On the snowy slopes of Mt. St. Helens, a ragged strip of crime-scene tape dangles from the branch of a roadside sapling. Flapping in the winter breeze, breaking the solemn wilderness silence, the bright-yellow plastic is a shocking speck of neon among the emerald expanse of firs.
Michael Gaughan
courtesy of Emily McCarty
Barry “Plunker” Adams (second from left) and Circus Maximus (right) chat with a deputy.
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Somewhere ahead, an overgrown trail winds through the woods to a creek, just downstream from a picturesque waterfall secluded by steep terrain and thick brush. This path, through a minuscule sliver of the vast Gifford Pinchot National Forest, is also dotted with strips of tape—this time red, marking spots where human bones were found on October 9.
"A few miles up the road is the remains of a dead body," says Emily McCarty, trudging through the ankle-deep snow. She and dozens of others scoured this neck of the woods throughout last summer and fall, but even cadaver-sniffing police dogs were ultimately unable to locate all that is left in this world of Marie Hanson.
Some of Hanson's skeleton was collected into evidence. The rest, presumably, is still scattered across this backcountry hillside.
A 54-year-old grandmother, Hanson vanished while camping at the Rainbow Family Gathering, a legendary counterculture event that draws tens of thousands of hippies, freaks, and free spirits to a different national forest every Independence Day. McCarty, a Rainbow Family advocate, worked on behalf of Hanson's family, cajoling the local police to pursue the case. She also tried to publicize the incident by posting on Examiner.com, a community news site. Her efforts, she says, were met mostly with indifference from both the cops and media.
Tears of frustration well up in McCarty's eyes as she lights a cigarette with an unsteady hand. "She was out here for three fucking months," she stammers. "It was hard to convince anybody she really was out here. When they finally found her, there was just this look of shock on the deputy's face."
Given the condition of Hanson's remains, the county medical examiner had to verify her identity using dental records. But a silver bracelet found on the trail nearby was confirmation enough for those who'd known her. The jewelry was engraved with a Bible verse, Matthew 4:19: "And he saith unto them, Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men."
The Scripture is eerily fitting. While Rainbow festivities are debauched at times, the Gathering culminates with a group prayer for world peace. An easygoing but devout Christian, Hanson left her home in South Lake Tahoe, Calif., to proselytize the tie-dyed masses assembled in this remote corner of southwest Washington. An investigation is still ongoing, but the cause of Hanson's death remains a mystery.
"It's a suspicious death," says Jeff Roberson, the detective handling the case for South Lake Tahoe Police. "Until we have something that indicates otherwise, it's not a homicide."
That Hanson went missing during her Rainbow expedition is not unusual. The Rainbow Family of Living Light, as it is formally known, is a magnet for disaffected young adults seeking to turn on, tune in, and drop out as if the Summer of Love had never ended. The so-called "Rainbow Trail," a series of festivals and small regional gatherings, offers an alluring combination of positive vibes, free meals, and an off-the-grid lifestyle that make it easy to lose touch with the outside world.
But where others have turned up alive and well, Hanson's life ended tragically. Now two law-enforcement agencies, her surviving family, and some of the most dedicated Rainbows are left wondering whether her demise was the result of an accident or something more sinister.
The foundation for the modern Rainbow Family was laid in the fall of 1969 when a group of hippies and Vietnam vets who had been camping near Big Sur packed their belongings and headed north. They ended up at a commune in Marblemount, Wash., a tiny hamlet just outside the boundary of North Cascades National Park in a bucolic river valley that the bohemian California transplants dubbed "The Magic Skagit."
The group soon became known as "The Outlaws of Marblemount" for their willingness to guide draft dodgers and deserters across the Canadian border. According to Barry "Plunker" Adams, 66, a Navy veteran and one of the original Marblemount denizens, the Outlaws recruited additional members at the Oregon Country Fair, and the following year helped organize Vortex, a weeklong concert and counterculture event in Portland.
"We rolled out [of Vortex] flying the rainbow colors," Adams recalls over the phone from his home in Montana. "Along the way I ran into other dreamers and visionaries, and we had a collective visionary process that took place. We fell into following a dream, a vision, and that became what's known as the first Gathering."
That inaugural Rainbow Family Gathering took place near Strawberry Lake, Colo., in the summer of 1972. Promoted by word-of-mouth and bolstered by a clever publicity stunt—the Rainbows sent an invitation to every congressman and United Nations delegate—the event drew an estimated 20,000 people, despite the threat of a police crackdown.
Equal parts beatnik and good ol' boy, Adams says the secret to spontaneously establishing a city in the middle of nowhere is to provide adequate supplies and sanitation. He talks of enlisting Vietnam vets to chop firewood, purify water, and dig trench latrines. "You know that old saying," he says with a laugh. "If you dig a shitter, they will come."
