The Red Rope Challenge by Sophie

The Red Rope Challenge by Sophie - January 2026 Scholarship Essay

I remember what it was like when I tied the knot. I was fourteen.
The mid-July sun peeked through the branches of the San Bernardino pine trees towering over us. Thankfully, I wasn’t getting married; instead, I was training for the red rope challenge—the most impressive feat you could pull off at camp—consisting of tying 14 knots in under a minute. As a girl who had been told my whole life that I didn’t belong in the Boy Scouts, it was the biggest deal ever.
Amidst the controversial welcoming of female troops into the organization, sentiments of rejection and disapproval lurked throughout my first summer camp. This increased the stakes of the red rope—not only was I allured by the ‘impossible’ nature of the challenge itself, but also these intensifying doubts in my head that told me “You can’t do it. You’re not worthy. Girls don’t belong here.” The reality was, I had no proof to discredit these voices, and I was starting to believe them. I couldn’t sit still, so I turned to the red rope as my symbol of hope. Each timed practice session, I honed my skills to manipulate the nylon weapon. Whether it was in between classes, after dinner, or waiting for the zip line, I was in constant practice. I was preparing for the final boss battle against a huge, invisible enemy: my mind.
“....RED, ROPE, CHALLENGE! RED, ROPE, CHALLENGE!...”
I stood in the middle of the stage—the blaze of the campfire illuminating my rope, and the thunderous cheers of camp energizing my fingers as I tied. One knot at a time, each doubt slipped away. And with that, I had defeated the red rope challenge. I could do it. And I had tangible proof.
After the exhilaration of the moment washed away, I came to a new realization: my status as a girl was never a hindrance to my abilities. It was the same 14 knots that anyone had to tie. However, like many impressionable youth, I had allowed society to tell me I couldn’t do something because of one inconsequential aspect of my identity. All it took was challenging that mental block for it to crumble. While I had taken the first step in overcoming that, I realized that many of my fellow scouts had not.
This realization catalyzed my decision to return as a staff member. Two years later, now in charge of the Red Rope Program, it was my turn to rewrite the narrative for these hesitant, yet impressionable scouts. Upon identifying each scouts’ unique mental wall of doubt, I’d train them to destroy it with their own rope. While our mental walls greatly differed, each rested on the same groundless foundation that I aimed to undo.
However, even as a mentor, my role as a student never ended. In fact, my students had a lesson to teach me as well—the rope was flexible. They showed me that flexibility meant it could bend and tie in innumerable different ways, not just the way I did it. At first, I had tried to correct scouts the moment they deviated from my method. Only after opening my mind to new techniques could I learn faster sequences—those thought up by my own students. They showed me that my role wasn’t to dictate, but rather to enable them to make it their own, and foster creativity, individuality, and confidence in each scout I met. Strictly copying someone before them would hinder innovation.
While my summer camp days have settled as a fond memory, and the rope rests well-worn in a drawer, the lessons I learned through the red rope continue to guide me today. Whether I’m encouraging that same self-confidence in my peers in church youth ministry, or keeping an open mind to the diverse pool of thought in academia, I remain happily tied to these principles—in sickness, and in health.