Photo Credit: Paul Vellella

We were on a seven-day fishing trip. We canoed and portaged fifteen miles into the park the first day and a half. For those unfamiliar with portaging, it's when you make repeated trips back and forth across narrow, slippery, rocky, boggy, uneven trails up and down hills carrying your canoe and all your gear from one lake to another. When you’re not gasping for breath, inhaling lung fulls of mosquitos, swiping at ticks, praying you don’t fall and break a leg or have a heart attack, you’re cursing yourself for not making sure your water bottle was filled before you started the hike, and wondering why in the hell you’re torturing yourself in the name of fun and relaxation. 

The answer came when we arrived at our destination. A lake where the fish rarely see another person and grow to sizes people rarely see. It was the best week of fishing in my life. 

Five of the six of us kept phones to take pictures. I powered mine off and left it in my friend's truck, and took my photos with a waterproof digital camera.   

My phone is usually in a pocket or within reach from the moment I wake up until I go to bed. Its presence is as much a part of me as my glasses, watch, wedding and class rings, and hat. I rely on it for news, weather, music, movies, podcasts, Pirate broadcasts, connecting with family and friends, Instagram, Twitter, an occasional digital book, and sometimes even as a phone. It keeps me company while I eat lunch, wakes me from my nap, alerts me when someone's at the door so I can either retrieve a package or pretend I'm not home, and delivers short videos of stand-up comics that without them, would force me to spend time with my own thoughts. 

At the beginning of the trip, I instinctively reached for it occasionally, but it wasn't long before the distractions of trying not to die, catching fish, and breathtaking views took its place. 

Without access to meteorological information, we had to look at the sky for the weather. When I cooked, I tracked time with my watch or relied on the ancient art of meal preparation - “Looks done to me.” The only thing I binged were granola bars, crackers, licorice, and water sucked through a purifying LifeStraw until my cheeks hurt. With the work required around camp and the great fishing, there was little time for reading. On the one day I didn't fish, I read a paperback I had packed. Alexander Solzhenitsyn’s Gulag Archipelago. Nothing says relaxation like tales of Soviet prison camps. The seven-day news and social media fast was cleansing. 

During our trip, there was a fire ban because of Canada’s dry conditions, and most of their firefighters were helping combat the country's wildfires.  So, we kept cans of insect repellant in the unused fire ring to pass around in weak attempts to keep the raging hordes of mosquitoes at bay. I lost so much blood to mosquitoes that week they now appear as relatives in my “23 and Me” profile. 

In between squirts of Off, we talked about families, sports, food, television, and movies. If our campsite had been on the grid, a Google search would have settled the debate about the film's premiere date but probably derailed the conversation with the distractions that inevitably accompany picking up a phone. Instead, we agreed on a date based on someone's memory of which one of their wives they saw it with and someone else connecting it with their team's playoff loss. Which, between cries for more bug spray, fed further conversation.

When the outfitter picked us up, we were more interested in the cans of cold beer he brought than any news he shared. After we returned to town, I wanted a shower more than I wanted to power up my phone. When I did turn it on, it only took a few minutes to see there were no emails of any real importance, and everyone in the family was well. 

Back home, I walked out of rooms without the phone and didn't miss it. I'd learned you can survive, and even thrive, off the grid. But the habit is returning. I find myself reaching, tapping, and scrolling for no real purpose. Losing focus and valuable time. 

I decided to go off the grid again for a while to combat the habitual reach. On a recent afternoon, I left my phone in the house and spent some time on the deck. Just me and Alexander Solzhenitsyn. And a visit from some annoying relatives. I made a mental note that when I returned to the grid, I’d Google the best way to get rid of mosquitoes.