Lay the baseplate along your intended line, rotate the bezel until orienting lines align with grid or meridians, then lift, adjust for declination, and note the number. This ritual, practiced slowly at first, becomes crisp and reliable when wind rises or friends ask for certainty.
Pick a distant point on the line, walk to it, then choose the next, avoiding drift from side winds or sidehill bias. Count paces, track time, and verify with minor features. If obstacles appear, dogleg around them while maintaining the bearing's integrity and your calm.
When unsure of your exact position, select two or three identifiable landmarks, take bearings to each, and backbear them on the map. The intersection narrows uncertainty. This method restores control gracefully, turning a vague hunch into a plotted dot you can navigate from confidently.






A narrow desert gorge swallowed satellites and every screen froze. We spread the map on a warm boulder, sketched a bearing toward a side wash, and paced carefully between shadows. Emerging onto a sunlit bench, we cheered, then wrote the lesson on our route card.
A friend suggested a moonless loop with compasses taped to dim. We moved slowly, called out catching features, and corrected tiny drifts together. The quiet forced attention. Afterward, phone maps felt like friendly helpers, not crutches, because we had earned calm the hard way.
He said, touch the land with your eyes before your feet. Look for lines that guide without words, choose a destination you can see, and give your brain a simple job. When stress rises, shrink the plan, breathe, and keep moving.