Issue one

Dear reader,

A thalweg is the deepest part of a canyon, the primary navigable channel of a waterway, a boundary between two formations where the current is strongest. This little zine grew out of the same currents: down there at the bottom of canyon walls where water meets bedrock in a river’s sweep, where many of us have come to love wilderness. After guiding on the Salmon and Snake rivers for ten years, I wanted to build a space where those of us who like to memorize the names of native plants or the kinds of bugs fish like to eat could share creative work. Those of us who understand the seasons according to the dusty smell of harvesting wheat, or celebrate the returning of our favorite bird species in spring—we are full of poetry. I deeply believe in the honesty found in creative work and the power of storytelling. I wanted to build a venue where folks from rural and wild landscapes could share the strange and beautiful ways they metabolize the landscapes we call home.

Alongside my good friend Dory Athey, I began to build the dynamic structure of what The Thalweg might be. We wanted a publication that exhibited inclusive politics, one that was beautiful and full of good humor. We wanted a publication that featured a wide range of contributors and mediums, from professional artists and writers to amateur or newly emerging creatives—a space where you could read a poem by an admired writer and see your friend’s work in the space of a few pages. We wanted to explore what wild landscapes mean as lived-in places, rather than as an aesthetic, that is “nature” conceptualized as something apart from us. Perhaps we were attempting to feel the inspiration, to feel how those places shape us. Too, we started with a vision of people reading aloud to each other—maybe around a fire or in some poorly insulated structure during a rainstorm. Mostly, in the end, we wanted the publication defined by its contributors. We were interested in the physical manifestation of interactions with a creative’s own physical landscape, whatever it may be. Those ideas grew into what you will find in these pages.

The contributors who make up our first issue are guides, beekeepers, poets, fisherpeople, photographers, boaters, care- takers, carpenters, illustrators, climbers, academics, and trail crew. They share an ardor for the places they live, work, and play. We are honored to share their work in this publication.

When The Thalweg was still a tadpole, we did not expect to be navigating an international pandemic. We did not expect to need to learn pandemic-era protest and resistance strategies amid a groundswell of racial justice activism. We were knowingly underprepared to step back into an election season akin to primetime TV dramas. We ultimately decided it was important to push through and print The Thalweg. As we grow legs, we hope this zine brings it’s readers a little light in the chaos. We hope to continue to build this creative venue where future contributors and readers can find each other.

I wrote this poem years ago and often revisit it, sometimes tucking it into love letters to friends. Here, it resonates as I continue to feel grateful to be amongst the folks who make up this first issue of The Thalweg:

To the wild hearted lonely souls
To the stone fitted beaten toes wind tangled desert lilies and rocky thistles home sweet home

In Wooden boats
a drummer’s tone
moves to beats of rushing to heart swell deep breath in chest

take the weight in water’s push carry a burden
cracked by sun

To be wild hearted
is to know
only past a lover’s nose

I bite all my nails when the end begins wind and thistle beats and stones.

—Seneca Kristjonsdottir | Founding Editor | October 2020