It has been a few days since I heard about the accident. A few of us had gathered in southeast Idaho,
climbing outside of Arco. It was a standard
relaxed morning, waiting for the walls to go into the shade, when another climber
named Ian turned to me and asked me if I knew a Kevin Volkening. I replied that of course I did, I had in fact
gone to high school with him. Ian’s
reply to this was the last thing I was expecting, the news that he had died in
an accident. Things fell silent; it was
the worst thing possible.
Climbers are a strange bunch. To someone who doesn’t climb, it is
impossible to explain why. It is
dangerous, it has no social benefit, and can largely appear to be entertainment. But for those who do climb it is just the
thing that more or less controls our lives.
Somewhere between religion and obsession, we find ourselves directing
our lives so that we can climb as much as possible. It drives us to improve and explore and
challenge ourselves in a way that other pursuits haven’t.
So like most climbers this Labor Day weekend, Kevin headed
to Wyoming, and I had headed to Idaho, both of us more than excited to get an
extra day this weekend to get away. It
is the thing we both loved to do. And
then…
Every time an accident such as this happens it is felt
throughout the climbing community. It is
a small community, and the more time you spend climbing the more you realize
this. Everyone knows everyone, and it is
impossible to not feel grief because even if you didn’t know them directly, at
least some of your friends did, and you know that they had been bitten by the
same climbing obsession that drives you.
Nobody goes out to climb wanting to die, they just want to feel fulfillment
in life.
I never climbed with Kevin thought, I knew him from
before. I had heard he’d started
climbing a few years ago and from the first time I read his blog I could tell he
was hooked. When he moved to Salt Lake
City I was living in Logan – a mere 90 minutes apart – and we even talked about
getting together and climbing. But as
things go, we both had jobs, we both had our own climbing goals we were
motivated by, and we never made it happen, never knowing there wouldn’t be
enough time.
The first thing I remember about Kevin is laughing with
him. He was hilarious and rambunctious. Always a positive presence and always excited
about life, he loved it and he knew how to live it. I miss you more than words can say. We’ll share a belay in the next life.
