Missing. Lost. Gone.
Missing. Lost. Gone.
Found is better, of course, but often GONE is the result.
When people go missing in the wilderness and stay missing, it’s called a ‘cold vanish’. The stories of some of these people have captivated me in recent days as I read my way through the accounts of men and women, younger and older, who ventured into the North American wilds — sometimes on beaten trails through the bush, sometimes on paved trails within sight of the park’s visitor centre.
Written by academic, journalist and outdoorsman Jon Billman, The Cold Vanish weaves stories of loss of human life underpinned by the call of the wild and matched by the fantasy of a mere person being able to survive in it.
Billman’s writing moves us through some of North America’s most beautiful, most rugged, most dangerous national parks and forests, and pulls us into the hearts of those who hike and bike it — but not into their minds: When the missing become the lost, the gone, their minds and what was in them as they climbed or fell to their death is forever unknown to those left behind.
And that is maybe the real tragedy.
The gone are dead, hopefully at peace after whatever unexpected event ended their life, but the family and friends left behind have only the agony of the unknown to narrate their loved one’s final days and hours.
I am not a wilderness woman. I like the outdoors, but I don’t much like the dark and what may lurk in it. Or the bugs, of which there are legion, of course, in the wilds. I like being able to come in from the outdoors, put the kettle on for a cup of tea, and enjoy the gentle breeze through the window screen.
But I love reading about people whose spirit and journeys are more adventurous than mine. Their stories ignite my imagination and fuel my fantasy of being braver and stronger than I am.
It would be easier to be stronger: I would simply have to train, as I did before my one and only several-day-long wilderness canoe trip when I was determined to be able to portage the canoe between lakes. I managed it, with great effort — and an equally great sense of satisfaction. That has remained; the muscles have not.
Being braver will take the rest of my life, I fear. Systematic desensitization over time. Deliberate ventures into the dark, designed with a clear beginning and a known ending. Unlike those who cold vanish about whom Bellman writes. Their beginning was known, but for so many of them, their ending remains a mystery.
The Cold Vanish is a fascinating read. Settle into a comfy chair and take a trip on the wild side. You’ll be safe in the stories that Bellman tells.
It is true that we are fascinated by some exploits of people even when we don't understand what brought them to go there. Even more when it ends in fatality.
ReplyDeleteI love the country where I live but I don't like the back woods and don't go there anymore.
My father and after him my brothers built camps far in the woods for fishing and hunting. My ex-husband loved to go there fishing. I accompanied him with lots of books.
The last time l went with my husband and daughter, we had to park , load a motorized rowboat and after 45 minutes on lake , discharge all on the quay and bring all in the camp.
During a night came an awful storm with big lightning. I was so afraid imagining that a fire would begin and we would be stuck in the middle of nowhere, no possibility to escape. No more.
Many years later, my brother asked why I never returned. I explained that
I didn't feel safe there , that I was too much of a coward to go back.
He did not agree with me that I was a coward.
He said : you plan travels, you travel by yourself, visit the places you want to visit , doing what you want to do. He said that he didn't know other women and very few men who were as fearless as I was for traveling alone.
I than realized that everyone is brave for some things and not so much for others.
The things you won't do , you can read about. How privileged we are to be able to choose.