Nike tracksuit is caked in filth but I know there’s no other option but to put up with it and carry on.

Abseiling is tough, but I make it through after numerous failed tries in relation to my confidence. Just as we about to leave, my backpack ‘mysteriously disappears’, and I hear that it’s at the bottom of the more advanced abseiling wall. William won’t let me go down and get it, and it occurs to me that I’ve fell into another trap by my peers again. Thirty minutes of persuading and encouragement follows, and eventually, I rise up and the task is completed. My watch tells me it’s nearly nine o’clock at night.

Arriving at the campsite, a chicken stew is cooked and served by some volunteers from our group, simply consisting of overcooked chicken, carrots, beans and a small serving of brown rice on the side. 

Emmanuel again is my designated partner to set up our cosy blue and green tents. 30 minutes are allocated to this task, and we are the last to finish. I nod off almost immediately.

The amount that happened today has blown my mind.