An Early Portrait of Christopher Knight
For many of us accustomed to modern life, the inconveniences of daily life may affect us but do not overwhelm us. Such was not the case for Christopher Thomas Knight, who went for almost 30 years without encountering a single soul. Knight gave up the perks of modern life and retreated deep into the Maine woods, only to be heard of through bits and pieces of gossip and reported sightings.
But how did he survive, where did he find food and shelter, and most importantly, how did he eventually get caught? Read on for the incredible story of the world’s last true hermit.
Dark-haired and bespectacled, Christopher Knight’s personality shone best through his posture. He’d often try to make himself appear as small as possible. He had never been the most outgoing or charismatic character and that suited him just fine.
How Does One Become a Hermit?
He preferred to keep to himself and to stay busy with the things that mattered to him most. People puzzled him; he struggled to relate to others beyond a basic level. But as odd as he might have seemed to others, no one could really expect what he was about to do.
The word hermit may conjure any number of whimsical images. You might picture a crab curled up in a spiraling shell. Or maybe a sage elder who putters away meaningfully at a cave’s entrance, always ready to impart his wisdom upon a weary traveler.Simply put, a hermit is a person who chooses to live alone, often secluded from the outside world. Some people may choose the hermit way of life for religious reasons.
A Simple but Solid Life
Others might prefer it for the simplicity it brings. In Christopher Knight’s case, he was not led to it through deep religious conviction or any evident existential reason. For him, it simply came to be.
In 1986, 20-year-old Christopher Knight lived and worked near Boston, Massachusetts. Practical and efficient, he worked in the security industry and expertly equipped homes and cars with state-of-the-art alarm systems.
A Sound Achievement at a Price
Nobody imagined that Knight would up and leave, separating himself indefinitely from the demands of the world. In fact, he likely never imagined he could pull off such a stunt either.
Knight toiled away at his secure job, intent on buying himself a car of his own. Eventually, he obtained a hard-earned Subaru, although it of course came at a price. He took out a loan, with which his brother agreed to assist. Little did he know that he would be shouldering that debt alone for years to come.
The Impulse to Flee
Even today, Knight admits that he owes his brother. He took out a loan, with which his brother agreed to assist. Little did he know that he would be shouldering that debt alone for years to come. Even today, Knight admits that he owes his brother.
Perhaps the most extraordinary thing about Knight’s decision to become a hermit is that it was never something he actively planned to pursue. Sure, like anyone, he might have fantasized about a life of simplicity, silence, and solitude. But he did not spend months or even weeks preparing for such a dramatic transition. In fact, he’d never before even spent a night surrounded by trees and star-studded darkness. Nobody knew he was about to leave.
The Escape
He didn’t say goodbye to family or friends, nor did he put in a two-week notice at work. He simply vanished into the backdrop. In an interview, he recalled: “I had no plans when I left, I wasn’t thinking of anything. I just did it.”
He didn’t stray that far from home, no further than an hour or two from his childhood home. Still, the canopy of trees that swallowed him seemed so separate from the world he’d known just earlier that day. Perched behind the wheel of his new ride, Knight winded down uncertain roads to a quiet part of Maine dominated largely by nature.
Before the Journey into the Woods
Cabins punctuated leafy distances. For many, this place was a safe haven from the bustle of their usual life, a coveted vacation destination. But it would soon become Knight’s sprawling home.
It is perhaps inaccurate to say that Christopher Knight headed straight into the dappled shadows of trees. Before making his commitment to the wild, he tested his boundaries somewhat. His Subaru, of course, was his means of escape. He navigated through one state after another, paying no attention to borders or directions. Virginia’s waters unfurled before him.
Getting Lost Gladly
Georgia rolled past him in a sunny blur on the highway. He sped through both North and South Carolina. When he headed North once more, that is when he at last made the decision to delve more deeply into the unknown. Suddenly, he was bound for Maine and its brilliant scenery.
Although Knight’s initial intention was not to live in the woods, he did desire to do one thing in that moment: wander about and get lost. Armed without a compass or a map, Knight followed the sun, still scorching hot in the summer sky, and headed southward. He plodded onward until his shiny new Subaru was a nothing but a fleck of metal in the distance. He even left his keys on the dashboard.
Moosehead Lake
Armed without a compass or a map, Knight followed the sun, still scorching hot in the summer sky, and headed southward. He plodded onward until his shiny new Subaru was a nothing but a fleck of metal in the distance. He even left his keys on the dashboard.
Christopher Knight’s life was about to begin anew near the shores of Moosehead Lake. Boasted as the largest lake in Maine, Moosehead Lake lies deep in the Longfellow Mountains and feeds the Kennebec River. Moosehead Lake is vast and blue. Flowering trees steep their leaves in its depths and saturate its surface with their quivering reflections.
Not a Stranger to Maine
The lake bears the serenity of a fishpond and the mystique of a sea—for in the distance, 80 rugged islands rest on its surface, all varying in size. Sugar Island exceeds them all in size and houses many an eager summer camper. For Christopher Knight, however, the lake would become a year-round benevolent provider of solace.
Christopher Knight grew up in Albion, Maine. With a popular hovering just above 2,000, the town illustrates perfectly the charm of idyllic New England life.
Starting from the Beginning
Still, although small and bucolic, Albion did not approach the level of isolation Knight would experience as a lonesome hermit. He needed more.
Although Knight didn’t have much experience with the outdoors, he grew up fairly well-versed in isolation. His family life was not particularly unhappy or turbulent, just very reluctant to share their private affairs with the world. He had four brothers, so naturally sibling rivalry was common. Although not particularly wealthy, Knight’s parents cherished art and knowledge.
Starting Young
Every night, they would summon their boys to discuss a poem of some kind. They also reveled in the wonders of science; physics was a popular subject. Their thirst for knowledge and self-improvement fostered a desire to know how things work, how to dissect them, part by part.
As the result of his upbringing, Knight learned many practical skills at a young age. He could quickly identify auto problems simply from a car’s unusual hum.
Perhaps most impressive, the Knight family was largely self-sufficient. They produced their own heat and cooling, grew their own food in a greenhouse, and enjoyed their own properly maintained water source.
Setting Up Camp
Most impressive, they never even paid for electricity. Indeed, Knight’s upbringing would serve him well for many years of his life.
Although Knight had no plans to retreat into the wilderness, he found home there in little time.
He brought little with him, except for a meager stash of food and a tent. He set up the tent with little incident.
Finding Food Camp
His new home was ready.
It didn’t take long for Knight to realize his provisions wouldn’t do. This realization came at an unfortunate time: when he was uncomfortably hungry.
As he walked on, he chanced upon a dead bird in the road and proceeded to eat it raw, his first taste of life in the wilderness.
Starting Small
But it didn’t end there.
Knight knew better than to break into unsuspecting people’s cabins right from the start.
He began with gardens, taking an ear of corn here, a tomato there. Sometimes he’d work up the courage to dig up some extra vegetables.
Gimme Shelter
Nothing that couldn’t be blamed on a hungry, inquisitive rabbit, really.
When Knight chanced upon this secluded part of Maine for the first time, and made the decision to stay, he had to act as he went along. This pertained not only to finding food but also to securing shelter.
Sure, he had a tent, but how well would it hold up when it rained, especially when the earth was so muddy and malleable?
An Unwelcome Stranger—and Knowing It
One night, he made the rash decision to sleep inside an empty cabin.
Camping in a cabin can be an experience in and of itself—when it’s your cabin. But when you steal into a stranger’s home like Goldilocks without the tendency for selectivity, things can get stressful.
Knight lay in the dark certain that the cabin’s true inhabitants would arrive at any moment and find him sulking in the shadows.
Finding the Perfect Home
Needless to say, he greeted the next morning on edge and unrested. From then on, Knight vowed never to sleep indoors, no matter how harsh the elements got.
For Knight, finding the right place to stay took awhile. Deep holes that very few hikers would chance upon were possible contenders.
Off the Beaten Path
After all, who would want to bother stumbling through the dark and chancing upon a moody bear or an unfamiliar man?
He tried settling down near the riverbank, but that wasn’t quite right for him. When he finally found his dream home, he knew it immediately.
It brimmed with overgrowth, unrelenting and cloying. One single path wound up to it before trailing off into an incomplete thought of dust and rocks.
The Woods, My Home
Boulders loomed over the area, casting shadows and barring sun from entering beyond a few meek beams of light.
It was perfect for him.
Knight eventually embraced his new woodland home. He’d have to stumble over rocks and damp earth and make do with what nature provided in desperate times. But that is just what he did when the need arose.
Capitalizing on his resourceful nature, he’d often cup snow in his hand and drink it melted.
Home Sweet Home
The magazines that coated his floor were also great for absorbing water, which would ensure he’d never go thirsty. Of course, there were some goods nature simply could not provide.
His makeshift home was a marvel of ingenuity. Tucked away behind mossy boulders and their imposing shadows, Knight lived among discarded National Geographic magazines.
They coated the earthy ground like a patchwork carpet.
Camouflage
But how did he obtain so many magazines to make them such a crucial part of his simple but functional architecture? That required quite a bit more cunning and a lot of stealth.
Knight reported fearing even sneezing. He had to be careful how he ventured forward, careful not to make any identifiable footprints in the snow.
After all, unfamiliar human footprints so close to one’s own home are quite more startling than those of a meek rabbit or a cunning raccoon.
Growing Hunger Pains
Still, like a cunning raccoon, Knight managed to creep into kitchens and cozy living spaces without arousing any suspicion, at least for a while.
Knight’s intentions were never malicious. He never got greedy or too adventurous.
He cherished his independence and never was one to accept help of any kind.
Perfecting the Art of Burglary
But when hunger gnaws, desperation grows. And desperate times, as they say, call for desperate measures.
It is safe to say that a man like Knight, who had for a living helped people make their property more secure, could outsmart even the most robust security system with relative ease.
But he still refused to pounce too soon. Before making a move on any one cabin, he would observe the habitants the way one might study a flock of geese or herd of buffalo.
Left to Him
He made note of when they came and went, for how long they were gone. When he was certain no one would catch him, he’d tinker with any visible security cameras just to stay safe.
Often, cabins would be left pitifully insecure: doors unlocked, windows open. After all, in a place as secluded and peaceful like this, what danger lurked beyond a couple curious squirrels, maybe a quarreling house sparrow or two?
Knight considered these raids easy enough.
Not a Trace
He’d simply wander into the cabin, as though its own resident who might have forgotten something, and then retreat back to his shadowy lair.
Knight aimed to raid cabins during the week, when most vacationers were likely away.
He wanted to leave as few traces of his presence as possible.
Sometimes It Was Just Borrowing After All
If he could find any spare keys, he would pocket them or keep them hidden someplace safe so he could access the cabin without fuss at a later date.
Knight was so careful not to raise any suspicions that he never returned things haphazardly. He took extra steps to ensure things he borrowed ended up exactly where he left them, as they had been left before he’d taken them.
Once, he pilfered a canoe in hope of accessing cabins across the water.
But What About the Things He Took to Keep?
When he returned it to its rightful owners, he did not leave it drenched in water, out in the open, and littered with chip bags. He concealed it beneath foliage, as though nature had taken it rather than he.
When Knight went on one of his risky adventures, he was careful to take just what he needed. Of course, sometimes what he needed was quite a bit, especially when it came to food.
Sugary snacks were popular with the hermit. Chocolate bars, snack cakes, and other confectionary would keep him plump and prevent him from wasting away in the cold.
The Things He Couldn’t Eat
He was also quite fond of sodas, Mountain Dew in particular. When he came across the drink, he swiped it without much thought.
Of course, a full stomach could get him only so far. He also needed to maintain his shelter and get creative about staying warm.
He snatched some tarp to hang over the boulders that made up his lovely home. He’d also take a blanket here, a nice jacket there.
Breaking In
Magazines and books were a common way for him to keep himself entertained and his mine sharp. His victims had plenty of those. His favorites were National Geographic and Playboy.
Knight was so careful about his raids that he never smashed windows or axed down doors. His approach was much gentler and showed great reverence to his victims’ property.
He’d dismantle a door from its hinges and then sneak into the cabin. Once he was through, he’d skillfully reinstall the door. For a while, nobody suspected anything.
A Community on Its Toes
A misplaced magazine could be dismissed as a lapse of memory. Missing food could easily be blamed on ravenous teenagers or sneaky house pets. Unfortunately, these things began happening too often to be considered coincidences.
Once inhabitants of the placid camp site caught wind of the serial burglaries, people grew much more cautious and understandably afraid.
Who was this mysterious burglar? How did he select his targets?
Still at Large
Worse, was he after more than just a bite to eat?
Of course, the sudden buzz and tense energy in the community did not stop Knight from his shady practices.
Police Respond
In fact, he might not even have been aware of the legend he would soon become.
People and media sources alike have dubbed Knight many things: Maine’s own Loch Ness monster, a stealthy yeti, and a giant squid that emerges to the ocean’s surface for a moment before retreating back into its depths.
Although there wasn’t much police could do without a face to all the crime, they filed the report and called Knight, unofficially, Hermit Hermit.
From there, Knight’s names continued to accumulate. He was the Hungry Man, the Mountain Man.
Unusual Precision
Nobody knew what he looked like, but they could feel his presence with every jar of peanut butter he nabbed.
Even his victims could not deny the care that went into Knight’s raids.
“The level of discipline he showed while he broke into houses is beyond what most of us could remotely imagine,” remarked Sergeant Terry Hughes.
The Dubious Legacy
“The legwork… the talent with locks, his ability to get in and out without being detected.”
It is estimated that Knight committed a total of 1,000 burglaries over the course of 27 years.
Some have regarded Knight as the perpetrator of one of the “biggest burglary cases in the history of Maine.” But even with all the goods he smuggled, Knight still had to weather the elements. And when you live in the woods, the seasons don’t arrive neatly, single-file.
Summer Upon Arrival
They sneak up upon you blazing and biting.
When Knight arrived at his destination, summer still endured with its longer days and earnest sun. But even with the shimmering lake within reach, this landscape was not exactly a summertime paradise at first glance.
Roads wandered in secret beneath suffocating sheaths of brambles and felled trees. The ground that was visible without so much as a swipe of the hand sunk unceremoniously with murky rainwater.
Into the Frost
So it was no beach resort. That Knight could manage. It would be the winters that proved unrelenting.
When it is numbingly cold outside, your best bet is often to keep moving. Indeed, that is exactly what Knight did to survive Maine’s brutal winters.
Each night, he’d hunker down at about 7:30 PM and doze off. By 2 AM, he would be ready to start his day.
Embracing the Cold
He feared freezing to death and knew that the odds were against him when starting fires was out of the question. Just perspiring too much could do him in, his own sweat encasing him in a fatal ice cocoon.
At the same time, Knight never let a little winter chill get him down. When a draft came over his body, he reveled in it as one would the warmth of a woolen blanket.
Sometimes, the cold would be so intense it would seep beneath his skin and into his bones. Still, Knight persevered with nothing more than some mild frostbite here and there.
Pine Tree Summer Camp
The good thing about the winter is that few campers were around, making moving about a little less risky. Still, he couldn’t deny the bounty summer brought with it, especially when a whole summer camp settled nearby.
It was perfect. He’d just sneak in and take what he needed. With so much supplies and food, no one would notice anything missing.
Of course, what Knight did not bear in mind was that as people caught on to his antics, they began to act. No longer did doors and windows go insecure.
Careful Devices
They took precautions. Cameras grew more and more common. This was certainly the case with Pine Tree Summer Camp, managed by Sergeant Terry Hughes, who had the smarts to outwit even the Mountain Man.
Hughes went to great lengths to perfect his system.
The Daring Man of the Mountain
He installed floodlights and motion sensors.
Now not so much as a gently padding deer could get past him.
Still, Knight dared even where he was decidedly unwelcome.
A little extra care, and he was certain he could prevail. Little did he know when he wandered onto Hughes property what was in store.
The Big Catch
His security system was even more complex than it looked on the surface. One wrong move, and Hughes would be made aware, even if he were miles from the property.
One spring night, Sergeant Terry Hughes caught glimpse of the unthinkable: Christopher Knight, the elusive legend himself, vulnerable beneath his piercing gaze.
Of course, Knight was far from what Hughes was expecting. He was anticipating a waif of a man whose mind frequently faltered. At worst, he was prepared to fight off a burly sociopath who could snap a neck with just a flick of the wrist.
The Big Catch: Part 2
But Hughes found no such person. Instead, here was a man much like him, reasonably tall and missing no color or vitality from his face. The Mountain Man was not so otherworldly after all: he wore glasses, a nice jacket, and a well-worn but passable pair of jeans.
In 2013, Christopher Knight was officially unveiled.
The Consequences
His simple woodland life was about to take a turn forever.
He would have to abandon his boulder home and face the consequences for his actions.
As of October 28, 2013, Knight received a jail sentence of seven months, which he went on to serve.
Additionally, he would have to pay his victims a total of $1,500 in restitution.
A Merciful Judge
He’d also have to attend a program for those struggling with mental health problems and endure three years of probation.
The judge who took on the case, Nancy Mills, had something of a soft spot for the great Mountain Man. At least, she didn’t think he was capable of harming anyone and was unlikely to commit any further serious crimes.
Many agreed that he didn’t deserve to waste away in jail.
Returning to the Grind
A couple months and a hefty fee would suffice.
After being released from jail, Knight agreed to meet with Judge Nancy Mills and swore to abstain from alcohol.
Moreover, he got his life back on track.
Word from His Family
His brother even offered him a job, which he took.
At the time of his disappearance, nobody suspected that Knight was gone indefinitely. In fact, his parents never even bothered to report him as missing.
They figured that he’d be back when he was ready. He just went on a little adventure, for himself. When it became clear that he was gone, they refused to believe the worst.
The Impact on Knight
He was out there, alive and well. Of that they were certain. And they were correct.
When you live in isolation, all you have is your own mind. You become so use to silences that when it comes time to speak over them, you stutter.
A Chance to Be Heard
You can’t imagine your words filling the air.
In fact, in the 27 years he had been away, Knight had never spoken a word to a soul, except on one rare occasion. He greeted a hiker with a small “hi.” Naturally, then, learning how to make conversation was not easy for Knight.
Fortunately, Knight was given a chance to be heard beyond his stutters. Just this year, American journalist Michael Finkel released a book on Knight entitled The Stranger in the Woods.
Writing the book required Finkel to meet with Knight in jail.
Knight’s Reflections
There, they conversed over the course of nine one-hour sessions.
Christopher Knight has stated in several interviews that he is not proud of what he had done.
He does not champion himself as a master burglar and is genuinely sorry to those he had harmed.
Knight’s Reflections: Part 2
As for his life as a hermit, Knight has had a few words to say about that as well.
Knight has expressed the pressure that comes with being outed as one of the more successful hermits the world will ever know.
Many approach him, expecting him to dispense some proud wisdom.
Knight on Thoreau
In some respects, Knight could deliver.
Knight has frequently been compared to the great American hermit himself, Henry David Thoreau.
A vocal non-fan of Thoreau, Knight can’t help balking at the comparison. Sure, he immersed himself in nature and wrote about it in great lengths.
Knight on Solitude
But Knight never got the impression it was for nature or the experience itself, but instead simply for the chance to show off.
Artists, poets, and dreamers alike cherish solitude. Just the word itself in its polysyllabic majesty evokes a sense of grandeur and purpose. William Wordsworth, in his famous poem “I Wandered Lonely As a Cloud,” remarked: “They flash upon that inward eye which is the bliss of solitude.”
For Knight, solitude wasn’t always so poetic. Sometimes even silence itself deafens. “Solitude bestows an increase in something valuable,” he mused. “I can’t dismiss that idea.
Knight on Self
Solitude increased my perception. But here’s the tricky thing: when I applied my increased perception to myself, I lost my identity. There was no audience, no one to perform for. There was no need to define myself. I became irrelevant.”
“I was never lonely,” Knight remarked. “If you like solitude, you are never alone.”
Knight did not even keep a mirror in his boulder shelter.
He’d catch glimpses of himself only in still water, in opaque windows. But he didn’t need to know what he looked like to know who he was, even if he had shed his identity and name somewhere in the woods long ago, like an itching skin.