Praise for Craig

M. John: Thanks for the preview of “The Last Mountains” by Rick Craig in MG #156. As a long-time climber and aficionado of mountaineering literature, climbing fiction is my favorite genre. I look forward to the rest of the story and the publication of Rick’s book!

Dennis Crean
Farmington, Conn.

Bow-wow for Barkley

Dear Mr. Fayhee: First off, I want to thank you for your rebuttal in defense of my photo of Barkley, my favorite hiking partner. (Letters section, MG #156.) We worked hard for that photo!! It was a pretty burly hike, which, for the record, is on a mountain called Triple Peaks in the Trail Creek drainage of the (foothills) of the Pioneer, Boulder and Smoky mountain ranges just outside of Ketchum, Idaho.

I have attached a few more pics of that day, in case Mr. Hogan has any more concerns. There is no trickery going on here. Hopefully his panties aren’t all wadded up in his ass anymore and he has found time to do things cooler than obsess over a photo for so long that he begins to hallucinate. Haha :)

Thanks again and I hope you are all enjoying this beautiful Spring!! I love the Mountain Gazette!

Sincerely,
Jill Parker

Editor’s note: The photo to which Ms. Parker refers appeared on the cover of MG #153. Letter-writer Chad Hogan accused us of digitally manipulating that photo.

Walking on Abbey’s grave

Greetings, Fayhee: Poor Ed. The folks at Confluence: A Celebration of Writing and Reading in Moab went and set up a contest inviting submissions evocative of his style, and what they got for first place was a small withered thing lacking enough backbone even to let the late honorable Mr. H.D. Thoreau’s words stand on his own. (“Walking 2008: Modern Thoughts on Henry David Thoreau’s 1862 Essay,” by Wren Farris (MG #154). I can only imagine the thrutching Mr. Abbey’s crispy ghost would give to see some modern adultlescent trying to “edit” Thoreau’s every generic use of the word “man” to “person.” Only a timid, watered-down spirits do stuff like that. A resident of the desert, Abbey understood how to use water. You either apply the barest minimum needed to maintain an austere, yet perfectly composed, balance of life . . . or you flood. And you do so with great soupy, bloody fury.

Ms. Farris proves she’s part of that new crop of bunny-hugging, graduate students who just love, love, love reading Mr. Abbey and gettin’ all lathered up with the visceral funk of his words. But damn if they don’t back right the hell down from every chance to get out there and actually — and man do I mean this — walk the walk. Every goddamn one of ’em is too well hydrated. You’ve got to walk — really walk — through that wind Ms. Farris is so worked up about a good LONG while before you dry out enough to start to feel what Abbey’s talking about. Or to start sensing what the hell Thoreau means when he talks about “walking.” He’s being literal first, metaphorical second. The aforementioned folks have lost touch with the fact that you have to prove intimacy with the literal before you earn the right to start fingering around in the metaphorical.

There’s a bunch of other things about that essay that would have chapped Abbey’s narrow inebriated ass. I won’t go into a long list, but I will say this — to use the tender Ms. Farris’ words — he’s the coyote that can sniff out the true nature of the virgin painted beneath a cloak. And I believe it’s a dishonor to his spirit to suggest that any essay that tries to take Thoreau’s “Walking” and co-opt its force in advance of an argument that amounts to little more than a limp excuse for sitting still because you’re too afraid to go outside . . . well, I can only hang my head. That’s just wrong. Did anybody on that review committee notice the author of the “award-winning” piece didn’t once refer to a single step of her own meaningful piece of walking?

Now, I realize you’re just playing the part of kindly hosting those pieces. I’m not pointing anything at you guys . . . errrr, am I supposed to say “persons” . . . I just wonder how something like your essay (and by “your,” I mean exactly that, Mr. Fayhee, yours, not MG’s) about the hiking encounter between seven Prius drivers and one truck well-laden with Colorado Mountain Commuters can go unnoticed. (“Holiness by the Gallon, Smoke Signals. MG #150.) That’s the closest thing I’ve seen to Ed in MG’s pages in a long time.

Kind regards,
Mike Colpo

Bark on, old dog!

Fayhee: My initial reaction to Mountain Gazette #155 was as if I had just seen my grandmother butt naked — I was both somewhat embarrassed and a tad titillated.

I was in charge of the MG kennel for three years until we had to put the old dog down in 1979. It was, for me, a tragic day. It was a crazy and wild love affair gone bad and I still haven’t gotten over it. I applauded when it was resurrected in 2000 and an attempt was made to be true to the original format. For some reason, our rather goofy format was our holy cornerstone. So it was something of a shock to see the Mountain Gazette all gussied up and looking like a real magazine.

I am an old fart, much offended by change, but I want to believe that the Mountain Gazette’s new look may pump fresh energy into the rag. M. John Fayhee’s explanation is supported by a strong and logical argument. And let me assure you that “logic” was something we seldom embraced in the good old days of the Gazette.

My best wishes and hopes go out to one and all at the Mountain Gazette — “Bark on old dog, bark on!”

Sincerely,
Gaylord T. Guenin
Woody Creek, Colo.

Mountain Gazette welcomes letters. Please email to: mjfayhee@mountaingazette.com