Backpacker – August 2019

JULY/AUGUST 2019

88 BACKPACKER.COM

said, “you’re unwrapping the view—it’s not a

rewa rd for your effor ts. It ’s a g if t.”

I’d never met John, Laura, or Rob, but

by the time I’d pitched my tent and shared

a batch of miso, it felt as if I was with long-

lost relatives. We all harbored a deep con-

nection to both R a ndy a nd these mounta ins.

The Pilewskis had joined the search for

Randy, and John had befriended him on his

alpine travels. As the sun sank, we gath-

ered on a huge granite slab a couple hundred

feet from the lake’s shore, warmth radiat-

ing from the rock even while the tempera-

ture dropped. Peaks rose several thousand

feet above us in all directions. Rob cer-

emoniously unwrapped two lovely trout

he’d caught and smoked for the occasion,

their orangey-pinkish f lesh on par with

the colors that had begun to paint the sur-

rounding summits. Laura added a block of

cheese, Rick some hearty crackers, and I

unveiled mini bottles of spirits and began

mixing powdered-electrolyte cocktails.

John, whose bear cannister was nearing

the trip-end dregs, searched for something

to contribute but finally succumbed to our

dema nds to “stop a nd eat.”

We raised a cup to Randy, then chatted

well into the headlamp hours, rapt as John

described his journey through the Window

Peak drainage. He’d paused at the giant snow

bridge that still spanned the creek in late

July, the same type of bridge where many

speculate Randy met his end. Hundreds of

others had journeyed to that beautiful spot

over the years, scratched their heads, and

wondered if R a ndy had fa llen through the ice

fa r ther upstrea m. Had his body moved down

to the fa lls during the spring runoff? Or per-

haps he’d fallen through the ice bridge, right

where his radio had been found, right where

John had bent down, peered into the deep,

cold, drafty ice cave, and paid his respects.

Or perhaps he hadn’t fallen at all. “The

least I owe these mountains is a body,”

Randy had said to a fellow ranger after one

particularly dicey rescue mission during

which he had been hit on the head by rock-

fall. His helmet had likely saved his life, but

he seemed ambivalent about it. When Randy

went missing two years later, that quote

haunted the rangers.

It was a somber moment of silence in our

camp. All of us had visited that spot and

contemplated Randy’s end. Randy, 58 at

the time of his disappearance, had been

struggling with ending his career, which

“ The least I owe these

mountains is a body,”

Randy had said to

a fellow ranger.

SPONSORED CONTENTSPONSORED CONTENT

Trail by Design

Presents:

Nika Meyers

backpacker.com/trailbydesign

@earlybirdhikes | nikameyers.com

After over 9,000+ miles of hiking,

I use art to share moments of

physical and mental strength,

raw emotions, wild silliness,

and landscapes experienced with

limitless curiosity.

The interconnectedness of this

world inspires me to dream big

and work to encourage people to

stand up for our world, each

other, and ourselves. I create art

that I hope honors the importance

of creating access and openness

for all who wish to spend time

in our outdoor spaces.”

As someone who is

following in the footsteps

of visionaries, big

dreamers, and countless

volunteers who have

used their strengths to

celebrate our natural world

and its wonders, I strive

to bring my passions,

experiences, and art into

those conversations.

VOTE FOR NIKA:

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