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Show THE ZEPHYRMAY 89 from Ed (I rarely called him, he disliked talking on the phone and unless he had something he wanted to communicate to you, talking to Ed on the phone was somewhat of a zen-ii- ke experience), and a few days or weeks later we'd meet down there on the river somewhere, Ed in his orange plastic bathtub of a boat, the sportyak, and me in the Everett Ruess. a twenty-fo- ot Salmon with a Kokopelli painted on the bow. Abbey was always a few days ahead of me; we were alone, but still together, silently floating down either the Green or the Colorado, towards the confluence and Cataract Canyon and the rapids that lay below. Abbey might be on either river, I always put in on the Green, each pursuing whatever solitary whim we fancied. Eventually I'd overtake that bright orange bathtub, always before Cataract Canyon I figured; Ed wasnt keen on the Idea of navigating the Big Drops In his Httle boat on a cold November day with only Richard Quist somewhere down below on Lake Powell to rescue him if a mishap should occur. I'd row the monster Ruess down the river until around the bend or the other I'd catch sight of Ed's boat Wed camp for a few days more and make all-d- ay that long, expeditions into the country above and beyond us vertical climb up to the Dollhouse every morning, returning late at night, by moonlight, if any. PAGE 9 Though Abbey and I went down the river again, we never did make it to that slot canyon, did we Ed? And last November, we didn't make it back on the river. You were In the middle of that grueling autograph tour for The Fool's Progress, and I, well, I thought I was too busy to go. I'm going down the river this foil, Ed, and somehow, I feel that youll be with me. ED ABBEY LIVES the Anasazl shamans have painstakingly carved Into their thousands-of-years-- old rock art panels; flutes-E- D ED ABBEY LIVES ABBEY LIVES. whisper their drums and their The best history Is mythology, Wallace Stegner wrote. In life, Edward Abbey was a mystic figure. In death, his presence on the land and in our hearts can be felt all the more keenly. In death, he casts a shadow longer than the saguaros in his backyard at sunset; more solid and Imposing than the sandstone walls ever-presalongside you on the river; and taller than the plywood flashing used in 1983 to keep the waters of the Colorado from creating what will one day become the largest rapid on the river: Domlny Falls tombstone to Glen Canyon. temporarily serving as a 700-fo- ot Uke Kokopelli and Everett Ruess before him, Edward Abbey hiss now entered "I have not yet tired of the the mythology of the Colorado Plateau. wrote Everett wilderness, Ruess, and Kokopellis flute, Hke Gabriels will his forever herald trumpet, presence in the canyon country. So next time you find yourself wandering out in the desert never mind which one alone and lost, with no particular destination in mind, and blowing out of nowhere on the desert wind a sweet and gentle sound comes wafting within earshot and then, it's gone you pause, the soft sound of another flute and as quietly as the wind, theyre both gone.you pause again and listen to the silence and remember these things losL ent Postscript from Salt Lake City: Ive returned from Hong Kong to find one of those infamous Ed abbey for on me desk...a my postcards waiting painting by an old Abbey friend, John on one distinctive sideband that scrawl on the other.JSee you in DePuy, in it in "See Moab," April, said; you April, in Moab." -- Yes, Ed, Ill see in in In Moab, and April you May, and on the river this summer and fall, and I I di- e- "If I live that and anytime, every time go to the desert-un- til said-lI long"-y- ou 'm going to find that slot canyon, sai- d- I recall one adventure vividly. Gaining the Dollhouse by had talked Ed, and my friend Sarah, into cutting across Ernies Country to the Fins (a short-cu- t, of course) with promises of a beautifully-sculpt- ed slot canyon waiting for us at the end of our hike. Abbey paused and surveyed the jumbled and broken landscape around us and remarked that he was gratified to find that the Fins looked about how he had Imagined when he wrote The Monkey Wrench Gang. It seems, Ed confessed, that until that day, hed never gotten around to that part of the country before! We spent the rest of that day enjoyably, hopelessly lost in the slickrock labyrinth of the Fins, and at dusk, Sarah, the mountain goat, found a crack bodies atop a talus slope that allowed up back on the rim. Our sweat-chille- d After drinking the last of our water, shivered in the gathering darkness. we plodded on wearily towards the Dollhouse, silent In the dark night, to our camp on the river for below. Ed and Sarah teased me unmercifully about not finding that slot canyon that day; I maintained that an adventure wasn't an adventure without a little adventure thrown in, and an adventure at any rate, wasnt successful unless you did get lost mid-morn- ing, I Mid-afterno- on, Edward Abbey 1927-198- 9 Ill tell you what I do wonder about. What will it be like when Im gone, and youre gone, and our grand- children are gone. And even our great glittering industrial civilization has crumbled to dust, and were all forgotten. What will be going on out here then? Nothing lasts forever. Nobody lives forever. Everything comes and goes. We all begin and rise and fade away... What then? - E.A. DREAM GARDEN PRESS, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH 1985 |