Without a Trace

From our March 2008 issue: Last Labor Day, Steve Fossett—the investment wizard turned record-setting adventurer—took off in a plane from a remote Nevada airfield. He hasn't been seen since. Our reporter retraces the search for Fossett, while examining the theories behind his disappearance—and behind his frequent attempts to defy death

By Bryan Smith

(page 6 of 8)

Fossett and crew celebrate their record-setting 2001 Atlantic crossing.

Throughout his adventuring career, he insisted that he wasn't in it for the adrenaline—or for the glory that came with achievement. "He never sought publicity," says Jay Levine. "We [in the media] were the ones who made him the story he was. I think he would have been just as happy to do what he did in a vacuum. Setting the record was what he lived for, not the publicity. He was the opposite of a swashbuckler."

That's not to say that Fossett lacked ego. He intentionally chose to pursue "firsts"—first to fly around the world solo in a balloon, first to circumnavigate the globe solo in a plane—specifically so that his accomplishments would remain in the record books.

RELATED MULTIMEDIA

Fossett's Last Flight (Interactive map)

Views from the Search Plane (Video)

Even so, his friends say, he displayed remarkable humility. "He was understated, always understated," Arbor says. "He would casually mention he did this or that—that he had climbed all 54 peaks [over 14,000 feet] in Colorado. He did these things quietly, with dignity."

His balloon trips were the exception, but not because Fossett encouraged the extra attention. Media outlets were simply fascinated by the quixotic quest. When Branson entered the picture, Fossett's own celebrity soared. True to form, he found a way to put his newfound status to practical use, says Arbor. "He wanted everyone to know where he was in case he went down," Arbor says.

Records, headlines, and accolades accrued, followed right behind by criticism and resentment. "I won't mince words. I hate Fossett," Sun-Times columnist Neil Steinberg wrote in 2006 when Fossett was seeking to set another aviation record—this time for distance traveled in an ultralight aircraft. "I hate everything about the millionaire and his endless quests to set new world's records."

After Fossett nearly died in the Coral Sea crash in 1999, Richard Roeper of the Sun-Times wrote he would be glad "not to cover this guy's self-indulgent, expensive hobbies as if he were the millennium version of Ferdinand Magellan."

Today, Steinberg says he's sorry that Fossett has gone missing, but he has not softened his views. "I don't want to be dancing on his grave," Steinberg told me. "Frankly, I'd rather he be around so I can ridicule him some more. I just have a hard time working up a lot of sympathy for him." Steinberg says he never bought claims about Fossett's humility and sees nothing socially redeeming or particularly noteworthy about spending millions to accumulate esoteric records.

Even his disappearance rankled. Worldwide expressions of sympathy were tempered by questions about the amount of public resources spent to find him—an estimated $1.4 million. Some people wondered whether a similar effort would have been made for someone less celebrated. Cynthia Ryan acknowledges that Fossett's high-profile status played a part in the magnitude of the search, but only in terms of private efforts—funded by some $1.2 million from Peggy Fossett alone. "From our standpoint," says Ryan, "we did this search just like we would have for anyone else. Any extra assets came from the Flying M Ranch."

Photograph: AFP Photo/Gerry Penny/Newscom