My story: Back from the Wild

The story of Christopher McCandless, as documented by Jon Krakouer in the book “Into the Wild” is a good introduction to my own story. As a young man, McCandless turned from his family toward the open road and survival-based adventure. Each adventure pushed him further away, further from “home”, and closer to the edge until he ultimately lost his link, dying alone in remote Alaska. Sean Penn’s film adaption was powerful and I related to his portrayal of McCandless’ character and experiences. In fact, I realized that his story was also partly my own, but thankfully I can offer an alternate ending.

I grew up in the suburbs of New York City in what no doubt appeared a "normal" and well-providing family. Unfortunately, this was only part of the story. For many years both my brother and I were subject to violence from our father, without strong support or protection from our mother. The persistence of these experiences was perhaps the larger force in shaping my adult life, and I suspect my brothers as well.

As a young man, I also pushed away from "home" with an adventuresome spirit. Most often, I ventured out alone; each solo road trip, backpacking adventure, third world journey a bit more challenging, a bit further out. In summer of 1992 I also journeyed to Alaska. During the same days McCandless lied dying, I was a mere 100 kilometers away backpacking with the grizzlies and a friend on the other side of the Alaska Range. Not having had enough, a few days later and just days before autumn’s first snowfall, I chartered a small plane to drop me off way up bay at Glacier Bay National Park for two nights solo on a small spit of land between two huge glacier ice fields. The boat that I thought I had arranged to pick me up did not come and for the next day I experienced my own panic, convinced I had been forgotten and would die there, alone. But this is where my story and McCandless’ diverge. The boat finally came for me. But the post-traumatic stress that followed were in fact the doorway to begin confronting my past.

Childhoods have artifacts, some good, some not. Over the years, I have been largely successful, both professionally and socially, but inside carried a deep sense of alienation, depression and low self-worth, almost always well hidden from public view, but almost always there nonetheless. In 1993 about a year after the incident in Alaska, I became mysteriously ill and disabled with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, something that still affects me to this day but to a much lesser extent. I lived alone and not well throughout much of my 30's. But I can now count five saving graces in my life (so far): the “family” of playful and wild friends I found at college in Virginia; the second group of friends I found in Yellow Springs Ohio, the small and liberal town where I lived for many years; my wife and son; the quality of therapy and support I have found, particularly in Sweden over the last few years; and the freedom of artistic expression I found in my photography. It is not just that I enjoy these remote locations I photograph - it is that periodically I am compelled to experience them. And I never go without my camera and gear.

Can I capture the feeling of being alone at the edge of the world? Can I capture the feeling of connecting with force much greater than my own, found in these magnificent landscapes and/or stunning displays of light? Can I communicate the mysterious, the unknown and the amazing that I, on occasion, experience “out there”? These are questions I have been trying to answer with my camera for over 20 years now. My artistic vision is continually refining. I am particularly satisfied with my growth in the past few years. My curiosity and passion for traveling, turning new corners, experiencing new vistas is in tact, and hopefully never fully satisfied. Photography is what I do. It is a part of my self-expression, my life story and my recovery.

These days I can confirm that I am indeed “back from the wild”, living well grounded and in fine spirit with my wife and son in Sweden. I stand tall as a proud man. This is my story. This is who I am. And I am here now. Although, in honesty, I truly look forward to the next time I get to go “out there” again, camera in hand.

John Juston, 2009