Chris McCandles- Into the Wilde

[Said1]

I have not seen the movie and no nothing about this guy, other than what was written here. As you may already know, interesting story, crazy kid!

Death of an Innocent
How Christopher McCandless lost his way in the wilds

By Jon Krakauer

Buy Into the Wild from Amazon.com.
Also from Amazon: Music for the Motion Picture Into the Wild, DVD.

James Gallien had driven five miles out of Fairbanks when he spotted the hitchhiker standing in the snow beside the road, thumb raised high, shivering in the gray Alaskan dawn. A rifle protruded from the young man's pack, but he looked friendly enough; a hitchhiker with a Remington semiautomatic isn't the sort of thing that gives motorists pause in the 49th state. Gallien steered his four-by-four onto the shoulder and told him to climb in.

The hitchhiker introduced himself as Alex. "Alex?" Gallien responded, fishing for a last name.

"Just Alex," the young man replied, pointedly rejecting the bait. He explained that he wanted a ride as far as the edge of Denali National Park, where he intended to walk deep into the bush and "live off the land for a few months." Alex's backpack appeared to weigh only 25 or 30 pounds, which struck Gallien, an accomplished outdoorsman, as an improbably light load for a three-month sojourn in the backcountry, especially so early in the spring. Immediately Gallien began to wonder if he'd picked up one of those crackpots from the Lower 48 who come north to live out their ill-considered Jack London fantasies. Alaska has long been a magnet for unbalanced souls, often outfitted with little more than innocence and desire, who hope to find their footing in the unsullied enormity of the Last Frontier. The bush, however, is a harsh place and cares nothing for hope or longing. More than a few such dreamers have met predictably unpleasant ends.

As they got to talking during the three-hour drive, though, Alex didn't strike Gallien as your typical misfit. He was congenial, seemed well educated, and peppered Gallien with sensible questions about "what kind of small game lived in the country, what kind of berries he could eat, that kind of thing."

Still, Gallien was concerned: Alex's gear seemed excessively slight for the rugged conditions of the interior bush, which in April still lay buried under the winter snowpack. He admitted that the only food in his pack was a ten-pound bag of rice. He had no compass; the only navigational aid in his possession was a tattered road map he'd scrounged at a gas station, and when they arrived where Alex asked to be dropped off, he left the map in Gallien's truck, along with his watch, his comb, and all his money, which amounted to 85 cents. "I don't want to know what time it is," Alex declared cheerfully. "I don't want to know what day it is, or where I am. None of that matters."

During the drive south toward the mountains, Gallien had tried repeatedly to dissuade Alex from his plan, to no avail. He even offered to drive Alex all the way to Anchorage so he could at least buy the kid some decent gear. "No, thanks anyway," Alex replied. "I'll be fine with what I've got." When Gallien asked whether his parents or some friend knew what he was up to—anyone who could sound the alarm if he got into trouble and was overdue—Alex answered calmly that, no, nobody knew of his plans, that in fact he hadn't spoken to his family in nearly three years. "I'm absolutely positive," he assured Gallien, "I won't run into anything I can't deal with on my own."

"There was just no talking the guy out of it," Gallien recalls. "He was determined. He couldn't wait to head out there and get started." So Gallien drove Alex to the head of the Stampede Trail, an old mining track that begins ten miles west of the town of Healy, convinced him to accept a tuna melt and a pair of rubber boots to keep his feet dry, and wished him good luck. Alex pulled a camera from his backpack and asked Gallien to snap a picture of him. Then, smiling broadly, he disappeared down the snow-covered trail. The date was Tuesday, April 28, 1992.

Continued here: Into The Wild - The Story of Chris McCandless by Jon Krakauer | Outside Online


does anyone recommend the movie?

 

[Outta here]

Yes I highly recommend it - it left a huge impact on me. I'd like to hear your thoughts after you've seen it.

 

[Cliffy]

I saw the movie. It was very well done. It was rather close to home for me. When I was living in the bush, we used to eat False Solomon Seal shoots in the Spring. But there is another plant out there that looks almost identical that is a deadly poison. Hellebore causes excruciating pain in your guts. A friend served them to me and we both ended up in the hospital. That was probably one of the worst pains I ever expeienced (except for when I got hit by the logging truck. Still paying for that one.

 

[Scott Free]

It is a good movie but I had trouble sympathizing with the kid. He was having a meltdown about something that was pretty trivial IMO. I kept thinking "just get over it dumb dumb." I decided either I had a much harder childhood than I care to admit or he was mildly schizophrenic and couldn't deal with stress. Still a good movie and a great lesson in how off the deep end young people can go over little things.

 

[L Gilbert]

hehe, I suppose I had better see this movie. After reading the first page, I sort of had the impression that among Chris's possessions in the pack was a Bible or Quran, or some such book of tales upon which he could rely on for survival in dire times (or at least eat). But then I read the 2nd page.

 

[Said1]

I watched the movie last night, and enjoyed it a lot. I don't think he was mildly schizo, just looked at the world and what he wanted from it differently. I also think he was too young to appreciate what his form of rebellion did to his parents and would not have cut them off if he knew he was causing such pain. Unless that is what he wanted to do, but I don't think so.

I also think his choice of life style is a reflection of what a lot people go through in that not everyone wants the dream, but for those who don't, there is nothing for them. You're left excluded, shunned and labeled. He rebelled against the manufactured, American cultural hegemony (dream).