written by Spencer Arps
Phone, wallet, keys. The three necessities. As digital natives, we are rarely out of cell range or without our phones. Most of us are probably not thinking about the impact of our trusty digital companions. But what does it feel like to be without them? The sinking feeling in the bottom of our stomachs when we reach for our pocket and aren’t greeted by our trusty rectangles. Not being able to call, text, or signal to our friends. Missing the moment because we are scrambling for our pocket cameras. Do our phones really make life surreal?
As someone who grew up in Bellingham, the outdoors has always held a close relationship to my personal identity, serotonin receptors, and cultural ebbs and flows. As a child, my parents dragged me and my brother up countless hikes in the Mount Baker Wilderness, went on multiple month-long road trips in our converted school bus, and generally fit us into the mid-2000s Bellingham hippie mold. I was vegetarian from birth, begging for treats like fake bacon and morning blend juice while listening to the sounds of Jerry Garcia, Sublime, and Jack Johnson. My personal history might not seem immediately relevant to the title of this article, but I think it is. The call to nature, adventure, and art has been pillars in my upbringing, something that I’ve been built around, not vice versa.
As a young adult, the euphoria of childhood is something that often bounces around in my head. With added responsibilities, duties to myself, and the looming goal of financial freedom at the forefront of my mind, stress is a constant. I fill my free time mountain biking, skating, exploring Whatcom County, playing guitar, sewing clothing, and a slew of other pastimes. It might be the dopamine I’m addicted to, or maybe it’s just the momentary break from the demands of everyday life. All of these pastimes are lovely, and I hold them dear to my heart; however, there is one variable that undoubtedly makes these hobbies more fulfilling. The lack of cell service. Whether it be mountain biking, skating, driving my truck, or simply having a campfire at the top of a mountain. The disconnect to service morphs these experiences into something totally new.
I would say I’ve become somewhat addicted to the forced detachment from the online world. No more notifications, texts, or even calls. No pressure to respond. The perfect excuse. I also must mention that I am somewhat of a cell phone addict myself, a doom scroller, email refresher and TikTok conspiracy theorist. Everything in moderation, right? That’s what I tell myself as I throw my phone across the room to focus on this story.
For those of us who find it hard to put down the phone, we must realize how fortunate we are. We live in a place packed to the gills with natural beauty and a highway that leaves us without cell reception in about 30 minutes of driving. I feel like it’s something that people take for granted. The opportunities to disconnect from our burdensome lifestyles are right under our noses. If you have a car that can handle gravel roads, go explore. Get on google maps and find a destination, download the pin and go find it in real life. It’s quite the experience.
A year or two ago, my good buddy Devon Bumstead gave me a call about a potential route to a sub-alpine lake. He said it was a gamble. I said, sign me up. Next thing you know, we're in the clouds, wheeling our trucks down an old hiking trail with hopes of making it. After some questionable driving, we made it to one of the prettiest lakes I’ve seen in Whatcom County. The deep blue of the water mixed with fog wisping off the perfectly still body of water was definitely a memorable experience. Not to mention the memories made through the act of getting to our destination. The gamble of getting stuck in the middle of nowhere without the comfort of cell service. Spotting each other through treacherous driving situations, or the fact that our friends brought their cat along for the adventure. Time fell away; the moment emerged.
“I wanna try and climb that mountain again,” said Bumstead. For the sake of adventure, I’m not going to name-drop the lake or the mountain towering beside it. However, if you’re interested in finding it, I suggest taking a deep dive into Google Earth.
This idea of using nature to disconnect from one world and reconnect to another also has scientific benefits for our mental health. According to a 2019 study by Scientific Reports, by spending at least 120 minutes a week in nature, people's mental health remained consistently good and healthy. Interestingly, the research also concluded that a person was no more likely to report good health if they were to spend 119 minutes in nature compared to someone who had spent 0. I suppose the 120-minute mark is quite crucial; you wouldn’t want to waste the positive health benefits by missing that one minute. I also must mention that they didn’t find a difference in reported well-being when comparing nature exposure all in one sitting, say a 120-minute walk, or having that 120 minutes broken up over the whole week.
“Get outside, take walks, breathe, and go slow,” said Scot Nichols, who holds a master’s degree in clinical somatic psychology and frequently teaches at WWU.
“Spending time in nature is curative and supports a part of our nervous system called the parasympathetic nervous system, which is essential for bringing someone out of trauma,” said Nichols.
A 2024 study by geoscientist Richardo A. Correia, published by the British Ecological Society, also found interesting differences between how we perceive time in our day to day lives, and in nature. Time tends to slow down when we log out of our urban lives and into our natural ones. This creates an interesting shift within our bodies. In an urban setting, we tend to focus on the past and see time as a mechanical metric related to productivity. However, when in nature, our minds shift to a more equal view of time, not favoring the past, future, or present, thus allowing us to live more in the moment and creating a more holistic view of time. I can definitely relate to this science, and it’s nice to have some empirical evidence backing up the things I have personally felt and experienced.
For me and my friends, the Mount Baker Highway has definitely been a sanctuary for fun and freedom. It all started when we got our driver’s licenses, old trucks, and enough trust from our parents to spend our weekends without cell connection. We’ve spent countless days exploring logging roads, finding camping spots, new mountain bike trails, and everything else that comes with true exploration. At that age, around 16, most of my worries fell to the wayside as my phone lost those little bars of reception. My parents couldn’t tell me to come home, couldn’t nag me for leaving a mess in the kitchen or really anything else. Not to say I had a bad relationship with my parents at all—I wasn’t escaping into the country purely to be left alone by my family; it just so happened to be a memorable byproduct of our adventure-fueled weekends.
“I love hunting down camp outs when a group of people don’t have service and are out at a cabin or something,” said Bumstead, recalling our teenage days escaping to the corners of the county.
Fast forward a handful of years, and I’m still enticed to disconnect in the Mount Baker Wilderness. Nestled in a valley carved out by glaciers of the past lies the town of Glacier, my sanctuary. There isn’t any cell service in Glacier. You used to be able to connect to Wi-Fi at Chair 9, a pizzeria that lies on the border of national wilderness and the town, but it’s been out of service for a bit now. I’m not complaining.
For those who might be deterred by not having cell service, I understand, especially if you’re in an unknown place. However, I don’t think it’s a good enough reason not to explore the Mount Baker corridor. The road doesn’t go over the mountains; it dead-ends at the Mt. Baker Ski Area, and if you trace your steps, you’ll end up back to safety. If you struggle with the tasks of life and the constant pressure to perform, maybe turn back to nature. After all, we evolved around the Earth, not our cell phones.
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