Food

When I was a kid, the Connecticut River was my Yukon. I spent many days working alongside the river or canoeing its islands and backwaters in search of crabs, snapper, blues, ducks and alewives—amazing silvery fish that brave the depths of the Atlantic to feed and grow and then return… Read More

At my margarita deck party here on the Solstice, of which I remember little, Tommy C had told Scotty D that this one obscure crag had three good routes, each a number grade apart. Scotty thinks he might have remembered that they went left to right, easy to hard. Read More

When JT and I were in the desert of Algeria, our Touareg guides, after preparing an elaborate four-course meal for the two of us, would prepare their own and then eat it from a single big bowl. They’d sit on the ground, in a tight little circle, each… Read More