Letters: A Brief Moment

I was transported back to my own recent excursion to Lhasa by Pico Iyer's stirring contribution to your collection of essays on seminal outdoor experiences ("Give Me a Moment," October). His descriptions evoked a slew of sensory images — the Potala Palace glowing golden in the sun, the prayer flags snapping in the wind, the salty taste of buttered tea, the palette of colors vivid enough to taste, the corners where recent centuries have yet to penetrate. We imagine Tibetans to be a go-with-the-flow bunch, but chafing against the Chinese occupation is evident in their spitting in the wake of machine-gun-toting soldiers and in their still undiluted spirituality. My experience, and Iyer's account of his own, are proof that when you explore the world, you never know what you'll find.

I returned home from the New York Public Library last week inspired by the evening: Andrea Barrett reading by lectern lamp from her new novel, The Voyage of the Narwhal, as slides of brilliant ice and crystalline sky filled a huge screen. How wonderful to then turn to the October issue and discover her essay, "Breathing Under Ice." Barrett is so at one in the moment — and takes her reader there so artfully — that her piece should have been entitled "Breathing with the Ice."

Not-So-Bon Voyage

One thousand days on a sailboat without ever coming ashore ("Extra Socks-Check. French Girlfriend-Check. Three-Year Supply of Kitty Litter-Um ... Check," Dispatches, October)? I don't think so. At the very least, Reid Stowe is going to have to put into port to let his girlfriend off the boat — unless his bizarre ways cause her to jump ship first. I'd wager that by the time he finishes a round of tantric yoga, paints his body, and pulls on his dragon mask for his first shaman dance, she'll be out of there. If ever there were a perfect candidate for the "Around Alone" race, this guy is it.

Another Belay, Another Dollar

I'm saddened that your writer chose to focus on the sponsorship I receive as if it were somehow improper ("Hi, My Name Is Hans. Now Gimme My Check," Dispatches, September). I have sponsors and I work to get them; it's the only way I've found to make a career out of climbing, and I think it's nothing to be ashamed of. As for the Pacific Ceiling Tour, you failed to get some facts straight: Neither Black Diamond nor Marmot gave us any money. In fact, we received no cash support for our adventure.

In Too Deep?

Paul Kvinta's story about Francisco "Pipin" Ferreras Rodriguez ("Is Time Running Out for the Mythic Man-Fish?" October) was truly a fascinating portrait of a man with multiple personalities: athlete, showman, and aquatic freak. Kvinta's incisive reporting reveals the plain truth about the man-fish. Namely, that although his drive to push the limits of freediving is undeniably admirable, apparently the repeated lack of oxygen has gone to this guy's head.

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