Online about being offline

Natalia in the wild.When someone told me to bring a journal with me while I hiked Oak Creek's West Fork north of Sedona, I shuddered inside. I'd only thought of holding Natalia's hand and watching her dog scamper through the dewy shrubs along the creek shore.
A journal? Really? I'd rather bring a flask and a flare gun.
But I planned to do it anyway. It dawned on me that I might have thoughts along the way I would forget when I sat down to write days later. And, as much as journaling makes me think of Yoga and existentialism and things I will likely explore when I'm not stressed about how to survive financially, I do own one.   It's pretty cool, too - a black M.C. Escher journal bought at the Portland Art Museum about three years ago (when I had a dash more money) while on a job-hunting expedition to the Pacific Northwest. The journal is not even a third full. It has some drawings in it, a sex scene for some short story, and random dark thoughts when I thought keeping a journal might help my depression. It's also got a little water damage from a monsoon, so the cover's a little warped, but otherwise it is something to behold.
And then I forgot to bring it on the hike. I remembered coffee, but that was about it.
Had I done so, I may have written about the serenity to be found out there in the early morning hours, the stillness of the air, the moisture and greenery found in this part of the southwest. It's easy to see why West Fork is one of the more popular destinations for outdoor-type people in Sedona. Bluffs and red rock rise like naturally-formed skyscrapers, boxing the area into a cool, shadowy canyon. Ferns and ivy, the trickling creek and sandy trails (almost like a beach hike) blanket the area. And, when hiking before 7 a.m. on a Saturday morning, no one interrupted us. Even our cell phones, knocked senseless by the surrounding geological formations, could find no signal with which to notify us of Facebook posts or incoming email. Save for some pictures to commemorate the sheer brilliance of the hike, neither of us missed the beeps, chirps and canned ringtones.
While my journal will hold no record of this hike, my mind will. And those thoughts, as beautiful as they were, will remain imprinted there. I can, after all, still feel the fresh air in my nostrils, the coolness of Oak Creek on my toes. And I want to do it again. It reminded me of a time when my personal computer held less sway over my daily routine, when I would do something like carve a broken branch into an awesome walking stick and not the feel the need to share it online. I would do it for myself, not because I felt a feverish need to post about it.
And next time I plan to bring that warped journal with me.