When 16-year-old Noah laced up his boots to summit Guadalupe Peak—the highest point in Texas—he was ready for the challenge. But by the time he descended, his feet were raw with blisters and his spirit was wavering.

What happened next could’ve broken his resolve. Instead, it built something far greater.

Mr. Williams, a Trail Life leader, gathered the boys around Noah. They laid hands on him and prayed. Then, while the men treated his feet, the boys didn’t scatter—they leaned in. They encouraged. They watched. They learned.

“You’re alright, Noah. We’ve got you,” Mr. Williams said, steady and calm. Noah’s dad winked. Noah exhaled.

“It wasn’t easy,” he later said. “But it was good.”

“I learned that if you persevere through hardship, you’ll be rewarded,” Noah said. “The experience itself was the reward. Now I know I can do hard things—and not just on the trail.”

Noah is on the autism spectrum—high-functioning, eager, and driven. Trail Life has given him exactly what he needed: real adventure, godly men, and space to grow through challenge, not comfort.

“Noah’s an engager,” his dad Dave explains. “He doesn’t shy away—he just needs coaching. Trail Life gives him the freedom to try, fail, adjust, and grow.”

The Night He Didn’t Quit

The Guadalupe Peak trip wasn’t just physically tough. With freezing temps and tents blown about by howling winds, the boys were pushed to the limit. At one point, all the boys committed to sleeping on primitive “survival beds”—pine needles and leaves on the cold ground. But around 1am, Noah broke. He found his dad at the fire and asked to sleep in the tent.

Dave didn’t scold. He simply asked, “Son, the more you practice quitting, the easier it gets. But if you push through, you build a different habit. Which habit do you want to form?”

Noah turned around and walked straight back to his survival bed. And slept. “Once I discarded the option to give-up, I found I was then able to really give my best. When I stopped thinking about quitting, I just went to sleep. And I’m so glad I did it.”

From Follower to First Officer

Months later, it was Noah’s turn to lead.

On a hike through Palo Duro Canyon, one of his friends began struggling with foot pain halfway through a demanding trek. The group was moving fast, hoping to reach their destination before sunset, but Noah noticed—and remembered. He recalled what Mr. Williamson and his dad had done for him months earlier. So he called the boys together.

“We laid hands on him,” Noah said. “Dad prayed. I just wanted to do what had been done for me.”

For Dave, it was a powerful moment.

“You can talk all day about leadership,” he said. “But leadership is caught more than it’s taught. And that moment? That was leadership in action.”

Noah now serves as First Officer in his Troop. It’s a role he’s grown into. He admits that when he first stepped into the position, he struggled.

“I thought being a leader meant telling people what to do,” he said. “I was impatient. I raised my voice. I didn’t help—I just gave orders.”

But experience—and a few tough lessons—taught him otherwise.

“Now, I hop in. I show the way. I ask for help, but if no one steps up, I do it myself. I don’t yell. I lead.”

That mindset shift has been transformative—not just for Noah, but for the other boys watching him.

“There’s a world of difference between a boss and a leader,” Noah says. “A boss gives orders. A leader influences. A boss demands. A leader inspires.”

Trail Life has become more than a Troop—it’s been a proving ground. Not just for Noah, but for Dave, too.

“As a dad, my job is to give him space to grow,” Dave said. “I’ve learned to stay out of the way just enough. Boys need to learn to be men from other men—and they need to do it a zip code away from their moms.”

He laughs when he says it, but he’s serious: boys don’t grow by being protected from life. They grow by engaging with it—feet blistered, meals forgotten, tents pitched poorly in the rain.

“We’ve had boys grumble through some sad meals because they didn’t plan well. Or get a bit wet because they didn’t stake their fly correctly. But those lessons stick. That’s how they grow.”

For Noah, Trail Life is more than a place to camp and earn badges. It’s a place where he’s seen and respected. A place where a boy on the autism spectrum can become a leader—not by being perfect, but by persevering.

His advice for other young leaders?

“Be patient. Lead by example. Don’t bark. Walk beside. And always look out for your brothers.”

Because leadership doesn’t start at the top. It starts with a choice. To keep going. To remember. To lead like you've been led.

Find a Troop near you or Learn how to bring Trail Life to your community at TrailLifeUSA.com