Staying connected in the outdoors may require uplugging yourself

The following originally appeared in the September 17 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

by Clint Thomsen

From the top of Deseret Peak in the Stansbury Mountains, the communities in Tooele Valley look like tiny collections of etched traces and capacitors on a vast computer circuit board.  That was one of my first impressions of the view when I crested the 11,030 foot peak last summer.

There’s a reason why topographically prominent peaks—called “ultras” in peak bagging circles—are the most sought after summits.    In addition to elevation, ultras have high independent stature.  So they offer the best views and the most tangible sense of isolation.  Deseret Peak is one of just 57 ultras in the lower 48 states.

I had driven 8 miles up a canyon and hiked 3.25 miles, climbing 3,613 feet via switchback and rubble fields to reach this jagged quartzite platform.  If I wasn’t on top of the world, I was sure close.  Exhausted and satisfied, I threw down my pack and sat at the edge of the summit to ponder my feat.

After chugging a bottle of water, I reached for my cell phone, which doubled as my watch.  As I turned it on, I was surprised to see that I had full service—both voice and data.  Instinctively I checked my email.  Then I called my wife, Googled some information about the return trail, checked my work email, and read the latest news.

By this time, my hiking companions had also discovered this miracle of connectivity and were calling spouses and dialing up info too.  Others were busily checking pedometers, shooting video, and programming GPS receivers.  For a little while, Deseret Peak was a regular cyber café.

While the knowledge that I had this technological lifeline in one of the most remote and dangerous places in the county was truly a comfort, I felt like the whole internet part of it was somehow wrong.  Not morally wrong, but out-of-place wrong– like listening to Christmas music in July or drinking milk from a Coke can.  I couldn’t help but feel like I had violated some unwritten outdoor code.

Part of me wished I would have left the phone on my belt.  The other part spent a good chunk of the return hike wondering what other cool gadgets I could employ in the wilderness.

Aside from my wife, Meadow, I have two other loves: the outdoors and technology.  Regular readers of this column are no doubt aware of the first.  And when I’m not outside (or at work or changing diapers), I spend what little free time remains in front of a laptop—shopping online, reading news, and drooling over electronic gadgets I’ll never be able to afford.

Meadow says I’m addicted to computers, to the internet, to my phone.  I assure her I can stop at any time, that I’m in complete control.  She remains unconvinced.

Despite what some may think, technology and the outdoors often complement each other nicely.  I blog, Facebook, and tweet—mostly about the outdoors.   I do most of my research online and I get many outdoors ideas from online forums.

In the field, who can argue against the benefits of GPS and the ability to call for help in emergency situations?  And if you can check email and stream YouTube– all the better, right?

Some outdoor purists consider these assets as cheating.  They argue that wilderness should be experienced solely on its own terms.  The tougher the mental and physical challenge, the greater the reward.

I get the idea,  but I wonder if experiencing nature in full is always practical or even desirable.  The great explorers and pioneers were more in tune with nature than I’ll ever be, yet they probably would have given anything to enjoy modern technological conveniences.

We casual adventurers sometimes forget that while our predecessors enjoyed the wild, more often than not they were there out of necessity, not hobby.  They aimed more to survive nature than to fawn over it.

Still– if only at the subconscious level– their connection with the mountains, trees, and trails must have given them a certain fulfillment that the modern outdoorsman can only attain in fleeting bits and pieces.

I’m not an ideologue when it comes to these matters.  If my goal is to experience nature in the raw, I ditch the gadgetry.  If the kids are along, it’s got a dedicated pocket for it in my pack, with extra batteries.  The point isn’t to abandon technology altogether.  It’s to prevent the entertainment aspects of it from overshadowing the greater outdoor experience.

I’ll admit that balancing the organic experience with the digital isn’t always easy.  It’s difficult for me to check my tech tendencies at the trailhead.  If I’ve got a connection and I start using it, I tend to focus on it until my head is completely in cyberspace (though I of course remain in complete control).

I faced such a temptation last month on a hike in the Deseret Peak Wilderness area.  I was delighted when, after a 3.4 mile hike to South Willow Lake, I pulled out the smartphone and noticed I had full data coverage.

I had made the hike with the Transcript Bulletin’s editor, Jeff Barrus and our sons.  When we reached the lake, the boys happily waded into its shallows.  The view of the 10,685 foot glacial cirque surrounding it was amazing.  I sat down on a large boulder on the lake’s shore.  My first thought: How cool would it be to post a Twitter update from up here!

I fired up my web browser and feverishly navigated to the Twitter home page before finally catching myself, remembering Deseret Peak.  I assured myself that I would thoroughly document the hike online, but later.  Right now it would be, well, just wrong!  I put the phone away and didn’t get it back out that night.  And I didn’t even open my laptop until the next day.  Funny how that worked.

 

High-tech survival device ignites return to outdoor treasure hunting

The following article originally appeared in the March 26, 2009 edition of the Tooele Transcript Bulletin.

An geocache that will remain nameless sits near the vault it was discovered in (photo by Clint Thomsen)

by Clint Thomsen

“Think about it, honey– we’ll never be lost again.”

This last-ditch selling point may have what finally convinced my wife to let me buy a GPS receiver last weekend. Either that, or she was just fed up with crackpot pitches like “how can I be an outdoors writer and not own a GPS receiver?” and “It’s just the cheap $100 model, not the deluxe version—I’m willing to make that sacrifice.”

Of course my promise of never being lost again was a steep one, completely dependent upon the complex little device’s ability to process precise signals from outer space and my ability to master its ins and outs. It meant that even though I’m a man, I might need to at least skim the user manual before I take the kids bushwhacking in the High Uintas Wilderness Area.

Aside from wishing my new toy—err, survival device— didn’t look so much like a Happy Meal prize, my first thought when I opened the box was “The 90’s just called. They’d like their serial cable back.” If I was going to assuage my tech anxiety, I would need to give this baby a test run, ASAP.

Fortunately I’ve had some exposure to geocaching, the outdoor treasure hunting game where players seek out hidden “caches” using GPS technology. The activity is especially popular in Utah, and hundreds of caches are hidden across Tooele County. I used to hunt caches with my friend Tyler, but more often than not, his brother’s old receiver led us on maddening wild goose chases.

Just in case my past frustration was due more to user error than device flaw, I selected a few kid-friendly “drive-by” caches in the Stansbury foothills. The “Pirate Gold”, “Willow516″, and “Little Dam” caches along the Old Mormon Trail would be easily locatable and exciting enough to whet the kids’ appetite for the sport.

Geocaches vary in type and location difficulty, but a traditional cache consists of a watertight container, a log book, and a collection of dollar store type “prizes.” Some contain useful items like batteries or printed maps. Geocachers may take items from a cache if they leave something of similar or greater value. Thoughtful cache hiders clearly label their container a geocache and include a note explaining the game for people who might accidentally stumble upon it.

After secreting the cache, its owner uses a GPS receiver to log a set of coordinates called a waypoint, which marks its physical location on Earth. The owner then publishes the waypoint, along with cache name and description, to one of several geocaching websites. Other geocachers find the cache by plugging the waypoint into their GPS receivers and mapping to it.

The Global Positioning System is a constellation of 27 dedicated satellites that circle the globe at 12,000 mph on six orbital planes. Each satellite broadcasts precise microwave time signals at the speed of light. A GPS receiver uses the combined signals of four satellites to calculate its accurate position on earth, and thus it’s position relative to a waypoint.

GPS was made available for civilian use in 1996, but the use a receiver for precise navigation was hindered by a feature called Selective Availability, which purposely scrambled publicly available signals. SA was turned off on May 2, 2000 by Presidential directive, and enthusiast Dave Ulmer placed the first documented geocache the very next day. Its contents included a can of beans, mapping software, five dollars, and a slingshot.

Since then, an estimated 823,000 caches have been placed worldwide.

As a father-son treasure hunting team, we sought Pirate Gold as our first cache, both because 3 year old Coulter is obsessed with pirates and because previous discoverers left enough online hints to make missing it nearly impossible.

“When Captain Jack Sparrow was wandering around Worlds End,” wrote cache owner Termite49 on one website, “he happened to get a little further east and secreted a treasure chest…”

As Cracker-Jack as it looks on the outside, my new receiver worked like a charm. The boys soon cracked open a wooden chest full of Yu-Gi-Oh cards and plastic booty. 7 year old Bridger took one card and Coulter took a plastic coin. We left some army guys before returning the chest to its metal hinged vault.

The next cache had been placed by a Grantsville Boy Scout troop. My receiver led us to a juniper grove where Bridger spotted the converted ammo can. “Aren’t you glad you’re a pirate?” I asked him, referring to the time a Jack Sparrow face actor at Disney World made him an “official” member of his crew. Bridger had taken the ordeal seriously and has tried to renounce his piracy ever since.

“I never wanted to become a pirate. I just wanted to sword fight with him. Let Coulter be the pirate.”

“Ah, but you’re the one who took the oath,” 5 year old Weston piled on. “Besides, see how good that makes you at finding treasure?”

Bridger furrowed his brow, torn between his moral opposition to piracy and the advanced treasure hunting skills it had apparently endowed him with. Weston traded some army guys for a plastic fish from the cache before hiding it again.

After locating the last cache, we drove to Grantsville Reservoir to build and hide our own. The boys had meticulously chosen items at the Family Dollar in Grantsville—a plastic gun set, silly putty, and some pens. I prepared the log book and added the remaining the army guys (because what’s a cache without army guys?). Then we sealed it up and hid it in a spot the boys had chosen. They called the cache “Beach Reach” after watching the windsurfers on the lake.

“Dad, can we do this every day?” asked Weston as we drove back home. “Whenever we want,” I responded contentedly, my little GPS receiver still in hand– still tracking speed and distance from the Beach Reach waypoint just because. Never getting lost again is going to be a whole lot of fun.

——-

In case you were wondering, the “cheap” GPS receiver I bought was the Garmin eTrex H.  Looks like a toy, works like a charm. 1990’s serial port included, $40 1990’s serial cable not.

 

Weekly Run-Down: The fusion of tech and nature, and imminent U2

Gmail is down- whatever will we do?
As of this writing, the globe has ceased to rotate.  Why?  Because Gmail, Google’s Web-based email service, is down.  I know what you’re thinking– what happened to the days when Internet hiccups were a common and expected phenomenon?   I remember when certain sites or services– erstwhile staples of the Web– would go down for hours, even days, without announcement or explanation.

The fact that the Gmail crash made Drudge is evidence of how far we’ve come and how dependent many of us are on technology.  As fond as I am of days gone by, my umbilical cord to World Wide Web, and Gmail in particular, is strong.  I keep a dedicated browser tab open for Gmail all day long at work, and I’ve got a direct, constant connection to it on my phone.

If I weren’t a skeptic, I’d swear I have some sort of weird psychic connection to Gmail as well.  Like people who wake up moments before their alarm clock goes off, sometimes I’ll unholster my phone and look at it just seconds before that magical buzz and blinking LED.    If you email me and I don’t get back to you within minutes, you can rest assured that I’m either dead or wandering in the wilderness (or at home with the family, which is a strictly enforced “tech-free” zone).

According to the UK’s Telegraph, Gmail’s crash left Internet users “baffled by the problems and at a loss as to what to do.”  I love it.  Completely bewildered.  I totally get it.  Good thing my brain is rooted well enough in real world that I can chuckle at this worldwide catastrophe.  But for now, for the Web-tethered masses, Earth’s rotation might as well be on indefinite hold.

OBS on Twitter
Speaking of tech, the Outdoor Bloggers Summit, of which I am a proud supporter, is now on Twitter.  Our founder, Kristine Shreve, has put a lot of work into building the community’s online infrastructure, and it’s come a long way.  If you’re an outdoors blogger or you follow the great outdoors online movement and you read the blog, check out our Twitter feed as well.

Imminent U2
The time is almost at hand for the release of new U2 album.  No Line on the Horizon is set for release in the U.S. on March 3.  I had mixed feelings about the album’s first single, “Get On Your Boots,” which is reminiscent of the band’s 1997 album Pop.  Pop is almost universally considered a colossal misstep in the band’s otherwise uber-successful career.

So I’m kinda hoping “Boots” isn’t representative of the entire album.  Luckily, I’m hearing it’s not.  This may be bad news for my friend Tyler, who ranks Pop among his personal favorites.  If you’re a fellow U2 fanatic, MusicRadar.com has posted a track-by-track description and review of the album.  Their take?  Not the band’s best offering by far, but a nice mix of experimentation and classic U2.