Lessons From The Campfire

As someone who leads trips with both young people and adults, I’ve spent a lot of time around fires.

Not just the practical kind, like the ones used for cooking, but the quiet social evening fires that mark the end of a long day. Campfires in the bush or at camp somewhere. Fires where nothing is scheduled and nothing is expected.

Over the years, I’ve come to realise that some of the most powerful moments on our trips don’t happen during the headline experiences. They happen sitting, staring into a fire.

I’ve watched young people who usually struggle to sit still become completely absorbed by the flames. Teenagers who are constantly stimulated, judged, and distracted suddenly find stillness without being asked to.

I’ve seen adults approach their first fire full of the noise they live with every day, work, responsibility, expectation, and also a little uncertain about how to be in that space by the fire. Very quickly, it feeling settles. The fire becomes familiar, calming, and necessary, because it is exactly that. By the following night, people naturally find their way back, staying longer each time, because of how powerful it feels.

The shift is subtle, but it’s always there.

Conversations slow. Sometimes they disappear altogether. And that silence never feels awkward. It feels natural, shared, and deeply human.

One thing I’ve learned very clearly is that I never interrupt people while they’re looking into the flames. I don’t ask them to reflect. I don’t ask them to share insights or explain what’s going on in their heads afterwards.

That time is theirs. It’s precious. And it’s personal.

Some people have quiet, meaningful conversations with the person beside them. Others just sit alone, watching the fire rise and fall. Both are equally valuable. There’s no hierarchy, no right way to experience it.

Just like nature itself, the camp fire does the work for us, we just bring people to these places with open hearts.

In many parts of the world, fire still holds its place. It hasn’t been pushed aside by constant distraction. People naturally gather around it and drift in and out. There’s no rush, no agenda, no pressure to fill the space. The fire creates a rhythm, and people instinctively fall into it.

For young people this can be incredibly powerful. Many of them live in a world where they are constantly being assessed at school, at home, amongst friends, online, socially. Sitting by a fire gives everyone permission to simply exist. No performance. No expectation. No judgement.

I’ve seen confidence grow, emotions settle, and connections form without a single structured discussion.

Adults benefit just as much, even if they don’t always articulate it. People have told me how the peacefulness of the fireside has enabled them to process big life questions without ever speaking them aloud. And how the fire is a great leveller, offering quiet companionship rather than a spotlight. It allows thoughts to surface and drift away at their own pace.

That’s why I protect these moments on our trips.

I don’t turn them into learning outcomes. I don’t gather people into circles to analyse how they feel. The staring, the silence, the gentle conversations and contemplations, that is the value.

I often say, my role as a leader is easy when people need nature and need to sit by the fire. Because in those moments, people aren’t looking to me for answers or direction. They’re finding what they need themselves.

As a trip leader, one of the most important things I’ve learned is when to step back and let the fire give people what they need, in their own time, and in their own way.

Some experiences aren’t meant to be discussed or unpacked.

They’re meant to be felt...

Angus