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Old Ted
Social climber
Charleston, WV
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Aug 21, 2007 - 02:34pm PT
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I am Pete's father in law. Calvert, my wife, and our whole family are devastated. We have just returned from several days with Molly and Avery. We can't begin to describe the outpouring of support from the climbing, NOLS, and friends communities that we witnessed last week. Others will and have and we thank them.
I pass on a poem that was read at a family gathering and a song that was read at the incredible public ceremony.
A Japanese Poem, Author ?
One tree another tree
each standing alone & erect.
The wind and air tell
their distances apart.
But beneath the cover of earth
their roots reach out.
And through depths that cannot be
seen
The roots of the trees intertwine.
MY OLD BROWN EARTH
(a song by Pete Seeger)
To my old brown earth
And to my old blue sky,
I'll now give these last few molecules of " I ".
And you who sing
And you who stand nearby,
I do charge you not to cry.
Guard well our human chain,
Watch well you keep it strong,
As long as sun will shine.
And this our home,
Keep pure and sweet and green.
For now, I'm yours
And you are also mine.
My old brown earth,
For now I'm yours
And you are also mine.
Ted Armbrecht
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mark1229
Trad climber
Rockville, MD
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Aug 21, 2007 - 02:34pm PT
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Dear Pete,
So many years have passed since the days when we first learned to climb together. I can remember the two of us as young climbers with EMS and IME in North Conway or cheering on-top of Seneca rocks like kids that the Americans had just beaten the Russians in Hockey. Remember when we shared a “space blanket” until dawn so that we could safety descend through the boulder field? I always knew you would explore your dreams. The thoughts, prayers and wishes that are with you and your family make it clear you were living your dream.
Pete, you are a great person. My thoughts and prayers are with you and your family.
Your “sadden” old friend,
Mark Munn
mark.munn@comcast.net
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Nora Kratz
Mountain climber
Laner, WY
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Aug 21, 2007 - 06:05pm PT
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As a Lander native, I'm sending my deepest condolences to Molly and Avery. I remember Peter as a fixture of the community and know how he will be missed.
Nora Kratz
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Cornelia Brefka
climber
Greenwich, CT
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Aug 21, 2007 - 07:20pm PT
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I would like to thank everyone who contributed to helping us get through this past week. Airport pickups, hotel reservations, opening your homes, your hugs, your stories, etc. We thanked many of you in person, but I know there are so many more who were working behind the scenes and I want to thank you as well!
It was wonderful to finally put faces with the names I've heard for such a long time. You are a wonderful community.
The service was incredible- the slides, the words, the amazing feeling of being seated in a circle around all those flowers that Avery wanted for her dad, and having all of you surrounding us. I have never experienced anything like that before.
It's hard missing Pete and now being so far from Molly and Avery.
Now that I am home the reality of this enormous hole in our family is beginning to sink in.
Keep holding Molly and Avery in your hearts. Take care of Steve too.
I love you Molly.
Love,
Cornelia (one of Molly's sisters)
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lesvanb
climber
Lander, WY
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Aug 21, 2007 - 07:46pm PT
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Dear Molly and Avery,
I am so deeply sorry for your loss.
Molly, I wanted to write down my story I told you about Pete on Sunday for you and Avery.
One day, when Pete was still working at NOLS HQ, he poked his head in the Tremblay conference room where Debra East and I often ate our lunch, and said,
Why, you two should be sitting at either end of this long table...and there should be candles and napkins and silver!...and I could be your butler, with a white cloth over my forearm!! ...and then he left. But the story line continued over the weeks and Debra and conspired to bring in the candles and white cloth...And then he stopped one day and said, I'm getting a tuxedo! I'm the escort for Avery at her recital in Riverton! Me, in a tuxedo...with Avery! How wonderful! Ah we said, recognizing The perfect opportunity...we'd love to see you in your tuxedo and we'll bring the candles and napkins and you can play our butler!
Well, though we never did act out the final scene of elegant lunch in the Tremblay conference room –the tuxedo rental had its guidelines–we all delighted in the play acting. And that was a part of the essences of Pete–the delight, the joy, and the creative act.
I'd also like to share a poem that's kept me company over the years:
The Unbroken
By Rashani
There is a brokenness
Out of which comes the unbroken,
A shatterdness out
Of which blooms the unshatterable,
There is a sorrow
Beyond all grief which leads to joy
And a fragility
Out of whose depths emerges strength.
There is a hollow space
Too vast for words
Through which we pass with each loss,
Out of darkness
We are sanctioned into being.
There is a cry deeper than all sound
Whose serrated edges cut the heart
As we break open
To the place inside which is unbreakable
And whole,
While learning to sing.
All my love to you and to Avery and your families and your horses and cats and all of your friends,
Leslie
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ebegoon
Trad climber
harrisonburg, va
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Aug 21, 2007 - 09:39pm PT
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I learned about Pete's accident this past Friday pm and just could'nt believe it! A couple days passed before it truely sunk in that Pete was gone. Molly, it seems like yesterday that you and Pete were living life in Seneca, it's hard to think that 20 yrs. have gone by, but after reading the stories and seeing the pictures I realize that Pete had not changed a bit. Still grabbing life by the horns and directing it where he wanted to go. Following are a few memories of mine of Pete.
I remember when one cold and windy winter day Pete and I were climbing at Seneca. Pete led a rt. on the east face then while chasing the sun we ended up at the Face of a Thousand Pitons.(Molly you met up with us at this point) It was my lead but Pete said the only thing he wanted to do there was Agony, well I was not about to stick my cold hands in an off width so I picked the arete on the left of the face. Mongoose was born. Thanks for the courage Pete.
I remember when Pete and Greg Smith did Banana Peels, 12b R. Hard and poorly protected, few if any takers since the 1st acsent. They took it by the horns. Both Pete and Greg are gone now, passing within 12 mons. of each other.
I remember when Pete and I wrapped a canoe around a rock on the North Fork one rainy day.
I remember when I waded the North Fork one cold day to meet Pete and Tony Barnes on the North peak. As we were getting ready to call it a day Pete told me he had drove his car up the pipe line and was parked on the trail at the top I called BS but sure enough there it was (That famous Absolon smile). I'll bet that hasn't been done since.
I remember when Markwell found a bag of pot in the Gendarme and although it was not his, Pete took the blame to cover for his friend. John fired him on the spot but hired him back inside of an hour. John is no dummy, he knew a bright star when he saw one.
I remember when I was younger, life was simple and more of my friends were alive. Don't wait to call up an old friend.
Pete ole buddy, I'm so sorry I didn't keep in touch.
Eddie Begoon
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KateBinzen
climber
Atlanta, GA
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Aug 22, 2007 - 08:01am PT
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Peter was my next door neighbor in the Madison dorm at GW when I was a junior and he was a senior. We became very good friends. He was a great friend, a great cook and a wonderful, warm person. He taught me to climb. I loved him and his warm, kind family. I have been out of touch with Peter for over 20 years. I saw this blurb in the New York Times about his accident and was absolutely dumbfounded and sick with shock and sadness. All of my memories of my time with him came flooding back. I have found some photos from that time and would be happy to send them on to his family and Molly if someone would send me addresses. I feel very cut off as I have no connection any longer to the GW community. It just makes me so, so sad, for his parents and siblings and his wife and daughter. I have loved seeing the pictures on this site. I remember his talking about his brother Fritz and how after Fritz died Peter took on some of his personality traits. The one I remember was that he started following basketball. He taught me to follow basketball. Am I right in thinking that his brother was a climber as well and that is where Peter got his passion for climbing? I am not sure, but I loved reading that Peter has now passed on his passion to his nephew.
I remember when he visited my family in a suburb of Philadelphia he had no car. I said "how are you going to get here?" He said "hitchike, I'll be there around dinner time" and sure enough - around dinner time he called from a store about half a mile away. I was amazed at the ease with which he handled life. I also learned to change a tire because of Peter. In an indirect way. I wanted to visit him in West Virginia and my Dad said that I wasn't allowed to drive that far alone. I told him that that was sexist since he would let my brother do it. So he thought a minute and said that I was probably right. So, he said, "if you can prove that you can change a tire on your own I will let you take the car." So that is the one time in my life that I have changed a tire all on my own.
I remember at Seneca Rocks going out for dinner to a Diner with Peter and his climbing buddies. They all ordered milk shakes, so I did the same. It was the worst tasting milk shake ever - it was beer!
Years after my time at GW I was at a new friend's house in Boston. While at her house I saw a photo on her mantle of a happy couple on their wedding day. I looked at it again and said "Hey, that is my old boyfriend, Peter Absolon!!" She told me that he had married her cousin and they couldn't be happier together. I was delighted to see that picture and hear that news.
And I was just so sick to get this most recent news. My heart goes out to Peter's parents, siblings, Molly and little Avery. I am sure that she is a beautiful little girl.
Kate Binzen
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Amy Harris Van Vranken
Social climber
Denver, CO
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Aug 22, 2007 - 03:38pm PT
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I taught a Kindermusik class that Avery was enrolled in as one of my most regular and faithful students for two years. And one of the most regular and faithful parents who came to "sharing time" at the end of class was Pete--right in there clapping, dancing, and singing with the kids. He always had a smile and a greeting for everyone. I knew Avery as a bright, creative little girl and I know her loving father had so much to do with that. What a devoted dad!
Amy
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Topper Wilson
Trad climber
Pueblo, CO
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Aug 22, 2007 - 03:49pm PT
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All,
Pete Absolon was one of my best friends. In recent years we’d fallen out of contact for no particular reason. I want to share some of my memories with this community who all loved this unusually bright light called Pete. We learned a lot together, about each other, about happiness and sadness, poverty and wealth. We were smart guys that did some very stupid and immature things, but we kept learning. It was all about fun and becoming better climbers and better teachers.
I’ve always heard that - in times of grief – memories come “flooding” back. Not for me, my mind isn’t working that way now. The memories are trickling in from what seems like a life time ago and this is annoying to my work-a-holic, goal oriented nature: I wanted to post something to supertopo days ago, but the memories keep coming at a slow, somewhat constant pace. Small glimpses of Pete…, and Molly…. I feel the need to say more than a few words…
Pete and I first met at Carderock, Maryland. We were teenagers and both loved to boulder… He had EB rock shoes, and I didn’t. I had clunky RD’s, things that worked okay but weren’t sensitive. EB’s with leather sewn on the sides to make the canvas uppers last longer were really cool. There was a point in time when one couldn’t buy EB’s because they were in short supply in the US. I remember Pete and I driving in great anticipation to Hudson “Bay” Outfitters as the store was named then and picking up a couple pairs of coveted EB’s, feeling lucky and pysched that maybe I’d be able to climb a little bit better. I thought all the good climbers wore EB’s. Pet might have bought two pairs, I can’t remember just yet…
Pete and I took trips to Seneca Rocks, WVa in our teenage years and early twenties. We car camped on Roy Gap Road with the other weekend warriors from the DC and Pittsburg areas. We perused the little red guidebook for routes that we thought we might be able to do. We spent evenings marveling at the climbing equipment in the Gendarme, dreaming that the Hexes, Stoppers, Webbing and Ropes hanging behind the counter were like jewels or precious metals, planning ways to scrape together money for our next planned purchase to “complete” our racks. We debated whether using Friends instead of hexes was cheating; Friends had just come out and were easier to place, hence less skill needed. We had trouble opening our beer bottles because our forearms and hands were so used from the day’s efforts.
After my first year in college, I came back to Carderock in hopes of finding Pete. John Gregory informed me that Pete and Mike (Perlis) were working for John Markwell teaching climbing at Seneca. I was in awe… That just sounded like the best job in the world… I approached Pete; “you gotta get me a job there.” He put in a good word, but I also knew I wasn’t a strong climber at the time. The next summer, with the help of Bill Heronimus (sp?), I climbed up a climb on the south end of Seneca and lowered two non-climbers who had climbed most of the way up the first pitch of a 5.6. John hired me for $25 a week; that was 1981.
Pete and I taught climbing at Seneca throughout the ‘80’s. We had courses wired: each student got 2 over the shoulder slings, 2 regular ‘biners, 1 locking ‘biner, a figure eight, and a helmet. Typically, we had three students per class for three days. We carried light racks of 6-8 nuts, and climbed everything in tennis shoes, usually with packs on. We’d buy our lunch from Buck Harper’s general store, usually a small can of baked beans with a pull top lid, some peanuts, a package of crackers with cheese and maybe some M&M’s. We’d fill up our water bottles at the spring on Roy Gap Road, just down from the Southern Pillar. In the evenings, we partied hard too with the students. I remember one day after of fun night of drinking, John Markwell, climbing school director asking, “how’s Pete today?” Pete sang out happy as can be, right next to his new class, “Great, I’m still drunk.” He was full of boyish fun. To this day, I don’t know if he was kidding or not, probably not... We’d always tease the students, but never with any malice. He’d ask as I headed off with a new class, “so are you guys going to do Death of a Novice or Bodybag first?” I’d do the same thing to him next time around.
We worked with many other good people: Mike Perlis, Chris “Moose” Gunther, Tony Barnes, Mike Cote, John Govi, Tom Cecil and Daniel Miller, all solid teachers. I remember Tony’s first summer. I thought we were fairly well seasoned by then and also thought Tony was ready for his first course. We had not really reviewed in detail how to teach a beginning course, nor, do I recall if Tony shadowed a course (mistakes 1 & 2). I think I had covered it in general but did go over things in detail. On this occasion, I said something about providing students with a little history on climbing. We let Tony demonstrate belaying techniques. He proceeded to demonstrate a technique called “dynamic” belaying, where by the belayer feeds a few more yards or rope out as the climber falls to “gradually” slow the falling climber down. This was a technique that was used prior to WWII when we didn’t have nylon ropes that stretched. Pete and I both looked at each other with eyes the size of oranges. I was outraged – mainly at myself but also at Tony, though this was not Tony’s fault, it was mine. Pete thought it was just funny. With a few beers in us afterward, we discussed the incident. We began applying a basic pattern of “tell them what you’re going to do, tell them what you’re doing, tell them what you’ve done” to many, if not all, aspects of the climbing courses.
Life at Seneca changed over the years. However, there were three basic activities: teaching rock climbing, going climbing, and talking about climbing in the Gendarme or on the front porch. Usually, talking about climbing involved listening to pontifications of John Markwell and hundreds of other climbers that came to Seneca to climb for a week, month or every weekend; beer was mandatory. Just like the tides, we’d tire of the conversations and be re-invigorated. Some of my fondest memories of Pete are on that front porch, discussing climbs, listening, nodding, smiling, laughing, and drinking beer. Pete would have been dressed in an old tee shirt, tan Patagonia “stand up shorts” with holes in them, red or blue socks with running shoes. One leg would cross the other just above his knee, and he’d be stretching back muscles or the like. I’d call him Pete “Gabsolon” because he loved to “gab” about climbing so much.
Pete loved to goad people into going climbing after teaching, no matter how hard a day you’d had. “Ah, come on, mannnnnn,” his voice rising in pitch as he said it. We’d go climb a few pitches. It was not unrealistic to get back down after dark. His ego played a part in this. One weekend evening, when we were walking back just after dark, the conversation on the front porch of the Gendarme died as we walked past; we’d been noticed by the people there As Pete and I got to the school building, he said in a low voice, “I love getting down this late.” I think what he was conveying to the people on the porch was something like, “I love climbing so much, I’m just getting down from climbing now, I get to be here every day but you only get to be here on weekends, so why aren’t you climbing all you can?” He loved to demonstrate his love of climbing, not to show people how good he was but to show them that he just loved climbing and loved pushing himself to climb hard. He also loved to push others and loved to see them succeed. One summer evening, he asked as I cracked open a beer, “what have you done to deserve your beer today?” I had run up the South Peak after teaching, so it was okay for me to have that beer, but there were plenty of days when it wouldn’t have been okay.
Pete got into soloing at one point. There was a book that came out about Henry Barber, and that provided a lot of inspiration and insight to Pete. Like Henry in his signature white hat, Pete began wearing a yellow bicycle cap and soloing. One day he ran back down to the shop about night fall, and I asked him what he did. He rattled off about 20 climbs. He’d done this all after teaching until 5 PM. On another occasion, Pete soloed Castor and Pollux, two classic Seneca test pieces. Upon reaching Broadway ledge, a climber approached Pete and said, “I hate people like you!” The meaning was clear, there was no way that person had a hope of reaching the climbing confidence and competence that Pete had. It was all envy and no malice. Pete told me about it later and said “I love it when people say stuff like that.” Really, there wasn’t any higher compliment to Pete.
Pete and I, along with the rest of the instructors, lived in different houses in West Virginia. Every Spring, it seemed we had to worry about where we were going to live. There were times when we slept on the concrete of the climbing school or climbing shop floor and went for early morning swims in the Potomac, washing with Doctor Bronners Biodegradable soap; it had a label that preached at you. The water was cold… I also remember early attempts at cooking. Mike Perlis cooked a huge bag of noodles that filled a three gallon pot. This was for Mac and Cheese for three people. We didn’t have any “Tuperware” to save the food in, so it was a waste and a topic of discussion for years to come. It’s funny now only in that it’s a memory I feel compelled to record because Pete was part of that. Our cooking got better over the years, particularly when Molly moved in. Those houses we lived in were always places people came because Pete invited them, and that was always fun because it was something to look forward to.
At one point, during the “Pre-Molly Era,” Pete and I began driving north to Petersburg to go to the Nautilus Gym there and take aerobics. We had multiple objectives: exercise, meet young, beautiful women, and beat the boredom of living in rural West Virginia. This can also be referred to the “Young, and really, Really dumb Era.” After a good work out and not approaching any of the young, beautiful women, we would shower and get in the car for the 45 minute drive home. Then, we’d buy a six pack of beer for the ride and start back. I don’t remember how it began, but we started playing a game of nerves and adrenaline called “England.” What we’d do is turn off the lights, get in the left hand lane where oncoming traffic could strike you, and drive the 55 mph road as long as our nerves could hold out. One person would “look close” for deer and one person would “look long” for car headlights. There were never any close calls playing that game, but it’s pretty much the stupidest thing we could have been doing. We were in search of adrenaline. Young and dumb, live and learn, don’t try this at home kids…
Pete and I climbed all over the US in the 80’s. In 1983 or 1984, I was at Prescott College and Pete was spending the winter out west. He was introduced to the Black Velvet Canyon at Red Rocks, and called me at school to come up. After a series of missed phone calls in which Pete had left me the wrong number to call, we finally connected. I drove my old Datsun 710 green station wagon the 5 or 6 hours up to Vegas and met Pete for Spring Break. We then took that same old car on the 4 wheel drive road out to Black Velvet. “Yeah,” Pete said, “bad weather around here, it just get’s really windy…” We climbed a lot there. Once we spent the night on top of the chimneys of Epinephrine. This was our first “wall” climb, having hauled up sleeping and cooking gear. We watched the red, green and gold lights of lost Vegas turn on as dusk settled. It was magical. In the morning, based on advice from local climbers, we bundled all our sleeping gear and cooking gear in our haul sack Pete threw it off the cliff. We watched it sail down and hit the valley floor, a few items popping out on impact. As I recall, the total damage was minimal; Pete’s Seva (sp?) stove was dented but still worked thereafter. The upper pitches of the climb were beautiful. Walking off the top, we noticed an old broken bottle of Black Velvet Whisky near the summit. We didn’t pick up the pieces, feeling that it was somehow symbolic. There are many areas I loved to climb, but Red Rocks was in the top five on the list every time. I’m certain that Pete felt that way too for at least part of the 80’s and early 90’s though I’m sure too that Pete found other areas to climb that were just as thrilling.
A few years later, I came back to climb Epinephrine again with a different partner, the same way, sleeping on the ledge atop the chimneys. The “bad” weather of desert wind turned into an “end of the world thunderstorm.” Miserable night, the cliff running like a waterfall, I told my friend what Pete had said about the weather and we laughed about the silly situations we had put ourselves in; we could have checked the weather forecast, but it only get’s “windy” in Vegas.
On our first trip to Yosemite, I picked Pete up in Rockville, Maryland. We were sitting in the old datsun at a traffic light. Suddenly, horns were honking and breaks were squealing. Two cars had just wrecked in front of us. One of the cars had taken out the pole that held up a traffic light, and the traffic light came bouncing aggressively toward my car. Pete was yelling noooo! The light stopped short by 15 feet or so. I was so clueless. I asked why were you yelling no, that light wasn’t going to hurt us? “Because,” Pete explained in a relieved voice, “the traffic light could have wrecked the car and then we wouldn’t have been able to get to Yosemite.”
In September of 85, we climbed the Salathe Wall. This was truly our first Wall climb; we sort of knew what we were doing, but not really. We were there with a group of friends. I have several very distinct memories of that climb. We were constantly hearing a new Dire Straits song, that’s the way you do it (on the MTV). Having never climbed a Yosemite wall, we kept singing the refrain as we learned new techniques: “that ain’t workin’, that’s the way you do it.” Repeated noises drifted up from the valley floor too. The green dragons (open air, multi-car tour buses) that snaked along the road said things that were mostly mumbled except for the words “the Salathe” and “baby giant sequoia.” We also heard lots of sirens one day, and found out afterward that a tree had fallen on a newlywed couple, killing them. I remember as we exchanged looks, “scary” Pete said but you could tell his compassion was more than the single word.
For the actual climb, our plan was to climb the first ten pitches of the “Free Blast” and then rap back down, fixing lines and spend the night on the ground, then set off with our haul sack. We set off, climbing well on the crack and face pitches. We ran into problems on two separate 5.7 pitches. They were greasy, awkward, scary, bombay chimneys. Pete and I were both cursing… Tired, but feeling strong, we made it to the top of the free blast and traversed over and down to the heart ledge and started fixing lines down. At one point, we rapped down to a ledge that was about 30 feet long and 5 feet wide. It was a long way off the deck. Neither of us realized it at the time, but we hadn’t anchored ourselves in. We set up the next rap and continued down. At some point afterward, Pete realized this mental mistake and pointed it out. I was dumbfounded. I don’t mind walking around on top of cliffs without an anchor. I do mind walking around on top and not realizing we weren’t clipped in to anything. We were tired, live and learn…
We were so tired in fact that we had doubts about the climb, not the actual climbing, but the hauling of water, sleeping bags, etc was going to be exhausting. “Man, this is going to be a lot of work!” Just like the two kids on the old Life cereal commercial who said, “hey, let’s get Mikey,” we said together, “let’s get Gene!” Gene Kistler was part of our friendly group of climbers that had come to the Valley. He joined our team on the spur of the moment. The route had many more challenges, running into people ahead of us, them running out of water and us not wanting to risk sharing our limited water, Europeans catching us and passing us, but none was more memorable then just one or two pitches below the top. I led through a pitch which put us on a narrow ledge above the headwall. We were so close to the top and I was jubilant. Gene came up next. That left Pete to release the haul sacks so Gene and I could haul them up. Pete began jugging a 9mm rope, an old blue rope I think. Gene and I were happily talking and a nice breeze was blowing. At some point, we realized that Pete was yelling at us. The head wall is a slightly overhanging pitch, so Pete was below us, hanging from a 9 mm rope, spinning around with 3000+ feet of air below him, not touching any rock, and now he was yelling at us. Eventually it became clear that the haul rope and 9mm rope were wrapped around each other. Thus, as Gene and I hauled the bags up, the haul rope had the potential to cut through the 9mm jug rope. We stopped hauling. Pete came up saying, “that is the scariest thing I’ve ever done!” Glad that he was okay, but without thinking much, I said, “yeah, I know what you mean.” Pete turned, madder than I’d ever seen him and said, “no, you don’t know.” We got over it, but we also debated this from time to time. Live and learn.
There are many other things that come to mind about Pete. He came to Prescott to climb. One day bouldering behind Sears, he fell and landed badly, his ankle swollen. He didn’t go to the doctor, I think because he didn’t have any insurance. He eventually found out he’d broken his talus (sp?) bone. He still hadn’t gotten it repaired. Months later in the Gendarme, I remember him telling John Markwell and myself, sobbing, that he thought he’d never be able to run again. He eventually got it fixed and within a short time of the surgery took a hot tub and got the incision infected. Live and learn.
Pete was my best man at our wedding. Tonia and I were married in Zion canyon, on the valley floor near the river. As our minister Susan Armor was conducting the wedding, a very large stink bug was crawling painfully slow inches in front of Pete’s shoes toward my shoes. Pete elbowed me and motioned at the bug. I think I cracked a smile, but this was supposed to be a solemn moment, so I suppressed it. Pete whispered under his breath, “step on it.” I felt like a little school boy, trying to suppress my laughter that could not be suppressed. Always teasing, always after fun….
After I had stopped working at Seneca, and Pete and Molly were married, we had intermittent visits: Pete and Molly coming to see us in Salt Lake City. They’d come through on their way to somewhere else. They’d stay a night and then fly out. We’d see them at Alta for their family vacations too. At the time, Pete was just learning to ski, so he didn’t want me to ski with him, thought he’d be a bother.
One of the last times I saw Pete was when he and Molly returned from a trek in the Himalaya. They gave us a beautiful rug with lions on it. That was about 10 years ago. After that, I moved on to Helena for 5 years, and then to Pueblo. We had a few phone conversations and discussed getting together, but never did. I was busy trying to climb a corporate ladder; I had stopped climbing rocks. I might have to start again… Pete would like that.
Pete, your death has created a big hole. You are dearly missed.
Molly and Avery, my heart aches with your lose and the difficult road ahead. I’ll be in touch soon.
Love,
Topper Wilson
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JOHN ABSOLON
climber
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Aug 22, 2007 - 04:18pm PT
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Hello Peter. I always called you Peter. Your stage name turned out to be Pete. What's in a name anyway. It is the person that everyone remember's and that is what lives on and never dies. As your brother we had a great time growing up and doing a lot of things together. People always looked at us as twins with our similar physiques and mannerisms. I am going to miss your prescence here in the physical but in time we will reunite. I have admired your passion for rock climbing and the things you accomplished from that passion and dedication. Your passion lives on, but on a different plane of existence. Guide over Molly and Avery in these apparent sad times as they go through an adjustment phase. We will never forget your 47 years of dedication to the human experience.
In Loving Memory
Your brother John
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Mamad
climber
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Aug 22, 2007 - 08:35pm PT
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Dear Molly, Avery, Family and Friends:
When I first met Pete I was a new Transpo\Evac Driver. He was involved in many of the Evacs I went on. I decided he was terrible at giving directions to places and he decided i had what he called NOLSY radar despite his directions! We had many a laugh over my "Pete adventures". During the regular school year I drove the North Second Street bus route and saw him many times in his way to work. He always had a smile, wave and\or a positive word for me. I had the privilege of being his driver for his short stint as a sub-instructor on a course a few weeks ago and we gabbed all the way to Trail Lake!
Pete (and you too Molly),have had a very positive impact on my life and I will always be thankful for that. Its hard to imagine life without Pete in it, so I won't. He may not be here in person but he will always live in our hearts.
Please know that my Love, tears and Prayers are with everyone.
Debbie Olson
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3rd sister
climber
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Aug 22, 2007 - 09:32pm PT
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I am another of Molly's sisters and I wanted to add my heartfelt thanks to the amazing outpouring of love and support for Molly and Avery and, by extension, for all of us in her family. There was something so comforting in being in Lander for these past ten days, even with the sadness and loss. Now that I'm home I just feel the loss of all that Pete brought to Molly, to Avery, to our family, and to me. Though I'm resolved to do everything I can to carry his spirit on: to remember on my own how to use an avalanche beeper without his reminder, to get good enough to keep up with Molly on backcountry skies without depending on Pete to remind her to choose something that I can do, to know the things in the wilderness I always counted on Pete to know, that doesn't make the hole any easier to bear...
And I wanted to share this poem by Rilke....
It's possible I am pushing through solid rock
in flintlike layers, as the ore lies, alone;
I am such a long way in I see no way through;
and no space: everything is close to my face,
and everything close to my face is stone.
I don't have much knowledge yet in grief -
so this darkness makes me feel small.
You be the master: make yourself fierce, break in:
then your great transforming will happen to me,
and my great grief cry will happen to you.
I love you Molly and Avery...
Ann
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Blakes
climber
Cincinnati
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Aug 22, 2007 - 10:31pm PT
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I am Molly's cousin Blake and I also wanted to Thank everyone in the Lander community for their love and support of Molly and Avery and everything that has been done to help them. I know with friends like all of you Molly and Avery are going to make it through this difficult time. The memorial service was the most beautiful tribute to Pete-words can not even describe how wonderful it was. I am also having a hard time being at home and away from all who have shared the wonderful stories of Molly, Pete and Avery. I will also share a poem read at the family gathering:
Remembrances
"Death is nothing at all... I have only slipped away into the next room....I am I, and you are you...whatever we were to each other,that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name,speak to me in the easy way you always used. Put no difference into your tone;wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be ever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effect, without the ghost of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity. What is this death but a negligible accident? Why should I be out of mind because I am out of sight? I am but waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near just around the corner... All is well"
Canon Henry Scott Holland(1847-1918)
Molly and Avery we are thinking and praying for you both- and your entire community.
Love to you all
Blake
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Jello
Social climber
No Ut
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Aug 23, 2007 - 12:52am PT
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No words can really do much to help, but my thoughts are with the family and friends of an obviously wonderful man.
-Jeff Lowe
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Molly Absolon
climber
Lander, Wyoming
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Aug 23, 2007 - 12:17pm PT
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I asked Avery if she wanted to create some kind of ritual to say goodnight to Pete each day. She immediately had us light a candle and walk out onto the porch where we had a moment of silence. She prayed, her hands folded and talked silently to Pete in a way that only children—who live in a world where magic and heaven are as real as the earth and sky—can. I, the struggling agnostic, used the time to just think of Pete. After a moment Avery said, okay and blew out the candle. We went inside and looked at an old picture of Pete to share a story before going to bed. It's our new evening ritual. So if some night you find yourself thinking of Pete, light a candle and join us—wherever you may be— in wishing him goodnight.
Avery and I are leaving for Finland for two weeks tomorrow. I am sorry I haven't returned calls or emails. The phone is hard for me right now. But hearing your messages has been very important, so the fact that I don't call back has little to do with the power of the love you have sent to Avery and to me. I feel it and it helps. Thank you.
If the Seneca gang ends up pulling together a gathering this fall, please let me know. I'd like to try to come.
Peace.
Molly
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Lori Maddox
Boulder climber
Eugene, Oregon
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Aug 23, 2007 - 02:00pm PT
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I am a friend of the Armbrechts from WV originally - now in Oregon 22 years. Molly, I am writing just to add my few drops to the stream of compassion and condolence that is flowing here. I am not surprised that you have surrounded yourself in your life with such a strong community of warm, caring and adventurous friends. You and Pete have clearly touched many lives. I remember meeting Pete and talking with you both a decade or more ago in WV about NOLS and playing outside and life in the west. We have lost some dear friends to accidents such as this and it is terribly painful and confusing. I can only imagine how horrible it is when the person you have lost is your chosen life partner and co-parent.
I am grateful that Pete appears to have had a rich, adventurous life full of meaning and depth (or height, as the case may be), partnership with you, and the gift of a child. I'm sorry it was cut so short, and I am so sorry for how much you and Avery must miss him and for the enormous loss you now carry.
Should you need a getaway, we would be honored to welcome you both in Oregon. We have rocks to play on, rivers to run, beaches and mountains to explore, and kids to lead us there. I hope your family time in Finland helps you begin healing.
Take care,
Lori Maddox and David, Carson (10) and Tyee (6) Atkin
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Craig_Stebbins
Trad climber
Seattle, WA
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Aug 23, 2007 - 02:31pm PT
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Molly and Avery,
It was with great sadness I read the news of Pete. Our paths crossed occasionally in the lobby of the Noble or the editorial office in old Post Office, but we never worked together. Our NOLS careers overlapped in the early 90's. Besides his friendly smile and sense of humor, I will always remember the "solid guy" reputation his coworkers conveyed in the informal conversations us NOLS instructors have at dinner time in the feild.
Our prayers go out to you, Avery, and your families for strength and courage during these difficult times.
Peace to you all,
Craig Stebbins, Stepahnie Jones, and Josephine(2yrs)
castebbins "at" seanet.com
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Mary Absolon
climber
Edina, Minnesota
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Aug 23, 2007 - 05:40pm PT
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Dear PeternMolly:
We are back in Minnesota.
Guess what! Chris, (Peter's nephew) has his sight on hiking Mount Rainier. Now, where would he have ever got that bug?
And he has also figured out that the University of Denver is just a car ride away from Lander and NOLS and some great camping. Now, where would he have ever got that idea?
Molly Herber (Peter's neice) has her eyes set on a NOLS course for summer of 2008. Now, where did she every get that notion?
Ok so the circle of life goes on. The spirit of who you are Pete is here in the now. Those adventurers among us seek out new and exciting experiences.
So Molly, dear wife Molly you just might have some visitors for you and Avery....
Peter's spirit lives amoung us....each day in so many ways.
Love,
Mary
Peter's Sister
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WDLong
Boulder climber
Helena, MT
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Aug 23, 2007 - 07:16pm PT
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Dear Molly and Avery,
We were so saddened to hear the tragic news last week and I have been struggling to come up with some wonderful words to share with you, though I know that I don't have them. All I can share with you and your family is this- For nearly twenty years now I have been blessed to consider myself a part of the NOLS family no matter where I find myself in the world. From working my first course with Molly, to the many visits I made to Lander during my wandering years, and now as a dad and a husband returning to Lander to visit friends, I have always looked forward to seeing Pete and Molly. Seeing your wonderful smiles, your warm welcoming back into the fold of the Lander community no matter how long I had been gone always helped me feel a part of a larger family. Within our NOLS community I have always felt their were certain people who represent our collective heart and our collective spirit....These people represent the best of who we are and to me have always represented a guide for my growth as a teacher, a friend, a father, a husband, and a good person on this earth. Pete and Molly have always been at the heart of the NOLS family for me. Each of you have help shape my life to be that much better. Pete and Molly, I have always admired you both so much and looked up to you as friends, mentors, and a wonderful inspiration for living a great life.
Sending you all our love, thoughts, and prayers,
Wally, Val, Katherine, and Charlotte Long
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TrevorD
Gym climber
Victor ID
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Aug 23, 2007 - 07:31pm PT
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I have been reading through this forum almost daily. It has been a source of laughs and cries for me, a source of fond memories of Pete and painful reminders that he is gone. I have tried to write in several times but I haven't yet found the words before I find the delete button or tears cloud my vision. I never got to know Pete as well as I would have liked and never spent enough days climbing with him either. I did consider Pete a friend and also a role model, a mentor and an inspiration. I feel lucky to have known Pete, I am a better person as a result. I, for one, am not worried about forgetting about Pete, he has made an indelible mark on my life. I first met Pete when he was my instructor on a NOLS course in 1993. I was instantly drawn to Pete's energetic personality. Even though he was the instructor and I was a student he always made me feel like a valued expedition member. While I was constantly in a learning role around Pete he always treated me more like a peer and an equal than just another NOLS student. That was a gift Pete had to make everyone around him feel valued and appreciated. After I returned to NOLS, I was fortunate enough to get to know Pete in a different capacity. He was a supervisor, a friend and a climbing/boating/skiing partner. Boating? We had heard lots of stories about Pete climbing, skiing, biking, hiking, and even hunting so I thought I would share a story about Pete the boater. Kayaker to be specific. I had some pretty enjoyable runs with Pete. One weekend up in Cody on the South Fork of the Shoshone stands out. Pete was a natural but he was also a novice. He was a natural novice whose potential was only curtailed by the time he was willing to devote to paddling versus all of the other loves in his life. I'll never forget the wild eyed look as he charged through a challenging rapid, or the grin turning into a huge smile after a successful combat roll. Pete pushed himself at everything he did, but he was always calculated, he never took unreasonable risks, he was always aware what his number one priority was in life. And that Priority was to always return home and share his day with the loves of his life, Molly and Avery. I always respected Pete for that. His utter devotion to his wife and family, into making his and Molly's relationship strong. He was and will remain a relationship role model for me. It seems so unfair for a man whose priority was to always return home to be killed by a thrown rock. For Pete to be doing everything right. I suppose we can take a small amount of condolence from the fact that Pete was having an amazing day in the mountains, climbing, doing something he loved with a good friend and that the end for Pete was sudden and painless. Life isn't fair. Molly and Avery I don't even know where to begin in offering you two my condolences. I know that Pete meant infinitely more to the two of you. I hope my memories and fondness of Pete will help ease the loss you feel and will continue to feel on the long road ahead. We can only hope that time will ease the pain to a dull ache. That each day will get a little easier and when you think of Pete is can always be with a smile. He was a great man. Trevor
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