Time Passes All

News of someone’s passing seems to come up every day. None of us will live forever. My mind wanders a bit each day, and the news of an old colleague, friend, ally, brother, or amigo passing away snaps me back to reality.

The name George brings to mind my dad, brother, and George Costa. I met George at my first TU meeting. TU members can be divided into three groups: those who proudly display their TU stickers on their cars, those who attend meetings for social reasons, and those like George—people who talk the talk and walk the walk. George was friendly, warm-hearted, and dedicated to uniting people in a common cause.

I moved away and became less active in TU, but I still miss the monthly Red Quill, George’s passion project. Despite his sometimes misguided efforts, George was always honest, and his results were never bad. Throughout his life, George was an honest man. He spent countless hours documenting our chapters’ history through his photographs and nights at town hall meetings, collaborating with the town and DEC to bring stalled projects to fruition.

Thank you, George, for your time, the young people you mentored, and your efforts to recruit new leadership in our chapter. We have a picture of George hanging in our home office, showing someone how to cast a fly rod. 

Tight lines

Tales from the Fun Tube: "Tengo Hambre"

There was once a wanderer named Tengo Hambre—not because he lacked food, but because he craved something deeper: wilderness, wonder, and a world made better.

He wasn’t famous in the way most think of fame. He didn’t seek followers, but found them anyway—in kids learning to care for creeks, in friends who joined his impromptu trash pickups, in neighbors who were nudged toward the trailhead instead of the TV.

He earned his trail name on the Appalachian Trail, where he learned that hunger wasn’t always about the belly. Sometimes it was a hunger for mountains, rivers, stories, and silence.

He floated the icy Smith River with a grin, braving rapids and quiet eddies alike. He hiked sections of the PCT with calloused feet and a wide open heart, teaching with his steps and resting only when the sun did.

One night, high in the wild, he lay down in his tent and never woke up. But that wasn’t a tragedy. It was a finale in tune with his spirit—a gentle closing of a life lived with intention, grit, and grace.

And the lesson he leaves is not complicated.

We do what we do not because it’s easy, or because someone tells us to. We do it because something inside us calls—and if we listen, really listen—that call becomes a compass.

Tengo Hambre never stopped hungering for that better world. And in walking his path, he helped blaze ours.