The Ghost of Everett Ruess

As has become tradition, I awoke before 4 AM and headed for the mountains in search of solitude that only a sunrise hike can offer.  I arrived happily caffeinated and ready to plunge into a sea of trails crisscrossing Mt. Greylock, a purple monster that lords over the small Massachusetts burg of Williamstown.


I was granted the solitude I sought, encountering zero people for the first five or six miles.  Once again, I found myself in love with the challenge and silence of the mountains.  I came across several large animal droppings.  The first was a large pile of pellets indicating a large deer or moose.  Innocuous enough, I thought.  A mile further down the trail, a more human-shaped turd appeared.  From what I’d read, this indicated a big cat or coyote had been here.

For several miles, each rustling twig, each broken branch raised my blood pressure.  I clutched a rock and scanned the dense foliage.  What was supposed to be a loving nature walk, briefly morphed into the mental exercise of destroying a rabid mountain lion.

After a few miles of haunted stillness, I crossed a road.  This overt sign of society reminded me that humans are more menacing than all the cats and bears within the quiet forest.  When I reached the other side of the road, I came across a chilling sign.

A 31-year-old man had gone missing, leaving only a note saying that he wished to disappear “forever into the wilderness and to remain out of contact with humanity.”  The sign proceeded to detail his extensive mental issues and spelled out strategies if you encountered the man.


My heart hurt, knowing that this man had been afflicted with a familiar heartbreak and love of nature.

“When I go, I leave no trace.”- Everett Ruess

People disappear into the wilderness each year, but none in as dramatic fashion as Everett Ruess.  Everett was an artist and poet, a manic-depressive capable of the highest highs and lowest lows.  He was a male with a gift for the aesthetic and the written word.  Unsurprisingly, he struggled to find a niche within the industrial 1930s.

Out in the wild and free of judgment and oppressing convention, he roamed and wrote a series of beautiful letters and poems.


He boldly declared love for the lonely canyons and dancing tumbleweed of the Southwest.  He dreamt lucid dreams.  His poems were treacherous and vivid.  Everett was unafraid of the travails of love.  But if you listen closely, you can hear heartbroken murmurs, quiet as a rustle of leaves.

He was in love with the land.  But, like any love, his love required great sacrifice.  His sacrifices ultimately led to irrevocable estrangement with society.  His letters and poems became dark and he intimated that he might never wish to return.  Of course, this was before large-scale depressive medication and hyper-fast telecommunication, so his internal wounds were left to fester.

“As to when I revisit civilization, it will not be soon.  I have not tired of the wilderness… I prefer the saddle to the street car, and the star-sprinkled sky to the roof, the obscure and difficult leading into the unknown…”- Everett Ruess

Then, 80 years ago, Everett disappeared without a trace into the vast desert of Utah.  Some conjecture that he was killed by bandits or Indians, some are convinced of suicide, and others suggest he took refuge with a wandering Indian tribe.

“In my mind I conjured up a thousand forgotten cities, left behind by the years; sheer grey mountains; mile upon mile of bare, unfriendly desert; cold lakes unrippled by any breeze, with depths unfathomable; jungles filled with deadly snakes, immense butterflies, brilliant colors, fever, and death.  I swam in the blue seas, and in coral-tinted waters.  Through insufferable heat and incessant flooding downpours I plodded forward….These are the things I saw and the experiences I lived through that night long past.  Now it is night again–the night before I go.” – Everett Ruess- I Go To Make My Destiny, 1932

What’s not debated is that Everett was a disturbed, yet brilliant young man.  A headstrong vagabond, he wished to discover a philosophy that would liberate him from the stifling confines of an industrial society that, in his mind, had lost its soul, its direction.

Everett was lost in that philosophical pursuit.  His inexplicable disappearance leaves many questions.

Did Everett reach the union with nature he aspired to?  Did he find everlasting happiness on the banks of an undying desert stream?  Did he find love in the breathtaking space and emptiness of the desert?

His quest was seemingly logical.  Unable to find perfection in a complex, chaotic urban ecosystem, he sought perfection in an unspoiled land.  Everett was betting that complete contentment was there for the taking.  However, history has repeatedly found us incapable of finding contentment.

Artists, poets, and musicians like Everett are saints destined to die at the altar of an elusive understanding of our volatile human souls.

“Say that I starved; that I was lost and weary;

    That I was burned and blinded by the desert sun;

Footsore, thirty, sick with strange diseases;

    Lonely and wet and cold, but that I kept my dream!” – Everett Ruess “Wilderness Song”

What should we really fear?

I wonder what our chief fear should be when we’re all alone and the wind whistles through the trees atop a mountain.  Should our primary fear be savage predators or the seductive beauty of nature we seek?

Are jaw-dropping mountaintop views, the murmur of a rushing creek, and the still of a desert morning temptations too great for some?  Or is temptation being used too pejoratively?  Perhaps it’s a noble pursuit to become one with the land that birthed you.

But how dangerous is this idea?  How demented and disenchanting is this proposition?

The temptation is to give yourself to the trees, the air and the twigs.  The risk is tireless devotion to a cold, beautiful, and distant lover.  A risk that most only recognize in the seedy corners of bars or in the lust of youth.

Perhaps nature, beautiful and eternally young, lurks.  Perhaps nature waits for us to hurdle ourselves into its mysteries.  Perhaps it lies waiting for us to offer ourselves as martyrs against the injustices people have enacted on the massive organic edifice on which we sit.  Perhaps it relishes us prematurely leaving a world of understandable, loving fellow humans only to be crushed by its uncaring jaws.


Truth is that everyone who runs from this cold world is bound to collide with the conclusion that the sweeping plains of the West or the shady, dense forests of New England are just as cold and heartless as the world they seem to spurn.

Wilderness is stubborn.  Wilderness will breathe and persist long after our feeble attempts to understand or capture it have ceased.

Our only hope is to find joy in our humanity and our shared misunderstanding of all that is greater than us.

My Top Three Regrets

“Twenty yours from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do.  So throw off the bowlines.  Sail away from the safe harbor.  Catch the trade winds in your sails.  Explore.  Dream.  Discover. “- Mark Twain

In honor of Mark Twain’s timeless wisdom, I have put this theory to the test by listing my top three regrets from twenty years ago.  Mind you, I was just six, so take it easy if they are a bit shallow.

# 1  Screwing up my chance to be Mickey Mouse’s best friend.


What other dude do you know that has castles in Florida and California, a horde of good looking dames at his disposal (Pochahontas, Jasmine, hell even Minnie Mouse–the list goes on), and does practically nothing but live off his stellar reputation?

The most damning part is that I had a chance to make a brilliant impression and blew it.  Hard.

We entered the theme park.  I immediately lost my cool and began a despondent search for Mickey, “Mickey, Mickey, Mickey, where are you?”.  Little did I know that this woeful desperation was going to wreck any chance of a bromance with Mickey.

Finally, I found him.  And what did I do?  Ran up to him, hugged him, and handed him the most measly offering one could think of–my peanuts from the airplane.  I couldn’t think of anything better?? That was the last I saw of Mickey.

# 2  Becoming a Cowboys fan.

As Bill Simmons mentions in his “Rules of Fandom”, once you pick a team you are taken for eternity.  I picked the Cowboys at age six when I made the mistake of asking Dad who the good guys and the bad guys on the TV were.  The good guys were the Cowboys and the bad guys were the Eagles.  Now I am stuck with Jerry Jones’s plastic face forever.

# 3  Becoming a Cub Scout.

Why would anyone agree to wear a get-up like this?  And this wasn’t 2013, a time where it has become fashionable to wear a scarf with no regard for temperature.  Once in first grade, my teacher punished me for talking too much by taking away my privilege to wear my Cub Scout uniform to school.  I put on the best fake crying performance of my life.  I should have just quit right then and there.

Out with the Adage!

After this exercise, I now disagree with Twain’s adage.  All three of my regrets relate to things I did.

Based on my stellar research and reflection, I will throw Twain’s adage out with the bowlines and dive into a life of caution and conservatism.

America’s “Vague, Uncomfortable Disconnection”

“most Americans today feel vaguely and uncomfortably disconnected.”  Robert D. Putnam from Bowling Alone (2000)

Walk the bustling streets of a crowded city, sit in a coffee shop, and you can not help but notice pervasive emptiness.  Human disconnection permeates public space.

“New York-Style Fisting” 1

New York City is a place long known to produce deep-seated misanthropic feelings.  A year back, a friend moved there and was ecstatic upon witnessing his first  New York shouting match.  Two people, in no uncertain terms, publicly expressing enmity.  Or the time I visited myself.  Upon my friend’s excusable second request for a young woman’s name at a boisterous nightclub, the woman responded with, “Am I a f***ing broken record?!”.  In economic terms, the overwhelming supply of people abates demand for any single human being.

Where Did it Start?

Robert Putnam, in Bowling Alone, asserts that our “vague, uncomfortable disconnection” started with our parents generation.  I disagree.  Our disconnection started further back during the American Revolution.  A time when America’s forefathers ardently fought for America’s individuality.  This idea was then dispersed to the masses through the Civil Rights movement.  America’s idiosyncrasies began to manifest itself as “disconnection” when it was transformed by the creations of Silicon Valley.

To be fair, America has come far.  From the depths of Japanese internment in the 1940s and separate drinking fountains in the 1960s, we have created a culture where most feel comfortable asserting pride in their ethnic heritage.  Americans, as John Elway so concisely summarized, “feel comfortable in their own skin.”

However, the advent of “selfies” and a blizzard of self-promotional Facebook posts forces one to wonder if this explosion of self-identification and confidence has contributed to a declining social structure.  For each self-shot picture of yourself or promotional post about your buddy’s gig you have unwittingly contributed to the devaluation of human interaction.

Tinder Moments

A new app, Tinder, has acknowledged and embraced abundant supply of trivial human contact by creating a trading market based solely on physical attractiveness.  The value system is simplistic, binary.  Heart or no heart.  I have noticed (and maybe even been guilty of) people clicking blindly until they got bored.  We are eroding the value of human contact.

The Binary Relationship

We have erred in our belief that we can write code for the construction of a fulfilling relationship.  We have invested in the delusion that we can create digital shortcuts to human connection.

Human connections have little to do with fiber-optics and high-resolution images and everything to do with physical proximity.  What has happened to front porches, lemonade stands, kids playing in the park? And what about the archaic art of hand-written letters laced with smudges, illegibility, and other traces of human fallibility?  Why have we allowed binary expression to prevail?

Perhaps other generations felt this distance.  Perhaps this is something humans will grapple with forever.  Or maybe, just maybe, we need to limit constant spoon-sized servings of humanity and hold out for heaping, meaningful slices of kinship.

1 Trademark, Dwight Lutz

The Wolf Inside Us

A Native American elder transferring wisdom upon his grandson described his daily conflict well.  “I have two wolves fighting in my heart .  One wolf is vengeful, fearful, envious, resentful, deceitful.  The other wolf is loving, compassionate, generous, truthful, and serene.”  The grandson asked, “Which wolf will win the fight?”.  The wise elder responded, “The one I feed.”

“Every day, think as you wake up, today I am fortunate to be alive, I have a precious human life, I am not going to waste it. I am going to use all my energies to develop myself, to expand my heart out to others; to achieve enlightenment for the benefit of all beings. I am going to have kind thoughts towards others, I am not going to get angry or think badly about others. I am going to benefit others as much as I can.” — Dalai Lama XIV