Winston Branko Churchill loved the purity of the outdoors. He hated the materialism and greed that, in his view, prevented people from connecting with nature. And he was frustrated that he could not change that.

So, in a story that has dark parallels to the book and film “Into the Wild,” this philosophical former Denver disc jockey and Silverton coffee-shop owner, went into the wilderness of western Colorado last summer to think through this quandary — or to die.

“He couldn’t figure out how to make people change so they were not so caught up in money and cars and big houses and all that,” said his sister, Jovanka Mersman, of Colorado Springs. “He ultimately ended up checking out.”

Churchill’s emaciated body was found a month ago in a remote high-mountain valley northwest of Lake City, nearly a year after he disappeared. He had set out in June 2008 to hike the Colorado Trail from Denver to Durango, but then left the trail and purposefully roamed the wilderness, slowly dying of starvation.

When two hikers came upon his body lying outside the door of an old miner’s cabin, a small backpack still slung over the shoulder of his mummified corpse held no food, just a journal, camera, marijuana pipe and a vial of pills. His clothing was inadequate for the wintry weather he would have encountered before he is believed to have died in late November or early December. He was 41.

Hinsdale County Coroner Jerry Gray determined he died of starvation and exposure. His hands were badly frostbitten.

The journal he kept meticulously updated was soaked by the 20 feet or so of snow that had entombed his body through the winter. The few decipherable words gave no clue to his thoughts.

His camera had a final, brief disturbing video he took of himself. He was in a tent in an emaciated state. He said he had gone 40 days without food and thought he would die on his birthday the next day — Oct. 13.

Message alarms friends

On Aug. 27, he had walked into Lake City, left his dog Townsend with a woman working at the Lake City Chamber of Commerce, and called two friends from a pay phone. They periodically had been sending him food and gear, which he picked up in Lake City or Creede. He told them he didn’t need any more care packages.

His message for Jonathan Wrobel of Chicago, was: “Dude, thank you for everything. I don’t need anything else.”

Wrobel and the other friend were disturbed enough by the messages and by the fact that he abandoned his dog to call Hinsdale County authorities.

Sheriff Ron Bruce quickly organized a search party and for the next two days they scoured the backcountry in places where other hikers had seen Churchill. They found no trace of him.

“Those mountains are very big. It’s very difficult to find anyone in those mountains who doesn’t want to be found,” Bruce said.

Whether Churchill ultimately wanted to be found or saved can only be guessed at from clues.

He had lined his trekking poles neatly at the top of his head. One of those poles was bent at the tip and some who knew him take this as a sign that, in the end, Churchill wanted to live: Maybe he was trying to pry open the door with the pole to get to the canned food inside. Maybe he hoped to get enough sustenance to make his way back to civilization and help.

“That is the hardest thing for everyone in Silverton who really cared about him,” said friend Karen Hoskin. “Was there a moment when he would change his mind and choose life?”

His mother, Mirjana Chur chill of Alamosa, has a different idea.

“My hypothesis is that he wanted his body to be found,” she said. “My son wanted people to know that he died so that maybe they would hear his message.”

Mirjana is blunt about that message: “I don’t understand what it was.”

Rambling writings

Churchill previously had written a 600-page manuscript explaining his philosophies of life, but those who tried to read it said it was rambling and disjointed.

Churchill wasn’t that way in person. Friends describe him as witty, friendly and “cool” in terms of being on top of trends.

“He was the most genuine person I have ever met. I don’t think he was crazy or suicidal. He just didn’t want to live in a society where people didn’t take care of each other. In so many ways, he wasn’t right for this world. He saw things totally different from most of the rest of the world,” Wrobel said.

“He didn’t commit suicide per se,” he added. “He just walked down that road and didn’t come back.”

Churchill found the closest thing to the pure life he sought, friends and family say, when he found a home in the remote mountain town of Silverton from 2005 through 2007.

As a child, he had moved frequently with his family after being born in Germany to a Serbian mother and an American soldier. They divorced when he was 6 years old. He attended high school in Colorado Springs and New Hampshire, where his father lived. Later, he took creative writing courses at the University of Colorado, but his mother said he didn’t fit well in the structure of a college.

He became a disc jockey. His performing name was DJ Verifine, and he amassed a huge collection of party dance music. He got into raves and party drugs. He worked as a bike mechanic and began the tome that would define his philosophy of life. He did detailed research on the best places to live before he headed to Silverton.

He bought an old Victorian home there and opened a coffee-bicycle repair shop, Mobius Cycles and Cafe. It was in a rented space that he turned from dilapidated to beautiful through months of sanding, painting and hammering. His friends say the space highlighted his constant drive for perfection.

Popular hangout

Mobius became a favorite hangout with locals who appreciated the expensive top-of- the-line espresso machine he insisted on getting. The New York Times took favorable note of the shop in a January 2007 travel piece.

Churchill fit easily in Silverton, a town that is funky rather than fancy. Many residents shared his love of extreme snowboarding and mountain biking.

They say Churchill stood out in the extreme challenges. He could skin or pedal up a mountain faster than just about anyone else. He created a “passing lane” through the deep snow on at the Silverton Mountain Ski Resort because other skiers were too slow.

But his coffee shop was losing money. He sold his home and moved into an apartment in the back of the shop. He was near bankruptcy when he closed Mobius and left Silverton, saying that he would likely go to Moab, Utah, and start a new coffee shop there.

Instead, he went to Lakewood where his life began to unravel.

“He was a recluse there,” his sister said.

He tried to commit suicide by fasting for 40 days. When he was still alive at the end of that time, he took an overdose of Townsend’s epilepsy medicine. He spent less than a week in the psychiatry unit of a Denver hospital.

He moved in with his sister for the next three months while deciding what to do next in life. He also spent a few weeks with his mother. During that time, he quizzed her about survival — something she knows about through her years as a refugee in post-war Europe. She had seen a lot of death, suffered hunger and been surrounded by other desperate refugees who “wanted so much to live.”

That experience has made it very hard for her to understand why anyone, particularly her son, would want to die. She can only link it to a family history of mental illness. Her mother was schizophrenic.

When Churchill made the decision that he would hike the Colorado Trail to sort his life out, his mother and friends initially didn’t view it was a suicide mission. He spent weeks preparing. He hiked 30 miles a day to get in shape. He was excited about the trek when he spoke to Wrobel about it.

Even after the September phone calls and when fall turned to winter without any sign of Churchill, some of his friends still had hopes that he would hike out.

John Allen, a Silverton friend, said Churchill also was quirky enough that some friends imagined him sitting on a beach in Mexico or the Caribbean working on his book.

Those friends recently gathered for a memorial for Churchill. They played his disc-jockey tapes, told stories and wondered what that waterlogged journal might have told them.

“At the end, I think he had just totally gone off-plot,” Allen conjectured.

During the remembrance, a brilliant rainbow bowed from the mountains into downtown Silverton. Hoskin said it felt like a conclusion of sorts to a story without a clear end.

“And it was a beautiful conclusion,” she said.

Nancy Lofholm: 970-256-1957 or nlofholm@denverpost.com