Twice a year, I go away with 50 other men for a camping weekend. It’s like most blokes’ idea of a good time, with golf and surfing and lots of barbecue meat - except that all of us are sober and trying to be better men.
It was just after breakfast, on one of our weekends away, when Ian* came out as being gay to all of us, sitting around the campfire. In his mid-50s and surrounded by men he’d only known a few months, it took incredible courage. He got an instant round of applause and plenty of hugs, as he sat in his camp chair sobbing, but smiling.
He was likely the only openly gay man among us on this particular Men’s Weekend, but I don’t think I saw a single negative - or even ambivalent - reaction. There’s a real cross-section of men who attend these weekends: from soft-spoken, left-leaning, white collar types like myself; to plain-speaking tradies with tats, thongs and hoodies.
What unites us - and I mean, genuinely unites us - is that we’re all sober, and that we’re all striving to lead better lives, partly by being vulnerable with each other like Ian had.
There’s a real cross-section of men who attend these weekends: from soft-spoken, left-leaning, white collar types like myself; to plain-speaking tradies with tats, thongs and hoodies.
This was the third Men’s Weekend Camp that I had attended. Truth be told, I avoided the camp for a number of years. Partly because I’m not a fan of sleeping on the floor under canvas, but mostly because I’m an introvert with a fear of being stuck anywhere with other people for more than a few hours.
Yet time and again, my mates from AA would come back with tales of bonding, heart-lifting spirituality, and yes, lots of good barbecuing.
So three years ago, I finally bit the bullet, bought a beanie, borrowed a swag, and headed out of Sydney one Friday lunchtime.
In a nutshell, the format for the weekend is to arrive on Friday, get set up, meet everyone at a communal barbecue dinner, which is followed by an AA meeting around the campfire. Breakfast and another meeting takes place the next day, then the day is free for outdoor activities or naps. The nighttime is a repeat of the dinner/ AA meeting combo, and we pack up and head home after the Sunday morning breakfast/meeting bookend.
By Saturday night at my first camp, my heart genuinely felt as full as I can ever remember. I felt close to nature, close to my fellow men, and full of renewed hope and inspiration.
I’ve read that campfires themselves are good for health and the soul; that scientific tests have shown staring at flames can actually . Also, that storytelling traditions are aided by .
Certainly that was my experience under the stars as the logs crackled in the dark, and I felt emotional as the men around me opened up about their fears, insecurities and showed vulnerability.
Certainly that was my experience under the stars as the logs crackled in the dark, and I felt emotional as the men around me opened up about their fears, insecurities and showed vulnerability. They talked about how they struggled in relationships, how some of them felt like impostors at work, how they wanted to be better fathers, and how they sometimes felt lonely and afraid. All macho posturing dissipated.
Indeed, the format of an AA ID (identification) meeting is to share honestly ‘what it was like’ when you were drinking, ‘what happened’ to get you to a meeting, and ‘what it’s like now’ in recovery.
By the very nature of problem drinking, which takes you to a place where you need to stop, there will have been episodes of bad behaviour in the past. None of the men share these stories proudly, but rather they own those episodes as a warning to others - and a reminder to themselves. In many ways, it’s pretty standard group therapy.
But heightened by the energy that is palpable among such large numbers, the soothing nature of a campfire, and the relative safety of the dark night, the sharing feels more powerful than ever, and the empathy that much greater.
Usually, the ages of camp-goers vary from early 20s to late 70s, and lengths of sobriety from over 50 years to just a few days. And the men who are new to AA, who are still at the deer-in-headlights stage, soak up the wisdom of the older guys. They want to learn how to stay sober and how to behave better — and learning from their elders’ experience is the perfect way.
In a time when toxic masculinity is in the spotlight, perhaps there’s a lesson to be had in all of this. So many of us, including men I have met at he camps, want to do the right thing.
In a time when toxic masculinity is in the spotlight, perhaps there’s a lesson to be had in all of this. So many of us, including men I have met at the camps, want to do the right thing. And yet we are incredibly fallible. Somewhere down the line, we can often lose strong connections to our friends, become frustrated by life, feel isolated, and start to lack accountability and discipline. Without the right support, men in that position often go straight to denial. Give them some time and an environment of trust though, and I’ve seen even the toughest guys take on board the criticism, make amends, and make genuine efforts to change.
These weekends away have shown me that mentorship, role modelling, and open-hearted conversations is a sensible way forward. Even better, do that in a space where honesty and vulnerability is protected and trust is implicit. And if all of that can be done around a campfire with a plate of barbecue meat, or hey, even some plant-based tucker, then perhaps our fellow men will stand a better chance.
*Names have been changed
If substance addiction is a problem for you, help is available:
Alcohol Drug Information Service (ADIS): 1800 250 015 (24 hours/day, 7 days/week)
Beyond Blue: 1300 224 636 (24 hours/day, 7 days/week).
Alcoholics Anonymous: 1300 222 222 (24 hours/day, 7 days/week)
