Alex Lowe

Right away, I could see that Alex was having none of the upper couloir. He'd chosen to go up alongside of the broad gully. I knew this was a good idea since the bands of cliff interspersed with steep snow did not have the slide potential that the straight-on avenue to our left had. I also knew that it spelled trouble for a guy like me. The first rock band, at about 10 vertical feet, was no big deal; I could make those stems with my crampons on rock; I could grab rock and pull myself up over the lip onto the next steep terrace. Perhaps I could even get back down it later, I mused, as I slogged up the wildly angled snow separating that ledge from the next rock band.

"I hauled in on my ice tools, I kicked a few sparks with my spikes, I might even have used a knee or two, but I climbed strongly and proudly onto the ledge with Alex Lowe..."

This next one was a breeze as well, about a 15-foot breeze... although I had to use my ice tools as rock tools to cam and hook my way up. When I'd pulled over the top of that one to find a 20-foot band above it, I was beginning to get a little concerned. I use ropes when I climb rocks. Call me soft. Call me a glacier slogger. Call me afraid of falling. Call me a little over-awed at the way one rock band kept giving way to another, bigger, steeper, more committing one with a more useless sugary wedge of snow sandwiched between. Throw in that I get lonely easily and that I could no longer see my partners. I could only marvel at Alex's unerring nose for a route as I did my detective work to find his tracks leading from one problem to the next.

Somewhere around 3:30 in the afternoon, I was well into the mother of all rock bands. Just the frontpointing on the portable "snow" at its foot had spooked me royally. There'd then been opportunity to chimney, stem, heave and hook up about 30 vertical feet. I was five feet from the top of the rock band, spread-eagled on the rocks; I knew by then that I could not descend such a route, solo... since it was getting fully hard enough to go UP.

"I could only marvel at Alex's unerring nose for a route as I did my detective work to find his tracks..."

So I was in a fix, I figured I'd have to take my chances later at descending in the couloir proper, kicking free the avalanches as I down climbed. I was sure that this was the last major obstacle... wasn't I pretty much above the top of the couloir and nearing some kind of summit ridge? I had to be around 15,000 feet up, there just wasn't a whole lot more of Tyree on Earth, was there? I had both arms out straight to good holds and my legs were spanning a little space to where a couple of crampon points held this edge and a few more held that one... I got ready to move my heavily gloved hands toward the ledges above when I heard Alex's magical voice calmly inquire as to my present state of affairs.

He was standing on the ledge I wanted, perusing my progress. And though my heart was going about 175 beats per second and a leg and an arm were doing little sinusoidal rhythms in space, I heard his voice and I felt pretty well saved. So nice to have human company. Alex told me he'd already been to the summit and was now descending. He did let on that there were a few hurdles beyond the one I seemed to be so in love with at present. And then he realized he might be distracting me and asked me to go ahead and finish what I was doing before we spoke. I hauled in on my ice tools, I kicked a few sparks with my spikes, I might even have used a knee or two, but I climbed strongly and proudly onto the ledge with Alex Lowe.

Alex Lowe

Alex then made me an offer. Seeing as how we were way the heck up this thing, and that climbing down these rock bands would be kind of desperate for a guy like me without a rope, seeing as how we would lose the sun in about a half hour as it swept around the corner and left us in about a 40-below shade, and seeing as how he and I were carrying little cordelettes (20-foot bits of cord), perhaps we could work out this little deal whereby he belayed me down some of the tougher spots.

I knew right away the little catch to this deal, I wouldn't be getting to call myself the eighth human in history to get on top of Mount Tyree. There was no way Alex could hang out and wait in such an environment for me to go prancing about looking for glory. Our whole plan for staying unfrozen revolved around constant motion. I knew that it shouldn't really come to such a thing between partners... I was a professional mountain guide...just like he was...Well, not just like he was, since I was pretty sure Alex Lowe was the best there ever was. I also knew, I'd never in my life get a better offer.

Down we went with Alex watching my every step and grasp, offering a helpful hint here and there as if we were back on some sunny day in his home mountains, and not poised above a cold, silent abyss, improbably clinging to the bottom of the globe. Conrad then caught us, having made his own way to the top after Alex. The down climbing seemingly went on forever. The traversing sections on front-points in the bitter cold even slowed my partners down a bit (since they didn't have the second tool I was carrying), but we clambered on down. Alex waited until we were off the desperate stuff, and then he lit out for camp. Conrad stayed right with me all the way, although I begged him to go on to get himself warm, knowing that I could get down these lower slopes just fine, if a little slower than he.

As we finally got to the point where we could just point our skis and let them run through the 11pm shadows for a couple of miles, the irony struck me — that I'd never climbed better or stronger in my life... and I'd still come up light years short of these two alpinists. This would have hurt if it hadn't been such a fine climb and a treasured day with friends.

"...I remember best how he talked quietly and happily of his wife and his boys, and how I knew then that Alex Lowe was so much more than the greatest climber I'd ever met..."

Gordon met us with hot food and water at the tents that night. The plane came and fetched us the next day and returned us to my summer home at the foot of Mount Vinson where the three of them were supposed to pass an evening before heading back to South America (via Patriot Hills).

Alex and Conrad took a ridiculous stab at running up Vinson that night as a wild Antarctic storm closed on the mountain. They got to high camp in no time, but wisely turned back to base when forward progress became impossible. And then, like many a traveler in that part of the world, they got stuck where they didn't really want to be.

We then spent a number of days waiting for flying weather and talking of everything. I was staying in for the rest of the season and was pretty grateful for the good company. Alex had promises to keep; his family needed him home for Christmas, and he wanted more than anything to be there. The days ticked closer, but instead of getting irate at a little unfair weather delay, as most folks do, Alex kept his humor and his patience. It must have been real torture since the weather was so poor that he couldn't even get out to engage in his legendary workouts.

Trapped there in my base camp tent, Alex talked of other places and times. He talked of his decisions in life. He talked of books and music. He talked of places and of people he liked and admired. The rest of us talked a lot too... but I don't remember much of what we said, I was pretty well focused on my hero by then.

I remember Alex describing a run of painful and dangerous falls and climbing mishaps that had plagued him about the time of his marriage...how that was a real hassle at the very time that he was trying to convince the woman he loved that he was a good risk. Part of what I remember was the realization that any one of the half dozen incidents he described would have ended my own climbing efforts. I knew I wouldn't have been able to put myself out there on the line again to face more broken bones and more of my own blood...and I thought back to the remarkable confidence he'd shown in a hundred places during our time together... the one arm pull-ups over big-air, for the fun of it...where did such bravery come from?

I thought of how many relationships I'd let crash into the mud because too much work had been required to prove that I, as a climber, was a good risk...and I never even had any accidents. Where did he find the will? It wasn't all heavy stuff at base camp, of course. I remember laughing hard together. But I remember best how he talked quietly and happily of his wife and his boys, and how I knew then that Alex Lowe was so much more than the greatest climber I'd ever met. I remember realizing that I'd come to know an exceptional man. When the storm broke and the airplane took my friends away, Alex left me Undaunted Courage, a book, which was fitting, seeing as how he'd shown me a vision of it as well.

"...back to the struggle that the magazines liked to play up between his climbing urges and his family responsibilities..."

Alex might have finally made it home by Christmas Day, or the day after, I can't recall. He made it back to the struggle that the magazines liked to play up between his climbing urges and his family responsibilities. I'm sure it was a great struggle. I only wish it had gone on a lot longer. Many of us were waiting to see if in the process, he'd come up with some unique solutions to the problems we are all so weighted down with. That would have been a tall order, but he seemed genuinely excited to take on such challenges.

I had been pretty excited that I had some more trips planned that Alex would be a part of. I'd already begun bragging to any of my friends who would listen, but I only saw Alex one more time. For just a few minutes in Salt Lake City in August of this year. He was signing autographs for a few teenagers. I didn't want to get in the way so I told him I'd catch up with him a little later. I thought there would be time. There wasn't.

Now, there will be some who will question the decisions Alex Lowe made. Now, there will be some that will say that his death was a terrible waste. Many will guess that he died doing what he wanted to do. There will be a lot of concentration, as is often the case, on the circumstances of a remarkable man's death. I feel privileged to have witnessed a small, but fun part of his life. Alex was all about life. At least, that was my sense... from a few feet below him on a ledge on Mount Tyree. I didn't know him so much better than that, after all...I was just one of the many ordinary folks he tried to look out for and understand. My own feelings of loss are bad enough, making it difficult to comprehend what his loved ones are going through. Yet still I envy those who knew him best. It just isn't often that someone takes the trouble to show us what life is all about. He was special...and worthy of our pain.

Namaste, Alex.

— Dave Hahn, MountainZone.com Correspondent