Find a place to disconnect before summer’s over

My cellular provider has a series of TV ads claiming its powerful coverage will reach unexpected places. One insists 'now the middle of nowhere is the middle of anywhere.” Another shows a guy hanging on the side of a mountain, having a casual morning video chat with his beautiful wife and kids.

The beautiful wife never once asks him when he'll actually be home, for a change, or mentions how the kids have been driving her crazy, which makes the ad science fiction.

The notion of being reachable on the side of a mountain is supposed to be comforting. We're all cradled in the warm, safe embrace of instant digital information access. You can't escape. You can find it. It will find you. It will tell you who that one guy was in that one movie.

Unless you're in Highlandville, Iowa, northeast of Decorah, where my family and our close friends spent four days trout fishing a week or so ago. Roll on down Highlandville Road toward the Highland General Store and your smartphone gets dumb fast. 'No Service” it says. Your email has stopped cold. Your texts are frozen in time. Your clever tweets are useless. Your Facebook status is a blank stare.

It can be a terrifying moment for the modern American. What might I be missing? What emergency communication will fail to reach me? Have I been tagged, retweeted or shared?

I quietly tried to sign up for our cabin's pay-as-you-go wireless Internet service. It didn't work unless you stood in this one small spot in the driveway, maybe wearing a tinfoil hat. This was a sign from God. Thou shalt not be reached.

It turns out it's not so scary after all. It can be done. You can stay strong. Not looking at a screen every few minutes, not being interrupted by a buzz, ping, tone or alarm, leaves you with some free time. You can do other things.

Here's a short list from a too-short trip:

Rise early.

Wake up the kids.

Wake them up again.

And again.

Drink coffee.

Have another cup.

Better have one more.

Hike to your favorite top secret trout spot.

Wave to the people fishing at your top secret trout spot.

Hike some more.

Tie a hook.

Wrangle worms.

Cast into the stream.

Untangle your line.

Cast into the stream.

Get snagged.

Tie another hook.

Stop and listen to the water rushing and bubbling over rocks.

Consider North Bear Creek as it snakes off into the forest.

Gaze at tall trees clinging to cliffs.

Wonder whether anyone would notice if you didn't come back.

Get a bite.

Scoop up a flopping trout.

Watch your kids catch your limit.

Take pictures, lots of them. Your phone still is good for something.

Cross the stream.

Carry one kid across the stream.

Carry another kid across the stream.

Look for the hole in your waders.

Hang your socks out to dry.

Grab a very cold beer from the cooler.

Light charcoal.

Grill chicken.

Grill burgers.

Fry fish.

Pop popcorn.

Play cards.

Tell bad jokes.

Have another very cold beer.

Light a campfire.

Make S'mores.

Listen to a ballgame on the radio.

Spray on DEET.

Spray on more DEET.

Meet a friendly local dog named Brandy.

Throw a tennis ball for Brandy.

Throw another.

Realize Brandy really likes chasing tennis balls.

Take a walk in the woods.

Check for ticks.

Wash off DEET.

Fall asleep, fast.

So it can be done. I think the smart thing to do before summer slips away is find a place where smartphones are dumb.

l Comments: (319) 398-8452; todd.dorman@thegazette.com