I first met RD some thirty years ago, and knew him as climbing and skiing companion, raconteur, advocate for Yosemite, and leading spirit of the Alpine club among other roles. But perhaps his greatest role was as a friend to many, many people. He liked involving people; above all he wanted to get them in the mountains.

I made many wonderful trips with RD. One of the first was to Shiprock in the mid 1970s. At that time climbing was strictly forbidden by the Navajo; of course, this only made it more attractive to us. Common wisdom had it that you must sneak in and sneak out without being seen. RD had some acquaintance who lived relatively close by, (RD seemed to know people all over the country). This guy dropped us off at the rock under cover of darkness and drove away. As we approached the top, the climb was enlivened when a pickup truck stopped at the foot and a Navajo got out and peered up. We froze against the rock. Next day the plan was to hike to the highway, avoiding all roads. It seemed like a good idea judging by the Texaco road map RD had brought for the purpose. But what the map did not show were the vast canyons that opened up as we headed out. We stared at this desperate terrain in disbelief. We gave up this plan in a hurry and walked along the road, expecting to get hauled in by the locals. In the end a woman and her son picked us up and delivered us from an uncertain fate.

The Shiprock trip however was just precursor to a wonderful social event so typical of RD’s imagination. He arranged an unforgettable evening at the home of his mentor and friend Raffi Bedayn, which in addition to Raffi himself included Shiprock pioneers Dave Brower and Dick Leonard, at which the Shiprock film was shown. (Dick Leonard was to have been part of the team, so he assured us, but went to a Sierra Club board meeting or some such. Dedication to the cause!).

In the 1970s Allen Steck and Steve Roper were researching their book “Fifty Classic Climbs.” RD and I concocted a Canadian Rockies campaign, where the East Ridge of Mt. Temple (which made it into the book) and the Bedayn route on Snowpatch Spire in the nearby Bugaboos stand out. RD and I both made several attempts on Mt Robson over the years. And we both eventually got up the damn thing. A story that RD often told in my presence concerns this Rockies trip and our getting lost on the approach to Robson. This was somewhat embarrassing as I had written the climbing guide to the region! As we wandered about looking for the trail, we spotted some climbers descending some distance away. “How did you find the trail,” we asked? “Oh, no problem,” they said, producing the guidebook I had authored, “we just followed the description. Here, you can borrow it.” I never lived this down in RD’s eyes. When we did get to the hut, there was a heat inversion, and the ominous seracs were dripping water. Another Robson trip busted, but we had a wonderful time.

It so happened that RD and I had planned an Orizaba climb for late December in 1980. By good luck I got married just before the trip, so RD’s wife Susan and my new wife Sharon made up the party. This trip was just superb, but somehow the myth persists that I invited RD and Susan on our honeymoon. Another cross to bear.

There were many weekend trips to Yosemite, with the usual hassles over finding a place to camp. For some years our favorite was the “Ahwahnee Annex.” It was in the grounds of the hotel, and thus overcame the dilemma of the “out of bounds” camper : that of being given away by a parked car. Breakfasts were excellent, the washroom appreciated for shaving and general cleaning up, and we even had the occasional dinner. Coat and tie mandatory in those days.

In the Sierra Nevada we endured a freezing unplanned bivouac on Temple Crag after we summitted the fabulous Sunribbon Arete. On the Southeast Face of Clyde Minaret everything was perfect. And so it went on.

In his generous memoir Steve Roper talks of RD’s battles with menus, and the difficulty of making up one’s mind. I can shed some light on this behavior. It stems from his friendship with the British climbers Dave Potts and Nick Escourt. Dave Potts had the habit of always waiting until his mealtime companion made up his mind. He previously experienced much anxiety because he invariably felt his companion made the better choice. By waiting until he knew what the other was ordering, he explained, he would never be disappointed because his meal was inferior.

This February, just a month before his deparature for Makalu, RD proposed a ski trip into Yosemite’s back country. Up Snow Creek Trail to Lake Tenaya; to Clouds Rest summit, then down to the Half Dome Trail and Nevada Falls. “Okay, I’ll bring a tent and cook set. Can you get the maps?” “Yes, no problem” RD replied. Had I thought back to our map incident on Shiprock, I might have had some misgivings. But no, as we progressed the maps came out. The weather turned worse, a couple of feet of snow fell overnight, and we now had to navigate by compass in falling snow. Pretty soon we left the map quadrangle we were on. “RD ¯ do you have the next map?” Unfazed, he whipped out the Yosemite Park tourist brochure we’d picked up at the entrance station and pointed to its ridiculous map. Needless to say we were soon hopelessly lost. We ended up close under the south face of Half Dome (a major mistake), and had to climb down a series of rock steps, lowering our skis and packs down as best we could. We skied until dusk and set up camp. Next day, now overdue, RD hit an unseen rock, took a spill and cut his forehead. We stopped the blood, bandaged him up, and off we went. At a lunch stop the battered RD handed out smoked oysters. “This is so great” he said, grinning from ear to ear.

And so it was. Thank you RD for all the great times that so many of us have shared with you. We’ll have to carry on without you now. In closing, I am reminded of a letter that Ernest Hemingway wrote to close friends on the death of a young son: “It is not so bad for Baoth, because he had a fine time, always, and he has only done something now that we all must do.”

- Chris Jones