Appalachia, Winter/Spring 2007
Probably no mountain death in the past decade has caused as much mental probing as that of Guy Waterman on Mount Lafayette on February 6, 2000. It was not the usual mountain tragedy caused by an overreaching hiker. It was not the slippage of grip upon ice or rock. It was not the result of a sudden overwhelming storm. It was a 67-year-old man’s carefully planned suicide in frigid conditions on a mountain he knew well.
As many have written compellingly, Guy Waterman was a man of many talents—mountaineer, writer, conservationist, jazz pianist, and homesteader. To the mountain community, he was an icon who could hike or climb on rock, trail, ice, or snow. He could bushwhack, usually faster than others, and he welcomed the onslaught of a strong north wind and ferocious blizzard. Above all, he cared for the land—especially the alpine regions of the northeastern United States. His prime concern was that the growing band of hikers and climbers appreciate and care for the fragile land on which they placed their feet.
He enjoyed the deep kinship of many friends and the devotion of his wife, Laura. The couple met rock-climbing in the Shawangunks in the late 1960s. Laura, a writer and editor in New York City, left New York with Guy to buy land in East Corinth, Vermont. They built a simple wood house, established a large garden, tapped a grove of sugar maples, and lived without running water for 27 years. They wrote the books Backwoods Ethics (Stone Wall Press, 1979), Wilderness Ethics (Countryman Press, 1993), and the historic Forest and Crag (Appalachian Mountain Club Books, 1989). Today, Laura lives and writes in a log house a few miles from the former homestead. Her excellent memoir, Losing the Garden (Shoemaker & Hoard), was published in 2005.
After Guy Waterman died, a small group of his friends, looking for a way to memorialize him, established the Waterman Fund to preserve the alpine regions that were so important to Guy and Laura. As one of the founders, Peter Forbes, said, “I saw a need more than ever for Guy and Laura’s wilderness ethics. As a New Englander, I was not willing to lose the work of such an important New England voice.” Forbes made the initial gift that launched the fund, whose one purpose struck me, so that I want to set it out here:
To combine education and hands-on stewardship to preserve the high mountain summits and the alpine areas of the Northeast.
Their dedication to this task raised more than the goal of $250,000 for the endowment by the end of 2005. More than 400 people have contributed to the fund. The endowment, by conservative estimates, should produce a minimum of $10,000 annually for awards, grants, and other alpine endeavors. The eight-member board often meets at Laura Waterman’s house, which she and Guy planned after she knew he would leave for his last mountain trip. Their meetings are congenial and yet highly focused on their goal. This dedication to this work points to the personal magnetism of Guy Waterman, even six years after his death.
Trying to Understand Waterman’s Magnetism
I cannot go on to the tale of the Waterman Fund without first considering my prime question in many conversations I had with Guy’s friends. That is, How could he have exerted such a powerful force on the thinking and living of so many people? I met Guy Waterman once, briefly, on Franconia Ridge, without any conversation. But I knew of his hold on many people who were drawn to his independent way of life, his conversations about politics, history, and his devotion to preserving wilderness lands. His strong personal magnetism mystified me. I asked many of his friends about it.
Two of his closest friends wrote to me. Doug Mayer, a hiker and writer who lives in Randolph, New Hampshire, called Guy “a confounding mix of selflessness and self-absorption. I don’t think Guy saw the latter because of his depression. I think he lived two simultaneous lives—an internal one that was off limits to his loved ones and friends, and the external, selfless, outgoing, generous Guy.”
- By Fred Stott
The full text of this story may be found in the Winter/Spring 2007 issue of Appalachia.
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