Mark Woods: News? What news? Something to be said for disconnect of wilderness

Considering what I do for a job, I feel a bit guilty saying this. For the last couple of weeks, I was oblivious to the news. And it felt good. Really good. I’d even go so far as to say it felt healthy.

I didn’t read, watch or listen to any news. I didn’t scroll through Twitter or Facebook. I didn’t answer a single email. The only time I looked at my phone was to take a picture, check a wilderness navigation app or, using a satellite device, send my wife a text message letting her know where I was stopping that day.

I was hiking the John Muir Trail in California, heading southbound from Yosemite Valley through three national parks — Yosemite, Kings Canyon, Sequoia — to the summit of Mt. Whitney, the highest point in the Lower 48.

Or at least that was the plan. About a week into the hike, I got sick. I don’t know if, despite filtering water from streams and lakes, it was giardia. Or if it was altitude sickness. Or if maybe it was old-fashioned food poisoning from one slight detour to get a cheeseburger and a beer. All I know is that —  and I’ll spare you the details —  I went about four days unable to eat more than a few hundred calories in gels.

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My friend David and I eventually got off trail for several days, which in and of itself is no easy task.

Out of all the statistics about the JMT, the most dramatic figure might not be its length (211 miles), elevation change (47,000 feet) or summit of Whitney (14,505).

No, the stat that I find most remarkable about the John Muir Trail is how many roads cross it in those more than 200 miles.

None.

It’s an iconic American trail. It’s also an isolated one, winding between the Sierra Nevada mountain range, making it quite remote, which is great unless you need to get off it.

We did get off the trail temporarily, giving me a chance to recover. And when we got back on it, we eventually covered about 150 miles and made it to Whitney, summiting on a morning with gusts that gave it a sub-zero wind chill.

I’ll admit there were moments when I wanted to be back home. But now that I’m back home, I want to be back in the wilderness.

Hiking in footsteps of Ansel Adams, John Muir

At home, my mind always seems to be racing. And not necessarily in a productive way.

The beauty of places like the Ansel Adams and John Muir Wildernesses isn’t just how there are moments when you feel like you’re walking through one of Adams’ photographs or Muir's writings — with alpine lakes, meadows and mountain passes set against a deep blue sky.

Part of the beauty is how you’re focused on what is around you, in this moment, not what is happening elsewhere.

You have a lot of time to think while hiking. And that's one of the things I thought about. I still believe it’s critically important to pay attention to news, near and far. But in this age where news comes in more than a firehose — it's more like thousands of hoses flowing constantly — it’s also important to also get away from it. And there’s something to be said for at least temporarily shutting off all the spigots.

At one point, about a week into the hike, we veered slightly off trail to Red’s Meadow, an outpost where we had shipped a bucket filled with a resupply of dehydrated food and important staples, like peanut M&Ms.

At Red’s, we also had a surprisingly strong cell signal.

I called my wife. After we talked about the trail and home, Toni said: “Just so you’re not the last person on earth to know … the Queen died.”

When I got off the phone, I heard others around me saying this.

That wasn’t the only news that made it to the wilderness. Some other tidbits made it into the backcountry, passed from person to person, kind of like the old game of telephone, where someone whispers something into the ear of another and by the time it comes full circle it’s laughably altered.

In this case, as Floridians, someone told us that our governor had flown some migrants from San Antonio to Martha’s Vineyard. A Florida politician flying people from Texas to Massachusetts? I wondered if maybe that, like a game of telephone played in a place without phone service, wasn’t what actually happened. Even when we came off trail for a bit, I decided I didn’t want to know. I wanted to remain oblivious to what was making news for a little longer — other than wildfires and weather.

From California hurricane back to Florida

We had planned to do this hike last year when I turned 60. The smoke was so thick that from the town of Lone Pine, a place where the Sierras typically dominate the view, you couldn’t see even a hint of a mountain range.

This year there weren’t any major wildfires burning in the Sierras. But once we got into the backcountry, there was a hurricane. Yes, in California. It was the first to hit the West Coast in decades. It dumped rain and hail into the Sierras. And it was followed by the effects of Pacific typhoon.

At the start of the hike, we had record-setting heat (above 100 degrees in Yosemite Valley) and craved shade. By the end, while camping at Guitar Lake at 11,500 feet, our water bottles froze and we craved sun hiking up to Whitney the next morning.

It was a reminder to be careful what you wish for. And that goes for being connected.

It is only a matter of time before we’ll be able to browse the internet and check social media anywhere on earth.

While I was on the JMT, Apple announced that the iPhone 14 will have satellite connectivity. At this point, this means emergency SOS, not the ability to post to Facebook. But, again, that’s only a matter of time. Probably a very short time.

I went from the wilderness to a flight home from, of all places. Vegas. Talk about whiplash. From canyons to slots.

While there, I opened back up the firehose and started to read about Hurricane Ian heading toward Florida. And when I got home and tried to start writing this column, I got frustrated because we briefly lost power and internet.

It felt like another reminder to be careful what you wish for. Even if that wish is to be disconnected.

mwoods@jacksonville.com

(904) 359-4212

This article originally appeared on Florida Times-Union: Times-Union columnist Mark Woods disconnects from news in wilderness