By the end of the day, the tech team was not only safe but euphoric. Their team lead wrote a five-star review specifically naming Freya as "the calm, competent woman in the green helmet who made physics feel friendly." That review led to a contract. The tech firm hired West Coast Canopy to run a leadership retreat for its junior managers. Freya was asked to co-facilitate, earning a promotion to "Lead Field Trainer" for the final month of summer.
By J. Harper
"Normally, a supervisor does the high-risk checks," she explains. "But it was just me and two new hires. We had a booking of 30 people arriving in two hours." freya mayer - summer job
The job was physically demanding. Between guiding groups of eight through the canopy, Freya was responsible for daily cable tension checks, gear inventory, and what she calls "the art of the pep talk."
Instead of panicking or shutting down the course (which would have cost the company thousands in refunds), Freya improvised a solution. She called the owner on speakerphone, walked him through the visual inspection via video link, and then meticulously re-torqued four loose cable sleeves herself using a manual winch—a tool she had only watched YouTube tutorials on the night before. By the end of the day, the tech
"I started noticing who was clenching their harness straps too tight, who was looking at the ground instead of the horizon," she says. "I paired nervous people with the calmest guides. I changed the order of the group so the confident climbers went first to set a visual precedent."
For most university students, the summer job is a transactional affair: trade time for currency, endure the heat, and return to campus with a few extra dollars in your pocket. But for 21-year-old Freya Mayer, a junior majoring in Environmental Design at the University of British Columbia, this past summer became an accidental masterclass in leadership, logistics, and lateral thinking. Freya was asked to co-facilitate, earning a promotion
Her official title was “Adventure Guide.” Unofficially, she was a safety inspector, a crisis negotiator for terrified tourists, a knot-tying savant, and, on one memorable afternoon, a minor arborist. "I’m not going to lie," Freya says, peeling off a pair of well-worn leather gloves. "The first two weeks were brutal. My hands were shredded. I was coming home smelling like pine resin and sunscreen, and my shoulders were screaming from hauling harnesses."