For the love of the mountains

We were unlikely friends, Rob fresh from the military and the Gulf war, me anti-arms, anti-war. But we had a big thing in common: our love of the outdoors, our love of the mountains. "Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees" said Muir. We hiked many trails of Olympic National Park and Rainier National Park together, spent a few new year's eves in the snow watching moon rise over Mt Rainier. We told each other many stories of hikes, rides, climbs, outdoor adventures we so cherished. Bringing our respective partners along, we enjoyed nature together. Our jobs were so different. Rob was selling ski gear and did not like to hear me talk about the loss of snowpack due to climate change. Last January he was chiding me for having announced a La Nina winter when the snowpack was still thin in Washington state. Two months later heavy frequent snowfalls made him buy me a pint, La Nina had come and the ski season was great. He was also selling backpacks, hiking boots and climbing gear and was genuinely concerned about the quality of the natural environment. In a few hours, I will join his family and a handful of his closest friends to share happy memories of when our lives crossed paths. Rob was climbing Liberty Ridge on Mt Rainier when the weather turned and hypothermia set in. He stayed with his beloved mountain the same weekend we celebrated the wedding of another mountain climber in the valley. It's the love of nature that makes us all friends despite our differences. It's the love of nature that makes us want to live to enjoy it more. I will not stand at your grave and weep but man, hell of headstone you got now Rob!!

Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush. Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry. I am not there. I did not die. (Poem written in 1932 by Mary Elizabeth Frye)