A couple months after Christmas 2010, much to my family's shock and disbelief, my brother was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s at the otherwise healthy age of 53. I was in India at the time and received word as I was leaving to come home.
Alzheimer’s at such a young age, ‘It can’t be
true’ are often the words uttered when a tragedy such as this hits home. For a while we speculated that it must be
Lyme’s disease, an infectious illness caused by tick bites. After all, my brother has been an avid rock
climber since the age of sixteen, traveling the country and around the world where
he sleeps in a hammock anchored to the wall of a rock suspended thousands of
feet off the ground. Surely he must have
contracted Lyme’s somewhere along the way.
My brother saw
specialists, the smartest doctors in the field.
However, all the studies revealed that it was indeed the dreaded
disease, the same disease my mother was diagnosed with in her early 80’s as
well as two of mother’s sisters who are now deceased.
As a writer friend
of mine once wrote,
“No matter how
well prepared we are, the complex geography of fate isn’t something we can ever
truly anticipate, or defend against. But
what we can do is respond to what happens-by doing our best and helping others
to do theirs.”
In the midst of
heart ache and despair, tragedy’s “golden shadow” appeared in the form of my
brothers close knit community of climbing buddies, friendships that extend back
40 some years.
It was my brother
Doug’s lifelong climbing buddies who so heroically rallied behind him, doing
their best to help. They called and visited, took Doug on outings to
the mountains, art museums, biking, camping, vacations, even climbing. Yet, one of the most deeply touching acts of
kindness bestowed upon my brother was a book his buddies wrote in his honor
titled, “Take Me to the River: Anthology
of Alleged Rock God Exploits”, a hilarious and moving tribute to their much
adored climbing companion and friend.
Recently, I sat
down with my cup of tea to learn more about the “alleged exploits” of my
brother whose friends affectionately call “Rock God”. As I turned each page filled with anecdotal
stories and photographs of skinny guys (they can lose 10 pounds or more on a
long climb) entwined in rope and gear balancing mid- air on as little as ¼ inch
of protruding rock, I shake my head in disbelief. Now I understand why my mother so fervently
prayed each time my brother left on yet another climbing adventure. A mother’s fierce love is something you can’t
quite understand until you yourself become a mother.
Doug’s climbing
career had its meager beginnings at “The Ledges” in Grand Ledge, Michigan. He
and his buddies were adolescents then, filled with hopes, dreams, and agonies.
They not only climbed, they grew up together maturing into adulthood, careers,
marriage with children, and still they
managed to carve out time to climb together at least once a year- traveling to Yosemite’s El Capitan, the Tetons, Verdun gorge in France, West Midlands in England, the Dolomites and
Canadian Rockies, to name a few.
Because of the
extreme rigor and danger of climbing, a strong trust and unbreakable bonds
develop among climbers as they literally depend on each other for their survival. It is a world I know very little
of except through the photos and anecdotal stories my brother would tell over
the years and now through an anthology written by his friends who share
stories that make me laugh, stories that
can only be told from the admiring eyes of loyal friends who share a common
bond.
Perhaps a few excerpts from the book will
paint a clearer picture of how my brother acquired the beloved nick- name “Rock God”.
“Hailing from
Charlotte, Michigan, not far from Grand Ledge, the climbing epicenter of the
state, Doug, ‘Rock God’ Matthews has been on the cutting edge of climbing since
his start in the fall of 1972.
Despite the questionable auspiciousness of
beginning a climbing career in the fall, the Rock God (RG) rarely, if ever has
fallen. . . RG went on to establish some
of the most classic and challenging lines in the sandstone by the Grand River,
including his namesake . . . “Doug’s Roof”, fired in style in 1976. Some of his ascents have never been repeated,
though by plan or accident is still a mystery.
It was not long
before the Rock God was climbing all over the country, trekking to the faraway
lands of Wisconsin, West Virginia, New York, North Carolina and New
Hampshire... No matter where he went, he inspired his partners to heights far
beyond their own mortal abilities, often accompanied with music of equal
inspiration such as the Talking Head’s famous song, “Psycho Climber”, upon
which his legend grew hundred-fold.
Where as I
need a stick clip (climbing device), Rock God doesn’t even need a rope, the
Rock Legend eschews all forms of modern sport-climbing devices, even eschewing
wholly woven t-shirts and tights . . . Only a few of us could hope to match
this Legend.
It was the
beginning of deep friendships, . . . a time when the excitement of getting a new
pair of ill -fitting EBs (1970’s state of the art climbing shoes) was not
dampened by the inevitable loss of toenails.
For many of us,
climbing became an addictive passion which could only lead to Yosemite Valley .
. . the place where real climbers go. The big walls were why we came.
The following is a
comical if not down- right scary description of their first ascent of the
challenging 3,000 ft. vertical granite rock formation called “El Capitan” in
Yosemite National Park:
“It is impossible
to describe all that we did wrong. For
sure, we set a new record for being slow, and we slept at most of the poorer
bivies (a “camp site” on the climbing route off the ground). On day 2, we
dropped our food bag. Had to live off of
a small bag of raisins and peanuts after that.
Paul had some lecithin and beansprout sandwiches that were composting in
the haul bag that we just couldn’t force ourselves to eat. At night we froze because we did not take
sleeping bags – too heavy, we thought.
We ran out of water on day 4. But
we persevered and, after 4 nights on the wall we topped out (made it to the top).
That was the beginning of 15 years of Yosemite adventures for Doug and me. We did the drive, we ate at the Mexican
restaurant, we flirted with the same waitress, we listened to the Talking
Heads, Dire Straits, and Michael Franks, we stopped at the Wawona Tunnel –
there was a time when I wondered why we wouldn’t do the same thing every May
for the rest of our lives. I couldn’t
imagine ever stopping.”
And stop they did
not. 
“The year 1984
brought Rock God out to Estes Park for further escapades on Rocky Mountain
granite with the entire gang from the Michigan Alpine Club. . . . Tom and I thought better of
accompanying RG into the snowy mists. ..
No matter where he went to climb, he left a fine record of ascents. . I thank RG that he’s taken me to the most
beautiful places on earth! And there
were always some strange and awesome sights to behold, as only RG could record
… RG can find his camera, no matter where he may be, from the heights of
Shockley’s Ceiling, to the floors of Yosemite Valley, I still remember sitting
nearly nude in a field overlooking Mono Lake as the RG turned his camera to take
in my tan in contrast to the blue, brown grasses and tufa.
Random memories
include Doug having long blonde hair and being asked repeatedly by an old blind
guy to dance in a bar in Milton, Canada.
I believe he did.
And in Europe we lived on canned beans and HP
sauce . . . A couple of weeks were spent in Italy’s Dolomites doing the climbs
put up by a young Reinhold Messner (a famous Italian climber). What beauty, white limestone, the bluest
skies, exposed routes and for Doug, a waitress at one particular alpine hut who
played drinking games that required him to kiss her.
On a trip to
Scotland, we stopped at Edinburgh before heading west to the fabled Isle of
Skye. Edinburg was a fascinating place .
. . great architecture and ever looming, a castle. Kyle and Bruce got escorted out of the
Edinburgh castle by the military police because they successfully
scaled/bouldered the castle walls during the annual military tattoo.
And then there was
the summer of love.
A fine summer in Estes Park . . . We all found
jobs that didn’t interfere with our climbing.
Doug became a waiter at the snooty restaurant at "The Stanley Hotel". He
proudly served the finest dishes and became the favorite waiter of Klaus, the restaurant manager. Klaus liked his
steak dinner and Doug and another climber/cook, Keith, knew what Klaus
wanted. But, Klaus shouldn’t have pissed
Keith off. Each steak destined for Klaus
was slipped down Keith’s underwear and marinated in his crotch prior to
cooking. Unbeknownst to Doug, it was this steak he so
proudly served to Klaus.
We climbed and climbed that summer, tearing up
the crags in the Park and Long’s Peak and Lumpy Ridge. And we laughed like perhaps no other time. We loved what we were doing . . . but
eventually it came to an end. It was the
summer of love and love had become very important. Helen came out to surprise Doug, and it was indeed a
surprise, and she and Doug finally married – a testament to what a fine woman she is. It is
bitter sweet to remember the adventures, the epics, the sense of camaraderie
and always, the love.
My sister-in-law, Helen, who is also an accomplished rock climber, said that in all their years
of climbing together Doug never lost patience or got rattled. On one trip to the Wind Rivers, he refused
to do an anticipated climb up Mount Helen because he said she wasn’t in the
right frame of mind. Good Call.
Recently I drove
to D.C. to pick up my brother and bring him home to stay with us for a
week. We listened to John Coltrane and
Bob Dylan, some of his favorites. We made fresh fruit smoothies, went for walks and watched the sunset. We called his daughter, Harriet, who is in
Maine for the summer working in the women’s department of a clothing store. It was the first day of her very first
job. On the verge of womanhood herself now, so
independent and brave, she turned 16 this month.
In their forties, my brother and his wife went
to Cambodia to bring home their nine month old adopted daughter, the joy of their life. She has had a wonderful upbringing including
a few lessons in rock climbing from the alleged “Rock God” himself. She has learned to be brave. We have all had to learn to be brave. And whether
here at home or suspended on a cliff 3,000 feet in the air, this is what life
requires of us.
