Someone recently told me the average person is bombarded with more than 1,000 advertising messages per day. Toss in communication with other people, via telephone, cell phone, e-mail, face-to-face, etc., and the number of messages we're hit with each day is astronomical.

Of course most of the messages hitting us are ignored, or barely noticed, yet it is still noise. From the kid driving his car downtown with the stereo blasting, to the neighbor running the lawn mower, noise is a constant in our lives.

It's pretty hard to escape all the noise, but it can still be done, albeit for a short time, in our over-modern society.

For the past three years I've had the good fortune of being able to travel to Ontario, Canada, to fish. The trips have been to remote wilderness outposts deep within Ontario.

And each of the three years I continue to be amazed at the deafening silence. One can actually here themselves think in what is one of the last bastions of remote wilderness on Earth.

Besides the occasional hum of a boat motor and the even rarer passing of an airplane, there is no human-generated noise. The only noise is that of Mother Nature. The wind blowing through trees, water passing over rocks and the scurrying of wildlife and birds are the only frequent sounds.

The first night at the outpost results in a sleep rarely experienced. The night is blacker than black, the Earth quiet and the air crisp. The peacefulness of the night is barely interrupted by the morning eruption of the sun. The quiet and the calm are in stark contrast to life even here in Austin.

It does take a day, or even two, to get used to the quiet. I'm never quite sure what's missing until I sit down and just stare into the bluest sky and listen. Then it strikes me that there is no TV in the background, no radio blaring, no computer to type on, no hum of a passing car, it's just me and nature.

Realizing that I'm more than 100 miles from any form of civilization is at the same moment cool and somewhat frightening. Out in the wilderness even a minor catastrophe is serious business.

Fortunately, I've avoided any problems, knock on wood, and enjoyed the awesome fishing, the good companionship and probably, most of all, the quiet. It's an unbelievable experience to be away from almost all humans for a short period of time.

Yet after about three or four days the trappings of the modern world pull me to return. Like some invisible force I'm pulled back by the message devices of the world we live in. I rush for that first newspaper, turn on the radio, reach for the cell phone, all in an effort to soak up as many messages as quickly as possible.

My conclusion is I'm a message junky -- we all are. And ultimately, no matter how good the fishing and how inspiring the tranquility, the grip technology and communication hold on my life (our lives) is powerful enough to reach into the remote wilderness of Canada and pull me back.

Neal Ronquist can be reached at 434-2201 or by e-mail at :neal.ronquist@austindailyherald.com