tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-37030615323570690342024-03-08T14:42:56.313-08:00Chris SpurgeonHilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07549049911557606808noreply@blogger.comBlogger3125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3703061532357069034.post-13463978392322258442010-06-29T17:51:00.000-07:002010-06-29T18:04:28.657-07:00Memorial Service Transcript<!--StartFragment--> <p class="MsoNormal">It is more than two weeks now since Chris died. I think most of us are still experiencing a fair amount of denial; I know I am. Brian Story, Leah, and I skied Warren Peak the Sunday after his memorial service, and on the summit Leah sang kaddish while we all looked toward the Bitterroot to the west. For me, skiing in the mountains will never be the same again. For a time perhaps I will face the mountains with sorrow, but over time I hope to find the sense of peace I have always had when backcountry skiing, especially in the company of good friends.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">A number of people have asked me to share the words I spoke at Chris' memorial service. I'm pasting a draft below, but keep in mind that during the service I added some asides that I can't really remember. It all seems a little cloudy at this point. I hope you are all finding some solace. Best wishes, Colin</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Memorial Service Transcript</p> <p class="MsoNormal">My name is Colin Chisholm; I first met Chris eight or nine years ago, when our girlfriends set us up to go skiing together. He was immediately one of my favorite backcountry partners, and since then we have shared countless days out in the mountains. He was also my roommate for about eight months, which was entertaining because of his love for wild meat and my vegetarian diet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He was sworn to secrecy, but I will confess now before all present that Chris successfully corrupted me with his elk jerky, which I practically begged from him every time we were out skiing together.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">This last week has been filled with sorrow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>My heart goes out to Chris' mom Susie, his dad Mike, and his brother Rick, as well as to his many other family members, whom I have had the pleasure of meeting this week, although under tragic circumstances.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Also to his wide circle of friends, and his workmates at St. Pats.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The immensity of this loss is difficult to bear, let alone to put into words.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>It is an incredible honor to be speaking about Chris with you today.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Before I begin sharing my memories of Chris, I feel this time deserves a brief description of last week's events, to dispel any misinformation or rumors, and perhaps to provide a bit of peace to those of you thinking about Chris' final hours on Lolo Peak.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>I was one of those who searched for and located him on Friday, June 18th.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We believe he died on Monday, June 14th, while skiing the Lantern Lake Couloir, which drops northwest off the summit of Lolo Peak's north summit.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He had skied the couloir numerous times before, once with me, and it was not a particularly challenging line for him, in relation to many other things he had skied over the years. Chris was likely caught in a medium-sized but fast-moving wet avalanche that carried him about 800 feet into rocks. He was not buried, and died instantly of a head injury.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>It gives me a great deal of peace to know he did not suffer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Based on what he was wearing, it is safe to say he was having a sun-filled and relaxed day in a place that he loved. He was in his element.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is so much to say about Chris, and only so much time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Chris was a beautifully complex human being.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A few days ago an acquaintance of Chris' said to me, "He just seemed so peaceful all the time; I wish I could be that peaceful." And I thought, well, yes… and no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Chris was sometimes serene; and he sometimes struggled mightily.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I could stand up here and speak only of his serenity, but that wouldn't be the Chris I knew and loved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Or I could speak of our adventures in the mountains, and of his extraordinary strength and talent as a ski mountaineer and athlete, but that would also be only part of Chris' story.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">For me, what made Chris such a compelling and rare person was the deep and intense approach he took to life.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Chris' journeys took him far and wide in the natural world, but his inner and spiritual journey is what always struck me as remarkably courageous.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>A few years ago I gave Chris a book by the Swiss psychiatrist and philosopher Carl Jung, and Chris immediately became fascinated by Jung's belief that the human psyche is "by nature religious" and that to be fully realized as a human being one must explore the psyche and the soul in depth, including its darker places.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This related to many other things Chris was exploring, as he tore through the entire collection of the German writer Herman Hesse, and much of the works of the philosopher Joseph Campbell, whose writing about the Hero's Journey is familiar to many of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>As much as Chris and I loved discussing these topics, there isn't time for that today, and the challenge is making sense of it all in relation to Chris' life and death.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I believe that Chris was on a hero's journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>This journey took him outward into the world, and into the mountains where he often risked life and limb to put himself closer to the edges of existence, and to peer into the void.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>We spoke of this many times out in the backcountry, how risk made clear how imperative it is to live every moment as if it might be your last. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Chris understood well how easily the thread is broken between this world and the next.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I don't think it was easy for him to live in our civilized world.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>He felt depressed by our consumer culture and by its sometimes crushing superficiality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Nature was his refuge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Like the ancient Buddhist monks of Tibet, Chris found in mountains a doorway to eternity. <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">On the last day we skied together, two days before he was killed on Lolo Peak, Chris got in my car at five in the morning and immediately began speaking of a book he had been reading, called the "Autobiography of a Yogi," about an Indian spiritual guru named Yogananda.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Let me be clear: this was not a dialogue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Chris had something he needed to share, and by God he was going to share it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Although at the time I was only half awake and slightly irritated by his almost wild energy, in hindsight I wish I had been paying closer attention.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He was speaking about God and the collective consciousness, and about the illusion of experiencing life as separate from death. A passage from the book (highlighted by Chris) reads as follows: " When desirelessness is attained through wisdom, its power disintegrates the vessels of the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>The tiny human soul emerges, free at last; it is one with the Measureless Amplitude."<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I am not a superstitious person, nor am I particularly religious.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But in the days since Chris' death, I have not been able to suppress the idea that Chris was, in some very real but perhaps unconscious way, preparing for the ultimate journey.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">I have been trying to listen a lot this last week to stories about Chris, and to people trying to make sense of what Chris meant to them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Some of the common themes have been his natural kindness, the sparkle and mirthfulness in his eyes, and the way he made us all feel loved by him, even if you were a perfect stranger.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I think these are all true, but I think there is a deeper truth as well.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>All of us, every one of us here today, has struggled and will know pain as long as we shall live.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Often our pain is private, and we suffer it in silence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Chris had his share of suffering: I know this, because he talked to me often about it.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>But I think one reason we all felt so drawn to Chris, is because his courage and willingness to explore his own suffering and to wrestle with his shadows, provided him a degree of empathy that few people achieve.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Whenever I came to Chris' house, he always made the effort to stand up, to look me deeply in the eyes, and to hug me with his great bear hug.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am sure that many of you felt the warmth of this embrace, and long to feel it again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Yet Chris was a very quiet and private person, who needed a lot of time alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>He seemed to understand the difference between loneliness and solitude. He rarely seemed lonely, though he spent a great deal of time alone, during his night shift at St. Pats, at home with Bitsy and the chickens, running for insane periods of time around Missoula's hills and valleys, solo motorcycle trips, and long days alone in the mountains. Solitude in nature was especially potent for him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I felt that our friendship was always solid, but it required on my part an understanding that Chris' free-spiritedness would not allow too much intimacy for very long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Chris was not the kind of friend to call me every day or even once a week or once a month.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Perhaps some of you can relate to leaving endless messages in Chris' voicemail, because he almost never answered his phone, except if he was excited for some adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I never took it personally; this was Chris: mercurial, passionate, whimsical, restless, and sometimes darkly intense.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>There were days out on the trail when he wouldn't stop talking, and days when he barely spoke a word. Either way, there was never a bad day in the mountains with Chris.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">There is no easy way to say goodbye.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>But it does help me to think about what Chris might wish for me, and for all of us.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>What words of advice would he offer?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I think he might say something like this: May you go out into the world and live as if every breath were you last.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Throw away your television, abandon your cell phone, leave the poor dandelions alone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ride you bike, walk, run.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Raise chickens, grow your own food, live close to the earth.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Take time to be alone; find peace in solitude, so that your soul might rise above your earthly worries and be free.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Love each other, even if imperfectly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Laugh, dance, be ridiculous and silly.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Read books, lots of them, by really smart people.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Listen to rock and roll.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Lie in a meadow and do nothing for a long time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Take a nap on a mountain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Ask the questions that have no answers. Face the parts of yourself that scare you, and touch the void of your innermost self: you will not be burned, you will not come unraveled, you will survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Follow your bliss; be true to yourself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Know that I loved you, and felt your love for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Celebrate me by living your life with abandon, kindness, grace.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Walk quietly through the woods, until you see the elk whose breath rises in the morning light.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Feel me in those sacred places where I have walked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I am not so far away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span><o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"> <o:p></o:p></p> <span style="font-size:12.0pt;font-family:Times;mso-ansi-language:EN-US">Goodbye, my friend, Spurge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>I will always remember you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes"> </span>Thank you so much for sharing your life with me.</span><!--EndFragment-->Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01390210013709951077noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3703061532357069034.post-58262420816521729092010-06-20T16:32:00.000-07:002010-06-20T16:35:58.072-07:00Hi All -<br />I am new to blogging, so hopefully set this up correctly. If anyone knows of something that should be enabled/disabled on the admin end, please let me know. <span style="font-weight:bold;">To post a comment, click on "Comments" (even if it says 0) or the time of a post. It will take you to a separate page where you can post a comment, photo, etc.</span> Why that comment box can't be on the homepage, I don't know... <br /><br />My guess is that Chris probably hated blogs and blogging, but they do serve a purpose every now and then. I am not feeling very eloquent today, but was struck by a quote a friend of Chris' sent to Colin:<br /><br />"I never have held death in contempt, though in the course of my explorations I have oftentimes felt that to meet one's fate on a noble mountain, or in the heart of a glacier, would be blessed as compared with death from disease, or from some shabby lowland accident. But the best death, quick and crystal-pure, set so glaringly open before us, is hard enough to face, even though we feel gratefully sure that we have already had happiness enough for a dozen lives." <br /><br />— John MuirHilaryhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07549049911557606808noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3703061532357069034.post-88155734835988162812010-06-20T15:29:00.001-07:002010-06-20T15:29:41.214-07:00<span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: rgb(34, 34, 34); font-family: Arial; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16px; ">Dear Friends,<br /><br />Many of you by now have heard the news that Chris Spurgeon was killed in a wet slide avalanche on Monday, June 14; a small group of friends located his body yesterday morning about 9:30 at the base of the Lantern Lake Couloir, which drops northwest from the summit of Lolo Peak. Based on his injuries I can say with confidence that it is highly unlikely he suffered. He was not buried; he died from trauma sustained in the avalanche.<br /><br />Many of Chris's family and friends have come together in this crisis to offer one another support and love. We are all in shock and wrestling with the reality of losing such an amazing human being. Words cannot possibly express the sorrow Chris's family--Susie, Mike, Rick, and others--are feeling at this time. My heart is breaking for their loss, as well as for my own, and for yours. Our lives will never be the same again. <br /><br />I skied with Chris two days before he died, from the summit of Gray Wolf Peak in the Missions. He was ecstatic that day, and talked about the book he was reading, "Autobiography of a Yogi," about Eastern spirituality, life and death, and the presence of God in nature. For the rest of my life I will remember him flying down the summit snowfield, a smile on his face, his beloved Missions to the north. <br /><br />Every one of you, I am sure, has dozens of stories to share about Chris as we move forward without him. I encourage you to gather, to share your stories, to laugh, to hug each other, to be with friends, and to be reminded of the preciousness of each moment we share together. Looking south to Lolo Peak has been helpful for me today, as I take some solace in knowing he was living his life on his own terms, one of the most free spirits I have ever known.<br /><br />My thoughts and prayers are with all of you who knew and love Chris.<br /><br />Namaste,<br /><br />Colin</span>Colinhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/01390210013709951077noreply@blogger.com39