Disconnections

Sometimes we have to disconnect to reconnect.

In early September, I spent a week camping, canoeing, and fishing in Canada's Quetico Provincial Park, which is due north of Minnesota and consists of 2 million acres of lakes, trails, and streams.

And no motors.  Which means that if you are in Quetico, you got there under your own power.    With lakes everywhere, canoes are the only practical form of transportation.

Imagine a place where there are no roads, no vehicles...where the only sounds you hear are those made by nature and each other. 

A place for listening to loons, whose call is beautiful yet haunting.  Making new friends.  The simple joy of paddling.  Camping, cooking, and sitting by the fire.

Have you ever gazed at a night sky when the nearest artificial light might be 30 miles away?  The stars are so bright you can reach out and touch them.  I would often awake in the middle of the night, when the moon had set, and see more stars than you can count in a lifetime.

Solitude so absolute it could be disconcerting.  Isolation so deep it can both enhance the experience and scare the beejeebuss out of you. 

It is a fisherman's paradise but lest you think this kind of trip is for everybody, let me tell you about a little thing called "portages."  On a portage, you pick up everything you brought and carry it between the lakes.

Often through mud bogs, across fallen logs, and up steep hills, all while traversing fields of rocks.  On one memorable trail, I sunk up to my hip in mud with a canoe and a backpack on my shoulders.  It probably took 20 minutes to dig me out.

Did I tell you there was no electricity, no running water, and no "facilities?"  With that said, I'd do it again in a minute.  It was wonderful and amazing and breathtaking.

But before you go, you've got to disconnect.   Disconnect from the internet, turn off your cell phone, and tell your family that they won't see you or hear from you for a while.

At first, it's strange.  For the first couple of days, I felt for that familiar buzz on my right hip that indicates a message or call coming in on my cell phone.  I was sure there was an e-mail that required my immediate attention or an important decision that needed my input. 

But about the 3rd day, the wilderness started working its magic.  I forgot about meetings, appointments, and alarm clocks.  Frustrations?  Gone.  Problems?  On vacation.  When day-to-day existence is reduced to the very basics, you start to appreciate what is really important.

Like family and home and good food and toilets.  I'm glad I went.  I'm glad I'm home.