My last Boy Scout camping trip occurred over twenty years ago somewhere deep in Alabama’s Bankhead National Forest. I don’t remember much from that trip, except three things. I remember riding in an old van as Bon Jovi’s song “Bad Medicine” belted through the speakers. I remember one of the boys swatting at a yellow jacket (with a tube of squeeze cheese) and several, obviously confused bees attacking me instead. And the other thing I remember is the torrential downpour that occurred on the last night of the trip. As I was lugging my big backpack through that rain-sated forest, I slipped and fell down into a ravine, big as an eight-story skyscraper. Well, it seemed like it anyway. Humiliated, I looked up at the other boys, who were by then laughing their heads off.I never went back.I am not a lover of The Great Outdoors. I prefer to sequester myself into an air-conditioned room with a fat stable of books. I like Instant Coffee. I prefer my meals to be prepared by a better cook than I. I am no more prepared to tackle nature than I am Leonard Fournette.But recently, a relative of mind asked me if I would come spend a day with the Boy Scouts. At first, I grumbled at the thought of it. The words “Boy” and “Scout,” put together, conjured harrowing images of that long ago camping trip where I failed an important test of manhood. Those outdoors spat me out and banished me to eke out a life in the comfort of Freon and 60-watt bulbs.Sure. As an adult, I have gone to the beach, the lake, and the mountains. But I have never braved anything. I’ve never been hunting. The closest I’ve ever come to it were the handful of times my dad took me to bird dog field trials when Older Bush was President. The thought of sitting in a tree stand makes my stomach turn. The thought of being left out in the woods to survive, Thoreau-like, makes me as uncomfortable as a caged possum.Yet, as a photographer and writer, I have come to an appreciation of nature. I do not spend a great deal of time there, but when I do, I always feel a refreshing. It’s almost like I need it to refocus and re-center. I do not believe that people should live their entire lives in the city. There is much growth and life outside of the concrete jungle.And so I went. A few miles south of Tuscaloosa, Alabama, to the Maxwell Plantation, where the River District of the Boy Scouts was hosting a camporee and “venturing” weekend excursion.To set the scene, the plantation is a lush, 2400-acre farm with long dirt roads canopied by trees and bisected by adroit, leaping deer. There are ponds, fields, crops, and a massive lodge squatting on the property. I would not be surprised if a Hearst owned it. These are the sights as I drove up in anticipation for the gobs of tan-clad boys and their mentors.If you haven’t gathered by now, all of my knowledge of such exploits could be stuffed into a thimble, and I was glad to see my cousin Sam—expert on such affairs—when he pulled up in his van to take me around the property. I would lean on him for guidance and comprehension.Of course, the van was an adventure in itself. The odometer read 409,000 miles, and threatened to rattle apart as we took on every bump, slope, and stick.Sam started by giving me a brief synopsis of the weekend festivities. The purpose of the soiree was to help kids have a basic understanding of camping, hiking, first aid, topography, and general nature-preparedness. This was a unique event, in that venturing and scouting were merged into one single event. Units were broken down into patrols and Station Chiefs were assigned to each station.Coming upon our first station, orienteering, we also learned the importance of knowing where you are. Steps through the backcountry are kind of like steps through life. If you don’t have the right compass, or if your compass is off, even a hair, it’s easy to get lost.Another important lesson I learned from Station 1 was about equipment. Out in the real world, many people concentrate on what they can accumulate. And so we gather. Horde. We have so much stuff that we need extra storage facilities just to house it. We have three closets-full of nothing to wear. But the Scout has a different mindset. The Scout is all about reducing. The Scout thinks about what he can get rid of--the less stuff, the better. It almost seems counterintuitive, but less works well for the Boy Scout in the woods. He realizes he doesn’t need a whole lot to survive, and that more can be cumbersome and create problems. Young boys are learning there is a hard line between “need” and “want.” Perhaps we can all learn something, too.The second station involved water filtration. Of course, water is essential in The Great Outdoors. A team of kids had assembled under a tent, where a Coast Guard Reservist named Byrne was teaching them the basics of water filtration. Water was drawn from a creek, purified, and drank. Here, the boys came to an understanding of how impurities can be detrimental to one’s health, and thus, life. What we’re pouring in matters.Moving on to the next station, the “Crossroads,” where open-book testing was administered, one got the sense that education was a key to survival. The motto of the Boys Scouts is “Be Prepared” and Scout Masters teach that preparation is essential to any life endeavor. Preparedness gives you confidence in the face of the elements and signals the death of fear.The next station involved building a fire. As sticks or pieces of flint are rubbed together, a fire ignites. Here, Scouts are learning how to deal with friction. They learn there are agents, such as dryer lint, that can expedite a flame. Like life, things can ignite quickly, and we have to be careful not to exacerbate combustibility when moments of discomfort occur.At the last station, sitting around a stone table fronting a beautiful creek, eating Ramen Noodles and drinking black coffee, Sam shared with me his love for scouting and the outdoors. He talked about the character and values of scouting. He talked about the safeguards that the Boy Scouts employ to ensure proper touching and eliminate improprieties. He talked about how the Scouts use belief in God as a rallying point, not a mechanism to divide.The Boy Scouts are still the world’s largest youth organization, but their numbers are dwindling. Instead of getting close to nature, kids are instead choosing to host a life among gadgets. One has to wonder if we are raising a generation that is nature-averse, when instead we should be encouraging children to get outside.After we eat, Sam makes sure I dispose all of my refuse, because one of the Scouting mantras is “leave no trace.” Scouts are respecters of nature, and while most of us would be content to leave evidence of our presence, scouts would rather leave their conquered terrain untainted. Regardless of how much man’s aggressive slash of nature occurs, we should all remember that there are places in this world that are precious and worth preserving.I believe that any young man would do well by joining an outfit such as the Boy Scouts. I lament that my time with this honorable organization was not better spent. But I’m glad that the Boy Scouts gave me a second chance, though I doubt that I’ll ever give to it as much as it’s given me, in only one educational day in the woods.In preparation for this article, I had to look up the definition of “venturing.” Venturing is defined as such: “to dare to do something or go somewhere that may be dangerous or unpleasant.” So as I take an assessment of my own life, as I walk through its glens and forests and the two roads diverge in the yellow wood and I stare down the paths—one of comfort and convenience versus one of discomfort and trial— I hope that the Road Less Traveled is the one I choose.For I do not become a better man for running to the worn path.I become a better man by braving the woods. 78Al Blanton is a writer for 78 Magazine and www.blantononline.com. All photos by Al.