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Technology got nothin’ on nature

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Three months ago, my 19-year-old college roommate asked me why there was an Internet hookup above our kitchen stove. I had to explain that it wasn’t an Internet hookup; it was a landline telephone. The explanation went something like this:

“These were used a long, long time ago ... when dinosaurs roamed the earth and musicians still played instruments. It was a confusing time, a time before Playstation, XBOX, PSP, flat-screen televisions, high-speed Internet access and HD television. Back when gas was always under $2 a gallon and people enjoyed being outside. This time was known as, ‘The early-to-mid 90s.’”

The entire situation really bothered me, but I wasn’t sure why until I spent nearly the entire weekend outdoors. In under 24 hours, I hiked up North Crow Canyon, took a shower under the waterfall, biked back down the trail at nearly 30 miles per hour, took a sea kayak out on Flathead Lake, and went whitewater rafting down the Lower Flathead River. It was quite possibly the best day of my life.

Having to explain outdated technology and the concept of enjoying the outdoors threw my generation’s dependence on technology into sharp relief. 

I’m not saying smart phones and personal computers ruined life as we used to know it, but I believe they made it easier for us to feel more connected to one another, while the opposite is actually true. Worse yet, many of us are completely disconnected from our true home and everything it has to teach.

For example, I learned that whitewater rafting is the best workout you’ll ever get without actually realizing you’re working out. The adrenaline rush for a first-timer like me was so intense and vivid that I didn’t notice how hard I was paddling. I assure you, my chest, shoulders and back are screaming in agony as I type this. Even so, it was an absolute blast.

The best part was Buffalo rapid. It looked like an 8-foot drop straight down into an oncoming wave with a giant boulder not 10 feet away. We were told to lean forward and “kiss the wave.” If we didn’t, the raft would flip and all eight of us would be in the drink. 

For a few moments I thought the guides were kidding. Just an elaborate prank they pull on every group, something to make it into an experience. I turned around and saw all three guides tying their sunglasses, sandals and keys to their lifejackets. 

This was no joke; there was a serious chance we could flip. Secretly I was hoping we would, because I’m an adrenaline junkie and I’m not very smart. Less than five minutes later, I was staring straight down into the abyss with a mile-wide smile. 

The guide shouted over the roaring river, “Kiss the wave!”   

I was sitting in the front of the raft beside my roommate as we reached the rapid’s crest. I heard him shout something inaudible and most likely profane as we both leaned forward into the wall of water.

My memory of what happened next is a little sketchy. Boiling-white water blasted my chest and face with enough force to unhook my legs, break my grip on the paddle and throw me into the back of the raft. I was blind and choking for what felt like several seconds, but the sudden realization that we were still in the rapids and that I wasn’t paddling willed me back to my seat. We probably weren’t in much danger, but at the time I was certain we’d perish if I didn’t start paddling.

A few seconds later, we were in deep, calm waters with a mile-long float to the take-out area. Our guide shouted, “Viking yell!” and the eight of us raised our paddles while screaming at the top of our voices. 

It was amazing, exhilarating, fun, and a whole lot better than sitting at home playing “Farmville” and “Call Of Duty.”

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