The freezing wind scythes across the hills and snow is starting to fall, but it's the food and the lack of cigarettes that the teenagers slumped on the sodden moss are complaining about. "Couscous!" says Ally. "What is that about? It's revolting. First thing I'm gonna do when I get back is head for a kebab. Doner." "Crisps," adds Lee. "Salt and vinegar McCoy's." The pair of them get lost in their culinary fantasies.It is day seven of a 10-day expedition, and none of the six participants aged from 16 to 18 has seen a shop, or a streetlight, or a shower, since they left "base camp". They are carrying everything – tents, sleeping bags and mats, aluminium pot and stove, changes of clothes and waterproofs, packets of foodstuffs – and wearing everything else: balaclavas and mittens, layers of thermal and fleece. Water comes from the ice-cold streams.The wilderness courses of the Venture Trust are pioneering work that has its roots in US boot camps. Their success with some of Scotland's toughest young offenders is winning over even the most sceptical in the criminal justice system. An Edinburgh-based charity, it works with 16- to 25-year-olds, taking them out into some of Britain's most inhospitable terrain, challenging antisocial attitudes and giving them the skills to change.
"The idea is to be physically, emotionally and socially challenging," said Andy Ashworth, programme manager of Venture Trust. And here, several hours' walk from the nearest town, high in the mountains outside Inverness in the middle of November, there is no soft option. Five of the original 11 in the group have gone: one was medically unfit to go on, and the other four opted to go back to whatever the justice system had in store for them rather than face the challenge ahead.These teenagers come with different stories but with very similar themes: loss and tragedy, drink and drugs, parents who failed and parents who left, or died. Schools they were thrown out of and rails they came off. They have made their protests through violence and substance abuse. They've come from care homes and homeless hostels, secure units and young offenders institutions. They have been offered an alternative, often to their next custodial sentence – a chance to change.
On the hills, the day's time keeper and navigator are appointed, the Ordnance Survey map and compass duly handed over and the huge backpacks hoisted. As they fall into step along the track, the snow clears and the mountains stretch out for miles, vast golden hills of moss and browned bracken.Noses run and Ally, 18, has a hacking cough. A good-looking boy with a ready wit, he shakes off sympathy. "It's the gunge clearing out. This is the longest without drugs in about six years. It's good, having a clear head, amazing. With drugs, it's like a tunnel you're in all the time. But out here," he says, "total wilderness, all the space in the world, it's good, you can think. Middle of nowhere, climbing mountains," he shakes his head. "I can't believe I've stuck it out. It's worth it, now I know I can change."
According to Ashworth, these expeditions are a sharp shock for unfit city teens: "These are kids who don't know what success feels like, they recognise failure and because they know it they feel comfortable there. They can even try and sabotage themselves, right up until the end."
Morning and afternoon, participants have intensive sessions in an outdoor classroom. Along with the therapeutic sessions aimed at changing behaviour, they have to get on with strangers and negotiate the group's survival. As darkness falls at 4pm, everyone stops to camp for the night. One of the group shouts out that they're pushing in tent pegs through an inch of marsh water: "I'm camping in a bog!""Don't worry," yells back one of the staff, "it'll be frozen over shortly."
"I thought it would be like canoeing and mountain biking, and so you go to get the court off your back," says Lee, 17, his teeth chattering. "Then we get here… I've been locked up for most of my life so when you come here you think it's the same, like the screws in the jail, you know everything you say is being recorded somewhere. With social and probation workers, you know they're talking to you so they can show it to other people."But these guys, they're having an open conversation, it makes things less complicated. It boosts your confidence and makes you talk instead of keeping it all inside where it fucks your head. You can talk without feeling embarrassed. It's hard being here, but good," he says.
Talk quickly dies away and the only noise is restless legs turning against tent sides and Ally's cough. The group is up before the sun. The staff knock on the snow-encrusted tents and, one by one, they tumble out of sleeping bags and straight into the freezing morning. Having agreed to a 7.30am start, there is no room for complaint.
"I broke into a house when I was 12, ended up in the cells," Ally says over hot porridge. "After that I got arrested stealing. I got more and more jail. It didn't go slow like, it went really fast. My mum threw me out when she couldn't handle it and I was in a homeless unit. It was scary; I was just a kid. I'd sit in and take drugs, all through 13, 14, I'd wake shaking. I was hurting a lot of people, gangs. I had psychotherapy, physiotherapy, psychiatrists – they sit behind a desk and go, 'Open up'."For 19-year-old Sammy this is her second Venture Trust course. She's moved with her sister to a new town, away from old crowds. The daughter of a drug addict she was put in care aged eight, separated from her six-year-old sister. The anger stayed with her. "Now I can see ahead, I can take a step back, I'm taking charge of a new life."
All of the participants have aspirations. Lee wants to be a chef. Duncan wants to join the forces. Gary wants to find a nice girl and settle down. Over the next 12 months they will be helped to make their way towards these goals. With the wilderness courses and the follow-on support, Venture Trust has lifted their chances from zero. Academic evaluations of the trust's work for 2008-2009 showed 83% of participants had changed behaviour and their circumstances, with 57% already in training or employment. Self-esteem had risen markedly in 98% of them.The staff are no pushover. Cheery but tough, they are there the minute there is a tantrum. They are also mountaineers and outdoor people, robust and unafraid of making relationships with these "untouchable" young people. The pay is low, and the emotional drain high, but the rewards are there.
"You can see them change in front of you. We are constantly looking at our results, re-evaluating after every course. The key element is the relationships between staff and participants in a powerful survival setting. These people come from complex cultures, it's a long journey we are setting them on. But they don't forget this. It's tough, it's personal and they have no option but to concentrate," said Ashworth.
"Some change a lot, some change a little, but they all change. This is the sharp end of youth work, it's not fashionable. But I know it works."As the group drop backpacks by the side of a frozen loch for a lunch break, Ally rattles out his tin and a packet of couscous. He's apparently over his aversion and is happily telling everyone that it's great with curry sauce.
"When I go back I'm gonna say to people: 'I've walked for 10 days solid, I've carried everything I need on my back, I'd like to see you do that.' The more people help you the better you feel about yourself. Venture Trust are giving me the tools, so I can use them.
"They make me feel like I'm a human being."
The Guardian
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