Back to the Wild is a conglomerate of the authentic and original photographs taken by Chris McCandless on his the journey that inspired to Into the Wild. Alaska and walked alone into the wilderness north of Mt. McKinley. . improbably light load for a stay of several months in the back-country, especially so early. Back To The Wild [Christopher McCandless] on medical-site.info *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. The photographs and writings of Christopher McCandless.
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Chris McCandless New Book - Back to The WIld. DVD and Book “Back to the Wild” The Christopher Johnson McCandless Memorial Foundation, Inc. Eighteen . On August 18, , Chrisopher McCandless died alone in a bus in the Alaskan backcountry. Before his stay in the bus that others now visit as. Sick, injured or orphaned wildlife require careful and skilled attention if they are to be rehabilitated and successfully reintegrated back to the wild. The. RSPCA.
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Published in: Full Name Comment goes here. Are you sure you want to Yes No. I can spell It is like we all have to be clones. Society forces us to live as iof we all have to follow the same pattern in life.
School, college or university, career, striving for wealth, mariage, children etc For those who do not want that for their lives they are considered lazy, unmotivated etc. Who has the right to decide about the path for anyones life? NO ONE! Only each person can decide for their lives! I don't carw about money generally speaking and don't need fancy stuff.
I have learned to live by my means and be content! I haven't follwed the paths my family members have choosen for their lives and so they consider me unsucessful in life and the black sheep of the family. But then they love nice houses, nice cars, big bank accounts and looking good in front of the neighbours as thery say. I could care less what others think of me I am not fitting into anyone else's mold! I think I am doing ok for myself living simply.
But even then I need to escape from society and how fast pace everything is. I need to recharge my batteries. Thank goodness I can go off into some quiet nature area for hikes etc.. It is the most peacful feeling in the world. Unfortunately I have to come back eventually to this noisey , fast paced world full of all it troubles and often atrocities. Chandler Morton. PsithurismSpires Joseph. Laura Kenyon. They knew that the time a man could cling to a slippery rock in the face of that driving current was a matter of minutes, and they ran as fast as they could up the bank to a point far above where Thornton was hanging on.
They attached the line with which they had been snubbing the boat to Buck's neck and shoulders, being careful that it should neither strangle him nor impede his swimming, and launched him into the stream. He struck out boldly, but not straight enough into the stream. He discovered the mistake too late, when Thornton was abreast of him and a bare half-dozen strokes away while he was being carried helplessly past. Hans promptly snubbed with the rope, as though Buck were a boat.
The rope thus tightening on him in the sweep of the current, he was jerked under the surface, and under the surface he remained till his body struck against the bank and he was hauled out. He was half drowned, and Hans and Pete threw themselves upon him, pounding the breath into him and the water out of him. He staggered to his feet and fell down. The faint sound of Thornton's voice came to them, and though they could not make out the words of it, they knew that he was in his extremity.
His master's voice acted on Buck like an electric shock. He sprang to his feet and ran up the bank ahead of the men to the point of his previous departure. Again the rope was attached and he was launched, and again he struck out, but this time straight into the stream.
He had miscalculated once, but he would not be guilty of it a second time. Hans paid out the rope, permitting no slack, while Pete kept it clear of coils. Buck held on till he was on a line straight above Thornton; then he turned, and with the speed of an express train headed down upon him.
Thornton saw him coming, and, as Buck struck him like a battering ram, with the whole force of the current behind him, he reached up and closed with both arms around the shaggy neck. Hans snubbed the rope around the tree, and Buck and Thornton were jerked under the water. Strangling, suffocating, sometimes one uppermost and sometimes the other, dragging over the jagged bottom, smashing against rocks and snags, they veered in to the bank. Thornton came to, belly downward and being violently propelled back and forth across a drift log by Hans and Pete.
His first glance was for Buck, over whose limp and apparently lifeless body Nig was setting up a howl, while Skeet was licking the wet face and closed eyes. Thornton was himself bruised and battered, and he went carefully over Buck's body, when he had been brought around, finding three broken ribs. That winter, at Dawson, Buck performed another exploit, not so heroic perhaps, but one that puts his name many notches higher on the totem pole of Alaskan fame. This exploit was particularly gratifying to the three men; for they stood in need of the outfit which it furnished, and were enabled to make a long-desired trip into the virgin East, where miners had not yet appeared.
It was brought about by a conversation in the Eldorado Saloon, in which men waxed boastful of their favorite dogs.
Buck, because of his record, was the target for these men, and Thornton was driven stoutly to defend him. At the end of half an hour one man stated that his dog could start a sled with five hundred pounds and walk off with it; a second bragged six hundred for his dog; and a third, seven hundred. And there it is. Nobody spoke. Thornton's bluff, if bluff it was, had been called. He could feel a flush of warm blood creeping up his face.
His tongue had tricked him.
He did not know whether Buck could start a thousand pounds. Half a ton! The enormousness of it appalled him. He had great faith in Buck's strength and had often thought him capable of starting such a load; but never, as now, had he faced the possibility of it, the eyes of a dozen men fixed upon him, silent and waiting. Further, he had no thousand dollars; nor had Hans and Pete. He did not know what to say. He glanced from face to face in the absent way of a man who has lost the power of thought and is seeking somewhere to find the thing that will start it going again.
The face of Jim O'Brien, a Mastodon king and old-time comrade, caught his eyes. It was a cue to him, seeming to rouse him to do what he would never have dreamed of doing.
The tables were deserted, and the dealers and gamekeepers came forth to see the outcome of the wager and to lay odds. Several hundred men, furred and mittened, banked around the sled within easy distance.
Matthewson's sled, loaded with a thousand pounds of flour, had been standing for a couple of hours, and in the intense cold --it was sixty below zero--the runners had frozen fast to the hard-packed snow. Men offered odds of two to one that Buck could not budge the sled. A quibble arose concerning the phrase "break out.
Matthewson insisted that the phrase included breaking the runners from the frozen grip of the snow. A majority of the men who had witnessed the making of the bet decided in his favor, whereat the odds went up to three to one against Buck.
There were no takers. Not a man believed him capable of the feat. Thornton had been hurried into the wager, heavy with doubt; and now that he looked at the sled itself, the concrete fact, with the regular team of ten dogs curled up in the snow before it, the more impossible the task appeared.
Matthewson waxed jubilant. He called Hans and Pete to him. Their sacks were slim, and with his own the three partners could rake together only two hundred dollars. In the ebb of their fortunes, this sum was their total capital; yet they laid it unhesitatingly against Matthewson's six hundred.
The team of ten dogs was unhitched, and Buck, with his own harness, was put into the sled.
He had caught the contagion of the excitement, and he felt that in some way he must do a great thing for John Thornton. Murmurs of admiration at his splendid appearance went up. He was in perfect condition, without an ounce of superfluous flesh, and the one hundred and fifty pounds that he weighed were so many pounds of grit and virility. His furry coat shone with the sheen of silk. Down the neck and across the shoulders, his mane, in repose as it was, half bristled and seemed to lift with every movement, as though excess of vigor made each particular hair alive and active.
The great breast and heavy fore legs were no more than in proportion with the rest of his body, where the muscles showed in tight rolls underneath the skin.
Men felt these muscles and proclaimed them hard as iron, and the odds went down to two to one. Gad, sir! Everybody acknowledged Buck a magnificent animal, but twenty fifty-pound sacks of flour bulked too large in their eyes for them to loosen their pouch strings. Thornton knelt down by Buck's side. He took his head in his hands and rested cheek on cheek.
He did not playfully shake him, as was his wont, or murmur soft love curses; but he whispered in his ear. As you love me," was what he whispered. Buck whined with suppressed eagerness. The crowd was watching curiously. The affair was growing mysterious. It seemed like a conjuration. As Thornton got to his feet, Buck seized his mittened hand between his jaws, pressing in with his teeth and releasing slowly, half-reluctantly. It was the answer, in terms, not of speech, but of love.
Thornton stepped well back. Buck tightened the traces, then slacked them for a matter of several inches. It was the way he had learned. Buck swung to the right, ending the movement in a plunge that took up the slack and with a sudden jerk arrested his one hundred and fifty pounds. The load quivered, and from under the runners arose a crisp crackling. Buck duplicated the maneuver, this time to the left. The crackling turned into a snapping, the sled pivoting and the runners slipping and grating several inches to the side.
The sled was broken out. Men were holding their breaths, intensely unconscious of the fact. Buck threw himself forward, tightening the traces with a jarring lunge. His whole body was gathered compactly together in the tremendous effort, the muscles writhing and knotting like live things under the silky fur.
His great chest was low to the ground, his head forward and down, while his feet were flying like mad, the claws scarring the hard-packed snow in parallel grooves. The sled swayed and trembled, half-started forward. One of his feet slipped, and one man groaned aloud. The sled lurched ahead in what appeared a rapid succession of jerks, though it never really came to a dead stop again.
The jerks perceptibly diminished; as the sled gained momentum, he caught them up, till it was moving steadily along. Men gasped and began to breathe again, unaware that for a moment they had ceased to breathe.
Thornton was running behind, encouraging Buck with short, cheery words. The distance had been measured off, and as he neared the pile of firewood which marked the end of the hundred yards, a cheer began to grow and grow, which burst into a roar as he passed the firewood and halted at command. Every man was tearing himself loose, even Matthewson. Hats and mittens were flying in the air.
Men were shaking hands, it did not matter with whom, and bubbling over in a general incoherent babel. But Thornton fell on his knees beside Buck. Head was against head, and he was shaking him back and forth.
Those who hurried up heard him cursing Buck, and he cursed him long and fervently, and softly and lovingly.