The Call of the Wild: Exploration, Ennui, and Escapism

For as long as I can remember, something has drawn me to the great outdoors. My earliest memories are set in the backdrop of the Smoky Mountains (belonging to the larger Appalachian range) in eastern Tennessee. When I write semi-autobiographical pieces, I reference back to these childhood memories for inspiration; cool streams lined with rocks, miles of flowering white Dogwood trees, and glimpses of Black bear cubs. When I am outside, I feel my creativity flow in a way that is impossible when sitting back at my desk at home. But what causes this phenomenon?

Photos from The Great Smoky Mountains National Park, a short drive for our home in Maryville. The top and lower right photos were taken in 2014; the bottom left in 2010.

I first encountered the term biophilia in my junior-year psychology class. Rooted in the evolutionary theory, it suggests that humans are intrinsically aligned with nature. Our words, passions, and definition of beauty all stem from our affinity for the natural world. Our desire to own pets is due to millennia of realizing the incredible bond between animals and humans, and the choice to install wood flooring in your home over carpet, further underscores its manifestation in our daily lives. In other words, there is something inside of us that drives us outside.

This realization has been further ignited by like-minded individuals. Most recently, I have delved into the gateway story of Chris McCandless -- the real life behind Jon Krakauer's vastly popular Into the Wild. Krakauer dictates the experiences of McCandless, the perceptions made by his family and others close to him, and the great tragedy of his untimely death in such a comprehensive fashion that it would not be right to attempt to echo it in a small blog post. Therefore, I will resist retelling a story that has already done justice.

Essentially, the well-bred youth audaciously pursued a life in the wild. He was villainized because of his unpreparedness and foolishness in embracing Alaska's wilderness, only a seventeen-mile hike from Denali National Park wherein he could have accessed life-saving resources. Nevertheless, his story has inspired countless individuals to literally follow in his footsteps to discover his "Magic Bus", left behind after his death until being moved in June of 2020. In a journal, with entries brief but never sporadic, McCandless took dutiful note of all that he accomplished: from finishing Leo Tolstoy's short story Family Happiness (a personal favorite, which I was enthralled to see recognized) to hunting a wild moose with the .22 caliber pistol he used to gather game for food.

An inspirational, hand-written message on the walls of McCandless's "Magic Bus", his home-away-from-home. It reads: "Live the life you [have] always imagined", a quote by Henry David Thoreau.

A source both McCandless and I accredit for our stick-it-to-the-man attitude for becoming surrounded by nature and its freedoms is American transcendentalist Henry David Thoreau. (Notably, I also accredited as being one of the first distinctive American authors, alongside Louisa May Alcott and Mark Twain). In a much drier format, Thoreau describes his venture into the wild as he built a cabin along Walden Pond in Concord, Massachusetts. In tune with the simplistic nature of his account, his daily tasks are reduced to reading, hoeing his beans, and contemplating all that he observed (the ebb and flow of the river in differing seasons is a personal favorite). While mid-19th century America was making a name for itself, undergoing rapid urbanization and growing in wealth, Thoreau found a small plot of land of his own to care for day in and day out to be far more fulfilling.

The paths of the two aforementioned individuals could not have differed any greater, from the sacrifice of McCandless's life in the name of freedom to Thoreau's short two-year stint in being a self-made man. Yet, were their guiding principles any different? Is it any different when I set out early in the morning for a hike, to experience a different life in the wee hours before my typical one begins?

I imagine that Chris McCandless gazed upon Mount Denali each early morning frigid and starved, but with the full satisfaction that he was in control of his life. He could hunt, he could walk endlessly, and he could quote his favorite novels. In his life, and even in his disappearance, he was unable to be subject to criticism or the isolating expectations that would be levied upon him in regular society. Likewise, Thoreau could open the door that he designed, hinged to the home he built from the ground up, and know that every care he put into his surroundings would reward him in return. When I look back at childhood photos, I see a small being with vast opportunities for exploration in a landscape that seemingly never ends.

What calls you to the wild?

Anna Martin 

Contributor to Project Invisible String; writer at Byway Vignettes. 

September 14, 2024