To Kevin, you will be missed.

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.