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I don’t know where he learned rock climbing using nylon ropes, carabiners, pitons and whatever else climbers used, but he know how. On September 18, 1955, two young men from the town were goat hunting in an aread between Seward and Moose Pass. Only one returned, with a peculiar explanation that the other guy was slower and would probably bum a ride later. None of it made sense. A town meeting was convened to discuss mounting a search party. In the end dad, went as the only one qualified to rock climb. It turned out that he was also the only man who was able to find the body. This grisly story is told in a 14 page PDF which I will append after I scan it and polish it.
The part he left out was how devastated he was by the experience. He was laid up at home for a good part of the week, just recuperating emotionally from the emotional trauma which was heightned by the fact that after he found the body, he had to use it as a counterbalance to his own body as he rapelled down to meet the rest of the search party where they took over.
It was probably 30 years later that he finally talked about it with me. I was alone with him for the day in Provo in the winter and we decided to go out for fast food, the staff of life. We went to a hamburger joint on the corner of University and another big street just off the BYU campus. Something started him talking about the first of the two rescues he did to retrieve dead bodies in Seward. He had never told me the story and I don’t remember ever hearing him tell adults about it either. I was aware of it because I saw him when he got home and saw how he was. It was a shock to see my big strong dad laid low like and beat up old man. As he told me the story, he stopped eating and stared out the window at the gray snowy day, people moving around in the wind.
He was overcome with the memory and the pains he carried. I listed because I was fascinated to hear the actual story which I only guessed about, and because he honored me by taking me into his confidence this way. Tears flowed down his cheeks and his voice would catch now and then. We sat silently enjoying each others confidence. He didn’t expect any response from me which was good for me. After he finished, we went home, but I have this special memory of a day when he treated me like and adult and shared something painful from his own life.
The story which follows doesn’t really capture any of the emotion that flowed out of him that day he told me how it was, but you can guess. Using a dead body as a counter weight to come down from a peak is gruesom.
The Mystery of the Missing Goat Hunter
As he notes in the last sentence of this story, there is great irony in the way he had to recover another dead climber a year later.
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