Why every backcountry traveller needs to keep their navigation skills sharp
In the early 1980s, British travel writer Bruce Chatwin visited the Australian outback to try to understand how Aboriginal people navigated the vast, harsh landscapes of central Australia. Aboriginal Australians memorized and sang dreaming tracks or songlines. These narratives were packed with information: what foods were safe to eat, places to be avoided, and landmarks and features that helped them know they were travelling in the right direction. These were songs with a function, much deeper than entertainment. “The Songlines” became the title of Chatwin’s bestselling 1987 book that blended fiction and non-fiction to explore an ancient way of understanding, interpreting and navigating through landscape. It honoured an ancient nomadic culture that viewed the world as perfect as it is, rather than “modern” sedentary societies fixated on changing the world.
As adventurers, we’re nomads at heart. Navigating through the mountains is challenging but also invigorating.
Modern technology has placed GPS-powered digital maps at our fingertips. Consequently, I would argue, our navigational brains have atrophied.
Several years ago, my family and I were returning from a three-day backpacking trip into Drinnon Lake in Valhalla Provincial Park. As we bumped down the forest service road, we spotted a young couple slogging in the valley bottom summer heat, getting dusted by passing vehicles. Their expressions were grim. They were miles from the trailhead. Either a malfunctioning or misunderstood trail app had told them to park and start walking. So, they did. You’d think common sense would have corrected their course as car after car of Valhalla-bound hikers and climbers rolled past. It would have spared the couple a tough, potentially relationship-destroying start to a long weekend adventure. But who needs common sense when you have a smartphone?
Recently, I spoke to a longtime volunteer with my local Ground Search and Rescue. He told me about the spike in search and rescue callouts during the coronavirus pandemic that prompted a new wave of people getting outside. More people being active outdoors is great news. A lot of them were hitting the backcountry without much experience but nevertheless equipped with their trusted digital devices for navigation. It’s all good, until it’s not.
On The Strenuous Life Podcast, Canadian adventurer Adam Shoalts spoke about navigation in an interview following his epic 3,400-kilometre solo journey by foot and canoe across the Canadian Arctic.
“It’s a huge asset if you can learn to navigate intuitively, doing things the old-fashioned way that humans have done for thousands of years wherever humans have lived, which is just reading the landscape and using the sun,” Shoalts says.
According to Shoalts, having a mental image of the landscape and how to move through it, without having to constantly look at a tiny screen, can make a journey so much more enjoyable. And when you’re not repeatedly referencing a device, you can cover ground much faster.
Intuitive navigation can sound daunting, but anyone can get comfortable with it simply from practice, from spending time walking off trail in woods, tundra or mountains, Shoalts says.
When Trailforks cheekily announced in 2020 that it would monetize its wildly popular app and start charging a monthly subscription for the full experience, I balked at the astronomical 99-cent-per-month introductory offer. It was an admittedly clever play by Trailforks; start charging a nominal fee after grooming an addicted user group of cyclists that now numbers more than 800,000.
Apps like Trailforks, FatMap and Gaia are seductive. Who doesn’t appreciate being able to look at your screen and know exactly where you are, all the time (if the battery doesn’t die)? As Shoalts says, having these navigational tools in your toolkit makes sense. But an over-dependence on “technology” changes the way we experience the outdoors. It dilutes the innate senses that subconsciously record where the sun is in the sky, a prominent hill or mountain in the distance, the orientation of valleys and the direction of streams, the subtle changes in vegetation as you climb toward the alpine, or any number of other important little geographical details that create a mental map that is difficult to do when staring at a screen.
I’ve been testing my theory more often these days and trying to exercise my squishy navigational brain. For example, recently I set off on a solo mountain bike ride in the Doumont Forest near Nanaimo. I left my phone in the glove box, stuffed a few energy bars in my fanny pack and pedalled into an unfamiliar trail network with a general sense of the lay of the land from a trailhead map kiosk that I had committed to memory, as much as possible. I had a destination in mind: a black diamond trail called Aesop that descends from near the top of the network. How I would get there would be a slowly unfolding mini-adventure, knowing that I would be ascending for at least 45 minutes and had about two and a half hours total to kill. Intuition born from experience is not to be underestimated. Untethered from Trailforks, I felt a sense of liberation from just following my gut and a rough sense of direction when I arrived at a fork in the trail. My choices weren’t always the best ones. I took much longer than necessary, but eventually I arrived at the entrance to Aesop. Along the way, I even deployed that ancient navigational tactic: talking to people you meet on the trail.
It was a thoroughly enjoyable, technology-free mountain bike ride. I got lost numerous times but not really lost (you can only get so lost in a trail network where all roads eventually lead to a parking lot).
Off trail and in the mountains, it’s a completely different level of commitment. Peruse any outdoor-oriented Facebook group, and you’ll see requests for GPS tracks from people who want to follow a line on their phone while in the backcountry. A mountain guide friend says it’s a question he gets asked by many of his students. There’s nothing inherently wrong with the request. It’s simply another form of information gathering. But let’s be real. Is it really “adventure” if you’re just following a squiggly line on a screen? Part of the appeal of climbing mountains and backcountry skiing is being able to assess terrain and read landscape. Travelling into the unknown and using skill, experience, and judgment to know when to keep pushing on or when to turn back is exhilarating and life-affirming.
I’ve had a long fascination with Conrad Kain. There are many intrepid adventurers to admire, but I hold Kain up on a pedestal all his own. Kain was an Austrian mountain guide who first came to Canada in 1909. Over the next two decades, he guided clients on first ascents of Bugaboo Spire, Mt. Louis, Mt. Robson and many other peaks in the Purcells and Rocky Mountains. Kain was a master alpinist in the age of hobnailed boots, hemp ropes and heavy gear. His route-finding skills in complex and technical terrain were on another level. If you have ever followed Kain’s famously exposed friction traverse bypassing the “gendarme” on Bugaboo Spire’s south ridge back in 1918, you will have a similarly deep appreciation for the pioneering Austrian’s bold style.
Don’t get me wrong. This isn’t an argument to banish technology from your outdoor pursuits and take reckless, uncalculated risks. I have teenage daughters – I’m not that naïve. But when technology fails – and it does fail – all we’re left with is our physical fitness and our grey matter to get us from point A to B and back again. So maybe it’s time to reawaken our navigational brains and tap into an ancient way of travelling through landscape that uses our senses. Like any muscle, our navigational brain needs exercise. I know mine does. Maybe yours does too.
Written by Andrew Findlay – @afindlayjournalist
Footnote – CBC just published this article, Relying on GPS for directions makes your brain lazy. Here’s how to give it a workout















