An elderly couple drove three hours upstate to visit the national park overlook where they got engaged fifty years ago. They pulled up to the historic stone ranger station at the canyon entrance. The wooden gate was down, and the ranger booth had its windows blacked out. A metal placard bolted to the stone pillar read: "Recreation Area Now Fully Digital. Timed-entry reservations and day use permits must be booked in advance online. No entry permits issued on site." Cellular service at the mountain pass: zero bars. The husband walked around the booth looking for a park ranger. A maintenance worker emptying a trash barrel told them: "They eliminated the gate staff two seasons ago. If you don't have a pre-downloaded barcode on your phone from the reservation website, the automated license plate cameras will trigger an administrative violation notice in the mail if you drive past the gate." An elderly couple stood at the boundary of millions of acres of public land land preserved specifically for all citizens to access locked out because an automated system requires an advance digital reservation for the privilege of looking at the sky. They turned the car around and made the three-hour drive home in dead silence. Public parks belong to the public. The moment you lock nature behind an app and a server connection, you aren't protecting public land you’re turning the wilderness into an exclusive gated community.