Friday last, I hiked the Wolf Mountain- Jones Spring Trails at Pedernales Falls State Park. I have hiked or run these trails no less than 30 times, so as I packed up to hit the trail, it occurred to me I didn’t really need my phone. It was my day off. My family was all either in school or at work. I had already photographed most of this route, and I don’t listen to music or Audible on trail runs. So in a moment of spontaneous curiosity and possible recklessness, I left my phone in the cab of my truck, and something felt different… I felt lighter and freer: My iPhone 11 weighs 6.84oz, about as much as a large apple, and yet its absence felt like twenty pounds had been lifted from my being. Usually stowed against my left quad or in my handheld water bottle, I noticed both extremities moved with greater grace and ease.
Jones Spring
Similarly, my shoulders felt looser knowing that for the next 1.5 hours, it was physically impossible for me to receive a call, text, email, or classroom update. Once upon a time, we enjoyed this feeling because we were out of range, but since Verizon and now Starlink came into being, it’s not a feeling I’ve known since my Cingular days. There was a noticeably large qualitative difference between airplane mode and truck cab mode.
I felt trepidatious and anxious…at first: Like with all true freedom, I also felt scared and vulnerable. As a 47-year-old with a BMI of 26, I knew I was much more likely to suffer a heart attack than a mountain lion attack, but in either case, I had no way to call for help.
To make matters worse, I felt twitchy without my phone. As I’ve worked my way through the book The Anxious Generation, I realized the bulk of my anxiety could be attributed to withdrawal from the little dopamine hits that arose from an answered text, an Instagram like, or a cute picture of my kid eating lunch. Micro-detoxing was tough, and yet the absence of my phone sharpened my senses.
I felt more aware and more focused: Robbed of my camera, I started to see more of the landscape, and not just the parts that framed up well for an Instagram story. Instead of only stopping for great sights, I paused more for my other senses: the sound of trickling water at Jones Spring and the smell of wet juniper on the slopes of Wolf Mountain.
In the absence of my phone, I also became aware of how much I’d come to rely on Gaia GPS to discern my location and route. Consulting a paper map felt like coffee with an old friend, while feature names like Tobacco Creek or Windmill Road grounded me in a particular time and place in a way a little orange triangle on a screen could never do.
In sum, this hike felt more enchanted, more authentic, and more adventurous than most of my hikes last year. Please don’t go wandering off onto some unknown trail by yourself without your phone, but if you’re looking to bring a little magic back into your usual hikes, try leaving your phone in the car next time. And don’t worry, those little dopamine hits come right back when you get to the parking lot.
