"I dream of a hard and brutal mysticism in which the naked self merges with the nonhuman world and somehow survives...Paradox and bedrock."-Edward Abbey

20 November 2012


Every time I visit Clifford Griffin I find myself wondering why he chose to shoot himself at one of the windiest locations in the upper valley. Maybe it was the wind, and not a woman, as some of the stories say. He never answers when I ask. Of course, the fact he's been dead the last one-hundred five years probably has something to do with that.

It wasn't as blustery as it can be at there, and, like last winter, there wasn't a lot of snow on the trail. Milarepa and I sat by the monument enjoying the view, the sun, water, and an apple. She was very excited; the last few times I've been up to hang out with Clifford, Whistler's been with me, but those following along at home know how that's played out.

"You know I'll still see other puppies," I told her. "But out here, on the trail, it's just you and me, kid."


  1. I love being the first to comment. It's like I won a secret contest or something.

    Nice post Robbie. I suppose Milarepa would be thrilled to know she was featured.

    1. Thank you. She was very happy dog all day.

      Now, where did I put those star stickers...?

  2. What month did he shoot himself? Maybe it wasn't a windy month? But if I had to guess, dispair would probably be most present in the mid-winter months.

    1. Okay. Fine! It was June...June nineteenth-remember the hike with Lux?-and June's not as windy as October through April...ish. ;P

      Although, I've been up on that bluff in July without a storm rolling in and it's still pretty breezy. I blame Brown's Gulch for it.