Using Paper Maps (why I don’t like AllTrails)

Sometimes I can be incorrigible. I have ideas that I stick to, ways of being that I very seldom waver from or compromise around. I will always prefer to have a physical book or article to read rather than something electronic. My initial outlines of presentations, papers, sermons, and other writings will be with a pen and paper before going to the computer. I would rather listen Bach than Rachmaninoff (he is overplayed) and especially not Tchaikovsky (he writes great melodies but weak counterpoint). I am insufferable!

Add to this, when hiking, I use a paper map and analog compass.

            I will let the reader wonder about those other places where I get persnickety (which is an incorrigible word in its own right); I am going to spend time with my sense of moral certitude and superiority with my use of map and compass. A part of me is channeling the obnoxious vibe of the hipster movement of the early 2000s claiming that anything vintage and artisanal and authentic is the way to go. If product is “bespoke” then it will have value. This is the vibe I tend to carry when I pull out a map and unfold it. If the map is on an animal skin, then all the better! I don’t use a map-monical… yet.

When looking at a map I enjoy looking at the trail and noticing other trails around when looking at a map. There are opportunities to be found on a map that may not show up on a phone. There are possibilities to discover on a map that are not confined to a crowd-sourced, highlighted route. There is work involved in reading the contour lines, in determining the difficulty of the upcoming hike, and in navigating possible bail-out routes. I have always enjoyed bringing my compass to a map, taking a bearing, and then searching and seeing what can be found. I like the tactile nature of being in the wilderness and try to engage as many different senses as I can. Using a paper map and analog compass helps to accomplishes that desire.

            In addition to my stances of superiority, there is a safety aspect to having paper maps. Phone batteries die. GPS satellites does not always connect. Electronics can break or malfunction. But the paper will remain (unless you drop it in a fire), and if you get a fancy waterproof map then you are living well! In all seriousness, it is a good practice to hike with a paper map – just in case. Even if you are using an electronic device, carry a paper map, and learn how to use it.

            This means that I do not use the popular hiking app: AllTrails. Nor do I use Gia or any commercial GPS navigating device (I do hike with a locator beacon, but it is one-way and does not tell me where I am). I rely on planning, on the maps I can get. I assume that I will get a little lost, but know that if and when I do I will be ok because I know how to use GPS coordinates to find myself again and get back on track. I only use the paper and compass. Mostly.

            If I am to be honest, there have been two times when I have leaned on a Smartphone, satellite app in helping with my navigation. The first was when I was hiking a portion of the Arizona Trail. I had downloaded Guthook (now known as FarOut – I receive no endorsements from this company). I had purchased paper maps of the trail and was carrying what I needed, but Guthook also had crowd-sourced water information which is very important on that trail (apparently there is not a lot of water in the desert). That app also has satellite location with the trail and more than once I used it to get a good sense of where I was on the trail. There were a couple of times when I needed to go off the trail to find a water source (that often were dry), and found the app very helpful to see where I was. I suppose I could have used the compass and the paper map, but it was much faster to just have and use the app. In retrospect, this was an action of convenience. Getting the notification of water sources was very helpful, but not essential – except for finding one successful water source that was ½ mile off the trail. Getting a sense of where I was on the trail was helpful, but not essential.

            The second time I used an app on my phone was when I was hiking through Death Hallow Canyon in Utah. As with many canyons, there was no trail, no markings, but just a canyon to follow. I had my maps, but had also downloaded TripGuide (done by Roadtripryan.com – again, no endorsement). This is an app that had a lot of information about the canyon itself as well as a map of a potential route to take. Again, the app allowed satellite location to let me see where I was in retrospect to the actual trail. When my partner and I decided to climb out of the canyon and go a different direction it was very helpful to have a sense of where the canyon was so we did not get lost in the Escalante wilderness. Near the end of our hike, I used the app often to assure that we would not exit the canyon a great distance from our car. Again, we may have been able to find our way with the paper maps, we may have been able to work our way out, but the app made our route-finding confidant. We did not end up stuck on a cliff face, and that is a win.

            Thus, the rule is that I use paper maps except when I don’t. This practice makes me do the work of looking at what lies ahead, at what my options are, and what the terrain holds. But I will stay open to using other help when it is needed and available. Overall, I like using what I know, planning my routes, and staying to the paper maps.

            When thinking about the transition that I am in, I really wish I had a map. I cannot count how many people have told me what I should do with this new venture in my life and how I can make it successful. People who have little to no experience in hiking or backpacking, or in starting a new business, or in ministry have told me what I should do so that I will be guaranteed success in this transition. These mostly come from well-meaning intentions. When I have shared my anxieties about the transition wilderness that I am in, many have told me to just keep at it, to stop worrying, or some other kind of advice that was not grounded in much. Some would tell me that I never really left ministry, just entered into something different, and that the transition is not real. Others would tell me that I should be happy to be free of the demands of church life, suggesting that I am now in a phase of retirement. Others said that I just need to charge more or advertise in the right newspaper, or do what I can to cater to a certain group of people and the exclusion of others. There were lots of answers, lots of paths that I have been told to take based on what people have done before or on assumptions of what has worked in the past. It was like I was getting an AllTrails method of advice; a crowd-sourced route of how to find my way through the wilderness that may not take me to where I want to go, but would follow the most popular path.

            What has been difficult for me has been to work through all of the advice and find what is actually something I should listen to. I do not have a good analogy of the paper map for where I am now and that is part of the challenge. The maps that I have learned to read are based on a certain type of education and training and expectations and they do not work in the wilderness that I am in now. This is part of the disorientating aspect of the wilderness of transition. I don’t have a map and I am not sure what the wilderness may have in store for me. The temptation is that I will just follow what others have done before me, even though there may be some real differences between what I am trying to do and what others have done. It is tempting to just follow the whims and advice of others without thinking about what it is that I really want. Just like with AllTrails and other online maps, for the most part they are showing a good way to go and it may be just what I need. But there are things that one might miss, or a direction that may work better for me than for others. And what might happen is that I get stuck doing what everyone else does to a variety of effect and missing much more of what might be there. Yet just like those times when I have used the apps and my phone, there are moments and times when I would be smart to lean on the work and advice and guidance of others. It may not be essential, but to use the guidance of those who have gone before may be what I need to stay within proximity of “the path” such as it is. Except I am not positive what that path might be.

            Just like in the wilderness, I find value in taking time to look at where it is I hope to go and what it is I hope to accomplish. The challenge for me is that I am not sure what the maps are that will help guide me through this new wilderness of transition. I am not sure If there even is a map that I can use. A mentor of mine – Molly Grisham - gave me the following poem to help me think about this transition process; it continues to speak to the anxiety and challenges that I face in this wilderness of transition. If you see me wandering through the wilderness with my face in my phone, relying on the suggestions of others without any thought or consideration, I give you full permission to tell me to look up, notice the stars, and to keep trying to find my own way.

Old Maps No Longer Work

By Joyce Rupp

I keep pulling it out –

the old map of my inner path

I squint closely at it,

trying to see some hidden road

that maybe I’ve missed,

but there’s nothing there now

except some well travelled paths.

they have seen my footsteps often,

held my laughter, caught my tears.

I keep going over the old map

but now the roads lead nowhere,

a meaningless wilderness

where life is dull and futile.

“toss away the old map,” she says

“you must be kidding!” I reply.

she looks at me with Sarah eyes

and repeats “toss it away.

It’s of no use where you’re going.”

“I have to have a map!” I cry,

“even if it takes me nowhere.

I can’t be without direction,”

“but you are without direction,”

she says, “so why not let go, be free?”

so there I am – tossing away the old map,

sadly fearfully, putting it behind me.

“whatever will I do?” wails my security

“trust me” says my midlife soul.

no map, no specific directions,

no “this way ahead” or “take a left”.

how will l know where to go?

how will I find my way? no map!

but then my midlife soul whispers

“there was a time before maps

when pilgrims travelled by the stars.”

It is time for the pilgrim in me

to travel in the dark,

to learn to read the stars

that shine in my soul.

I will walk deeper

into the dark of my night.

I will wait for the stars.

trust their guidance.

and let their light be enough for me.