“Are you Tweeting?” Seriously?
It can be a crushing blow to any backcountry experience. Enveloped in sublime solitude, a friend’s phone lets out the cheery chirp, the confirmation of 140 characters sent to a distant cellphone tower, relayed to Twitter and thus the whole world. Even 20 miles from the nearest road, the experience becomes a little less remote and a little less wild.
What was the purpose of grunting up portages, sacrificing blood to blackflies and battling that never-ending headwind, I ask myself, if only to stay plugged into what we’re trying to escape? We’ve brought our connection to the hectic rat race—and more technology than put man on the moon—with us, and it’s right here in our pockets.
Keeping up with social media in the backcountry might seem like the antithesis to a wilderness adventure, but gone too are the days of simply vanishing into the woods. How digital devices are affecting wilderness experiences is a hot topic perplexing outdoor educators.
As tools such as satellite communicators, GPS devices and yes, even the iPhone, become smaller, cheaper and more powerful, they’ve become essentials in our camp kits. Does having them take away from what we ventured into the wilderness for in the first place? It does according to Howard Welser, an Ohio University sociology professor.
Technology might help protect us from the natural world but it also separates us, he argues in the 2012 outdoor education tome, Controversial Issues in Adventure Programming.
“Increasingly unavoidable use of and access to mobile communication technology in wilderness recreation undermines core dimensions of the wilderness experience.”
“Increasingly unavoidable use of and access to mobile communication technology in wilderness recreation undermines core dimensions of the wilderness experience,” Welser writes.
The wilderness is not just a geographical area, but also an abstract concept defined by something untamed and uncultivated. Bringing a device that locates position with pin-point accuracy, offers zoomable maps and navigation assistance, locks us in a tech bubble that keeps us from connecting with the outdoors in a fundamental way.
Todd Miner, executive director of the Cornell Outdoor Center at Cornell University, debates Welser, stating that technology shouldn’t be looked upon as an electronic boogeyman.
“Fighting technology is a futile and an ultimately misplaced, curmudgeony struggle,” he writes. “Technological improvements have for the most part led to safer and more enjoyable wilderness experiences…and have helped create more wilderness advocates.”
“Fighting technology is a futile and an ultimately misplaced, curmudgeony struggle.”
Obviously the debate is subjective. What one paddler considers appropriate technology another may consider disruptive.
Such was the case for author Ted Kerasote who describes in Out There: In the Wild in a Wired Age a remote northern river journey with a tripping companion so smitten with his new satellite phone that he called home at least once a day and, incredibly, even called a colleague to describe a falcon he was watching. It was disruptive to Kerasote’s experience and would likely be to yours as well.
Perhaps the answer to the question of where to draw the line can be drawn from the reasons we venture into the backcountry in the first place. Some go for the challenge and adventure, some for escape and solitude, and others are looking only for relaxation and natural beauty. Staying connected—which could mean an emergency-only satellite communicator or daily texts back home—isn’t in opposition to some of those motivations.
What’s important, writes Miner, is that people are connecting with nature. And if a satellite connection facilitates that objective, that’s okay. Just keep your Tweets off my camping trips—unless you’re sending a distress call for more Skittles.
Canoeroots’ managing editor, Kaydi Pyette, admits to having once Instagrammed a photo of a very pretty sunset on a wilderness trip. She promises never to do it again.
Get the full article in the digital edition of Canoeroots Early Summer 2014. Subscribe to Paddling Magazine’s print and digital editions, or browse the archives.
