A pack of teenagers — the kind that can drive their own trucks, fix their own flat, and still laugh like kids — took off across Nevada on their own. They hit guzzlers tucked in canyons and sage flats, checked water, patched lines, hauled gravel, and left each site a little better than they found it.
No adults hovering. No supervision. Just a loose plan, a map, and a shared sense of purpose. They fished when they could, camped where the sun dropped, and probably ate more gas station jerky than anyone should.
It wasn’t about the miles they covered — it was about taking ownership of the wild places they’ll inherit. That’s the kind of thing you can’t fake. You just watch it happen and think, yeah, this is what it’s all about.