It is common today to see newspaper reports of the principal UK mountains; Ben Nevis (Scotland), Scafell (England) and Yr Wyddfa (Snowdon, Wales) overcrowded with visitors or in pictures of charity challenge events. The attraction in achievement, escapism and majesty is all too obvious and laudably taken up by many. This has of course also included those people with lived and living experience of alcohol and drug use, and those in recovery from the difficult experiences of such use. Indeed, there has always been somewhat of an additional hedonistic mix between mountains and drugs.
This article though is the story of a very specific mountaineering recovery group; DARE (Drug and Alcohol Recovery Expeditions), the principles that made it work, and what we have learnt for other and ongoing recovery groups.
DARE as a group thrived for over 12-13 years during the early 2000’s. It was an unusual recovery group, in that despite all those years of monthly activity, it never reached the point of becoming a formally constituted charity or social enterprise. It remained a large collection of individuals and some of their friends, who just came together to do stuff with and support each other. A group of equals (peers) on shared literal and metaphorical journeys. The real essence of a recovery community. The activities of the group though were particularly unusual, in that rather than confining themselves to walking on beaches, around lakes or in parks (and it did these things sometimes too), it spent most of its time high up in the Welsh mountains.
Like many recovery groups and activities, DARE required the coming together of a group of motivated individuals. In this instance, it began with the desire of some in recovery to do the massive Welsh 15 peaks challenge, and their connection to three ‘friends of recovery’ with a depth of mountaineering experience and skills who wanted to support them to do so. From this initial aspiration for a charity event and the necessary monthly preparation walks. A group grew which just walked with and supported each other over the next decade. A mountaineering recovery community.
Beyond the initial starting point, the group flourished because of a number of factors. For all those who did a walk, there was the obvious literal and metaphorical challenge of climbing a mountain, getting to the top, and overcoming barriers. Often with the sense, ‘if I can do this, anything is possible in my recovery.’ For those who turned out for month after month, year after year, there was the realisation this was a healthy lifestyle activity they enjoyed, and one they could weave into the fabric of their own recovery strategies.
It was a community making the most of its local resources. We lived very close to the mountains, beaches, green spaces and accessing them was free. If there were costs/practical needs then these were met more often from within the group rather than from outside, i.e. those with cars did the lifts, paid the petrol, and those who were already hill going brought extra coats, rucksacks and the like for others to borrow. There was some very small external support; a local charity whose minibus could be borrowed if a driver could be found and a couple of tiny one-off charity sport grants that enabled some extra group equipment to be bought.
The group’s success though also lay in it being a recovery group, not just a walking one. Its members shared the lived experiences of drink and drug use. There was the sense of a shared or collective experience. There was a lot of sharing of experiences and advice on how to do recovery, either it be in the small chats as folk walked side-by-side or in the big group conversations over the tea, smoke or lunch breaks. We often referred to it as an AA meeting on the move. Friendships grew and were then taken back off the hill into the community. An informal network of peers sponsoring others through change. A group of friends to go climbing and walking with on other days.
Finally and critically, there was the role the mountains played. People fell in love with the majesty of the environment, regularly undergoing a sense of being alive (again) in the world. Old things were noticed again, or new things experienced for the first time. Often you could hear the sheer joy and amazement the first time someone got to the top and soaked up the world around them. Mountains have always provided people with the contemplative and meditative reflections on the self and journeys taken.
I frequently saw people piecing together their years of drink and drug use, current situation and future dreams while on the side of a mountain. The severity of the physical challenge that comes with a mountain, the fear of heights, the pain in the legs, the endless false summits, were all so often way out of the everyday comfort zone. Yet when overcome, so many folk felt physically better, mentally more confident, personally proud, and while weary there was also a buzz at the end of the walks.
The group eventually ceased to meet. Many of its core had over the decades succeeded in recovery journeys; moved on with homes, jobs, family and other things.
I am in contact with many of them and know that they still walk and gain from the mountains today. But by the time this had arrived the group had left its legacy. Many of the more formalised recovery groups in the North Wales locality took up and still take up today the challenge of doing the extra walk, supporting their own members in the heightened challenge of days in the mountain. In its own small way, DARE has contributed to the rise in diversionary activities, green therapy, social prescribing, and other more mainstream notions of what is required beyond the immediacy of treatment.
This article gives flavour of the group and its legacy. More detailed accounts of the group, how it came about, what made it work and how it echoed the principles of recovery is available in a longer version (book chapter/journal article, email me at w.livingston@glyndwr.ac.uk if you wish to read this article).
