Forevermore, Guaranteed: The Realized Truth of Deadly Confidence

(A previous paper from English class...)

Ingrained in each soul lies the searing flame of adventure.  Depending on the individual, the flame may consist of mellow coals or raging fire that chars the spirit and frees the mind.  Christopher Johnson McCandless is one of few blessed with a soul of wild flame.  His restless mind and bright personality was rare and appreciated among all who encountered McCandless along his meandering journey to his final destination: Alaska.  Without warning, Chris quietly left his friends and family to pursue his dream.  He willingly abandoned society and admitted himself into the embrace of merciless Mother Nature where he lived purely off the land in an effort to cleanse his society-sickened-being within.  However, Chris’s overconfident ambition cost him his life.  On August 18, 1992 Christopher McCandless passed into the arms of death after a difficult fight for survival alone in the Alaskan Wilderness of Denali.  Before his body was found by passing moose hunters three weeks after his demise, Chris’s story was silenced by his intended decisions.  In an attempt to unveil the puzzling mystery of McCandless’s sudden disappearance, Into the Wild, written by Jon Krakauer, tells Chris’s story through careful analysis of his wanderings.

The song “Guaranteed,” written by Eddie Vedder, from the major motion picture Into the Wild, expresses Chris’s wild ambition and self-confidence during the beginning of his journey through the words, abrupt silences, and lyrics of Vedder’s guitar plucked melody. 

When one is faced with the assertiveness of the word “guaranteed” there is little question or doubt of the surety in the declaration.  But why would Eddie Vedder title a song “Guaranteed” when the word is only used once throughout the entirety of the song?  Eddie procrastinates voicing the word until the last stanza, in the last line, the last term sang as if a mute, disguising its subtlety as an aspirant.  With the simplistic use of “guaranteed”, Eddie Vedder amplifies the connotation by one potent dose of confidence representing Chris as a young man poisoned with hubris. Jim Gallien, an Alaskan who drove McCandless to the mouth of the Stampede Trail, was concerned about the young fella stepping into a place where book knowledge was no match to living in the brutal lands of Alaska.  “I said the hunting wasn’t easy… When that didn’t work, I tried to scare him with bear stories… But he wouldn’t move an inch” (pg. 5), Gallien admitted after attempting to dissuade McCandless from disaster.  Chris indeed was stubborn.  Eddie Vedder acknowledged Chris’s unfortunate trait and intensified the weight of the word “Guaranteed” to accomplish the realization of its meaning in regards to Chris, unveiling his determination and unspeakable confidence during his journey into the wild, an easy picture to imagine with the accompaniment of Vedder and his soulful instrument. 

One is instantly centered when confronted with the rambling guitar that accompanies the strong, hearty voice of Eddie Vedder.  Repetitively, a jumble of chords and words fill the song, signaling the adventurous feel of roaming the curving road, young and alive.  It’s as if one could vividly imagine Chris walking with purpose on a barren motorway into the horizon of a vast landscape, with nothing but a light pack atop his shoulder and an aura of happiness in the air as he attacks his life’s final adventure.  The swells and altering volume have a majestic capability of bringing the listener to the heart of Chris’s journey, overwhelming one with thought and content confidence.  Just as one becomes a part of the wandering melody the music abruptly stops.

Silence.

Eddie Vedder encloses the listener for a taunting two minutes in quietness.  Coming from a world of constant sound, the sudden break is alarming, though seemingly necessary.  It symbolizes society’s view of Chris McCandless and his original life story.  When still immersed in civilization, Chris met and made a line of friends of whom he had said goodbye to almost as soon as he had introduced himself, leaving many aching hearts, sick with the loss of a dear friend.  The moment in which McCandless disappeared into the wild initiated the loss of his voice to society.  No longer could Chris cry for help and receive aid.  No longer could he talk in the company of an old friend.  He was alone in the wilderness, mute.  He left the mystery to that of curious minds.  Suddenly the music begins and the ranting guitar harmonizes with Eddie’s gentle humming, representing the slow discovery of Chris’s reason and purpose, re-earthed through the words of Jon Krakauer telling the story of Chris and his early, abrupt expiry. 

 Chris met his end at the young age of 24, a tragedy in our present society.  With judgment, onlookers pity McCandless for his early death.  With his body and mind in good health and a pleasurable head on his shoulders, it is seen as a great loss for one to not fulfill their years.  Eddie Vedder realized this connection and purposely continued the song, both in silence and melody.  He symbolized Chris’s potential life but does not portray his early death as a loss.  Rather, he seeks to remember Chris as a man who lived and died the way he wanted.  If Christopher Johnson McCandless had lived, would he have been able to spread the same wisdom?  He may have pursued his years, but his story and revolutions would have had little impact on the lives of those who are poisoned by society.  Eddie Vedder used lyrics and plucking guitar in the beginning of the piece to symbolize McCandless and his limited but fulfilled life and the beginning of his journey, then the brutal silence representing the loss of Chris to the world both in disappearance and death.  Finally, gentle hums and mellow guitar bring Chris’s story to life again, implying Krakauer, the spokesperson for Christopher McCandless.

The words and messages of the lyrics flow just as the guitar swells in accompaniment to Vedder’s humble voice, undertaking McCandless’s dead expression.  He sings, “Everyone I come across, in cages they bought…,” an indication that describes what Chris found society to be: a prison.  The cage of society was one that Chris had worked all his life to pick the lock of and set himself free, while encouraging others to do the same.  “… I think you really should make a radical change in your lifestyle …,” Chris once wrote in a letter to Ronald A. Franz, “… Nothing is more damaging to the adventurous spirit within a man than a secure future…” (pg. 56).  He encouraged Ron to abandon society and live a life thriving only on the rich, stable relationship with nature, though some saw him ignorant to travel with no experience to wild Alaska. “They think of me and my wandering, but I’m never what they thought…,” a line that portrays one’s first impression of him: a Wildman, hobo, or crazy wanderer.  Suffocating from the grips of society and its’ criticism, McCandless ignored fatherly advice and confidently headed heart first into the lands of Alaska.  Confidence bubbled over along the roads to the north.  “Lifting up an empty cup… a mind full of questions, and a teacher in my soul…,” sung Eddie Vedder, signifying Chris’s search of purpose and answers.  Though always thinking, McCandless had edited his mind to act numb to the presence of harmful memories of his past.

 Not only was Chris running from society, but from the very place he came from: his home.  “I’ve got my indignation, but I’m pure in all my thoughts,” sings Vedder.  McCandless had unspeakable anger against his parents; for he had only found out years before that his happy life was built behind a wall of secrets.  In rebellion, he disappeared from his family; a deed that he knew would tear at the souls of his parents through guilt and regret.  The unintentional victim of his act was his sister, Carine.  The brother and sister pair had an unbreakable friendship that was developed over years of withheld feelings due to their parent’s negative relationship.  “If ever there was someone to keep me home it would be you,” murmured Vedder referring to Carine, Chris’s best friend. Chris did not dwell on how he was impacting his family or his beloved sister, and neither did Eddie as the words, “And so it goes…,” linger in the air.  Life goes on, and Chris had no intention of halting a moment to decipher the pain that he had bottled over the years, nor did he halt to contemplate the pain he, in return, was causing his parents or Carine.  But none were prepared for the final burn of Chris’s actions, nor had they come to the realization that Chris would never return.

Chris had a rare heart of fire.  He yearned to find truth and adventure, to run away from the ideas and constrictions of society and live the way he had always dreamed.  Though the feeling and rewards were not entirely what McCandless had expected, he had dedicated his life to fighting the bonds of civilization and succeeded in finding revolutions that were grander in relevance to his life.  Through the poetry and song of Eddie Vedder, one is able to analyze the deeper feeling of Chris and his journey.  With his remains lay Chris’s last strip of voice on the back of a poem by Robinson Jeffers.  He wrote, “I have had a happy life and thank the Lord.  Goodbye and may God bless all!” (pg. 199)  Christopher Johnson McCandless had clearly not lost his fire when the final wave of breath came over him that last day.

His spirit remains with the lands and his wisdom remains with the people who will forevermore remember the story and lessons of Chris.  Forevermore remember his wild, burning embers. Forevermore, guaranteed. 

A Lesson About People, A Lesson About Wilderness

(A previous assignment from English class.  A lesson about people.  A lesson about wilderness.  And a lesson of how the two intertwine.)

            Trees rustle and torment you with a haunting whisper as you walk alone into the black hole of wooded shadows. Screeeech. What was that? Panicked you can’t help but to lose control of your previously steady breath that quickly becomes short and frantic. Squawwwwk. You see bright yellow eyes lit by the midnight moon that watch you with a gleaming, evil smile. Thudding frantically you can hear your heart against your chest. Your knees wobble and lock with the shudder of fear. Knock. Knock. Knock. Goose-bumps appear on your skin in an instant, almost showing an attempted effort of protection against the unknown. In the brush you sense a broad shouldered creature with razor teeth and bubbling, oozing slobber preparing to pounce and claim you his dinner. Hoo-hoo. Hoo-hoo. You gasp. But quickly slap your shaking hand over your mouth afraid to give away your whereabouts. A black bird flies overhead creating a shadow in the glowing moon. You try to find safety. You try to find your little corner of ‘known.’ Maybe try going back the way you came. But where did you come from? Looking around you feel the gravity of open, wooded space, a horrifying feeling. Wasn’t your safe corner over there? Next to the watching yellow eyes? Or didn’t you walk by that gruesome creature? The one prepared to eat you? Knock. Screeeech. Hoo-hoo.             

            

            No. You are helpless.

                        Surrounded.

                                    Alone…

                                                Or are you?

With the evolution of mankind one can understand how the underlying aura of fear has crept into man’s imagination. Before we became ‘civilized,’ our ancestors lived and breathed in the Wilderness. The Wilderness was our home, our food and most often our spirit. Our culture revolved around the Wilderness and we took pride in our job to harmonize with it. But when the gatherers and hunters became shepherds and farmers, we lost our harmony. Strong, wood fences guarded our ‘known corner’ containing our food, our spirit and our homes. After few generations living this way our civilization had forgotten the idea of Wilderness. It became the unknown, the wasteland where evil tip-toed and monsters lurked. Though mankind often tested and pondered the possibilities of what was truly lying behind the wood fence of their ‘known corner.’

            In medieval times St. Francis of Assisi, a Christian, challenged the idea of Wilderness being horrid and evil. He instead embraced the wilderness with the belief that every living creature had souls, equal to that of a man. He respected them with equality, something unheard of in the Christian church. They quickly reminded him that God gave man the dominance over the rest of nature and he was shamed into silence.

            Petrarch, a Renaissance man, also followed the Christian faith. Forgetful of his religion’s values, Petrarch was swept away by the beauty and “delight” he had found in the wilderness. After summiting a mountain peak with his brother he opened his personal copy of “Saint Augustine’s Confessions.” Through review, however, he recollected the idea that man should in fact not take joy in the pleasure of nature. Instead he was to look upon his joy of nature as a sin for it was believed to divert men from their proper duties.

            In China, nature was seen as a haven of which man could explore and enjoy his inner harmonies. Kuo Hsi, a master of Chinese landscapes in the eleventh-century, used art and literature to spread the importance of nature to mankind. In his literature work Essay on Landscape Painting, Kuo Hsi described the enclosed world that humans took upon themselves to live in ,“while, on the contrary, haze, mist, and the haunting spirits of the mountains are what human nature seeks, and yet can rarely find” (Nash, 21). He understood man’s basic fear of the unknown and sought to harmonize it through his philosophy of landscape paintings, his attempt to bring nature to man in the hope that one day they would experience the joy and wisdom nature offers.

            Throughout the history of Christ the Bible has been interpreted differently by millions of people. Various wars and disagreements have taken place due to the disputes of faiths and words. Rodrick Nash sees the Bible in two different lights regarding the subject of Wilderness. A “man’s paradise” consists of a ‘controlled wilderness,’ a space where man can utilize and nurture the land’s resources of food, water, a home. It's a paradise where there is no ‘unknowns,’ where all of possibility rests in the hands of man. However there is an opposite interpretation of the Bible, one that is “no man’s paradise.” A space of uncontrolled wilderness is considered sinner’s land. In man’s eye there are no ready resources and a world of ‘unknowns’ that are uncontrolled by man. If one becomes banned or lost in the Wilderness they are considered sinners and will forevermore be swept away by the evil of nature’s shadows.

            There will always be the ‘unknown’ aspects of our world.  It is impossible for mankind to know everything there is to know about life, but if we can learn how to again trust nature there will no longer be gleaming eyes, weird noises or gruesome creatures of the forest.  Instead one would witness the gleaming stars of the sky, hear the humble humming of trees and follow the paths of wolves. 

Let us try the embrace of wilderness. 

Mute Whisperers

We had found a trail.  The gentle trodden path curved with the slight rises and dips of the landscape that meandered around Little Donahue in a seamless loop.  Fresh spring sent tickled my nose with the damp mildew that lingered in the air.  The slight breeze brushed my bare legs as we made our way on the ice covered trail showing the first greenery and dirt of the season.  To our right lay Little Don, the ice that covered his body radiated his waters with a subtle aqua hue.  The sounds of woodpeckers and leaves echoed and bounced over him signaling the rebirth of spring.  Curiosity took the best of me and I found my way to the jagged shore traversing over logs and grass as I went.  Balancing on irregular ground I peered down to see the rugged, organic shapes of the shore and smiled at the sight of my most valued treasure: Rocks. 

I come from a family who has always valued the presence of rocks.  Our house is scattered with them, all labeled and dated from the various places we’ve witnessed.  It’s our trophy, our simple obsession.  When I first trekked to my ecology spot I noticed a small patch of earth in the sea of snow that surrounded the area.  Immediately I scavenged the ground, in search of my special treasure.  Picking and scraping the compacted dirt I gathered various masses of stone all of different shapes and mineral makeup.  I smiled at the idea of sending them to my family as a piece of where I was, here at Conserve.  I brought them home and put them on my desk for my personal examination.  Though it wasn’t until a friend of mine walked into my room and asked, “Why do you have rocks on your desk?” that I realized my family tradition was apparently not a “normal” one. 

                Through years of this mindless habit I have never questioned our practice until I fully emerged myself in the wildness of nature for this length of time.  Is it considered a crime if a traveler picks up a physical pleasure to the eye? Or should it be?  In many places that are protected by the government it is a rule and sometimes law that taking nature’s treasures is considered thievery and a disgrace.  So where does that line end?  Does taking a rock to remember a place and a time represent materialism and greed?  Would Mother Nature herself be proud to have a piece of her with you?  Or would she be ashamed that man could not easily overcome greed when eyeing something that appeals to their desires?  Whichever the case we will never know, all answers and wisdom are enclosed in the heart and song of the mute whisperers. 

The presence of a rock may bring a memory, good or bad.  However the true joy of observing nature’s mute whisperers in the palm of one’s hand brings utter fascination and wonder.  It may take time to realize that when holding a rock you are holding a piece of history, a piece of the puzzle that makes up the life of Earth in a jagged, original form.  Within each lies a story, each unique, each different.  The silent observations and records of the mute whisperers on Earth will never be told nor heard.  But if they could be, can you imagine what they’d say?

Smack!

A sphere of packable snowflakes sliced the air singing a taunting song, buzzing past my ear. Phew! I dodged that one. But my thoughts were abruptly interrupted as snow stung my face and temporarily numbed my left cheek and jaw. Swoosh, SMACK! 

            

            Ouch.

            There was an excited aura in the air as the first signs of spring appeared. Sun beamed down on the sparkling snow banks turning the white fluff into a snowman’s paradise. The talk of a snowball fight rumored across campus, spreading the excitement as though it were a highly contagious disease until most everyone knew of the upcoming battle. We were to meet at the soccer field after school. And there the war would begin.

            My rubber boots scraped and squeaked as I meandered on the pathway with Kasey and Max towards the soccer field. Looking down I calculated that my rain pants and long underwear would probably be easily soaked with the heavy, melting snow. Oh well. Swoosh. Squeak. Squeak. My simple shell coat and mittens would surely be of little help, but the warmth of the sun and the spring tease was enough for my satisfaction and I trekked to the battle field with a gleaming grin and churning anticipation, for I knew I would surely soon be soaked. Oh well. Though, I was little prepared for the war that was awaiting me beyond the wire fence of the field as Kasey, Max and I confronted the fifteen figures in the distance. The boys, yes all boys, had begun constructing a fort that quickly became the very place we were trying to conquer.  

            The group was divided into two teams. Kasey and I, the only two girls, were humorously divided and we quickly took the challenge to become enemies. With determination and the flame of children in our eyes the eighteen of us packed our first snowball. The intensity rose. Scraping my blob of snow into a perfect sphere I gave the opposing team a snickering smile, and the battle began.  

            AAAHHH! We screamed as we ran towards the fort for cover from the enemy’s constant fire.  

            Swoosh! Smack! Buzz! 

            Ouch.  

            Giggles arose from our bellies and screams from our throats. We were determined, intense, and in the playful sense had no mercy. Snow splashed my face, back, hair and legs numbing my body in a temporary frozen state of wetness.  

            Smack! 

            The melting snow water trickled from my neck, chilling my spine. I turned to see Kasey gleaming with pride. Her hair had started to dread with the flying water and ice. Her cheeks now rosy showed signs of previous hits taken by a skilled throw. I grinned and laughed at her, sneakily forming a snowball in my hands.  

            Thwack! 

            Bullseye. The snow trickled down her face. With ice embedded in her hair she charged.

            WAHHHHHH!!! 

            She screamed lunging toward me. Taken off guard we toppled over into the field of snow that ranged to a depth of two or three feet, a condition not ideal for being tackled in. Scrambling to get up I threw myself at her preventing her recovery. We fell into the snow again laughing and giggling, stuffing snow into each other’s faces and fighting for the top of our two person tackle pile. Swirling snowballs buzzed through the air and targeting our faces, blinding our vision. Snow clogged my ears. I could feel the melting water seep through my rain pants and shell. Oh well. We continued this pointless endeavor of two frenemies tackling in the snow until we finally ended with a simple snowball in each of our faces.  

            Smack!

            The cold ice crystals pierced my eyes and cheeks, as I laughed the remaining snowball slid into my mouth. Mmm… A pleasant refreshment. We giggled and plotted against other members of both of our teams. Ganging up on one or two other teammates at a time the fight continued in a brawl of tackling, snow and laughs.  

            Thwack! Buzz. Smack!

            Ouch.  

            When our arms could no longer throw, and our hair was matted with snow, we hobbled across the field gleaming with childish spirit. What a battle. My long underwear was skin tight with melted water and snow clung to the fur of my boots. My thick snow gloves were no match to the heavy packing snow that seeped in through the seams of cloth and rubber. They clung to my hands and were heavy with water weight. My hair was matted and caked with snow. Knotted with water and signs of struggle from tackle it straggled down my shoulders in a nested mess. Oh well.  

            Never before had I laughed so hard. My grin gleamed from ear to ear as we walked back to Elaine house.

            Swish. Squeak.  

            We were wet.  

            Soaked.  Oh well.               

            The joy in our hearts and the enthusiasm in our voices struck a chord of happiness and completion. Never before had I been in a snowball fight. Never before had I experienced the pain of a hurling snowball, smacking my flesh and numbing my skin. Never before had I let myself embrace the moments of joy and fun. Never before had I experienced the comfort of true, genuine friendship.

            Smack!