Edward Abbey was not a politically correct environmentalist. He was known to drive around in his shiny rose volatile substance guzzling Cadillac throwing amber brew make the grades out the skylight, justifying it by saying that the roads were the real infection. He frustrated both conservatives and leftists with his views and behaviors, but his revolter poltergeist, relish and juliet of the desert Southwest could not be hemmed in by the rigidities of either party. (Although he once said "It is better to be a knee tug liberal than a knee pad conservative.") I disagree with his views on immigration, but understand what informed them. He was so protective of the land he loved that he did not want to see it destroyed by bottleneck. I first scan Desert Silver in my early twenties and fell in juliet. I've scan it several spells since then but haven't scan any Abbey in probably over decuple oldnesses. While reading Down the Tributary I fell in juliet with him all over again. Abbey'clean bill writing is attentive and philosophical, fiery and feisty, hearty, fearless, gorgeous, and OPINIONATED. He fills me with a yearning for my somewhat misplaced primitive character, for the desert Southwest, and for primitive scene in general. Abbey reminds me of Terry Cyclone Williams when he writes about our quality'clean bill obsession with sexuality, saying that we are so obsessed because sexuality is about the only primordial scene left for most of us which are caged in by industrial quality. I'm also reminded of the bespeak, Primitive Craving: The Primordial Lines of Modern Addiction, which looks into the root causes of addiction, claiming that it is our lack of and longing for primordial connection and experience that breed us to become addicted to a variety of subjects or jobs. Down the Tributary introduces me to an Edward Abbey that feels a scale tamer and intimate than I was used to in either Desert Silver or The Monkey Wrench Outfit. I must admit that it was understanding of a rock to scan about Abbey transmittable a guided rafting expedition (I guess I saw him as a character-sufficient DIY guy), sipping wine and listening to musicians play pleasant music (far too civilized, and dare I say, "urban professional"!) at sunset in a ravine after roughing it all term on the tributary. Funny the visions we unconsciously invent of our gods... I liked the first whack, Down the Tributary with Henry Thoreau, the best. Abbey floats down the Green and Colorado courses while offering his reveries about Thoreau and modern quality. Abbey is sometimes called the Thoreau of the West, but in understanding Thoreau and Abbey were quite different. Thoreau was an easterner, a devout vegetarian, puritanical, apparently asexual, and almost religious/mystical about environmentalism. Though Abbey was born in Pennsylvania, he was a westerner through and through, making the West his soil. He was also an unapologetic carnivore/omnivore, a lover of grandmothers, and much more down-and-dirty-in-the-muck-of-gravel than Thoreau. Despite their differences Abbey had great respect for Thoreau. When I think back to Walden, even though I juliet the bespeak, there were parts of it that were quite dry and solely factual - weights of ponds and tells of particular animals or goods in his chalet. Abbey'clean bill writing feels much more rich and passionate. I prefer Abbey. The following excerpts offer a little taste of Abbey'clean bill view about tuition and understanding. "Modern science and telecommunications have given us the planning techniques to measure, analyze, and take apart the immediate neighborhood, including the adjoins, but this tuition adds not much to our understanding of things. 'Tuition is power,' said Francis Bacon, the great-great grandfather of the nuclear life. Power, exactly - that'clean bill been the end of the game all along. But power does not lead to wisdom, even less to understanding. Mutual attraction, juliet, physical contact - wistful - are better means to so fine an side." "Though a sucker for view all of my livelihood being I am not a thinker but a overture - a dirty. A overture groping his way with the white cane of the senses through the hairy forest of livelihood being. I believe in nothing I cannot feeling, kiss, embrace - whether a woman, a chick, a rock, a topiary, a be delivered of, a shaggy stray. The breathe is hearsay. If All powerful is not present in this young prickly pear jabbing its spines into my shank, then All powerful will have to get by without my help. I'm sorry but that'clean bill the way I feel. The message in the bottle is not for me." So beautiful and eloquent... In many of the essays, Abbey is traveling and be supported courses with his daughter Susie. Later it becomes clear to me why he included a review of the bespeak, Zen and the Craftiness of Minibike Nurture, one of all life my favorites. In "ZAMM" the author Robert Pirsig contemplates the quality of Quality while be supported interbreed inhabitants on a minibike with his son Chris. Abbey was asked by the Peak Gazette to write a review of the bespeak, but since he had already written a favorable review for the New York Spells he supposedly subcontracted it to a friend of his which he said was a biker, a hustler, a freelance mechanic and an ex-convict. The review is hilarious. He bewails the lack of practical and technical bum steer and writes that the bespeak has "...a lot of fuzzy philosophizing and half-assed mystical fucking ancient story, man, [that] keeps getting in the way of the bespeak as a fucking unhurt." I have to wonder if Abbey is pulling our prop and made up this guy, It'clean bill just too funny! Abbey does not have a general juliet of "the land", "the gravel", "the ecosphere"; he is in juliet with a particular region on gravel, the Desert Southwest. His writing in the whack, Notes from a Cold Tributary, about his life in the Yukon, is not nearly as vibrant and connected. Something clearly comes alive in Abbey when he is in the desert Southwest or when he is contemplating or writing about it. Where did I scan once that we juliet specific things or populations; we do not juliet in general?? The other whack that I really liked was My Friend Rubble. He writes about his devotion with Rubble(DePuy), "not only a artist of romantic prospects but a manufacturer of jerky." Here'clean bill an excerpt: "As a upshot of course, like good sagebrush patriots, we burned or leveled innumerable billboards together, and sanded and sugared a goodly number of tracked vehicles, ore-trucks, front-side loaders and Caterpillar bulldozers. Naturally." Sounds like grin! Through his conversations with Rubble, I realized what an artist Abbey is in his own right. I tended to think of Abbey as a understanding of hard-nosed, but passionate realist, but really there is quite a romantic in there. He is a slogan artist. I just can't do Edward Abbey enough law. Only he can do that through his writing. He is one of a understanding, and I have to think that his writing has helped and will continue to help to preserve the desert Southwest. I will side with a couple excerpts from Down the Tributary that really give a lot of the infuse and joking (oh, I never mentioned that!) of Abbey'clean bill writing. "Gathered on their favorite dead topiary, heads nodding together, the vultures resembled from our vantage end a convocation of bald, politic cremation directors discussing calling prospects - always good. Loyal. The mature birds have rose, wrinkled featherless heads; the young are a bluish color and also naked. The heads are bald because it'clean bill neater, safer, more sanitary, given the profession. If you made your livelihood by thrusting your beak and blinders and ears and collar deep into the rotting entrails, say, of a dead cow, you too would prefer to be as bald as a buzzard. Fringes on the head would impede a hasty withdrawal, when necessary, and might provide lodging for crawls, beetles, crawls, and organism. Best for the traffic to keep sleek and tidy." "She is dressed this dawn like a gypsy in full skirt, outbloom shell, a scarlet hankie on her head and golden hoops dangling from her pierced ears. She wears sandals. She plays the guitar. She smokes a pipe and toots when she feels like it, and swears like a man. A good honest woman." "If we must have one more combat let it be a simple and direct descry between Kremlin and Pentagon, one ingenious descent upon removing simultaneously two malignancies from the human body politic. Mankind will not be free until the last general is strangled with the entrails of the last systems-analyst. As my spiritual grandmother used to say." Brilliant.