I think my Global Positioning System is trying to kill me. I’ve noticed a troubling trend over the last few years in the electronic doohickey I carry around to keep from getting lost.

It seems every trip into the mountains has become a rigged game of roulette with my electronic gadget, which tries to strand me by delivering faulty information.

Take the time I went hunting in the Coeur d’Alene Mountains, and on the way back missed my truck by no more than a hundred yards. The screen showed right where my truck was, but that tiny shot didn’t match up with the terrain, and I quickly wandered off course. As a result, I spent an entire day slogging through a foot of new snow, running out of water, and puking my guts out in the shower from dehydration when I finally did get home. Before you think, What an idiot, why didn’t he just eat some snow? I did. It doesn’t provide enough water when you’re really hoofing it, hence the puking in the shower. This entire misadventure could have been avoided if I hadn’t relied on my GPS for directions.

There’s another dimension to this problem. My wife is convinced I’ll get lost in the mountains and die. Given my recent history, she might have cause for concern. I always try to soften my stories of wilderness adventure just a bit, so as to protect her nerves, but it never seems to work. She eventually gets the whole story out of me, and then it’s all that more difficult to get out for a hike or some hunting the next time. It’s almost enough to make a guy wish for simpler, more unfettered, times. Almost. Continue reading →