I met Craig during his college years. We were in the same Geology class, shared an interest in similar music, and, as I would later find out, shared an interest in climbing and mountaineering too. At the time, I worked as an instructor at Miami’s climbing wall and he would come in several times a week for bouldering and sport climbing sessions. Always in his patchwork pants, Craig was tall and rangy with big inviting eyes and a smile that almost always revealed his tongue; his body and his attitude built for climbing. He cared about technique more than most people, asked a lot of questions, and (like all of us) fell over and over and over learning the craft while (unlike most of us) rarely getting upset with himself.
While our relationship was built at the wall, Craig’s kindness and generosity extended our friendship outside of the Rec Center. He helped me with my homework, introduced me to people, and invited me to potluck dinners and concerts. My life was better, easier and freer when he was around. Craig was fun.
Nestled between Christmas and New Years during the winter of 2000, Craig, Brent Coyle and I planned a climbing trip to the White Mountains. I will never forget that road trip, the soundtrack to our travels and that climb. Craig and Brent had mostly learned to climb indoors, with the occasional trip to Red River Gorge sprinkled in, and I hadn’t walked up a mountain all day in the snow since I started at Miami. Craig was looking ahead to graduating college and was figuring out his plan for the future. Brent was wrestling with family relationships and I was facing the inevitable departure of my first love. We were all looking for the proverbial Freedom of The Hills. We all needed it. We geared up, with Craig and Brent buying their first axes and crampons. The travel from Ohio to PA, then onward to Conway, NH was filled with chatter, advice and continuous music. “…Who does Lovin’ Cup better, the Stones or Phish? …Why does Donna have to ruin an otherwise excellent Grateful Dead song? …Here’s another way to look at your situation…” We passed the time as ridiculously as possible. We drove non-stop through rain and, once we hit Massachusetts, snow. As we would find out, NH got dumped on. Fortunately, the sun was out and our trailhead parking lot was plowed by the time we pulled up to it. When we slung our packs on, we had little idea what we were getting into. The snow was deep, the blazes hard to rely on, but the beauty all around made the trail breaking easier. We would stop often just to gawk at the snow pack, the pines, and frozen waterfall after frozen waterfall. We pushed hard on our approach and as we gained elevation we came to know first-hand the fabled harsh winds of the White Mountains. Travel got slower and we got much, much colder. We took in the sunset wordlessly; moving—stopping—moving. We spent the better part of the final 4 hours of the approach together, but each alone at distance moving at his own pace. Head lamps on, we pitched a tent in the dark at a protected site. We were famished, freezing and exhausted. We hardly reflected on our impressions of the approach. It was summed it up with something akin to “There’s no use trying to express in words what words will knowingly fail.” We had all been testing our mettle that day and each of us traveled with various degrees of burden and freedom. We set all that aside; there seemed little point in analyzing it. The night passed with hot drinks and a hot meal, games of buck-euchre, and a whole lot of making fun of each other. It felt like 22 should feel. Joyful, hilarious, audacious, free. The next day the winds died down and we crested the Franconia ridgeline early in the morning. We traveled the line from Little Haystack to the Notch. These were Craig’s first summits.
I always believed that we would meet up again, climb again, get a beer and tell our stories; that our paths would cross and we’d pick up right where we left off. I regret so much that we won’t have that day. It always made me happy and nostalgic when I would hear that he was on the AT, that he was mountaineering in Alaska, that he was skiing in some far flung place, that he was a husband and father. Craig had a great reverence for the beauty and rhythm of nature. More importantly, he saw the beauty and potential in other people, as he saw it and realized it in himself. He was smart, funny, interesting, curious and gifted in connecting with people. Few among us have the passion and guts and orientation toward life, service and community that Craig had. He led a thrilling and purposeful life. I am so thankful to have been a small part of his story.
I want to pass this song along to Craig's friends and family. He introduced me to a lot of good music. I introduced him to Bruce Cockburn. I recall he liked this one:
-Micah Vieux
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