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Harrison
climber
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Oct 30, 2014 - 09:56am PT
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Thank you all so much for the pictures and stories-they are great to hear. Ricky was right, he was always planning for the next route. Talking with him the weekend before he passed we talked about our plans of getting dirt bikes and finding some new cliffs in the Nevada desert. Hearing these old stories is so great because many of them he never told me. I appreciate it all so much! Thank you all!
p.s The issues with his hip was caused by a nasty staff infection that he got while in Yosemite...but the engine story is sooooo much cooler ;)
Kevin-I know that half sleeping bag VERY well- it was my childhood sleeping bag. It has quite the stories to tell!
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Bad Climber
climber
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Oct 30, 2014 - 10:49am PT
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More pics of the master?
BAd
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WBraun
climber
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Oct 30, 2014 - 11:06am PT
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Talking with him the weekend before he passed we talked about our plans of getting dirt bikes
There's no mention anywhere what happened to him except he "passed".
Richard, Yabo and me used to meet in the cafe every morning for standard bullsh!ting sessions.
Richard would generally start on Yabo how he should get his sh!t together.
lol.
What's so funny is none of us really had our sh!t together to begin with .....
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johntp
Trad climber
socal
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Oct 30, 2014 - 11:35am PT
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As we got ready for the summit push, Richard went through our food bag and edited out a few things. He had his back to the void, and pulled out half of a greasy two pound block of cheddar, and without saying a word hucked the thing over his shoulder. I had the time and the tie in to move over to the edge and watch it hit the wall and shower orange nuggets over a party getting an early start on The Salathe.
The next thing out of the bag was a small can of mystery meat which he read the label of with distain. "Beef lips? Tripe?"
Over the shoulder.
Nice!
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redrocker
climber
NV
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Oct 30, 2014 - 11:51am PT
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The morning we woke up on Chickenhead Richard was a bit grumpy. I awoke first and the first thing I saw was him face down, heavily stubbled cheek pressed firmly into the cold stone, a pirate like scowl on his sleeping face. He was bivyed in an old half bag and an older duvet, both stained, tattered, and festooned with a variety of tape patches.
Kevin-I know that half sleeping bag VERY well- it was my childhood sleeping bag. It has quite the stories to tell!
:-)
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Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
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Topic Author's Reply - Oct 30, 2014 - 11:57am PT
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I last saw Richard and Tina just a few weeks before we lost them. We had a charmed hour together which I now count as a true blessing.
JL
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henny
Social climber
The Past
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Oct 30, 2014 - 12:20pm PT
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This is indeed sad news.
In reading through my attention was caught by the picture Ricky posted of the Greater Joshua Tree Open. I clearly remember how Richard and I were walking down the 18th fairway after John's absolutely monstrous drive, quietly discussing how it was the most awesome display of raw power off the tee that either of us had ever witnessed. Richard then pointed out how much more impressive it would have been had the ball actually left the tee.
I also remember the warm summer evenings on the way to Baldy, turning in at the blue mailbox to see if Richard happened to be home and up for bouldering, or standing around in the Humber parking lot with Richard discussing the latest tall tales and exaggerations that were floating around, always being left in laughter as Richard would in his own way call BS, cut to the chase, and tell us how it really was.
But isn't that one of the beauties of memories at difficult times like this? While there may now be an empty place in life where Richard stood, he will always be present and accounted for in our memories. Yes, he will be missed.
My sincere condolences to the family and those who were close to him.
Here's a thought. Celebrate the life by finding one of Richard's routes and doing it in his honor. Touch one of the creations he left behind for all of us to enjoy. And remember.
 I remember the engine story as well.
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Largo
Sport climber
The Big Wide Open Face
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Topic Author's Reply - Oct 30, 2014 - 12:29pm PT
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One of my fondest memories was driving out to Rubidoux with Richard (we did so like 1,000 times) and hoping we would run into DH and Thin Man Powell because we knew we'd be into some rare talk and finger shredding action and we'd toss rocks at the beehive while someone was pulling down just left on the Bridge Wall or whatever they call it. We used to talk so much sh#t to each other I could just die - then and now. The stories would grow to prodigious size in a matter of a few moments and I'd keep laughing for days.
What was that special something something we all had back then but could never really nail down? All the people from that era knew what a charmed life we led there for awhile, and no one has ever been able to quantify or define it. I'm reminded of the Vince Gill lyric:
When it finally hits you, you won't know what to do
There's nothin' you can say, when love finds you.
We were, or course, in love with life in general and with climbing in particular. And this love absolutely caught fire the moment three or more of us were together. The stoke that made the world turn for all of us.
Looking back, it was really this namelss passion and the personalities that made the Stonemasters such a fantastic experience. And Richard was in his own quite way like a kind of hood ornament for all of us, standing out there at point, charging ahead with fearless style.
JL
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henny
Social climber
The Past
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Oct 30, 2014 - 01:18pm PT
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John, thanks for posting that last picture. How odd, I was just thinking about that very picture and how iconic he was in it, and was almost ready to ask if someone could post it, and there it is. That - is Richard.
Early on Bobby and I were at Rubidoux with a top rope set up on Trapeze. John and Richard showed up and proceeded to straighten us out on how real boulderers didn't use ropes. But it was done in such a way that all it did was inspire us to try and step it up to their level. Those were truly special times, and special people.
As big and wonderful as climbing is by itself, it's rare that it doesn't come down to the people you do it with. I don't know that it is possible to even adequately put into words.
The core (small) group of stonemasters is/was something special, perfect for the time and place. It wasn't just that they were great climbers, it was that they were great people. Each unique in their own way. It is sad to see that number decreased. The whole movement, if one wants to call it that, was really something and certainly did expand like a vortex with all of us being sucked in and taken along for the wild ride. But again, that says something for the core group - that they were willing to take us all along with them.
Thanks Richard. And the rest of you as well.
btw: who is that other young one in the picture? hehe. Man ho man, it's been a wild ride, hasn't it.
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Roots
Mountain climber
Tustin, CA
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Oct 30, 2014 - 02:20pm PT
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"The whole movement, if one wants to call it that, was really something and certainly did expand like a vortex"
I gotta say...from the stories I have heard and the obvious impact on climbing that is still shining today...that statement rings true.
It was a movement, a revolution in climbing culture. A huge paradigm shift if you will.
I think it's so amazing that a group of "kids" were so influential. Again I repeat; Amazing.
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Rick A
climber
Boulder, Colorado
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Oct 31, 2014 - 05:55am PT
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Richard low on Wild Thing. Headbands were not just fashionable; without one, that long hair tended to fall into your face right at the worst possible moment!
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hashbro
Trad climber
Mental Physics........
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Oct 31, 2014 - 10:31am PT
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I clearly recall an overcast winter day in the early 70's at Mt. Roubidoux. Matt Cox and I had taken the Greyhound Bus there, after getting out of high school early for a tip burning bouldering session. We observed Richard all by himself, halfway upon a large south facing boulder high on the mountain. As we approached him we heard his ubiquitous partial laugh. "Hey.....boys."
Richard was solo aid climbing the thinnest, most shallow, incipient groove imaginable. He was standing in aiders and weighting a tiny copperhead, tapped into something less than rotten, and he was only 10 feet above the ugliest talus cluster imaginable. According to Richard, he was practicing hard aid for his next El Cap route, and he told us this groove was surely A.5.
A cigarette dangled from the edge of his mouth, Matt and I looked up at Richard in complete awe as he pounded another tiny copperhead into the tiny seam. The painful (and damaging fall) Richard would have experienced in that spot (if he had pulled a piece) might have been far worse than any 100 footer on El Cap.
At that instant, we knew that Richard was (among many other things), a master technician.
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Larry Nelson
Social climber
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Oct 31, 2014 - 10:48am PT
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A bump for more great photos and more great stories from the masters. Thanks all for posting.
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Roots
Mountain climber
Tustin, CA
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Oct 31, 2014 - 11:45am PT
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What was Richard's favorite route(s) at these places:
Rubidoux
Idyllwild
Yosemite
Red Rocks
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rmuir
Social climber
From the Time Before the Rocks Cooled.
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Richard and I had a problem. It was a problem in need of a solution. It was behind the next big stone downstream from B Boulder in our small, quiet place up Baldy Canyon. Richard lived six miles down the road, and I a few miles further below in Claremont proper.
The work started quietly. We started, as usual, by doing all the variants and substandard solutions on the face, as we slyly courted their mother. This clearly would be a severely overhanging traverse and we worked various portions with toe– and heel hooks, and small crimpy holds. Like all good temptresses, she kept us waiting as we fiddled with the wardrobe. We'd be coming back for more…
Over the ensuing week or three, Richard and I would do the usual warmup routines and coquettishly wander down to The Problem. Eventually, Richard nailed the first third, and I the last third. Together, we decided the rules which would include the correct start, as well as what would constitute the consummation. Our fingers were raw and we could barely hold the toothbrushes to carefully clean the nubbins that we knew would be crucial for those middle heel-hooking sections.
Tuesday next, I had a opportunity, mid-week, for a short tryst. I knew that Richard would be doing the same, if he could. And after suitable effort, that cool Spring afternoon, the problem was mine.
Of course, several days later I couldn't help but let Richard know that I had the solution in hand. Richard was quick to let me know that he, too, had bagged it when he was up there Wednesday! We compared notes and returned to show each other what we had learned… Another quality day under the oaks and alders, listening to sound of the stream, and ushering the daddy longlegs off the key holds.
I got to name it "Hustle Patterns" and, for me, it was probably the most technically intricate and schematised boulder problem I have ever done. It became a regular part of the Baldy Circuit. I think that Richard was pretty proud of "Patterns."
Richard told me a few days later—after we had worked the problem—that he described the piece to a mutual friend—a larger-than-life character we both knew well. The response was dialed into the lad's efferent branch of his visceral nervous system: "Yeah. I did that thing…"
Richard's recounting of that little exchange was another Stonemaster classic. And we both enjoyed the expensive laugh.
It didn't matter if the rock was huge or small, Richard was there.
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chappy
Social climber
ventura
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Jimmy Dunn Jo Whitford and I took a trip from Yosemite to Red Rocks in the fall of 1984. Hooked up with Richard. Jo and I did Prince of Darkness while Jimmy and Richard did Rock Warrior. Always looked forward to seeing Richard in Red Rocks.
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WBraun
climber
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Check out the rock warrior belay method.
Old school around the waist belay when men were men and outer space was still "out there" ..... :-)
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Rick A
climber
Boulder, Colorado
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A warm day, 1972. The sun is trying valiantly to penetrate the smog, but it’s no use and the effect is a sickly, yellow light. In my blue Ford Pinto, I pick up John at his house, say hello to his sister Peggy and his mom and dad. Head up north, past the old Route 66, to Richard’s house at the mouth of Baldy Canyon, pull into the dirt driveway, and bounce our way up to the walkout basement of the house-- Richard’s kingdom and our clubhouse.
Dickey, as Richard’s grandfather calls him, slides into the back seat. For the next half hour, John addresses Richard as “Dickey.” The hatchback holds EBs, chalk and water bottles, and if it’s the weekend, rack, rope, sleeping bags, peanut butter, a loaf of bread, ensolite pads, a couple of bottles of Old English 800 or ----before we knew better--Ripple wine. Head down Euclid Avenue, in the shade of the ancient pepper trees, to the 10 freeway and the on-ramp heading due east.
John picks out a cassette--Hendrix, Lou Reed, Pink Floyd, Yes, Cannonball Adderley, Marvin Gaye--turns the knob hard and clockwise, and we are on our way. Johnny leans forward in order to beat an imaginary drum set on the vinyl dashboard, and we shout to be heard over the music, the red-lined little engine, and the noise of the tires on the rutted freeway. If it’s a weekday, 15 minutes down the road is Mt Rubidoux, where we head up the one lane road, with a brief discussion of the problems we want to do and whether to park at the upper or lower lot. A few of the same pepper trees are up here too, and they lend a spicy aroma to the place. Smooth Sole Wall, Joe Brown, and Teflon are among the faces worthy of a top rope here, but that wouldn’t be right.
Confined in the front seat, John would be pacing like a caged tiger if there were space, but there isn’t, so he takes it out on the dashboard and the ceiling, if necessary. At eighteen years old, John overflows with energy, strength and enthusiasm. Soon after we pile out, he is cruising up the overhanging Joe Brown Wall with a slack jaw and studied nonchalance , a goodly ways off the deck. Richard and I have little choice but to follow, or at least give it an honorable effort.
If it’s the winter, another hour and a half takes us to Joshua Tree, the no-stoplight town leading to an even sleepier national monument, but the spiky forest makes it as strange and exotic as Mars.
If it’s a weekend in the spring or summer, we carry on 45 minutes east of Rubidoux to the Beaumont exit, which leads to Tahquitz and Suicide. The Pinto labors up the steep road, but I shorten the trip by cutting every corner. When the pine trees appear, we emerge from the inversion layer into a brilliant landscape of forest, sky and granite. Excitement is now palpable, because we are finally in the mountains, where we really live. My mind is on the routes we have talked about all the previous week and I have to wipe the sweat off my hands to keep my grip on the plastic steering wheel.
Right then and there, there is no doubt about the purpose of our lives: there is an aid route on Tahquitz that just might go free and and a possible new line on Suicide. What more could anyone want?
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MH2
climber
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It's great listening to the voices still with us.
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chappy
Social climber
ventura
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Wonderful Ricky. Who, from that era doesn't remember your Pinto? The influence John's enthusiasm had over the entire So Cal climbing community? There was a reason he was called Largo and it wasn't just about his physical stature--it was his whole persona. We were all in search of that brilliant landscape. It seems like yesterday. Its hard to believe as it recedes more into history that we are beginning to lose some of our brothers from that magnificent, unforgettable time in our lives. Richard was a big part of it--especially for you and John. Again, wonderful.
Chappy
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