"He is lucky who, in the full tide of life, has experienced a measure of the active environment that he most desires. In these days of upheaval and violent change, when the basic values of today are the vain and shattered dreams of tomorrow, there is much to be said for a philosophy which aims at living a full life while the opportunity offers. There are few treasures of more lasting worth than the experience of a way of life that is in itself wholly satisfying. Such, after all, are the only possessions of which no fate, no cosmic catastrophie can deprive us: nothing can alter the fact if for one moment in eternity we have really lived." --Eric Shipton

I was in Augusta yesterday morning. A cold, gray, somber day. Just right for a funeral.

I was among some 800 others who came to say goodbye to Abby Holman, an incredibly accomplished woman and friend to many; legislator, attorney, mother, rafting guide, skier, moose hunter, nature lover.

Nobody should leave us at such an early age. But maybe there's a plan in it all somewhere. Seems that many who die young leave a huge mark on the world in a relatively short time. As did Abby.

But then you can't help but wonder, what other great things might they have done with a little more time among us. Like someone with the energy, character and drive as Abby possessed.

It cuts hard both ways. And leaves me both sad and glad. A daily lesson for us all.

Live! Love! Laugh!

Your thoughts?

You can remember Abby Holman by making a donation (in lieu of flowers) in her name to: Kennebec Valley Land Trust, PO Box 261, Winthrop, ME 04364.

By now most of you know the tragic news of Abby Holman who died Saturday in a freak skiing accident at Sugarloaf.

All of us who knew her are shocked and saddened by her untimely loss.

Our thoughts and prayers are with you Abby, your family and friends.

Please take a moment to read Abby Holman's obituary and know what a wonderful person she was.

There is nothing more I can add at this very sad time.

Goodbye Abby. Much, much too soon.

Just in case you've been out on the trail for awhile and haven't heard, friend and fellow blogger Colleen Stone of From Away fame is headed off to new environs, leaving the great state of Maine for...

...New Jersey.

More on that in a moment.

But first, some kudos and thanks to Colleen.

We, your friends and loyal readers, have truly enjoyed your observations of the ordinary around Portland and across Maine. How you've made the often mundane interesting and humorous and fun. You've been an eye and an ear to a slice of Maine life that we might otherwise have overlooked or ignored. And you've done it in exceptional style nearly every day for three entertaining and enjoyable years.

It's the 'little things' in life as you know, Colleen. And you have been reminding of us all of what a cool and special place we live in, and how important every day is, or should be.

Thanks! Big thanks!

For me and countless others, we'll miss that. From Away every day. And you.

But rather than blather embarrassingly on, let's get to the New Jersey thing.

Surely you've already been asked, "Jersey, eh? What exit?"

Ha ha.

Don't let 'em get to you Col.

It may not be Maine, but New Jersey is cool. You'll like it there.

I know. I was born there in Passaic. (That explains a lot you say, eh? Wise guys, all of you). And spent some quality time in Rutherford, in view of the New York City skyline.

It ain't all bad.

So when the going gets tough and people get on you, you send 'em to me. I'll help you stick up for Jersey. Or else I'll sic the Jersey Devil on them!

In order to properly acclimate and enjoy your new home there's a few things you need to know. And I'm here to help.

In no particular order:

* Mazur's Bakery in Lyndhurst has the best crumb buns and hard rolls on Earth.

* Taylor Pork Roll is pure New Jersey. Try it fried on a hard roll with ketchup. Yum!

* NJ has plenty of good beer. In a lot of locations. You'll be OK.

* The best delis anywhere are in NJ. German bologna, shredded lettuce and mayo on a hard roll. Oh!

* Ditto for NJ thin crust pizza. It's the first thing I must have when I visit. Two slices plain cheese. Oh yeah. Look for The Dayton in Garfield, if it's still there.

* There's miles of trails for hiking and biking and camping... Even a 50-mile section of the Appalachian Trail along the stunning Kittatinny Ridge. Imagine, long distance hiking in NJ!

* There are beaches in NJ. Plenty of them. You'll like Island Beach State Park, my favorite.

* Yes, you can even ski in NJ. What used to be called Great Gorge/Vernon Valley is now Mountain Creek. It gets crowded, but hey, you'll be skiing in the Garden State.

* Jersey City isn't too far from Newark Airport, so we'll be expecting you to visit "home" regularly. Dammit.

* And then there's the small matter of professional sports... Baseball. And football. A couple years in NJ and you too may end up on the Dark Side.

* But there's much more to know. Like this. And this.

Heck Colleen, you might like New Jersey so much you'll wanna get a tattoo!

Best of luck to you in your new job and home. Best to Paul. Stay in touch.

And we'll see you tomorrow night at Rosie's for a couple of send-off pints...

Dear Dad,

My hat is off and I stand in salute to you on this Veteran's Day, and to the millions of men and women who have served our nation in the armed forces throughout our history.

Joseph Kish, US Army. Oran, Morocco, July 15, 1943.

I especially salute those who have given their lives in sacrifice so that we might live as free people.

It'll be a year next week since you left us. Mom is strong and holding up very well. Kev too. Me, I'm the weak link, and still these many months later, prone to tears. But time is slowly helping to turn sadness into understanding, appreciation and even stronger love. Guess that's the natural way of things.

But it's been a hard year, one of tremendous loss. A number of friends fathers have also passed. A mother. Several close friends have passed unexpectedly. Colleagues and former colleagues have gone. The war going on. There have been other losses too. Could be the stars. Something in the water. Hard to know.

Strangely, but perhaps not, life moves forward. We rise each day. Dress. Eat. Go to work. Live and love. Laugh, cry and play. There will probably always be a void. A hole left in the heart, which you and others once filled.

But we go on.

And as you'd expect, I've kept up the outdoor pace, doing the things you know I love, the things that define life for me. The hiking and backpacking, the skiing and snowshoeing, the kayaking and rafting, a little bad golf, some overseas travel.

I've come along way Dad, since the days when you and I went on hikes up Lulu Brook, caught salamanders in Berry Pond, watched for birds in the Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary, camped out at Chimney Pond, and climbed Mount Katahdin. You got me hooked on the outdoors. And I've never been the same. Thanks for that, and so much more.

It's weird and still a bit unsettling, though, to call home and not talk to you. About the fun things I've been doing. To get your unfiltered advice. To hear about the walk that you and Mom just took, and the turkeys in the yard, what birds were at the feeder today, the level of the lake down the hill.

But life is what it is. And there is no choice but to carry on. With pride and love and warm memories of a life well lived. Mom and Kev and I are doing that as best we can. And we remember you on this special day, and every day. We miss you.

I'll be going down to see Mom a week from now. We'll be visiting the veterans cemetery where you are buried, me for the first time. She tells me its a beautiful, peaceful spot on a hill with trees and a nice view.

Love,
Son #2

A dear friend, a true friend, Alison Kisch of Portland, passed away unexpectedly on September 3rd.

I got the shocking news via e-mail while overseas. I, and all who knew Alison, are still in shock. We can't believe that she's not with us any more.

Our hearts and prayers go out to her husband Bob and her two adorable little children, Ellianna and Karina, and to their families. It's difficult to imagine what they are going through.

Alison was the most selfless person I've ever known. Quiet, kind and gentle, she always had an ear for me and encouraged me to dream big and live big. Just as she did in a big way.

She was everyone's best friend for these wonderful, loving qualities and many others. It would be hard to hold a candle to her. We have all lost someone truly remarkable.

Read Alison's obituary and weep for her loss.

Andi Bartlett, president of the Maine Outdoor Adventure Club, where Alison and Bob and the kids were long time members and regular outdoor enthusiasts, wrote a beautiful tribute to Alison last week:

Dear Friends,
Last evening was our monthly MOAC meeting in Portland. It was with great sadness and heavy heart that I announced the death of Alison Kisch on Sept. 3rd. She passed away peacefully in her sleep. Alison and her husband Bob Boothe are long time members. Last night we honored and remembered Alison by reserving and placing a flower in her usual chair in the front row. As their busy schedule allowed, the entire family would attend MOAC meetings. Or, Alison would come alone with her two sweet young daughters, Ellianna and Karina. Their presence always brightened the room. Today I attended Alison's celebration of life service at Kettle Cove. It is clear that heaven has an extremely radiant new angel to guide and support us. You may check out the link below for some pictures of Alison. Notice her smile was always wider when with one of her daughters. I will miss Alison deeply.
Sincerely,
Andi

I spoke with my Mom the other day about Alison's passing, and she passed along a fitting inspirational quote (author unknown):

Life is not measured by the number of breaths,
But by the moments that take our breath away.

Alison, you took our breath away. We will always remember you dear friend.

After ten years in business, our good friends at Maine Mountain Works are closing their Marginal Way store.

Todd and Kelly and their crew have run a good shop and have been a real fixture in the local outdoor community.

Many thanks to all of you.

I know you'll still be around at your Commercial Street location, but it won't be quite the same.

I'm going to miss you. We're all going to miss you.

We wish you the best of luck with your remaining store. And with whatever it is that you do next with your life. Go for it. Have fun!

Thank you friends.

As you might expect, Maine Mountain Works is having a big sale to empty the place out, so come and get it!

Per Todd and Kelly:

Maine MountainWorks
Marginal Way Store Liquidation

Everything Must Go!

Hiking, Camping, Paddling, Climbing Equipment, Clothing, Footwear!

Monday, 8/22 thru Sunday, 9/4 Everything in the store at least 20% OFF.

Monday, 9/5 thru Sunday, 9/11 Everything remaining will be at least 30% OFF

Monday, 9/12 thru Sunday, 9/18 Everything remaining will be at least 40% OFF

Monday, 9/19 thru Friday, 9/30 Anything remaining will be 40% to 50% OFF

Kayaks will be priced separately.

This has nothing to do with the outdoors, but everything to do with life. So please bear with me this one time. Thanks.

You may recall my March 2 blog entry where I wrote a short tribute about two local Maine men who were killed in the Iraq War just about a year ago: Larry Roukey and Chris Gelineau.

If you've been following the news this past week, you now know that Gelineau's wife Lavinia was murdered last weekend.

It's a tragedy compounded.

Lavinia worked for me several years ago as a USM intern. She was a delightful person, full of life, and we all loved her here in the office.

I am still haunted by the chance meeting with Lavinia in Hannaford's that fateful day late last April. She was white as a sheet and visibly shaken. She told me how she always received a long daily email from her husband Chris in Iraq, and that he was now more than 24 hours overdue. She was worried sick. I tried to comfort her and said something stupid like, "I'm sure everything will be fine."

But it wasn't.

She learned of her husband's death just an hour later.

And now Lavinia, young and full of life at 25, is gone.

My heart goes out to the Onitiu and Gelineau families and all those close to them.

Something's just not right here. There's too much loss going on. Too much.

Live! Appreciate every day and all those important to you. Tomorrow is not a given.

Every day of this life is an adventure in some way, shape or form. We never know what each new day will bring, where life's path will lead us, or when, ultimately, we will reach our final trailhead. We need to be reminded occasionally of how precious life is and how important it is to live it, really live it.

I got one of those reminders yesterday...

For two Portland area men, Larry Roukey and Chris Gelineau, their paths took them to Iraq last year, in the service of our country. Larry to Baghdad, Chris to Mosul. Tragically, both men were killed just a few days apart in late April.

I didn't know Larry, but I knew of him through his wife Ryann, who I had worked with on Commute Another Way Day. I didn't know Chris personally, either, but rather through his wife Lavinia, who worked for me as a USM intern.

From all that I do know, both were fine men. Giving, caring, loving, happy men. They sacrificed their lives so that others might live free. So that we, ultimately, might live free. I am so very thankful for their service. My heart goes out to their families. It is almost a year since their passing, but I suspect the pain of their loss has diminished little.

These thoughts hit home pretty hard last evening, when I stopped in to the Portland Post Office on Forest Ave. to mail a letter and buy some stamps. As I was leaving, a display in the main lobby caught my eye. I took a closer look and found it was a beautiful tribute to Larry Roukey, who was a postal employee.

I read through it and learned much about this man's life. And their was much to know of his 33 short years. Hard worker, loving father, good friend, Red Sox fan. He had hoped to thru-hike the Appalachian Trail one day.

It was all very moving, and it shook me up good. I am so sad for their loss, so very proud of their service. Take a moment and read it the next time you're in the PO. It will change you.

Thank you Larry and Chris, and the many others...

The Great Red Shark has made its last road trip through the desert night. And Gonzo and his attorney have had their last high-speed, hallucinogenic adventure. There will be no more Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.

The definitive wildman and literary adventurer, Hunter S. Thompson, is dead.

It's strange, but I guess it makes sense how it ended--with a self-inflicted gunshot wound to his head.

Many of us grew up following Thompson's escapades in the pages of his books. He took a real close, very raw look at the madness of life and captured much of that madness, and his own, in those pages.

After hearing the news yesterday, I pulled a few of his books from my shelves and traveled back in time for a few moments, recapturing the essence of this tremendous writer and his wild exploits. It was an entertaining, albeit brief, journey.

Raise a glass to Hunter Thompson, and give your accelerator an extra kick in tribute. The spirit of Gonzo lives on...

"It was almost noon, and we still had more than a hundred miles to go. They will be tough miles. Very soon, I knew, we would both be completely twisted. But there was no going back, and no time to rest."
--From Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, by Hunter Thompson.

I’ve been obsessed with the outdoors for a good many years now. Hiking, camping, rafting, kayaking, skiing, climbing, you-name-it. It’s a passion that hasn’t diminished one bit. In fact, it has grown stronger with age. I often reflect on the source of this outdoors obsession. And all signs point to my Dad.

As a little kid I remember Dad loading up the family and taking us on vacation. For one precious week each summer (that was all the time off Dad got in those days), we’d escape the urban environs of New Jersey for the beautiful Berkshires of western Massachusetts. When we weren’t doing the typical vacation things, lounging about the pool or playing tourist, Dad would take me out exploring in the surrounding woods and fields… for birds and butterflies, salamanders and frogs. Every trail, every pond, every little stream was a new world full of adventure. What was under that rock, behind that tree, or around that bend? My curiosity about nature was piqued.

A few years later, we up and moved to Pittsfield, right in the heart of the Berkshires. It was nirvana for a kid like me. There was so much to do! Dad got me involved with the Junior Naturalist Club and the Rock and Mineral Club at the Berkshire Museum. On weekends he would take me bird watching at the Pleasant Valley Wildlife Sanctuary, hiking up on Mount Greylock, and exploring for rocks and minerals in a nearby quarry.

I’ll never forget hiking up the Lulu Brook Trail in the Pittsfield State Forest with Dad early one Saturday morning. This was big hike for me and I was so excited! There we were, Dad and I, packs on our backs, hiking along enjoying the gurgling brook and the beautiful forest. Part way up the trail, we rested on a rock next to the stream and Dad broke out some snacks and a Thermos of coffee. I remember thinking how cool it was hiking with my Dad and being big enough to share a cup of coffee with him. I was an official hiker now!

When I was a teenager we moved to Maine. Dad was slowing down a bit but was still eager to explore our new home. We made numerous trips to Baxter State Park, our favorite place, cooking up beans and hot dogs over the fire, sleeping out in the lean-tos and making forays up Mount Katahdin. Dad never did make it all the way to the top (just beyond Thoreau Spring was his best), but we always had a good time together. My love for the outdoors had become permanent.

It’s funny, but it occurs to me that whenever I would ask Dad to do something outdoors, he would invariably say, “Son, I spent 39 months in World War II marching all over Europe and camping on the ground. I’ve had all the outdoors I need.” But he would always go with me anyway. And all those times I spent in the woods with my Dad, the love for nature and the outdoors he instilled in me—those are very special memories, more so now than ever. He helped shape the person that I am today and I will be forever thankful to him (and Mom too, of course).

My wonderful Dad, Joseph Kish, passed away on November 17, 2004 at a Fort Worth, Texas hospital.

My Dad, Joseph Kish, Sept. 2, 1919 - Nov. 17, 2004.

Dad had been in the hospital for a month. He went in for routine surgery on his colon, but somewhere along the way things went bad, and he developed a respiratory condition that ultimately took him. My brother and I made several frantic flights down to see him during the early part of November. Countless trips back and forth to the hospital with Mom; brief, heart wrenching visits with Dad in the ICU; meals on the run; emotional conversations; restless nights; lots of prayers; many more what-ifs. At one point I returned home convinced that Dad had turned the corner. But it wasn’t to be. I got “the call” the next day. We buried him with military honors five days later.

I never thought it was possible to cry so much, but I have. I may have my game face on, but I’m still a wreck underneath. My Mom is so strong. She’s held up remarkably well for a woman who was married to the same man for 54 years. And my brother Kevin has been solid as a rock. I miss my Dad terribly, we all do. But we’re carrying on with the support of family and friends.

Thank you Dad! For all that you were, for all that you gave to me. My Mom says the apple hasn’t fallen far from the tree. I can only hope that that's true.

There’s a sign tacked to a ceiling beam at the Marshall Hotel (a favorite hangout of rafters and kayakers) in The Forks that reads, “Live Well, Laugh Often, Love Much.” They’re words to live by. And for the New Year that’s just hours away, I’ve promised myself--and Dad--to do a whole lot more of that.

For 27 years now, hikers along the Appalachian Trail in Maine have been stopping in at Shaw's Boarding Home in Monson for a good meal, a warm bunk and a hot shower. Owners Keith and Pat Shaw have been nothing less than legendary for their hospitality up and down the 2,000 mile long trail, and many thousands of hikers have fond memories of their stay at Shaw's, myself included. I'm saddened to hear the news that our good trail friend Keith Shaw passed away on December 7th.

I first met the Shaw's during my AT thru-hike in 1977, their first year of operation. I spent two nights there, eating huge home-style meals at breakfast and dinner, all cooked with love by Pat; sitting around the kitchen table during the day, chewing the fat with Keith; and watching TV at night with the Shaw family as well as the other hikers. I couldn't have felt more at home. And that's how the Shaw's wanted it.

I've been back to visit too few times over the years since my hike, the last in 1998. Keith and Pat always recognized me from that first group of hikers who came and stayed that first year (and maybe too because they remember me as the one who didn't pull in the shower curtain during my shower and flooded the kitchen downstairs while hikers were having breakfast!).

Keith and Pat and I always got around to talking about the trail--it has been the center of their existence after all--and how things have changed since the "early days." Our reminiscing would inevitably lead to digging through their archive of hiker register books, searching for '1977'. And we would thumb through to find my entry, written in purple ink, and signed the "Bangor Mainiac" (my trail name), and would end up crying over the fond memories of the trail experience and the wonderful people who made it so. Keith and Pat Shaw will always be at the top of that list.

Thank you Keith and Pat Shaw for all you have done for the AT trail community over the years. We will miss you Keith. Pat, our hearts go out to you and your family.

Marty Rogers, a long-time outdoor friend of mine, passed away from cancer on September 1, 2004.

Marty loved to hike, to climb mountains, to rock and ice climb. And that's how I knew him. I rarely ever saw him in town. It was always on a trip somewhere, toting a heavy backpack of gear up some mountain, or on the end of rope scrambling up a steep rock face.

Marty was a strong, quiet man with an infectious smile and an optimistic attitude, which spread to all those around him. His optimism was still with him a few months back when I shared a beer with him at the Great Lost Bear after a MOAC meeting. He knew the end was in sight and plainly said so. But he refused to give in to the disease that was taking him down.

I recall a hike we did together over Saddleback Mountain a few years back with friends from MOAC. We camped the first night at a renegade site just above Poplar Ridge. I remember coming over to Marty's camp in the evening and seeing him sitting comfortably on the ground next to his slick one-man tent, dressed warmly in Gore-Tex, and crouching over his fancy stove cooking dinner. He was as happy as can be, a real mountain man. And that's how I'll always remember him.

I'll miss you Marty. We all will. My thoughts and prayers go out to your family and friends.