There’s a particular feeling you get when you walk into a room full of people who just get it. We all work in different ways, schools, universities, outdoor centres, charities, freelancers, those dipping a toe in and those just starting out, but there’s a shared language underneath. A sense of kinship. Connectedness. Like coming home to your people.
When I attend an Institute of Outdoor Learning conference, egos are left at the door. Whether you are just starting out or are longer in the tooth, everyone is accepted, supported and cared for.
The day was hosted at Brathay Trust in the Lake District and organised by the IOL North West Regional Group. Huge thanks to both, to Brathay for creating such a welcoming space, and to the volunteer team at IOL North West for the care and energy that shaped a programme balancing inspiration, challenge and real conversation.
That was the feeling that stayed with me all day at the IOL North West Conference.
Seeing your own practice reflected back
One of the highlights for me was attending Dawn Thomas’ workshop, Indoor Outdoor Learning in Primary School. She introduced her indoor/outdoor framework for weaving curriculum learning across spaces rather than treating the outdoors as a bolt-on. (that message might just sound familiar)
Sitting there, I had one of those lovely moments where someone articulates something you’ve been doing instinctively for years. Dawn gave formal language to approaches I use every day, the gentle integration, the flow between classroom and outside, the idea that learning doesn’t change character just because the ceiling disappears. It was validating and inspiring in equal measure.
The message that threaded through everything
The keynote from Rich Ensoll about canoeing round Ireland landed right in the middle of that feeling. People had told him and his canoe partner that, “there’s a reason no-one has done this in an open canoe.” They went anyway.
What struck me wasn’t tales of heroics, (or the diarrhoea), it was the honesty. They weren’t claiming to be the best, just committed enough to begin. As he shared at the start, you went out and turned right, and kept doing that for forty six days. Rich shared the WH Murray quote about how once you commit, unseen help arrives, and the simple message:
You don’t need to wait to become a better version of yourself.
You are enough, right now, to do hard and beautiful things.
That idea echoed through the rest of the day.
Conversations that matter
In the morning, I hosted Understanding Schools: Barriers, Pressures & Outdoor Practitioner Solutions. It became a genuinely collaborative conversation between people who work with schools and those who work in them. This came out of a workshop I delivered last year, where people were looking for dialogue and ideas.
We talked honestly about the real barriers:
teacher anxiety outdoors, behaviour expectations, clothing, the cost of transport, time pressures, risk concerns, curriculum misunderstandings. No pretending these don’t exist.
But we also talked about what we can control. About zones of influence. And about how sometimes it isn’t a grand strategy that changes things, it’s one teacher, one idea, one sentence at the right moment.
Later in the day someone who’d been in that session found me to say they’d carried on the conversation over lunch. That meant more than any formal feedback form, it meant something had resonated.
No kit, no problem
My afternoon workshop, 30/30/30 – Maths, Literacy & Nature Problem-Solving, was a challenge before it even began. I’d never been to the venue, didn’t know what spaces were available and had brought no resources.
And that turned out to be the point.
We used sticks, leaves, voices, imagination. Participants noticed how easily we slip into “educator language” when we feel observed, and how learning can be just as powerful when it stays relaxed and human. The session proved what I believe deeply:
Outdoor learning isn’t about stuff.
It’s about noticing, relationships and the words we choose.
Remembering the sparks
All day I kept thinking about my own teachers, Miss Wilson in primary school and then in high school, Mr Rubens, who gave us two full weeks of outdoor learning every year, and Mr Flint, a biology teacher who ran the canoe and ski clubs. I wouldn’t be doing what I do now without them.
I doubt they ever saw themselves as extraordinary. They were just doing their everyday thing. But that’s the magic of the spark, most people don’t realise they are one.
Raising each other up
What I love about these gatherings is the lack of ego. You meet people leading national organisations and people just dipping a toe into outdoor learning, and everyone is welcomed the same. When we work together, we all raise each other up.
If you’ve ever wondered whether you belong in this world, please hear this: you do. Join the Institute of Outdoor Learning, come to the conferences, sit beside people who speak your language. You’ll leave reminded that you don’t need to be the best, just willing, curious and kind.
And enough.
Because you already are.
