WITH THE MIRACLE of climate change, people living in the southern states of this great experiment in democracy we call America are bailing from their homes where summertime temperatures hit the triple digits for weeks on end.
They are migrating north in record numbers for the cooler weather.
Unfortunately, this dream vacation is often marred by a yawning gap in the infrastructure of this great nation.
Our country is tied together with a network of cellphone reception that is necessary for our quality of life.
According to some study somewhere, American teens spend an average of nine hours a day online, compared to about six hours for those ages 8 to 12.
When the parents of these unfortunate prodigies, who would just as soon be on their own phone as talk to another family member, drive the family out into the wilderness, they sometimes have to go cold turkey with no devices just because some stupid mountains or overgrown trees get in the way of phone reception.
It might not seem like a big deal to you, but you’re not a guide in the trenches of the tourist industry.
I have personally observed the seven stages of device deprivation disorder in humans when they discover that they have been lured to a backwoods dead-zone where their device doesn’t work.
These include confusion, anxiety, panic, hopelessness, fatigue, social isolation and a sense of inadequacy.
At first, people with dead phones are confused.
A dead phone can unleash a flood of emotions that makes people think nobody likes them and, in all probability, nobody does.
Sufferers of device deprivation have spent so much time on their phones they’ve forgotten how to interact with other humans that are not on a phone.
People with dead phones have a lot of anxiety because they think they’re missing calls that they won’t answer anyway.
Missing calls engender a vague belief that everyone else has it better than you do. They do.
People with device deprivation disorder often panic while assuming something has gone terribly wrong with their world. It has.
People deprived of their devices will sometimes be forced to stop and consider the bleak desperation of their pointless existence.
That can be a hassle you just don’t need.
As long as people are on devices, they are just tired and stressed.
Once the device stops working, the thin veneer of civility dissolves, leaving the sufferer tired, stressed and frustrated.
Sometimes, people with device deprivation disorder are forced to stop and take notice of the natural world that is all around them.
This can be extremely frustrating.
You could walk through a forest of 1,000-year-old trees, go to beaches where the whales spout and visit a waterfall where you can watch the salmon jump.
If only the phone worked.
There’s no point in experiencing these scenic splendors if you can’t post them on social media.
This can lead to an overwhelming sense of inadequacy, fueled by the belief that everyone else is having a better vacation than you are. They are.
A modern vacation is like a road rally or treasure hunt, where destinations and locations are checked off a list at a dizzying rate that can all be ruined by a lapse in phone reception.
A dead phone can force tourists to rewire their whole vacation in order to go someplace their phone will work. Who needs that?
By neglecting to address the scourge of device deprivation and its effects on the recreational wonderland of the Olympic Peninsula, we risk losing our share of the tourist market to areas that provide this essential service.
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Pat Neal is a Hoh River fishing and rafting guide and “wilderness gossip columnist” whose column appears here every Wednesday.
He can be reached at 360-683-9867 or by email via patnealproductions@gmail.com.
