So where have you gone now RD? Into the swirling mountain mists, onto the knife-edge ridges, up the ever-beckoning endless couloirs and granite-steel buttresses flying up into the sun, along the dusty trails, into the greasy spoons, through the green meadows, and to any of the many other places on the road we shared with you? Yet, these moments we had with you are more than just recollections. They are a rich collage of sights and sounds, camaraderie and meaning that touched us and changed us, and thus became an everlasting bond between us.

I met RD in 1970, thirty two years ago at the impressionable age of 15. I was a sophomore in high school and an aspiring climber, having just returned from a family summer vacation to the Tetons where I was awestruck and captivated by my first sighting of the Grand and where I happened on an introductory climbing (rappelling!) class at the Exum Climbing School. An older schoolmate and co-conspirator climber, Eric (there were three of us in a high school class of 1,600 students), had befriended RD while seeking climbing partners during his first summer climbing trip to the Tetons. RD was in transition. He had finished a stint in the Army and he rode into town on a trusty VW Bug that had seen (and would see) more miles than it ever bargained for. RD was moving to Berkeley, one of mid-century’s centers of social revolution, from the flatlands of Kansas and the army, after having been bitten by the bug of the mountains – the high and wild places of earth and spirit -- to begin a new chapter of life and an MBA program at UCB. A richer, more curious constellation of life circumstances is hard to imagination.

So, in the Fall of 1970, Eric, myself, and a third friend, Michael, rode over to Berkeley to meet Eric’s army friend from Kansas, RD, who wanted to learn how to climb. So did we, and we became a curious foursome of fast friends. We began training on Berkeley’s boulders and Lucas Valley’s Big Rock, and sipping cappuccinos at the Café Renaissance and Peets. It was the beginning of many weekend trips to Yosemite (often courtesy of RD’s VW Bug!!) where we all struggled up the numerous standard training routes. Now, RD was not exactly a “natural” rock climber, but he had perseverance and passion that would not quit. He had heart. These qualities made him an invaluable climbing partner, particularly back in those last years of adventure climbing. Over time, his perseverance also paid off with technical competence on the rock. But rock climbing per se was not RD’s passion nor technical competence his main goal. Cultivating and basking in the pure joy of climbing and camaraderie were his main motivations. Soon, RD was setting out for the high and wild places and reveling in the freedom of the hills -- that rarefied elixir that has drawn so many of us to the mountains for so long.

Ultimately, RD’s path led him to Makalu. Others have chronicled different parts of that route. Much of our climbing was done in Berkeley and Yosemite Valley from 1970 to 1973, with less frequency through 1980. Highlights of the early years include the center route of the water course and the overhang at Indian Rock (major personal best breakthroughs!), Lower and Higher Cathedral Spires (two of the supreme Yosemite classics), Bishop’s Terrace (before nuts and cams), Phantom Pinnacle, numerous Tuolumne climbs, an epic 24-hour climb and moonlight finish of the regular route of North Dome from Berkeley, the Royal Arches, the Nutcracker, Arrowhead Spire-South Arête, etc. During the summer of 1973, our mountaineering imagination got the better of us with an overly ambitious but fitting adventure that included a couple of early morning runs around Seattle’s Green Lake, a mass assault of Fuerer’s Finger on Mt. Rainer with twelve of RD’s friends from around the country, an aborted attempt to hike into and climb Mt. Waddington (no one told us about creeks the size of the Mississippi or berry patches and bogs that extended for miles in all directions), and a successful walk up the regular route of Mt. Baker.

By 1978, with an impending marriage (mine) and with the alarming trend of too much time increasingly being eaten up by school and normal life, an El Cap route was long overdue. Spurred on by a logic that only made sense at the time, we chose an early Spring ascent of the Nose. Unfortunately, too many little things conspired towards a decision made on the infamous Sickle Ledge to postpone the ascent before barely getting off the ground. There were dark clouds. The haul bags were really heavy, but the imposing challenge of the Captain (read terror) himself on three aspiring wall rats also had something to do with it!

Some of my other adventures with RD were also ill fated from a summit point of view, but they were rich in adventure and camaraderie. After a number of adversities on a 1974 winter ascent of Mt. Clark, including low snow pack, a new approach route from Glacier Point, my three-pinned cross-country wooden skis without skins, we managed to reach the steep apex of the northwest ridge. While attempting a section of rock (in my X-country ski shoes) that should have been easy work, I found myself terrified and frozen on a set of holds overhanging the 1,000-foot-plus exposure of the north face. With a 9 mm rope and few courage-building points of protection, I backed off. Now it was up to RD. To my astonishment, he pulled through the initial overhanging moves like a champion and got past the hard rock section. All that was left to do was to claw our way up the low fifth-class ridge that, to our surprise, was laced with ice! Without adequate ice gear (we’d gone light!), RD began to contemplate the infinite uses of his Swiss Army knife, and as much as both of us could taste the summit, rationality prevailed. This pleased me immensely if for no other reason than I did not have a Swiss Army knife. We descended, disheartened about the summit, but happy to be in this glorious place. The day was still young. The sun sparkled on the snow. Brown rock ridges and spires punctuated a deep blue sky as far as the eye could see. Even with our failed summit bid, we were rewarded with the riches of the high and wild places.

Such rewards were present also during an aborted attempt of Mt. Mendel Couloir. The approach had ravaged me due to a lack of conditioning and the altitude. A half-pitched tent, light snow, a head ache and difficulty breathing the next morning did not make matters any better. But these were just the normal conditions of mountaineering, right? So off we went. The light snow without wind made surreal magic of the terrain. However, a pitch up from the bergshrund, with snowfall increasing and my courage and strength fading, RD graciously offered to turn back, as magical as it was and as much as he wanted to continue. The hike out was a torture I’d rather not repeat, but the moments of magic and RD’s camaraderie shine through to this day.

Curiously, RD and I may have had our most successful adventure climb, and possibly first ascent (1971), on a minor southeastern spur of Mt. Conness. It was early in the summer. Snow was everywhere. We were out with Les Wilson for some general adventuring and spied a route from Finger Lake during breakfast. Off we went, mountaineering boots, crampons and ice axes and all. Soon we were on classic rock with ridges shooting up into the blue sky and sun. The first pitch went at low fifth class. The second put us below a 30-foot face split by an imposing crack. A tricky traverse out to the crack reminiscent of Little John in mountaineering boots led to a few barely executable moves (5.8) and we’re at the belay. A couple more pitches of low fifth-class and fourth-class climbing led to the top of the spur and the long connecting ridge to Mt. Conness. As we surveyed northern Yosemite from our summit, the strain of a first ascent, our modest skills, and the altitude created that lethargy of mind and body so familiar to climbers. Time slowed, and for those few eternal moments, the top of the spur seemed like the top of the world, and even a preview of summit moments of hoped for future climbs and times and places.

In addition to climbing, RD’s appetite for camaraderie and his gregarious nature led him to many of the world’s mountain centers and friendships with many of the Bay Area’s and world’s great climbers. Through his role in the AAC, he became an international ambassador for climbing (and general goodwill among people!). Although I was not as inclined as RD to organizational settings, such as the AAC, I appreciated the opportunity to meet, climb with, and befriend some of these climber friends of RD’s. I have RD to thank for that richness in my life too. Beyond climbing, there were the little things like helping us find our first Berkeley apartment in 1975, regular pre-breakfast runs through the grey early morning streets of Berkeley, coffee at Peets, beers at the Albatross at RD’s Kangchenjunga Table, spaghetti dinners with Susie, after-dinner bouldering . . . .

So RD, where have you gone now? Into the swirling mountain mists and beyond. Good bye RD. We’ll miss you and always remember you.

Your friend,
Scott Edmondson
June 2002