On the last full day of outdoor exploration during my Winter Term class in Minnesota, I set out on a cross country ski trail with a group of three other girls. Only one of them had skiing experience prior to our instruction in Minnesota. We skied on a common trail about 5.5 miles from our lodge that ran alongside a road and a snowmobile trail, and encountered two cross streets. Though we could hear the road, the trail had gorgeous woods on either side and undulating hills that rewarded climbs with exhilarating descents.
Others would not describe the punishing hills this gracefully. Among them would be a friend I made early on in the trip who had a particularly rough day.
I found the hills enjoyable because of the calories burned while getting to the top and the thrilling plunge afterwards, but others remember the hills because of falls and face-plants. A friend of mine rolled her ankle during a fall once but was too tough and proud to let that slow her down. Once we completed the ski trip, we returned our gear and realized my friend was missing her white phone. I volunteered to backtrack on foot to help her look. The hike was directly uphill, and the snow continued to fall, as it had all day long. We called the cell phone company to trace the location, but the phone was in the snow in the middle of the woods in Minnesota. There was no chance the phone would be on to send a signal to trace.
We hiked all the way back to the site where we had stopped for lunch. During that time, we witnessed some of the most gorgeous winter scenery I had ever observed. Despite the faint road noise and established path, I felt I was in the middle of the woods. With the surrounding forest, the day pack I carried with extra clothes, water, handwarmers, tracking guides, bone saw and extra socks, I felt I had my life together. Of course, I had an easier time enjoying myself than my friend who rolled her ankle and lost her phone in a fall.
I was spotting bald eagles, weasel tracks and woodpecker marks, but no phone. I could not resist chuckling. We were trudging up hills in the middle of the woods, looking for an item that could be equated with the bane of wildlife existence. I thought of philosophers that would shun me for being as engaged with nature as I was—simply because I was searching for a lost phone. To them I would say, if a cell phone is a necessity to get young people to go into the forest, by all means bring two (especially if you are prone to losing one). Who am I to discourage anyone from enjoying nature because he or she plans to use a phone or camera? Electronically record your experience in nature, take as many photos as you wish and bring them back to your family and friends. Most importantly, repeat the phrase “you just have to see it in person” as often as possible.
I wish I could say we found her phone, but we never did. Instead, we walked over 28,000 steps, burned 3,000 calories, and climbed the equivalent of 92 flights of stairs. Before that experience, I probably would have argued against the use of phones in nature. Now, I have fewer qualms.