The Cult of Everett Ruess: The Lone Trail is Best

This is Thomas Wayne Riley, and you have found yourself, in the American Southwest

As long as life dwells in me, never will I

Follow any way but the sweeping way of the wind.- I will feel the wind's buoyancy until I die;

I will work with the wind's exhilaration;

I will search for its purity; and never will I

Follow any way but the sweeping way of the wind."

Here in the utter stillness,

High on a lonely cliff-ledge,

Where the air is trembling with lightning, I have given the wind my pledge.

Pledge to the Wind by Everett Ruess

This is Part 2 of the 4 part series over the exciting life and mysterious disappearance of Everett Ruess from the American Southwest in 1934. This episode will cover more of his adventures and I will quote more from his letters and poetry and writing. During these adventures, Everett will head both to the Southwest and to California where he will attempt to live out his artist dream. There will be death, defeat, exploration, and excitement. But first, we must begin back in LA, where we last left our vagabond for beauty.

In LA, as expected, Everett felt a crushing sense of defeat and failure. He was in a horrible mood. The city depressed him. The wilderness seemed lost. And so was he. But as the author David Roberts puts it in his book Finding Everett Ruess, quote, yet he had behind him an exploratory adventure the likes of which few Americans so young had ever accomplished. In ten months he had traveled perhaps a thousand miles on foot, most of it solo, and seen more obscure and beautiful corners of the wilderness than other devotees of the canyon country do in a lifetime. End quote.

And that is why he is such an inspiration. That is why he has a cult following. And that is why, I am a member of the Cult of Everett Ruess.

That quote from Roberts about the incredible exploratory adventure he had undertaken solo is so very true. So few people ever did it in the history of the American Southwest no matter what nation or kingdom ruled the territory. Other than American Indians, of course, and early Fur trappers like the black Jim Beckwourth from my previous episode, Everett was among a very select few who travelled so far and extensively alone. D&E had 10 in their group… 13 when they returned. Lewis and Clark had 33 plus Sacajawea! John C Fremont, who I will have a series on shortly, he never set out with fewer than 15 men. Everett… alone. Solo. Except his burros. Or horses, as you’ll soon see. It’s amazing. And he did it just… to do it. Just to feel and experience and enjoy nature. To get inspired.

Here’s Roberts to further elaborate:

The template for solo discovery among those fearless wanderers was set by John Colter between 1806 and 1808. An ace hunter on the Lewis and Clark expedition, Colter was so little fazed by the hardships of that monumental voyage that on the way home, in what is now North Dakota, he asked to be discharged early so that he could turn around and guide a pair of trappers who had showed up in the government camp back into the regions mapped by Lewis and Clark.

During the winter of 1807-8, traveling alone, Colter became the first Anglo-American to discover the thermal wonders of Yellowstone. His reports of geysers, hot springs, and lava pools were almost universally discounted as nonsense, and for a while the unknown region was nicknamed Colter's Hell.

Even before Colter, a visionary Dartmouth College student named John Ledyard dropped out of school in 1773, at the age of twenty-one, and rode a canoe he had fashioned out of a fallen log down the Connecticut River to his grandfather's farm. His appetite whetted by this minor voyage, three years later Ledyard joined Captain James Cook's third expedition into the Pacific Ocean. During his four years before the mast, Ledyard participated in the European discovery of Hawaii, where his commander was killed by natives.

In Paris in 1786, encouraged by the American ambassador, Thomas Jefferson, Ledyard concocted a wild plan to travel from London across Europe, traversing Russia, crossing the Bering Strait, traipsing south through Alaska and Canada, and resurfacing in Jefferson's Virginia. Ledyard made it as far as Siberia before he was arrested and deported by Catherine the Great.

Two years later, Ledyard proposed a traverse of Africa from the Red Sea to the Atlantic Ocean. He got only as far as Cairo, however, before he came down with a mysterious illness, of which he died at the untimely age of thirty-seven. The unmarked grave in which he was buried on the banks of the Nile is lost to posterity. End quote.

Everett was clearly among a small and proud tradition of solo wanderers. He is truly a founding father of American wanderers. But after him… there will be many more. Yours truly included.

The next three months of Everett’s life at home in LA are a bit of a mystery. We can only guess he constantly dreamed of returning to the Southwest because by March of 1932, he was back in Roosevelt, Arizona yet again. And he was ready for Adventure number 3! But Adventure number 2 in the American Southwest.

This time he’s joined by a Clark! Who is Clark?! We don't know… But he’s probably a high school friend. The adventure though, immediately started out rough.

First of all, the Apache he had entrusted his burros with had apparently lost Percival and Cynthia was now pregnant. He took back Cynthia but sold her to a couple in Roosevelt who wanted the burro for their young son. About the Apache man though, Everett was not pleased and he wrote to his brother Waldo that quote, I have learned that all Indians are children! Unable to attain to anything like the white man’s intelligence, and what this Apache could not understand, he counted as nothing. End quote.

Harsh, but, I promise his views on American Indians does change. It would be frustrating if the burro incident happened to me, I have no doubt.

To be fair, he also didn’t have high praises for his partner Clark either. He wrote of him, quote, Clark is a childlike slave to tobacco, his grammar is faulty, he has little understanding of art, and he himself has admitted that he is very selfish. End quote.

The two were almost immediately out of cash upon their arrival, even with the selling of the burro and the fact that Everett turned 18 on the 28th of March. Which meant he got a few presents.

Two days after his birthday, on the thirtieth he’d write his family a beautiful description. The writing kind of reminds me of… Hemingway… or Jim Harrison or maybe even Craig Childs…

The hills are covered with flowers: Lupines, poppies, paintbrush, daisies. A crow is clacking his beak in the cottonwood overhead. Quail are calling. A cardinal has been here. End quote.

This… tranquility would soon get on his nerves though and he would write to his parents that it was all too peaceful… too still. Plus, Everett and Clark were bored. They were broke. He would essentially write, if you’re going to send any money, now’s the time. The taboo of not asking for money had been broken on that last journey. Everett also asked for and received quite a few books. Heavy thick books too, by the likes of Dostoyevsky and Voltaire and Virginia Woolf. He would read em all too. Except Brothers Karamazov. He’d save that one.

By early May, not only the boredom, but also Clark would be getting on Everett’s nerves. And they were wasting way too much money on hotels and food. And tobacco. Maybe Clark wasn’t up for the adventure. Eventually that would turn out to be the case too and before long, the two would agree, to part ways. To Waldo, Everett would write about this debacle, quote:

I bought grub, candy and cigarettes for Clark and myself for five weeks, then I told him I did not intend to wait any longer. I invited Clark to leave with me, but he refused to consider it unless he could have a horse and saddle. As I did not have one myself I certainly couldn't offer him one. End quote.

He’d also inform Waldo that at about this same time as the falling out, Bill Jacobs would arrive! Everett would write:

Earlier in the day Bill had come and persuaded Clark to join him. Bill invited me to go with him, but I had no faith in him and wanted to carry out my plans. I didn't really believe I’d like them as traveling companions anyway. I had grown tired of Clark already. End quote.

So after all the backing out that Bill did to Everett, in the end, probably on account of Clark and maybe Clark and Bill were really chummy, in the end, Everett would part ways with Bill. The two would still be pen pals until the end though.

On May 22nd, Everett wrote in his diary of this incident. Quote:

"[Two words illegible] put distance between me and Clark. As companions they don't fit the bill. Neither has anything to teach me, tho they seem to think so. If they had, why wouldn't I respect them instead of pitying them? End quote. Good question… he may have been onto something by abandoning these two.

Before he sets out from Roosevelt, Everett bought a horse named Pacer who he decided he was going to ride instead of pack animals this time. He tried that, now he figured he’d try a horse! Although he’d later write that the horse ended up being more of an outlaw, full of tricks. He then headed north into the mountains after crossing the Salt River and exited the Phoenix basin. On the other side of the river he made camp but disaster struck when he realized… his horse, Pacer, had escaped! Secretly!

This is what Everett’s journal says of the incident:

Dashed frantically in all directions for half an hour, then found his trail back up the road. Half a mile along was the rope, broken again. Soon sighted Pacer and he galloped off ahead. Prayed to God and cussed him. Dark, but half moon. Shouted to car but he went around it. Another car stopped and the driver had Pacer by the neck but I didn't have the rope ready, and Pacer got off over the hill. Driver must have thot me stupid. Ran and ran. Pacer kept slowing and looking back… Finally got a loop over his head. Both drenched with sweat. Tied both ends of the rawhide on his neck and rode him back. ... Curly had eaten all my supper. I called him and beat him severely.

Fried spuds and wrote.

Thot of fluent, blistering swearing.” End quote.

Poor Pacer… Poor Curly! The little dude didn’t know you were gonna come back, he is a rezdog after all!

Actually, poor Curly.. in his journal Everett had written a few days prior that Curly had eaten some farmers chickens back in Roosevelt so Everett had to pay for them. It’s no excuse, but, no doubt, frustration, exhaustion, maybe some regret and disappointment after leaving his friends, all of that came out in the dog beating.

The next morning though, Curly was gone from camp. Never to be seen again. Everett would write, quote, I wish he were shot. His distemper is still bad. He doesn't know enough to get out of the road. He kills chickens and steals food. I can't afford to feed him. End quote.

                  This is my least favorite part of the entire Everett story…

The adventure hadn’t started off well so far.

In Robert’s telling of Everett’s story, it’s here during this adventure that he makes a point to explain the difference between his letters and his journal. Rusho says the same thing though in his Vagabond for Beauty. Roberts explains that while his letters try to keep up a rosy and exciting adventure and appearance, the journal, what hasn’t been erased or lost, represents some of the despair and loneliness and misery and even the little depressions he feels on his journeys. It could be true that the journals were lost on purpose. It could also be true, despite the author Bud Rusho saying his parents erased certain lines in his journals, that Everett himself erased the lines of his journal he regretted writing later. Because it turns out, there are quite a few passages and places where lines or words or even entire paragraphs were erased form the journal. Sometimes only scattered words were left behind as if it were a puzzle…

Despite Everett saying his journals were for his eyes only, it’s possible he knew what his ultimate outcome would be and he wanted to preserve some semblance of how he wanted to later be portrayed. Or it’s possible he knew his parents would find and read the journals regardless of him not wanting them to and he didn’t want them knowing EVERYthing. This turns out to be pretty wise since Waldo would indeed share his letters, which Everett asked him not to, with their parents.

But sometimes, people can’t help themselves and they read your journal as if it were a book from the library or a blog post on your profile. I have had ex girlfriends find my journals and read them… like, without hesitation. They didn’t pick it up and open it up and realize what it was and put it down. They just… went on ahead and read it all. These instances, plural, were beyond a breach of trust, and it changed the way I would write! At least for a time. I had to start omitting things and dulling things and feelings I felt or actions I did in case the journals were read again. Eventually I went back to full disclosure but, it is entirely possible that he didn’t want the people he knew were going to read his journal reading some passages. Or maybe he did have some dark and mysterious side… but we are all, at least to some degree, guilty of molding ourselves, editing ourselves into how we want others to see us. Everett is no exception.

But Everetts erases seem to come during tough times when he was looking particularly inward.

Roberts has this to say, quote:

What is maddening is that the erasures often come just as Everett is probing most deeply into his psyche. For example, on May 19, four days after Curly ran away, Everett reaches a truly low point. The diary: Quote:

I’m in a bad position. No dog. An old broken down horse. [2 lines erased.] I may not be able to trade Pacer for a burro. I will die if he gives out on me. End quote.

If it was Everett who erased the passages, his motive may have been simply to guard his privacy, just as, responding to his parents' wish to read his 1931 diary at the end of the summer, he had refused, citing it as quote, too personal to be read by anyone but the author, in its present state. End quote. The evidence that it was Everett who later erased the passages emerges in another lacuna at the end of his despondent May 19 entry. As Rush publishes the text, it reads, quote:

Killed a scorpion in the gunny sack pack. Gnats and mosquitoes. Alone again. The crazy man is in solitude again..

Pacer munched foxtails. The full moon, round and yellow, in the chalky blue sky over distant mesas. No Curly to pet.

No [word missing] to hold [8 lines erased]. End quote.

In the diary itself, however, the eight-line erasure is more accurately rendered as follows, quote:

[1 line erased]

stupid

[2 lines erased]

I'd

[2 lines erased]

be done.

End all quotes. We may never know how the lines got erased but it seems quite plausible, it was the man himself.

May of 1932, was a tough month for Everett on this second expedition to the Southwest, his third total… That’s going to get confusing I already know it. But on this adventure, Everett wasn’t exploring the wilds like he wanted. He was far too exhausted from constantly working for the ranchers that inhabited the area. His horse was giving him trouble, and his dog was gone.

In July he’d write Waldo and he’d admit how weak he felt and how shameful that was for him to admit. Quote:

Physically, I am not very tough. I haven't the constitution of a day laborer. I soon wear out at a job like road building, or digging & lifting. This seems to be my physical make up, because tho I have tried many times, I find I can't do a man's work in physical labor. End quote. Not everyone is cut out for it, brother, I suppose. But I also think he really was at heart and in his mind, he really was the wandering vagabond artist he portrayed himself to be. He had stamina, but not the strength. He could walk, but he used his pack animals for the lifting.

Not to mention, armchair doctors have diagnosed him with pernicious anemia. He even wrote once in July during this adventure about it affecting him so badly that it caused him to be too weak. He never wrote about it during that last adventure though, so… Actually, he’d previously bragged about his physique and his stamina and strength. Remember the book bags and the walking? Maybe his psychological stresses were affecting his physical body…

During this time, he also continually writes rather meanly about his old friends. Clark and Bill. I don’t blame him, really. In one passage after he’d left them he wrote quote, I can’t trust Clark at all. End quote. He was probably doing this to reassure himself that he’d made the right decision to set off alone. But, he was indeed lonely. His frail state and his loneliness and his being weak and tired even caused him to miss out on seeing ruins! And then the ruins he did find depressed him. Or at the very least disappointed him. He wrote of one ruin, quote, I took one photograph. There was nothing to paint. End quote. 

In July he’d also admit to Waldo that he hadn’t really been painting or drawing much of anything. Quote: I have not been able to paint for some time, but I am going to try some more before I admit defeat. End quote.

Giving up an old beloved hobby is tough and can be crushing…

These first four months on the road were clearly rough, if you go through his writings, you’ll find that he’s: Lonely. Sad. Tired and fatigued. Depressed probably. He wrote also, quote, I often wish people meant something to one another, and one could find people to one's taste. End quote. He sure was lonely.

On May 23rd, he traded the horse for two burros. With the animals, he had decided he was going to ride one, use one as a pack animal, and then tie the two together. But this proved incredibly annoying. Roberts writes about it, quote, The horse saddle, modified to fit a burro, was too big for Wendy and kept slipping off. Peggy stubbornly tugged on her leash, trying to head off in a different direction, thereby stopping Wendy in her tracks. And both burros balked at every stream crossing. End quote. This adventure is just not going well…

Everett was currently headed towards the Mogollon Rim in May and early June. To get there, he’d mostly follow roads, including today’s 377 and for most of the journey, he would be haunted by loneliness and leeriness at his own journey. He wrote letters even doubting its necessity and its worth. But truly, he was lonely. He’d write in his journal, quote, I can't help being different, but I get no joy from it, and all common joys are forbidden me. End quote.

He’d also write:

I wish I had a companion or someone who was interested in me. Bill and Clark, however, would be worse than none. I would like to be influenced, taken in hand by someone, but I don't think there is anyone in the world who knows enough to be able to advise me. I can't find any ideal anywhere. So I am rather afraid of myself. Obscurantism. End quote.

I mean, at that time, in that part of the world, there may NOT have been anyone who knew enough to advise him… He was breaking ground, really. He was blazing the trail… Trail Blazers are often alone in their work.

But after all of this, after traversing the wooded Colorado plateau land above the mogollon rim and making it to Holbrook, he’d finally have his mental and emotional turnaround.

While in Holbrook, a lovely little place I just stayed in in August of 2023. When I was there, I met a group of awesome young Italians traveling Route 66 from Chicago to LA. I tried to give them ideas on what to see and do but they had all of them already on their itinerary so I was only good for telling stories. Well in June, in Holbrook, Everett would meet his own new foreign friends. They weren’t from a different country but they were Mormon so. These Mormons were ranchers who allowed him to work for em in exchange for sleeping in guest bunks and ranch houses and barns. He may have even slept more indoors than outdoors that month, honestly.

During this time he’d break horses, castrate cattle, build sheds, mend fences, put on a rodeo…. He was basically a cowboy at this point. It wasn’t what he ultimately wanted to do but at least he wasn’t lonely.

He wrote about friends and townsfolk and the ranchers he worked for. He wrote about their fights and friendships. He even attended a local parade and a church service where he’d read from the Bible. Later he’d write of the experience, quote, Mr. Crosby must have thot I behaved quite well for an unbeliever. End quote. He mentioned that there were more people in the town jail the previous night than at the service and that these people believed the world would end any day now… They celebrated at church when they learned that Bank of America had just failed. They also worried for their fellow members souls who, on that Sunday chose the rodeo over church service. The passage Everett read was from the book of Ruth: Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God.

Also while in Holbrook, Everett would leave the burros and pick up two horses. One of them was quote, skinny as a rail, and twelve years old. End quote. And a rancher in town told Everett about the horse that he quote, wouldn't give two hoots for the powder to blow my horse to hell. End quote.

As Roberts puts it eloquently, quote, It would be a prescient appraisal. End quote.

Everett would continue socializing and working but despite finally not being lonely, the other side of Everett began to peek out again. The adventure side.

He would write on June 23rd while still in the town, quote, I will be glad when I am alone again. It is too much work for me to get along with other people. Yesterday I lay on the bed looking at the ceiling papered with ragged yellow newspapers, and thot of other ceilings I had looked at dismally. Trees and skies don't give the same futile feeling. End quote. No, they sure don’t.

On the 27th, he’d finally leave Holbrook. He’d cross into Navajo territory or Dinetah. He’d sit around fires and eat Navajo fry bread, lamb, and he’d talk with the Navajo men. At one point he learned some phrases which he recorded in his journal, only to later learn the guy who taught him the phrases and which he had been repeating, that guy had just been messin’ with him and uttering nonsense for his fellow Navajo friend’s pleasure. Everett would later write, quote, They talk about me in Navajo, and I retaliate by speaking French. End quote. I love that.

As he made his way, it would rain, but he would continue his art, quote:

I made a sketch and photographed a butte. The beauty of the wet desert was overpowering. End quote. But again, he lamented that he had no one to share it with.

He’d continue to sleep in the hogans scattered around the land like he had last time, despite that being an offense to the Dine people. He probably did not know that though. I assume he didn’t know that.

As I have learned, ignorance of the Navajo is not an excuse for breaking their rules. On July 2nd, Everett wrote about how he broke open the lock of a hogan so he could enter it and sleep. A week later… he’d take apart another hogan and burn half the logs for his fire… yikes. Hogans are essentially traditional Navajo homes. Nowadays they use modern homes and they keep the hogans for ceremonial usage. Often they’d build one and hope to return to it later if they were in the area. Navajos don’t typically tear down the Hogan structures, unless someone has died inside one. Even then they don’t tear it down completely.

The Navajos try to avoid the body and possessions of the dead, a fact that will be important later in our story, so if someone dies in a Hogan, the Navajos will often break a part of the wall off or open up a hole to let out the spirit and to let other Navajos know that this place is contaminated. Maybe Everett was tearing down Hogans that had been contaminated but… obviously the locked hogan was still in use! Otherwise it wouldn’t have been locked. Still, it probably wasn’t smart or cool to burn old Hogans, contaminated by the spirit of the dead or not. One too many contaminations, which can be a single interaction with the dead, but one too many brushes with a person’s Chindi and it can cause Ghost sickness… which afflicts a person either physically or mentally… It’s always best to avoid those kinds of sicknesses lest you end up with cancer or some other sickness or… you end up lost in the wilderness at 20 years old never to be seen or heard from again.

To add more bad juju, Everett pretty much killed every single rattlesnake he could find along the trail. He’d then keep the rattlers as souvenirs. And he did all this in Navajo Country where the Dine believe the Great Snake is a being that is wound into the very fabric of the landscape itself. After showing a dead snake to a Navajo boy who freaked out, Everett wrote in his journal, quote, They said I would die, and looked at the snake. They ran like little girls when I waved it at them. End quote.

He’s tempting fate at this point. He’d then go on to write some more rather disparaging comments about Navajos before being invited to stay in a Navajo Hogan near the famous Hubbell Trading Post near Ganado, Arizona. He would write of this experience, quote, His oldest daughter, Alice, is the most beautiful Navajo girl I have ever seen. End quote. Highlights from the next few days of his journal are about the young woman.

Unlike some members of the cult of Everett Ruess and others with perverse agendas, I am not going to speculate wether or not Everett was gay or a homosexual. His writings overwhelmingly relay the life of a young man who is healthy in his sexuality as a straight young man. Like when he wrote in his journal on June 26th, 1932 that the pastor of the doomsday church, Mr Brown, and his wife had three daughters with, quote, the eldest rather pretty. End quote. And that’s all I will say about that. For now.

So, despite the turnaround, Everett was indeed still in some dire straights. He was still always tired. And now his eyesight was leaving him?! He’d write, quote, my eyes are wretched. They have been paining me severely. I couldn't recognize my horses until I was upon them. End quote.

Two days later, quote, for hours I lay half dead on the sand under the pinion, feeling too weak to rise. My eyes burned when I read, and nothing seemed to give joy. Mentally I wrote my last letter. End quote.

Regardless of the mystery pain, he would still read. He read everything from other adventurers, Arabian nights, Shakespeare plays, Mormon theological texts, newspapers, magazines, medieval novels, the legend of sleepy hollow, books on the Navajos and so much more. His eyes probably hurt because to read in the summer sunlight of the high desert is begging to be blinded by the white pages and the endless fire of the sun.

He also began to take more photographs and make more sketches again. His art was returning.

On July 11th of 1932, he made it back to Chinle. Despite not wanting to see old sights again, he decided to rekindle his love of the southwest by going to canyon de Chelly, the place where he found the necklace after climbing the dangerous cliff. The rekindling seems to have burned bright for in a long letter to Waldo he would write, quote, The country is fiercely, overpoweringly beautiful… End quote.

He then goes on to describe in beautiful detail a night out in the beautiful Colorado Plateau:

The night before last, near the lake, I made camp by moonlight. Inky cloudy swept across the sky, wild winds whiffed by. Lightning flashed and thunder muttered ominously. Some bulls nearby roared like lions. The storm blew, and to my ears sounded like hyenas, or a frightened herd of goats. End quote.

In pencil, at the bottom of this long letter to his brother, he’d write one of the most memorable lines of his life:

I have been thinking more and more that I shall always be a lone wanderer of the wildernesses. God, how the trail lures me. You cannot comprehend its resistless fascination for me.

After all, the lone trail is best. I hope I'll be able to buy good horses and a better saddle. I'll never stop wandering. And when the time comes to die, I'll find the wildest, loneliest, most desolate spot there is. End quote.

You have no idea how eerie that passage is… I will quote it again quite a few times.

With renewed resolve, Everett was now heading once again through Canyon de Chelly, both canyons, first de Chelly then Del Muerto. He would then head across the Lukachukai mountains, and then on to ship rock, before going up towards Mesa verde. He would write in his journal, quote, God, how the wild calls to me. There can be no other life for me but that of the lone wilderness wanderer. End quote.

While his art was reviving he began to copy Anasazi petroglyphs and Pictographs. He would try to find unexplored Anasazi ruins but many proved to be too dangerous to reach. Although, amazingly he would find arrowheads and a yucca sandal in some of the ruins.

This mysterious eyesight affliction would return to him though and he would write that he felt drunken. Quote, I reeled and swayed in the saddle and felt decidedly out of my usual nature. For some time I could hardly see. End quote. Had he drank somewheres before? Possibly with those cowboys or the old bootlegger? Most certainly.

At spider rock, that, blasted spire I’ve yet to see, there, Everett would turn around and head to the mouth of the southern canyon so he could go up canyon del Muerto. But… his sadness would return during this leg of the journey. Or as Keuroac put it, the doldrums.

At the mouth of the canyon, during his doldrums, Everett wrote in his journal, quote, I felt futile. It seems after all that a solitary life is not good. I wish I could experience a great love. I find that I cannot consider working, even in art. To be a real artist one must work incessantly, and I have not the vitality. ... More and more I feel that I don't belong in the world. I am losing contact with life. It seems useless to paint, when Nature is here, and I can't paint anyway. End quote.

Three days later he wrote further of the sadness, quote, I think I have seen too much and known too much- so much that it has put me in a dream from which I cannot waken and be like other people. I love beauty but have no longer the desire to recreate it. End quote.

If he had written all of this before his ultimate disappearance, we would know his ultimate fate. But since we don’t have that journal, we can never know. We know he makes it out of this because, well, he does but it is troubling to see such sadness.

To make things worse, once starting up the steep Canyon Del Muerto, canyon of death, he would deal with a harrowing death of his own.

By now he’d renamed his horses Jonathon and Nuflo and the three of them began the canyon’s adventures. But, to quote Everett:

It was so steep that I led Nuflo, and Jonathan had to be urged. Finally he fell or lay down at a rough spot about half way up. I thwacked him but he would not rise, so I unpacked him there... When I pulled out the pack saddle, Jon slid off the trail, turned over three times on the downslope, and tottered to his feet. I led him up, put Nuflo's saddle on him, packed Nuflo, and slowly descended. End quote.

He then headed back to his previous camp where he, quote, unloaded and led the horses on the bank where the grass was very sparse. I didn't hobble Jonathan. He went around in circles and didn't eat. I washed a cut on his leg and he stood for a while, then staggered sidewise and fell into a clump of cactus where he lay awhile. Then he got groggily to his feet, tottered again and collapsed. Then I prepared myself for the worst and began looking at my maps to see how near a railroad was. In a little while, I looked at Jonathan again, and he was dead eyes glassy green, teeth showing, flies in his mouth. End quote.

He’d write of the incident,  quote, so for me, Canyon del Muerto is indeed the canyon of death- the end of the trail for gentle old Jonathan. End quote.

After the tragedy, he would take the saddle up to an Anasazi ruin and bury it there where he said, quote, the ghosts of the cliff dwellers will guard it. End quote.

Jonathon was left where he died. After all, he was too heavy to move or bury. Everett did comment that no doubt a Navajo would steal the horses shoes, but would they risk the Ghost sickness? Also, is that really theft?

Later, he’d write an essay about the experience:

As I stalked down from the high perched ruin, lightning flashed out from the darkening sky; thunder rolled and reverberated in the narrow canyon. A vivid arrow flare of piercing brilliancy struck down at the red cliffs, ricocheting with a sickening whine, like a hurtling shell. With a grinding, grating sound, a mass of rock slid down the cliffside.

In a moment the cloudburst came. The water cascaded from the gleaming rocks and poured frothily from a thousand sources into the plunging stream. I flung the pack on Nuflo's wet back and lashed down the stiff tarpaulin. Afoot, I breasted the foaming torrent, Nuflo following obediently. For hours I trudged upstream, until at dusk I reached the head of the canyon, camping in a dry cave. End quote.

That’s a tough break for the young man, honestly. But he does write in his journal that he will not let it dishearten him, although he will be haunted forever by the sight of Jonathon running sideways. He knew he couldn’t afford another horse, and besides, it was tough work anyways. So he was going to trudge forward with Nuflo.

At the Navajo settlement of Tsaile, E would buy food. Cookies, peanut butter, and cigarettes. Apparently he had been smoking the entire time, much like everyone else in the 1930s but he hadn’t recorded it until just now. Quote, I smoked half a dozen cigarettes, watching the beautiful spirals of blue smoke, blowing rings, and looking at the fungus on the rafters. End quote. His mother apparently disapproved and in a letter to her, he lied and said he only smoked sparingly.

Maybe all those smokes were hurtin his bones. Because on July 23rd, while traversing the Lukachukai mountains, he wrote in his journal, quote, There was such a stiffness and soreness in my limbs as I had never known before. My shoulders seemed bruised and my thighs ached piercingly when we climbed. End quote. The smokes or the Ghost sickness… Four days later he wrote, quote, my legs are weaker than ever. I'm filled with a violent desire to go home. End quote. 

Sometimes, it’s best not to ignore those desires.

In Shiprock he was disappointed he only received one letter from his mother. But while there he would drop off a long letter to Bill.

He then hitchhiked or walked the road up to Mesa verde from New Mexico. He’d comment on two sexy women he had seen in a car that slowed to peep him as they passed.

But once in Colorado, out of Navajo land and into Ute territory, after buying some supplies, another tragedy befell him.

He describes the incident in his journal:

The trail led along the edge of a bank in a quite narrow pass with the high bank above & below. I supposed it was passable, because it was there. Nuflo went ahead, scraped safely by, but around the turn, the ledge was narrower, There was nothing to do but go on, and Nuflo was within a few yards of safety when at a particularly narrow spot, his kyak [pack sack] pushed him out and he began to slip off. He lunged up again, but once more, the pack pushed him off. He clawed the ledge frantically, then fell down into the current of the muddy Mancos. It was deep near the bank, and he floundered about and wet his pack. When the kyaks were full of water, he could not lift them, and he floundered miserably and floated downstream several yards. He could not stand up. End quote.

He wrote that all he could do was yell from the bank, quote, Oh, for God's sake, for GOD's sake. And then he jumped into the water up to his waist and tried to pull the horse back onto he bank. At this point, the strap around the horses neck broke, sending his saddle and his pack into the water.

Nuflo and Everett got to shore, where he tied up the horse to a cottonwood before going back into the river to fetch his soaked gear. Unfortunately a blanket floated away…

He writes further, quote, I heaved at the bedroll, It weighed like lead. I had to try a dozen times before I could get it on the bank. End quote.

Alas, everything was soaked and a lot was ruined. His camera and flash bulb for starters. His sketches and paintings. His food. His papers and journal! Although his journal was able to be saved in the end.

To try and dry everything out, he strung it all along a fence. But then… it started to rain. He attempted to save his gear by throwing a tarp over it all. He then hitchhiked back to the trading post where he helped the owner unload some goods, bought some cigarettes and candy, and then borrowed some clothing and a rug to sleep on.

Despite all of that! He was bound and determined to reach Mesa Verde, to see where Wetherill made his mark.

Part of this whole fiasco was Everett’s determination to reach the mesa and the park and the ruins by a southerly route, a route the trading post worker doubted existed after he asked him. A route I know was blocked and fortified in Mesa Verde times by walls and turrets and boulders perched precariously at points to crush invaders. Possibly invaders from Chaco…

After the river fiasco Everett took Nuflo the horse, despite it not wanting to listen. Ever. But he took the horse through trails to find this southern route. He’d get lost but some Utes would correct him. The horse would refuse or would just go off spiritedly on its own whimsical direction. But this didn’t bother Everett too much because, quote, I am in no great rush to reach the park. It will mark the termination of my wanderings-my independence. I can't even see the [cliff] dwellings independently. All tourists go in an auto caravan with a ranger. End quote.

I wish I had known that before I went! And it’s good to know my disgust of this babysitting is universal in us Southwestern wanderers. He’d be appalled at the restrictions at Navajo National Monument.

Eventually he would give up on this route and head to the headquarters on the northern end of the park and then head up to the campground.

While at the park, in a letter to his family on August 25th, he would write out some truly palm sweating and harrowing climbs and cliff tip toeing he’d do while dancing with death on the edge of ledges and sandstone overhangs. It all sounds awesome and fun and he explored ruins that may not have been explored in hundreds of years except for the Wetherills. But… there is a very good chance he could have fallen or slipped or been rimrocked and stuck in an alcove to die next to 700 year old ruins. Probably on top of skeletons already laid to rest there. Quote: There was another dwelling near Horse Springs, which could only be reached by worming up a nearly vertical crevice, part of the way hanging by my hands. End quote. I love climbing and chimney climbing up a crevice, while the easiest, is still scary and one slip means you’re jammed inside a tight hole where… you may not be found for decades… until some Californian hiker sees you, takes some bones, and wonders if it’s you…

He would write to his family, quote, In spite of all the reverses, hardships, and difficulties, I find the wilderness trail very fascinating. ... I think it would be cowardly to turn back at this stage of the game. ... You have no idea how flabby and pale the city is, compared with the reality, the meaningful beauty, of the wilderness. End quote. At the same time though, he’d wonder what kind of fun and new things he would do once he made it back to Hollywood, and he’d reassure them that he was scanning the horizon for California bound vehicles.

Mesa Verde, it turns out, was packed with people. Tourists. City folk themselves. It was far from wild, really. Not to mention, after the death and the soak and the physical ailments, he was plumb worn out. Everett was tired. It was indeed time to head home. But while he was there, he did make a really awesome block print of Square Tower House Ruin that I have since purchased and will soon have it on my wall.

But all this exploring came at a price. A dangerous one at that. No, he didn’t fall. He got poison ivy. Again.

And on top of that, he didn’t find a ride back to LA. So he started hitchhiking. His first ride got him to Gallup, NM. His second ride took him to the Grand Canyon through his quote unquote magnetic personality.

Once at the Grand Canyon despite heading home, he prolonged his stay. He hiked twice to the river, and killed his 8th rattlesnake. And this one was quote, a rare species found only in the Grand Canyon. End quote… come on dude.

From the Grand Canyon he got a ride down out of the Colorado Plateau and on to Kingman. And from there he went across the border on Route 66, which had only been around for 6 years… but he made it to Needles. Then from Needles, he was dropped in a strange part of LA in a dense fog. He was disoriented. But he was home. He was not thrilled.

Roberts sums up this less than enthusiastic trip when he writes about it, quote:

He had spent five months in the Southwest, not ten, and during some ten weeks of his time, he had effectively been marooned, first in Roosevelt, then in Holbrook. His 1932 journey had covered less than half the distance of his previous year's pilgrimage, and relatively little of his traveling had taken him through true wilderness. Much of the time on the trail in 1932, Everett was plagued by exhaustion, by aching throughout his body, and by some kind of painful eye affliction. He never sorted out the logistical problems posed by a series of inadequate pack animals. And he had suffered four calamities: the schism with Bill and Clark, the beating and disappearance of his dog Curly, the death of Jonathen, and Nuflo's plunge into the Mancos River. End quote.

But still, an adventure, is an adventure and you have to take the bad ones with the good ones to appreciate the truly awesome times.

To sum up the next few months in Southern California, I will quote from Everett himself. I got into college by rather a fluke. End. Quote. You heard that right. No doubt on account of his parents, Everett had enrolled and had been accepted as a freshman to UCLA. But there’s little other than that bit of info that we know. He didn’t write too much in his journal or in letters.

We do have some of the things he wrote while in school, though. One is titled, I Go To Make My Destiny. Here is the ending:

Bitter pain is in store for me, but I shall bear it. Beauty beyond all power to convey shall be mine; I will search diligently for it. Death may await me; with vitality, impetuosity and confidence I will combat it. . ..

My heart beats high, but my eyelids droop; tomorrow I will go. Adventure is for the adventurous. Life is a dream. I am young, and a fool; forgive me, and read on. End quote.

Death may await me… Adventure is for the Adventurous. Life is a dream.

During this semester, Everett really enjoyed music. Like, religiously. You see, outside of painting and writing and adventurering, Everett loved music. He would write a friend, quote, music means more to me than any other art, I think. End quote. During his time at college it seems he really played those records and attended many a concert. But music was really… his only passion while at the University. Apparently he did well in English and geology, and… that’s about it. In history, philosophy, and ROTC… he did, poorly. And with ROTC part… I don’t blame him.

In high school in Georgia, I failed ROTC… got an F, the only F I’d receive in my entire life. It was truly a miserable experience. And apparently, the university was a truly miserable experience for Everett as well because after only one semester, he was done.

Everett would write to a friend shortly after that one semester and say, quote, how little you know me to think that I could still be in the University! How could a lofty, unconquerable soul like mine remain imprisoned in that academic backwater, wherein all but the most docile wallow in a hopeless slough?… He would also write, Even after climbing out of the maelstrom of college, I find that life is still awhirl, though no longer a swirl. I have, however, been on several Bacchic revels and musical orgies. End quote.

By Bacchic Revels, he’s referring to the Roman parties of revelers who worshipped the party God of Greece and Rome, Dionysus. Maybe there was some law breaking during this time in Everett’s life. Remember, this is prohibition era… drinking is outlawed…. But maybe the laws of man meant little to the wanderer.

To another friend he wrote about the wild and woolly outdoors, quote, I had some terrific experiences in the wilderness since I wrote you last- overpowering, overwhelming. But then I am always being overwhelmed. I require it to sustain life. End quote.

John Muir, the famous fellow adventurer and photographer would write of the outdoors, quote, In every walk with nature one receives far more than he seeks. End quote. I would say that is absolutely true for our nature walker, Everett Ruess. He truly received even more than he could withstand, as he would later write.

After this single semester, Everett decided to forgo the American Southwest. I imagine it was for two reasons; one unstated and the other he writes. The first unstated reason he goes where he does is because of how badly the last excursion went. The second reason he elaborates in a September 1932 letter, quote: After months in the desert, I long for the seacaves, the crashing breakers in the tunnels, the still, multi-colored lagoons, the jagged cliffs and ancient warrior cypresses. End quote. So instead of the American Southwest, he travels for a second time north, towards the Pacific ocean and towards the mountains of the Sierra Nevadas. His fourth adventure would hopefully go better than the last.

Technically, at Christmas time he goes up to Carmel on the coast and enjoys the ocean and sells some Christmas Cards, but he heads back down to Hollywood briefly before heading again towards the Sierra Nevadas.

He writes to a friend: In a month or so when it is hot, I am going to shoulder my pack and go up into the Sierras, with some rice and oatmeal, a few books, paper, and paints. It will be good for me to be on the trail again. End quote. It’s good for us all, brother.

His first stop would be a place I am absolutely in love with and completely and totally enthralled by. It took my breath away the single time I was there although I have tried multiple times to head back, unsuccessfully. Unfortunately this last winter’s massive snow storm has made travel to the region difficult and sometimes impossible. But in 2022 my late puppy dog, my wife, and I all traveled to Sequoia National Forest. That’s Everett’s first stop. Until you see the towering massive fresh smelling trees and their soft bark and fallen limbs the size of trees… until you see the ridiculously shallow root system and feel the resin that protects them… until you visit these amazing and massive trees and their peaceful surroundings, it is impossible to fully understand just how incredible and big and beautiful the mighty sequoias truly are.

This trip to northern California would be four and a half months and would be filled with a lot of journal writing but very little letter sending. He would of course ask for books, ink, and money from his parents. All the while, his brother would move out and his parents were still struggling to make ends meet during this tough time that was the Great Depression.

His depression, or more sadness, though, it doesn’t really show up in the journal writing, although I believe he still suffered from it. The journal though, it has a healthier sort of record keeping. He doesn’t seem as exhausted or down or tired and the ailments don't try to destroy him. But one letter to his parents does shed some light on maybe why he was so down last trip. That last trip may have been a deal he had made with his parents saying I will go to college after this trip if you help me out. Maybe. There’s no evidence of that but there is evidence that maybe he was suffering some sort of sadness every now and then. In a letter during this fourth adventure he says, quote:

No, I am in no danger of a nervous breakdown at present.

How about you? End quote.

For the start of this journey, Everett’s brother, Waldo and Waldo’s girlfriend drove Everett to the southern edge of the sequoias before dropping him off there. Oh, and Bill Jacobs stood him up… again.

On his second day he’d wrangle up some burros from a Rancher that he’d later name Betsy and Grandma.

He wanted to head up into the high sierras but a ranger told him no way, there’s far too much snow up there. A story I know well.

During this adventure he would swim and fish and hike and talk with strangers at length. Sometimes he’d even hike WITH them! So much for the lone trail.

But of course while he enjoyed the company he did once complain on June 23rd, quote, I've had only two days of uninterrupted solitude. End quote.

He’d also write, quote: Thus far, I have been free of watches and clocks. I never wonder what time it is, because for myself it is always time to live. End quote.

In a letter to an unknown person with the date missing, he’d reiterate his lack of need for the knowledge of time:

Right now I am sitting on a hill overlooking the Marble Fork of the Kaweah River. The colors are glorious-fleecy white clouds, a clear blue sky, distant blue hills flecked with snow, tall pines all around me, monstrous grey glacial boulders, and patches of sunlit moss on the fir trees. The snowwater rushes and pounds through its rocky channel, tumbling frothily into lucent green pools.

Here I seem to be in my element. Save for the lack of intellectual companionship, which is not utter, and is troublesome wherever 1 am, and for a few trifling disturbances, I have nothing to lament. More than ever before, I have succeeded in stopping the clock. I need no timepiece, knowing that now is the time to live.

I have lived intensely on several occasions here. End quote. He then goes on to describe a few amazing adventures. Everyone should check out Vagabond for Beauty by Bud Rusho.

Everett would in fact communicate with rangers, policemen, post office employees, CCC workers, and a whole bunch of tourists. He tried to sell his art to all these many people but he wasn’t all that successful.

On the 20th of June he wrote about how he had met some attractive ladies who passed him on the other side of the stream but… they didn’t show too much interest. Then, around the time he describes their ignoring of him, in the journal there’s an 18 line erasure, which is one of the longest in all his journals. It turns out when the girls returned, they continued to ignore him, which further irritated him… it happens, man.

When not hiking he was sketching or reading and he seemed genuinely enjoying his time out in the mountains and forests of California which, who doesn’t enjoy that!

Roberts writes of his time here, quote:

As he hiked in the forest, Everett often sang out loud. Sea chanties and cowboy ballads, he mentions in one entry, but more often he hummed his favorite classical music. "I drank at a stream," he wrote on June 12, "and strode gallantly up, singing some Dvorak melodies, putting all the volume I had into them. The forest boomed with my rollicking song. Then the transmuted melodies of Beethoven, Brahms, and the Bolero rang thru the silent forest.” End all quotes.

On June 12th or thereabouts he’d send a letter saying:

During the last few weeks, I have been having the time of my life. Much of the time I feel so exuberant that I can hardly contain myself. The colors are so glorious, the forests so magnificent, the mountains so splendid, and the streams so utterly, wildly, tumultuously, effervescently joyful that to me at least, the world is a riot of intense sensual delight. End quote.

In early July, once the snow had really begun to melt, he finally made his way northwards towards mount Whitney for he hadn’t yet climbed it up. Nor had he ever even seen it.

He was still running into people though. He’d stop at ranger stations, old cabins, and working ranches. He’d meet naturalists and really get to know some rangers.

Everett would fish a lot and he loved it and he even wrote about it: quote, After patient casting in a deep pool, I felt a tug on my line, and, thrilled to the core, swung the pole, and the biggest fish I ever caught thudded up on the bank. I hunted five minutes before I found him in the deep brake, but he was still flop-ping. I could hardly close my fist on him. He was a foot long and weighed at least a pound. How I shouted. End quote.

One of his best days was a catch of 40 fish. I personally just don’t have the patience for fishing, really. Once I went camping and fishing with some friends in Northern Wisconsin as I do every year and between the three of us, my Wisconsin Redneck friend, Muskrat, the French Beaver Trapper Matthias, and I, nickname Skindiana Jones, for reasons I will not get into, well between the three of us over 300 fish were caught that weekend. I caught 3 of those of three hundred.

On this last trip in 2023 though, the two taught me to fly fish and now I am… hooked on the hobby, although I haven’t gotten to do it too often since June. One of those times was the Kern river though, a area Everett would have passed by.

To keep up with tradition, Everett also fought and killed a mean rattler. Quote:

The brush was almost impenetrable. Taking my life in my hands, I reached down and caught his tail, loosed the makeshift spear, and whipped him out on the rocks. He was very much alive, but after a few tries, I mashed his flat head and cut it off.

Only six rattles, and he is not long, but what a fight we had. It was true sport.

Hunting rattler's as I do comes nearer to real sport than almost anything I know. It has the necessary element of danger, for it is not sport unless opponents are somewhat evenly matched, and the quarry can turn the tables on the pursuer. By comparison, fishing is a diversion for senescent bachelors. End quote.

I love rattlesnakes but somehow I NEVER see them in all my travels through the southwest. That’s probably because I usually travel in winter and early spring, but still it is surprising. Well, I never saw them until May of 2021. I was walking with my future wife in Bandelier National Monument. We’d just seen Alcove House and climbed down the ladders, well, I ran down them, but we were walking in the forest by the creek when a small snake slithered by and I made the silly comment that dang, I wish that had been a rattle snake cause I NEVER see them! My wife said, no, don’t wish that, and then, I mean, not 2 minutes later, I glance down at the stick on the path, realize it is a snake, push my wife out of the way, divert my falling foot so as not to step on the lethargic creature, and tear off down the path with my heart leaping out of my throat. I hastily pulled out my phone and took a shaky video. That thing liked to have killed me! It was a beautiful rattlesnake and after our mutual scare, he meandered on under some bushes, probably cold and tired. I’ve seen my fair share now.

On July 14th at the Kern River hot springs, Everett met up with two younger boys who also attended the same high school he had, Hollywood. Their names were Charley and Ned. Quote, Ned has some intelligence, but Charley is rather callow. End quote. They were also pretty religious. Nevertheless, Everett paired up with the two dudes as they all climbed up to Mount Whitney. Then, six days later, they reached the summit! And that summit, is the highest point in the Lower 48. And the highest point Everett would ever reach in his life.

The day after the ascent, Everett blazed the lone trail yet again. But the happiness and joy he’d had so far was beginning to fade.

First, the scenery was getting to him. He was growing tired of the gray rocks and the impenetrable forest. He would write in his journal that quote, I chanted Navajo and enjoyed the thought of return to northern Arizona. End quote. Then, he found grandma, the gray burro was… pregnant! He’d write, quote, Poor ignorant creature, she had no knowledge of contraceptives! End quote. Then he got a cut in his hand so bad that it grew infected and it bothered him to the point of keeping him up at night. That’s a good way to lose a hand!

Because of this infection, he had to retreat out of the mountains and down into the central Joaquin valley of California. He’d see doctors who would soak his hand in Lysol and warm water. They’d inject him with Novocain and cut him up further. Then they’d diagnose him with blood poisoning. Which is when the infection spreads to your blood. Which can be a fatal diagnosis if not treated.

Despite all of this though, he continued his adventure. But he did admit, quote, I am not a good left handed camper, but I did my best. End quote.

On august 28th, after his hand had healed and his adventure had grown monotonous again, Everett wrote, quote, I find sleep very unpleasant. I cannot bear to yield consciousness without a struggle, especially as I sleep so poorly. I call sleep temporary death. End quote. Another interesting snippet into his subconscious. But could also be explained by possible fevers from the blood poisoning… 

Because at that same time, he wrote to a Doris Myers and said, quote, I have been feeling so happy and filled to overflowing with the beauty of life, that i felt I must write to you.

It is all a golden dream, with mysterious, high, rushing winds leaning down to caress me, and warm and perfect colors flowing before my eyes. Time and the need of time have ceased entirely. A gentle, dreamy haze fills my soul, the rustling of the aspens lulls my senses, and the surpassing beauty and perfection of everything fills me with quiet joy and a deep pervading love for my world.End quote.

Everett is, after all, an 18 year old young man who spends months in the wilderness and days without seeing another soul sometimes who is very perceptive to the world around him so… it’s natural his mood should shift. Look at me, now I’m armchair diagnosing him… but at least my diagnosis is that he’s a natural human. Although I’m not discounting some of the theories others have put forth about his mood changes, I just don’t think it’s a good idea or habit to armchair diagnose historical figures.

At this point, Everett was determined to reach Yosemite by way of the then recently mostly completed John Muir trail. It would take him almost a month. And he was often gloomy in his writings. One evening, September 6th, he wrote, quote, I set less and less value on human life, as I learn more about it. I admit the reality of pain in the moment, but its opposite is not strong. End quote.

And then two days later, after stirring up a bees nest in some tangly brush… he was stung a dozen times. He wrote this of the nightmarish experience:

I struggled frenziedly down to the water, tearing my shirt.

I had to leap down onto some wet rocks, then I climbed up on some more, pulled out the stings and the bees in my hair, threw off my clothes, and plunged into the water. Then I seemed to burn all over, and looking down, I discovered that my body was a mass of poison oak blisters. The shock nearly broke me, and I felt sick all over. When I was trying to put on my shirt, I fell into the water, and could not find the strength to get out until I was half drowned. End quote.

This could easily have proven fatal to many people, especially if he had been allergic! After he nearly drowned, he crawled back to the trail, but it took him hours and during the crawling, he would throw up everything in him. He would write, quote, I could see nothing but blackness, and fell back, exhausted, dizzy, and faint. End quote.

During the crawling, Everett of course covered his body with the disgusting oils of Poison oak which he then blamed for his further collapse after the shock of the stings. While it may have aggravated him, it certainly wouldn’t have acted that quickly… although, he is REALLY allergic. But most likely, he was suffering from anaphylactic shock from all of those many bee stings. Apparently, two days later, he still had swollen eyeslids and lips. Stand by me anyone? Too soon?

So poison oak, his nemesis. And bee stings. It sounds like it was an absolutely horrific incident and he was truly lucky to have survived it. But before long, he’d be back on the trail.

Starting on September 18th, Everett would join a group of six disappointed hunters who would take him on a ridiculous nine day journey toward Yosemite. Roberts really writes well about this so I will quote him:

The six hunters hired the nineteen-year-old to burro-pack their supplies into the upper reaches of Fish and Silver creeks in the high Sierra, and to cook and wash dishes for them. The diary account of this junket reads like a chapter out of Don Quixote, as the incompetent hunters miss one shot after another, but finally kill a deer too young to be legal game. They also shoot a doe (another violation) just to enrich their dinners with venison. Much of the men's camp time is taken up with drinking, cursing one another, and worrying about game wardens. One of the hunters regularly gets lost on his daily prowls in search of four-point bucks. End quote. I mean, it sounds like a fun but highly illegal time.

After the misadventure, the six men give Everett 10 bucks, a pack of smokes, and some venison. He seems to have taken the experience in good stride. It was also at this time that he spied an Escarpment of rocks that are called The Vermillion Cliffs which would prompt him to write, quote, They are a very pale pink, and make me wish for the real Vermilion cliffs of Utah and Arizona. End quote.

I know the feeling. I often miss the Southwest when an imitation flirts its way into my vision.

Everett makes it to Yosemite on September 29th and somehow, Grandma, the burro, still hadn’t given birth! And also, because of the lateness of the season, it was surprisingly empty. Quote: The deer hunters are discouraged or sated, the school boys have gone back to their studies, and vacation time is over for the populace. But this is not vacation time for me. This is my life. End quote.

But he’d only spend two weeks at his destination and most of it was indoors at the headquarters, store, museum, and library. His checks were still coming though… and with it he bought caviar and foi gras. This is my life, indeed.

He then saw himself in a mirror, a thing we take for granted, and he wrote, quote, My self confidence dropped to zero at once, I looked like a ghoul or an ogre. End quote. So he headed to the barber for a trim and a shave. Because, he did not ever shave or trim himself… an important fact to keep in mind.

From Yosemite his plan was to then head straight to San Francisco where’d he’d finally live out his bohemian rhapsody. He wrote of his goal, quote: I planned how I would rent a little garret on some city hill-top, and have a place all my own. From it I would sally forth to make color studies of tropical fish in the park, to concerts, to library expeditions, and devil may care wanderings in the city and on the sea front. End quote.

Soooo basically every 19 year old artist’s dream. I was actually voted my senior year of high school at Edmond North as Most likely to sell my art on the streets of Paris. I did not pursue that bestowed upon me dream. I gave up for pretty much the same reason Everett would have to… How would he pay for this? For rent, food, concerts, etc? Maybe those checks still coming from his parents? Actually, we will get to see that in the very near future, that is exactly how he planned on paying for it.

In his last few days in Yosemite, Everett heads to the Park Library and he picks up a book. A novel, really, that is called The Fountain by Charles Morgan. In its day, it was a major hit best seller and it involved the massive saga of a British soldier who was captured and sent to a prisoner camp in Holland during WWI. He then, this British Soldier, embroils himself in a passionate and fiery love affair with a German Officer’s Wife. Well, Everett read this sucker in a day and a half and it made an enormous impact on him. He wrote in his journal, quote, My heart leaped when I learned the subject, the contemplative life, the inner stillness which I too am striving to attain, tho l am not done with the wild songs of youth. In the middle of reading the novel, he paused for a moment to write down his thoughts further in his journal:

I suppose a great and soul filling love is perhaps the greatest experience a man may have, but it is such a rarity as to be almost negligible. End Quote. If only he had lived to feel such a great and soul filling love…

So this Sierra part of this adventure was over… but what did he accomplish? Not very many pieces of art or grand writings. He rarely strayed far from a trail or a person or a museum or a ranger station. Or a book. Or a fishing rod. And towards the end he didn’t seem all that inspired. At one point in his final days in the sierras he recorded that he hadn’t slept in 70 hours. 70 hours seems impossible but… I have to wonder at what on earth he was doing?! Fishing more? It seems he did more of that than anything else. I’m a little jealous but also that line at the end is true. About love. So now, he’s off to San Francisco to live as a starving artist.

In the small town of El Portal, which is indeed a portal to Yosemite, in El Portal he sold his burros, hopped a freight train to Sacramento like a hobo, learned from the vagabond veterans, and made his way to the Pacific.

He wrote of the train hopping, quote:

When we pulled out, one of the fellows found a reefer [a refrigerator car], and while the cars were gathering speed, we ran the length of the train on top, leaping from one car to another, till we reached it. End quote. Once inside, Everett found a pile of fresh cantaloupes which he rested on while chatting and laughing with the other bums such as himself.

As my wife commented when I told her that story, she said, People just used to be able to do things, huh?

She’s right… Life was way more fun before so many rules and regulations and managers and blaw, ruined everything. But the line about running on the top, I couldn’t help but think of Last Crusade.

Once in Oakland, his birth place, he would find a place and live rather humbly, although, more lavish than the woods… at least to the worldly among us. He’d sell a few prints every now and then but not much. He went to concerts and ate cold food since he had no kitchen and he tried to get by. He stayed broke and continually accepted money from his parents and brother. But he would meet many amazing artists, probably by knocking on their doors. In reality, San Francisco, and those artists would be a life changing event for him that made him really respect art even more somehow and they made him want to strive to be better at it.

At one point while in the city he met the western painter Maynard Dixon, who would teach him a few things and they’d really become friends, actually. If you look up Maynard Dixon’s paintings and then look at Everett’s block prints, they look quite similar. But Maynard Dixon’s paintings are beautiful and evoke really well, the scenes of the American Southwest. I hadn’t recognized the name Maynard Dixon when I was reading that Everett had met him but as soon as I saw his artwork, I knew I recognized him. He painted Cowobys, Indians, buttes, and mesas, saguaros, mountains, valleys, and quite a few Mark Maggiori style clouds and storms over the barren desert. They’re beautiful and colorful paintings.

He also met Ansel Adams and traded works with him! The Ansel Adams who was so good at taking pictures of the wild and wooly western landscapes, like Yosemite! Trust me, you’ve seen his amazing black and white photographs. They’re breathtaking. Ansel Adams even kept a framed artwork of Everett’s on the wall at his house right up until at least 2009.

Beyond Ansel though, Everett also met Dorothea Lange! And she photographed him! The picture of Everett that she took during a session is one of the most famous of the traveling adventurer vagabond that exists. And if you’re not familiar with the name Dorothea Lange, you are familiar with her work, or at least one picture in particular; Migrant Mother. The very famous photograph of the woman with the two kids leaning on her during the Great Depression. It is possibly the most famous picture to come out of that tough time in The States.

After meeting artists who swapped works with him, taught him lessons, and made him their muse, despite those amazing experiences, Everett grew tired of the city of San Francisco rather quickly. And truthfully… obviously, he wanted to be back in his first love. The warm embrace of the desert of the American Southwest. I imagine being around Maynard Dixon and his paintings didn’t help. Although in December he wrote to Waldo of a different warm embrace, quote, I have met some fine, sincere men, and several fine women, and one girl with whom I am intimate. End quote. Wait a minute!

In Vagabond for Beauty, Rusho would write, quote, this girl was undoubtedly Frances. Who she was or how Everett met her, remains unknown. But for a brief period, at least, romance had entered Everett's life. End quote.

Rusho somehow found and copied five love letters from Everett to this mysterious Frances and one of them, from December 14th, 1933 stated, quote:

I have just acquired the most heart-rending symphony you ever heard. You must come out to my mean hovel Saturday night to hear it, for I have to share it with you. In addition, there are two things I want to read to you, and a new picture I want you to see. Don't refuse, for I must see you, and I have laid in a store of Roquefort cheese as a special inducement. ... I saw two girls on the streets this morning who reminded me of you. End quote.

Another of his letters is only one line long and is dated Monday Afternoon. It states:

Frances dear,

Teresine dances tomorrow night at 8:20, so sleep sweetly tonight.

Everett.

Yet another letter from December 19th, during this whirlwind affair stated, quote:

To Frances,

I wish the most blithe and serene Christmas that anyone could wish.

Everett.

Unfortunately, this young love wasn’t meant to last, much like Everett’s seemingly endless adventures. For on May 5th, jumping ahead a little, but in May of the following year, while he is out in Arizona, he writes a long letter to this mysterious and lost Frances where he says, quote:

I was sorry, though, that our intimacy, like many things that are and will be, had to die with a dying fall. I do not greatly mind endings, for my life is made up of them, but sometimes they come too soon or too late, and sometimes they leave a feeling of regret as of an old mistake or an indirect futility. End quote.

Why did he have to say with a dying fall?

To this day, Frances’ identity is a complete mystery. Even her last name is unknown. And then, the letters went missing.

Roberts says this of the strange events surrounding this strange girl:

When asked in 2008 about the Frances letters, Rusho had no answers. He was not aware that the letters had gone missing, or where they might be. He could not recall how he had gotten hold of them in the first place, although he thought it likely that Waldo had lent them to him. When asked how the family could have gained possession of the letters without knowing who Frances was, he confessed to his own complete bafflement. End quote.

This is the last time I’ll mention this because the theory is persistent and lewd but, those who have an agenda and think Everett’s gay, push that these letters were some sort of coverup but obviously, that’s just silly projection by people who are not well and wish to distort all people of the past to fit their ideology. This SPECIFIC theory, if you were wondering why I keep using words like agenda… this specific theory about Everett being gay was put forward by a filmmaker who thought of the concept in the 80s.

The full letters sound real enough and the line to Waldo is proof enough for me. He wasn’t one to hide any of his feelings. Why would he hide this or lie or obfuscate? Plus, future writings and letters vindicate his reality.

By now, Everett’s parents it seems… were losing a little bit of patience with his vagabond wandering lifestyle. In letters to Christopher and Stella, he would defend himself and write quote, during this last year, I have continued to seek beauty and friendship, and I think that I have really brought some beauty and delight into the lives of others, and that is at least something. End quote. I suppose. And it is true he will be bringing beauty and delight into people’s lives as long as his books are published and podcasters quote from them… But we all can’t just be wanderers. All the time… depending on our parents handouts. If you’ve got to earn it somewhere along the way.

His parents also tried to get Everett to go back to college but… to no avail. He wrote to them in response, quote, You can be ashamed of me if you like, but you cannot make me feel ashamed of myself. As for me, I have tasted your cake, and I prefer your unbuttered bread. I don't wish to withdraw from life to college, and I have a notion, conceited or not, that I know what I want from life, and can act upon it. End quote.

Before he left San Francisco, Everett would head northwards along the coast and hike among the Redwoods, spearfish salmon, photograph rocks, stay in abandoned lumber mill towns… At one point he’d stay for a week at a large sheep ranch owned by a man from Afghanistan who had a German wife and who was fostering an Italian, an American, and a Negro boy. After that last jaunt, he’d write of re-entering San Francisco, quote, The city seemed senselessly hideous and squatted when I reentered it today, after the clean spaciousness of green hills and blue seas. End quote. He would though, take the photographer Dorothea Lange and her husband Maynard Dixon back up to see and photograph this Khan from Afghanistan mere days before purchasing a ticket on a boat, landing in LA, and staying with his family for a month. San Francisco was over, but not his adventuring.

Putting Everett Ruess to Rest: Perhaps a Final Conclusion to a 1934 Desert Mystery, By Andrew Gulliford Fort Lewis College

Mormon Country by Wallace Stegner

Desert Solitaire by Edward Abbey

Everett Ruess: A Vagabond for Beauty by W.L. Rusho

Finding Everett Ruess: The Life and Unsolved Disappearance of a Legendary Wilderness Explorer by David Roberts