Rebecca Sperry

I’m an old dog, and you can’t teach me new tricks. That’s one of the biggest lessons that I’ve learned whenever I attempt to use a digital navigational tool on hikes. Ever since I started hiking back in 2015, I’ve always used a paper map and guidebook to navigate. But as someone who is on the younger side of the spectrum, I often feel out of place among my peers. The prominence of using websites like “Alltrails” and “Gaia” and apps like “Guthook” has only continued to increase over the past six years since I began walking along single-track dirt paths, seeking solitude in the wilderness. But every time I try to use one of these tools I find myself extremely frustrated. It’s not that I can’t learn how to use these tools, I’m extremely tech-savvy, I just don’t want to learn how to use them. I know how to use a map, and learning how to use a digital form of navigation is like trying to learn a new language when I can speak English just fine.

“I hate Guthook. I hate it” I text to my friend Danielle as we begin planning our backpacking trip on the Appalachian Trail. “Can you just send me the elevation per day? I can’t figure out how to find that out on this app” I say, and her response is, “LOL.” As someone who has had to use Guthook for years while section hiking the AT, my hiking partner is comfortable navigating this app. I, on the other hand, would rather count the contour lines on my paper map to calculate daily elevation than try to figure out how to find that number on my phone. I know how to read a map, why do I need to learn how to use an app, has become my navigational philosophy.

“We spend so much time relying on technology that I hate to see what happens when/if technology stops working.” This is a conversation that I’ve had many times with “old school” hikers who still rely solely on paper maps, like myself. In a world where base weight matters, the likelihood of a thru-hiker carrying a copy of the guidebook seems to have decreased significantly, and I can’t even count the number of times that I’ve come across day hikers who are looking down at their phones to navigate the trail and missing out on all of the incredible scenery that is all around them.

What are we losing out on by relying on technology to take all of the guesswork out of backcountry navigation? This is a question that I’ve only recently found an answer to, and quite honestly, I don’t like the answer one bit.

This summer, one of my goals has been to do more off-trail navigation. This has led me to continuing to work on hiking the 100 highest mountains in New England. There are several peaks that are considered trailless, although many have herd paths from overuse. However, navigation and route finding skills are a requirement to hike many of these peaks. In the past, I have gone through and read the descriptions on how to navigate the herd paths, but actually setting out to do what is considered a bushwhack solo scares me a bit.

For Christmas this year I received an upgraded watch - a Garmin Fenix 6S - which comes with the option of downloading GPX tracks onto it. It also offers trail maps for free and they are automatically downloaded onto the watch from the moment you get it. I discovered, while scrolling through the data screens this spring, that the map feature is phenomenal. I no longer had to read the trail signs and pay attention to where I was going to navigate, all I had to do was look down at my watch. I love it but at the same time, I hate it. It is making me lazy. I think as I try my hardest to not scroll onto the map screen to verify where I’m going on a trail. I need to pay attention to the lay of the land and the guidebook descriptions. This is cheating. Those three words have haunted me over and over again for months now as I find myself, once again, verifying my track on my watch.

The fact of the matter is, I love my watch. I love that I can verify my route on it and that it is a safety feature for me, especially since I hike solo in remote areas with no cell phone service. But, I have found that my watch is becoming a crutch that I all too often rely on, because it’s easier than using my brain to find the trail sometimes. I try to set limits on how much I let myself access the map screen, telling myself that I can only look at it if I absolutely need to. But laziness often prevails and I find myself scrolling to this miniature map instead of stopping and really thinking about where I need to turn next with the help of my guidebook description.

“The sad thing is, apps aren’t going anywhere. None of the younger generation of hikers know how to use a map” a fellow hiker said to me the other day, and they’re right. But is there a happy medium? Can we at least compromise in the middle? That’s what I hope to do. As a solo hiker, I have started to think of my watch as a safety device, like my Garmin Mini. I don’t need it in order to hike, but having it reduces the likelihood of me getting lost and needing help. Learning how to set limits on how often I check my watch is the hard part of having it. Just like checking how many more minutes you have on the treadmill, as you slog along at 4 MPH wishing you were outside, I need to learn how to limit how often I check my watch for navigation. Technology isn’t going away, in fact it is only getting better. But I go to the woods to escape the constant need to be connected, the nonstop draw of the glowing screen, and I’m sticking to my paper maps, counting contour lines, and reading wrinkled guidebook pages, for now at least.