Everett Ruess: Iconic Mystery (Still) Everlasting

Oh, Everett Ruess. Did we ever know you? Did anyone? Such a short life. How many people have revealed all of themselves at 20? I barely know myself yet at twice that age. Yet paeans have been written to the lost poet's name, songs and laments and glorifications. So many projections have been flung upon this poor young man he's probably twitching in his grave, wherever that may be.

Everett Ruess, the young writer and artist and dreamer and wanderer, was irrevocably lost into the southern Utah canyons in November, 1934. (On the practical note, let me reinforce that most significant part: LOST in the southern Utah canyons. Disappeared, gone, vanished. So many theories over the years, none of which have yet been corroborated, yet all of which point toward the potential finality of tramping the wildlands of this glorious yet highly unforgiving little section of the world. There are plenty of people who wander all over it at will and are perfectly fine, will die in their beds at home at an advanced age...but there are some who will not. So please remember that this place can just be dangerous, if I must be completely blunt about it. If you enter the canyons, climb the mesatops, hike to the heights of the mountains, be prepared to extricate yourself again, and to save yourself if need be.)

This young wanderer, this dreamy poet, who dared tramp where his feet led and seemed not to care too much what others thought of him, has borne the brunt of many a projection. How on earth to shoulder such a burden? “Excuse me, but your ideas of who and what I am are growing far too heavy for me to carry. Can you please retrieve them and kindly let me on my way, unencumbered by your ideas and ideals of my perfect life?”

Makes you want to say that yourself to people, doesn't it?

Since it was officially revealed earlier this year that the remains thought to be his are, in fact, not, a new flood of accusations, projections, theories, and dreamy idealizations have been trotted out yet again all over cyberspace.

I freely admit that I am as mildly thrilled as many other people. The mystery still exists. The ghost of Everett Ruess still tramps the desert, beckoning to his fellow travelers, promising an enduring tale that has no ending but for the one we each make up for ourselves.

No wonder some people are happy he's still missing. His story is a fulfillment of our own wishes. His short life and unknown end are a blank canvas upon which we can splash, caress, throw, even fingerpaint our own masterpiece, create our ending, satisfy our own needs.

Everett Ruess, for my own selfish desires, I kind of hope you stay lost just a little bit longer. But for your sake as well as your family's, I will instead set my intention toward your remains and your unique story being discovered and deciphered...someday.

Everett Ruess: Iconic Mystery (Still) Everlasting

the bittersweet season

It's fall here...I love it, yet it brings an anxious pang to my heart every year. Fall is when the colors burst from the deciduous trees, the sky is even more brilliant blue than usual, and the weather is mostly awesome for hiking in desert canyon land. I can relax...explore...revel in uncrowded beauty here. I made apple pie with the fruit from the trees in my back yard. Leaves are thick on the ground, and smoke scents the air as many people (me included) fire up their wood stoves to ward off the chill. This is the sweet part.

But here in Torrey, it's also the end of the season. The tourist season, the awake season, is winding to an abrupt finis, an ending that lands sudden and sharp as the cold and the shorter days. Most of the businesses in town close, including my place of employment, Capitol Reef Backcountry Outfitters. Things start to feel...eerie. It's another winding down. An ending, and we all know how difficult those can be. This, of course, is the bitter part.

It's actually a wonderful time of year to visit. The crowds have slimmed considerably and the cooler temps just make it more pleasant. I plan to get out there and explore a bit. I have been stir crazy lately!

Oh, and my goodness. The remains of Everett Ruess are not his after all, it seems. How crazy is that? Who's to blame for the snafu? Well, that might be a moot point. Although I feel for the family members, who are still lacking the closure they seek, it's sort of nice to have the mystery still open. It reminds me that once again, all possibilities are open.

Which is how I perhaps ought to think about fall. Hmm...off to wander the red rocks and ponder that thought!

the bittersweet season

Everett Ruess: Mystery (Almost) Solved

The wandering ways and days of Everett Ruess caused much speculation in many folks over the last 75 years. The young explorer of the wild, wild West disappeared forever in November, 1934. The last signs of him were seen at Davis Gulch, a prohibitively remote area near Escalante, UT. His beloved burros were left in a corral there, not long after his last known contact with people, a couple of local sheepherders.

His body was never found. Until now. According to the Ogden Standard-Examiner, human remains discovered near Comb Ridge, Utah, are most definitely his.

But it seems as if the skeptics still abound. It is intriguing, to be sure. His burros were found 60 miles from his body. How in the heck did he travel that distance without them? I say, duh--he was bopped over the head by the "bad guys" (opportunists, more likely), who took all his worldly goods, headed west, and left his critters holed up near Escalante. Or something like that.

At any rate, I understand the desire to hang onto the romance of this old mystery. It hooked me too, years ago, when I first moved here. I've read his journals, I've dreamed about discovering clues to his death. And...if this is case closed, then that's it to the dreaming, the wondering, the curiosity.

Although the cynic in me foresees a biography (David Roberts, I'm looking at you), more articles, more people making their names on his brief life and much-debated death, the romantic adventurer and idealist in me longs for more. More information, more mystery, more knowledge to tuck close to my heart and soul and bring out and re-examine on a cold evening.

Cheers to you, Everett. May not all your mysteries be discovered nor solved. Because when I wander in the canyon country, I like to think your spirit whispers out there too, guiding my footsteps and lighting my dreams.

Everett Ruess: Mystery (Almost) Solved

a room with a view

I just attended yoga class (hot vinyasa, baby--who's your momma now?) at the new building where my yoga studio is, and must say I was quite impressed. The old place was tiny, stuffy, and windowless. Certainly made for a lot of sweating during class, which was good to a degree, but I feared hitting my fellow yogis in the face with an ill-flung foot or arm during some poses.

The new place is fabulous. Large...airy...and views to die for. Huge windows line two walls, affording body-centering and mind-calming vistas of the local mountains, bathed in sunset light if you take the evening classes as I do. Meditation altars are set up around the room...candles flicker on the windowsills...incense tickles the nostrils...music plays, a little too loudly in my ears since I placed my mat right by the speakers, but I managed. I recalled how inspiring and necessary a view is to life. I surround myself with gorgeous natural vistas where I live, and have done so for many years now. I find them balm for my soul, and I imagine most others must as well.

And yet there are millions who choose to live in windowless boxes, enveloped by views of cinderblock and exhaust fumes. (And when I say choose, I use the term loosely, in the greatest stretching of the word's meaning possible. There is always a choice--it just sometimes seems like an untenable one, a fact with which I am quite familiar!) I wonder how truly happy those people are? I'm sure many of them are happy--I'm just wondering how many.

I have to quote Everett Ruess here again:

"I prefer the saddle to the streetcar and star-sprinkled sky to a roof, the obscure and difficult trail, leading into the unknown, to any paved highway, and the deep peace of the wild to the discontent bred by cities." --from his last-known letter, sent to his brother Waldo in 1934.

And that's 'bout all I have to say on the matter. Hoorary for views.

a room with a view