Honed. Rich Slater
was elsewhere. I’d been basically satisfied, even though I’d expected a bit more of a challenge. Robbie, on the other hand, was convinced that the climbs were too easy, the rappels not steep enough, and everything was too low. He was fixated on ever greater heights and difficulty. The highlight of the course would be the next day’s free rappel off the big overhanging cliff, but I could tell Robbie was looking beyond. Robbie was already talking about summits and putting the skills we had been introduced to into serious application.
As I sat there next to him, it reminded me of something that happened when Robbie and I were in fourth grade. The next door neighbors got a trampoline. My brothers and I lined up to take our turns but, after a couple of times bouncing, Robbie grew bored of waiting and went back to our house. A short time later he returned and declared it would be far more exciting, rather than standing around waiting to jump on the tramp, to jump off the roof. We immediately followed Robbie back to our house, the group’s collective interest in the tramp overshadowed, at least temporarily, by the anticipation of perhaps witnessing a leg being broken. From the fence, Robbie climbed to the roof and appeared above us. He inched to the edge, as the crowd below loudly admonished him that holding onto the gutters would somehow constitute “cheating.” Robbie jumped, hit the ground with a thump and rolled on the grass as we watched in disbelief. I went up and jumped off as well, though the real admiration rightly belonged to my twin who went first and, in so doing, inspired others to follow. In this case it was just me, but as time went on he inspired many others as well. Robbie was not content with the trampoline and, more specifically, with waiting in line to do something every other kid in the neighborhood could do. I followed, but Robbie led the way.
During that year of fourth grade, we lived in Salt lake City, Utah. Our house was in a new development built at the base of the mountains flanking the western edge of the city. We were on the last street, so our yard literally backed up into the mountains. My brothers and I spent hours, regardless of the weather, hiking, playing and exploring. We had forts, racetracks for our bikes and our own ski runs. Nearby was a large outcropping of granite near the top of steep slope. On it was painted a large “H” for Highland, the local high school. We were warned by the neighborhood kids about exploring it as high school kids patrolled it to keep non-students away. We ended up going anyway, of course. From its base, the huge black vertical sides of the H rose above us. There was so much paint poured on the rocks it looked like it had been covered with smooth black lava. Looking around, we were the only ones there-no patrolling high school kids.
“I’m gonna climb it,” Robbie stated, and started up. As usual, I followed.
The next morning at the Exum school, we again separated into small groups, each with an instructor. As the group left the staging area near the boat dock, Robbie led the hike up the trail to the cliffs. At first I entertained thoughts of passing him, but ended up having to settle for being in front of everyone but him. Over the years, I would spend many miles behind Robbie on the hikes, trying to match him step-for-step along rocky mountain trails. I usually did a pretty good job, though always from behind.
Once we arrived at our climbing area, we found that the climbs were more challenging and we got to use more of the equipment. For Paul, it was quite satisfying, though in keeping with his personality, he didn’t say much. For me, it was a great, exhilarating experience. I was happy to have had done it and, for that matter, to able to now say I had.
“This is so cool,” I said to my twin, who nodded in agreement as his face lit up with his big grin, but at the top of each pitch, it was apparent to me that Robbie’s appetite for a steeper, more challenging route remained unsatisfied. In fact, he was hungrier for it now than he had been when we started the class. For him, there just seemed to be no better combination than height, exposure and difficulty. I didn’t know the word at the time, but right in front of my eyes Robbie had become insatiable in his desire to climb.
At long last, it was Robbie’s turn for the free rappel. As he roped up, I couldn’t help but notice the shine on his face, outlined by his thick mop of hair. We all grew it the same way and had it as long and wild as Mom and Dad would let us. In contrast the students who had gone before, Robbie backed towards the ledge with a single-minded purposefulness which demonstrated a total absence of fear. I think everyone watching, including the instructors, was impressed. Grudgingly, perhaps, I was too.
“Be sure and lean back, especially at the edge,” the instructor counseled as he has done with all the students.
At the end of the precipice, Robbie felt the knife edge of the ledge under his arches as he bent his knees, pressing on the rock in a challenge of strength. Leaning back, slowly allowing the rope to slide through the ‘biner, Robbie knew his next step would be his last before reaching the ground some 60 feet below. Coiling like a rattlesnake, he launched himself backwards and opened his right arm, freeing the rope of friction. For a fleeting instant, the sky’s vault opened. Robbie glimpsed the heavens, then only rock. I saw his face, joyfully intense and happy, before he disappeared below. This time I was definitely impressed. Robbie’s first arc didn’t stop until about 20 feet below the ledge. No one else had flown nearly that far. He felt the give in the rope as he bounced and swung, slowly beginning to spin.
Robbie did not want to stop but, unfortunately for him, he was obligated to land. Opening his arm, Robbie slid down the rope, periodically checking his speed, stopping to enjoy the bouncing, swaying and twirling caused by the interruption of his downward flight. For Robbie, being airborne was clearly an unrivaled sensation. Upon landing, like the others before him, he was greeted with a congratulatory cheer.
“I want to do it again.” Robbie was dead serious – especially for a 12-year-old. Part of him may have just wanted to show the group that he really wasn’t afraid to do it again. Just about everyone had expressed at least a feigned desire to go back up, but most probably found the experience terrifying and were, in truth, glad it was over. I would have done it again but didn’t press the issue, but Robbie truly wanted to go back up. I think it had more to do with him wanting to prove something to himself and push himself further rather than showing off for or trying to impress anyone else. There was a palpable difference between the way Robbie reacted compared to me and the rest of the students. Standing there watching, Salt Lake City flashed through my mind — when he jumped off the roof in fourth grade, or led the assault on the “H.” As he did then, Robbie had again separated himself from the pack.
Rockefeller Memorial Parkway runs parallel to the Teton Range through Moose Flats and skirts the Jackson Lake Dam before turning east to Moran Junction. As our station wagon was loaded, we claimed our seats for the first leg of the journey home. Robbie made sure he got the window seat in the back, behind Dad, which provided him the best and longest-lasting unobstructed view of the Tetons.
It was always awe-inspiring looking at the Tetons; they’re not the most photographed mountains in the world for nothing. I saw him wondering how its cliffs compared to those he had just conquered with so little difficulty. In my mind’s eye, I could see Robbie on the highest summit, at the edge of the cauldron, dreaming of diving in, or up. I knew he would be back and that, someday, he would stand on the top of every one of the Teton summits and get the chance to fly.
But Robbie was doing more than just enjoying a spectacular natural view. With face close to the glass, he studied the peaks, the Grand Teton in particular. They seemed so far away and he was clearly sad to be leaving. Robbie gazed longingly and knowingly at his newfound love as if he had realized and was now set to develop a relationship he knew would get serious. There was also the component of risk, excitement and adrenaline that came with the courting. He had felt it when he was on a particularly steep or difficult section of a route. He felt it when he had gone to the edge of the ledge on the big free rappel. Robbie discovered an important part of himself those two summer days in 1972. It was an arrival for him but also marked a departure. I wanted to follow, but I was unsure how far…
Robbie, left, Paul and Richie
Rob, Paul, Tom, Sis and Rich